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Author Topic: Return of the Missing?  (Read 1082 times)

Dorganath

Return of the Missing?
« on: December 17, 2014, 10:20:10 pm »
“Oi tell ya, it's some kinna plague,” says a man sitting around a table near the back of the room in a tavern in Fort Vehl to the others sitting with him. “Loike that one that got 'em dragons back a ways. Ya hear 'bout that'n, aye? Only this'n turns folks to jelly!”“No more ale fer you,” says one of his companions, shaking his head. The others give looks that range from apprehension to disbelief. “Least no more o' that one. Someone spiked it, I'll bet.” Snickers roll through the few people sitting around the table.“B'lieve whatcha want, lad,” says the first. “but I heared it from me own cousin what jus' came down from that dwarven place in th' mount'ns...Brenuth.”“Meebe yer cousin 'ad a bit much o' tha' dwarven ale too, hey?” says a third person at the table. This earns him a swat across the side of his head from the first.“Now list'n ye idjits,” says the first, clearly getting a little irritated. “Me cousin says he passed through this li'l village tha' prolly ain' even got a name... said some ol' lady what's been missin' came back, all sick wit' somethin'. Said they put 'er to bed and the next mornin', weren't nothin' there but th' clothes she was wearin' and some kinna ooze they said smellt like a cow turned inside-out an' left in th' sun.”“Yer cousin got a lotta 'xperience wit' inside-out cows?” quips another, who is more out of reach of a swatting hand.“Oh har har,” says the first dryly and with a scowl. “Ain't 'is words. Was theirs. But there was also some young lad that dis'peared 'bout the same time as th' ol' lady. They foun' 'is clothes outside o' town, layin' on th' ground loike 'e jus' fell there an' vanished. Socks was in 'is shoes, belt 'round 'is tunic. Smellt th' same kinna awful, but was all dried up.” Some visible wincing can be seen among the others at the table listening to this tale.“So then what?” asks the third, apparently drawn into the story somewhat.“Well they burnt th' ol' lady's house t' ashes,” says the first. “No one wanted t' touch any of it. Built a fire 'round the lad, too.”“An' yer cousin saw alla tha'?” asks the fourth, squinting one eye slightly.“Nay, jus' 'eard 'em tellin',” says the first. “Said some was wantin' t' find some doctor, but iffn tha' doctor got any sense in 'im, 'e'll stay good 'n away from tha' place.” He ends with a nod and a long pull from his tankard while a couple of the others nod a bit. After a few long moments of relative silence between them, the conversation turned elsewhere.
 

Dorganath

Rumors begin to spread around
« Reply #1 on: December 22, 2014, 12:06:50 pm »

Rumors begin to spread around the world of those who disappeared being once again found, yet the good news is always short lived, if it is good news at all. In all cases where these people return, they are ill with pallid features, often looking aged beyond their years and seemingly able to move in a shambling walk by force of will alone. Anywhere from hours to days later, without exception, these people expire spectacularly and suddenly, their bodies literally dissolving into a fluid that is universally described as “foul” and “rank” (often more colorfully described), leaving only their clothing behind. There are similar reports of such remains being found out in the wilds in a similar state; only a pile of clothing and whatever few possessions they may have had with them. It has become common practice to immediately burn these remains and, in many cases, the homes where these people have died as a precaution.

Despite the widespread reaction to what is being called “The Liquid Death”, “Fastrot” and a few other colorful names, the total number of cases seems to be relatively few and far less than many other seasonal diseases often reported. Still, the universally fatal nature of this affliction, whatever it may be, has brought fear to many places in the world.

Whatever it is, this “Liquid Death” seems to spare no race. Taking all the rumors together, Humans seem to account for most of the reports, but dwarves, gnomes, halflings and even elves have been reported to have fallen it.

As these events continue, cities towns and villages have stepped up their security, with some going so far as to shoot flaming arrows at anyone who appears so-afflicted judging by appearances in order to keep the suspected contagion from within their borders. Anyone suspected of carrying any disease is quarantined at a minimum.

 

cbnicholson

Daniel sends out word to
« Reply #2 on: December 22, 2014, 01:45:33 pm »

Daniel sends out word to various temples (even the Ilsairan one in Hlint) and healers he has  knowledge of to ask them to continue to isolate any victims, but to send word to him as soon as a case appears with the intent to study the afflicted or their remains.  He adds in his missive the he will personally donate a 1000 true to the first healer, priest, or druid that can get word fast enough to him so that he can study a live patient.

 

"Give a man a mask and he will show you his true face." 

Oscar Wilde
 

Acacea

((This ended up being more
« Reply #3 on: December 22, 2014, 10:19:38 pm »

((This ended up being more like a CDT entry but, welp, it happens. My bad!))

When the elf had come back, she'd thought he was unique. She'd told Daniella so. It's why she'd thrown herself after the leafy dwarf and Kat the Cat's halfling to see where he'd come from, hoping it would give them a clue as to what had become of the others. No one else had come back. Forget unraveling the mystery as a whole in Vanavar, she just wanted to find the people. The boy, the old woman, the second cousin once removed, the fair haired girl, the innkeep who hadn’t watered his wine. And all the rest, her slender threads, who knew if she’d teased out the right stories.

It had been hard to tear herself away from the many tangled cases of the everyday up-and-gone, especially when there were children involved, but she wasn't any kind of lawman or a tracker and couldn't offer anything but moral support, which she gave and left.

Bad enough then, when they'd all lost the trail and gained only more questions. But when she'd started to hear about the others... she'd gone backwards through the scattered list she'd made and felt the hole in her heart where magic should be widen enough to swallow her. That Toranite had not known what she was asking, couldn’t see the black edges of despair fraying the smile of a halfling. She had been going to find them. She'd promised, but she wasn't in time to so much as witness a single one, not even the bloody elf she knew hardly anything about.

Those stupid gypsy cards had reminded her, before, of what she'd already known, and she felt guilty, like she didn't have the faith of people like Connor and Eldarwen, thinking of haring off in hopes some unknown power would let her tap the Al'Noth in exchange for who knows what. These had been something she could focus on, something better, good. Lucinda knows, she knew what it was like to be trapped alone in dark places. Now, though...

Calloused fingers brushed softly now at the loose peg on her battered fiddle. It was a temperamental thing, some days. She'd seen some fine works while she was wandering. Andrew In The Red Coat made beautiful things, that sang with shining voices to Ilsare even when other hands but his touched them. Violins. Names were funny things, too. She'd gotten a good look at some of the more delicate pieces when that
azthahazk had shoved her into a crate carefully packed with them, and they were as lovely to the eyes as they were on the ears. And there was the Harp, of course.

They weren't for her, though. They reminded her of the silk merchants in the port, before the Guild had been run out, with all their pretty fabrics she wasn't allowed to touch. She'd dodged clever and jealous hands for a fluttering scarf she'd tied in her hair, and it had still been a treasure after it got tattered and wasn't worth anything to anyone. Her fiddle was like that, a little bit. It was made mostly of old oak, coarse and porous, and it's true it could be a bit heavy, and then there was all the gin and jug-sludge that had spilled onto it over the years, but it was hers. It could be a shabby thing, like her keys, easy for others leave behind, but she could spend a little longer tuning a little more often, and anyway, it sounded like it had sung with her in every gambling house on three continents because it had.

If only it could cast a spell of direction once it was tuned...! She'd never be lost again!

The ragged bard looked more like a vagabond than any Laughter of the Lady when magic wasn't looking her way, but Lady knew she was trying. She hopped to her feet in a jangle of keys and dusted herself off primly, fiddle in hand. She couldn’t believe the church was unconcerned with the star movements, let alone what had followed. The world had gotten lazy.

She should have visited Erilyn while lost on Alindor, she hadn't told Ma'am Imjam she wasn't dead yet. They might let her in. Maybe. Maybe they’d seen some closer than she had. And if… well, she didn’t quite let herself think it, just in case, but they knew Milara, too. Come to think of it, she was closer to Krandor than a port at this point, maybe she could trade news for a favor and make it a day trip. Anna might even pack her a sack lunch! Her stomach growled loudly.

She wandered off around the best time for her sort of traveling, when the sun had gone to bed but wasn’t yet dreaming. Her fiddle sang awhile by itself in the spaces between the trees before she joined it. It was always smug at the greying time. It knew better. Every gambling house on three continents, and somewhere between a thousand and a thousand thousand nights in the Fairy Shee.

I'd been running from my shadow
To leave it far behind
Most will say that's not the way
But don't pay them any mind

But I ran so far from shadow
I could not see the light
No more sun, or anyone
To tell me what was right...

 

cbnicholson

*some weeks later*Daniel
« Reply #4 on: December 26, 2014, 08:59:33 pm »

*some weeks later*

Daniel dispatches letters to Acacea and Champion Stormhaven seeking audience at the nearest opportunity.  The message is fairly cryptic in that it only says he seeks a meeting and that he has heard further from Biele in Vanavar.

"Give a man a mask and he will show you his true face." 

Oscar Wilde
 

Acacea

Dearest Moustache,Please find
« Reply #5 on: December 27, 2014, 01:41:06 pm »

Dearest Moustache,

Please find yourself at Whichit for a meeting, where we can be staked out waiting for the approach of the soon-to-be-goo. I'm sure you will find Whichit incorrectly labeled on a map somewhere near the desert. By Spellgard. Ish. If "by" is like a week away. In some direction.

May the wind flow freely through your facial hair,

Chimes

 

cbnicholson

*softly chuckling Daniel
« Reply #6 on: December 29, 2014, 08:28:52 am »

*softly chuckling Daniel sends a reply* 

Acacea,

I regret being overly occupied with Guild business, but can be found in Hempstead or Center in the next few weeks, depending.

Daniel.

//I'll be ig tonight for a time, crafting.  5-8 pm cst.

"Give a man a mask and he will show you his true face." 

Oscar Wilde
 

Alatriel

Daniel gets a reply from
« Reply #7 on: December 29, 2014, 08:55:00 am »

Daniel gets a reply from Daniella Stormhaven stating that she can meet him in Center in a couple weeks, as it will take her that long at least in travel time.  

//I can meet you tonight once the kids are in bed.

Edit:  Woops, I can't tonight, but I can tomorrow.  I have a previous engagement tonight with a different character.

 

 

anything