RP:Order of the Newbs
Part of the Agitation Arc
Summary:' Immediately after meeting with Hudson, Josleen flies via Eyrie to Vailkrin to meet with Lady Larewen Dragana. The necromancer had reached out to Josleen out of concern for Xalious. The women discuss the strange events, and the symbol Josleen inspected alongside Krice. Larewen recognizes the symbol as belonging to an old necromancer sect called The Order of the Shade and suspects that amateur necromancers are meddling with magic they do not comprehend. the result of which may be just as dangerous as if they did comprehend it.
Larewen agrees to go to Xalious to investigate these necromancers herself.
House Dragana
Larewen was seated within the foyer of House Dragana, upon one of the plush, verdant settees that lined the room. Margret, an elderly, plump corpse, sat at her side, babying her it seemed. The elf's lips were pressed into a thin line, her jaw tense in an attempt to hide her vexation. Since she'd returned from the feast, blind, the old woman hardly left her side. Sigmund was little better, for he was there when Margret was not. Hushed words were exchanged with the servant, undoubtedly insisting that she would be just fine. Her head was turned toward the door, or so she thought: really, the necromancer was staring into a corner.
Josleen arrives by Eyrie VIP air-taxi service. Being close friends with the Steward of Frostmaw has its perks, which Josleen tries not to abuse, but there is no way the bard would risk an on-foot trek through the dangerous dark forest that surrounds House Dragana. The rider and his mount wait outside while Josleen attends her meeting. Before approaching the house, Josleen spritzes perfume to cover a funky herbal smell. In the reflection of a small a hand mirror she tidies her windblown hair and reapplies rose stain to her lips. Tired eyes stare back at her. The day has already grown long. The tools of beautification disappear back into her overgrown purse and, using the creepy black skull knocks, she announces her presence.
Larewen 's gaze redirected itself a little more accurately and the elf moved to rise to her feet, only for Margret to throw her arm out and prevent the emerald-clad necromancer from going through with her intentions. This resulted in a brief squabble between the two women, not unlike mother and child whilst Sigmund descended the steps quickly. The male corpse was about the same age in death as was Margret, though not quite as plump. "Both of you," he said, sternly in an attempt to calm the quarrel that was brewing. A moment later, he approached the doors and tugged them open, his dead eyes seeking those of their visitor, Josleen. "The Lady has been waiting for you," he said, assuming the other's identity. "You may enter, and Margret will fetch you some tea." A sideways glance was cast toward Larewen and Margret, and with a frustrated exhale, the latter's vexing behavior toward the necromancer ceased and she disappeared into the kitchens to place a pot of water upon the fire. Larewen's sightless eyes turned toward the open door, the tensing of her jaw relaxing slightly as she bid her visiter, "Good evening."
Josleen curtsies to Sigmund to hide the involuntary shudder of revulsion. Fully of The Living, she struggles to engage with death. It’s a reminder unwelcome,; and as it welcomes her into its home, she reconsiders the visit. She hesitates. Her breath catches. Krice recently inspired a more skeptical mind in Josleen, and suddenly she finds herself doubting Lady Larewen’s motives. But what if they are genuine? That hope lures her past the threshold to meet her hostess. “Good evening.” She curtsies again, this time out of propriety. At least Larewen isn’t terrifying to behold, though her power is palpable and awesome. Josleen senses the necromancer is somehow impaired. Is it sight? She leans left to ostensibly adjust her dress, but in truth verify whether or not Larewen’s pupils track her movement. They don’t. The vampire is blind. How unexpected. Best not to comment; that would be rude. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.” Assuming Sigmund gestures for Josleen to sit, she does. “I must admit I am surprised, and humbled, by your interest in helping the sleepy village of Xalious. Why the interest in Xalious?”
Larewen would only follow Josleen's movement when her voice shifted, and even then her dark stare was not quite as accurate as it could have been. Sigmund did, in fact, gesture to the settee that was across from his mistress before shoving the large doors closed. Soon after, he promptly disappeared after Margret, undoubtedly to lecture his wife on the way she's treating the elf. Best not to invoke Larewen's ire, as far as he was concerned. The necromancer's lips formed a frown, a sadness washing over and taking hold of her elven features. "Xalious... I spent a lot of time there, when I was not yet among the dead. It is a place of familiarity, a place of nostalgia, and it is where I..." she trailed off, and moisture glittered upon the rims of her lids in the ethereal, green light of the room. Schalk. It was where she had sacrificed the elverglast, and had been the last time she'd ever seen him. There was a distant ache in her chest and her fingers tightened into the folds of her dress as she inhaled and exhaled slowly, carefully. "Xalious is a place close to my heart, you could say."
Josleen looks away from Larewen’s face embarrassed and lets the necromancer have her moment. Xalious is close to Josleen’s heart as well, and this common bond helps dispel some of the bard’s suspicions. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried.” She hesitates before deciding to jump right into business. “Something’s been plaguing Xalious....” She goes on to explain how strange black lightning storms without rain or thunder have appeared here and there in the village. Foliage decays to black ooze. Vegetables and tree have turned to stone. Fire devils briefly came to life. No one has been seriously injured or killed, but the events are escalating. After each event, three mysterious mages, reportedly acolytes in the mage’s guild, clean up the scene of the chaos. Thus Josleen and a spellblade named Linn are trying to investigate this without the aid of The Guild. From her purse she pulls a small leather pouch and hands it to Larewen. Inside the pouch is a glass vial filled with what appears to those with sight like black ink. It smells like compost. “The first time I touched it, nothing happened. The second time, it burned me. This is consistent with the experiences of two others who were unharmed upon first contact, burned upon second. And lastly, and I am sorry for dumping all of this on you in one go, but there is also a symbol I’d like for you to… uh.. look at?” Her hands fidget with each other. How awkward. Josleen hadn’t expected the necromancer to be blind.
Larewen listened to Josleen's words thoughtfully, humming softly to herself as the woman spoke. The desire to investigate without the mage's guild made sense to her, as it could very well be one of their own causing the havoc. When the pouch was passed her way, the elf's fingers roamed over it to open it before drawing the vial free. Her other hand rose and carefully, she opened it, raising it to her nose to smell it. It was a smell that was familiar to the elf, and after a moment, the necromancer cautiously dipped a finger into it. As the woman had described, there was nothing. A small burst of magic left her fingertips, exploring the composition of the dark fluid. "Describe it to me, if you can," the necromancer replied, the corners of her lips twitching upward faintly.
Josleen pulls a small notepad out of her purse. “If you don’t mind, perhaps I could guide your finger over the symbol so you can draw it in your mind’s eye?” The black ink is clearly magically charged, but the magic seems aborted, like the end result of an acolyte’s mistake. In the same way a rookie winemaker make produce a bad batch of sour wine, these mages failed at whatever they were trying to pull off and this is the consequence.
Larewen drew her finger from the liquid, and then did what was perhaps unthinkable: she raised the darkened finger to her lips, touching it to her tongue to see what adverse affects may result from the action. She was, after all, dead, and that was quite a perk to her state of unlife. A moment later, she wiped it away on her skirt. She would not be able to observe the aftermath. Her head dipped slightly. "That would work, too," the necromancer said softly. At this moment, Margret came bustling from the kitchen, huffing in vexation at her husband and carrying a tray of hot tea, which she brought promptly to Josleen.
Josleen is about to stop Larewen (“N-no!”), but quickly remembers the woman is a vampire. This both reassures and chills the bard as she sits here like a rabbit sits with a wolf. The ooze, other than tasting foul, presents no ill effect to Larewen. Josleen thanks Margret for the tea and politely has a sip before crossing to Larewen’s side. “I’m going to touch your hand,” she warns before taking the vampire’s finger and tracing it over a symbol. It’s an old, rare, obscure symbol. But a necromancer of Larewen’s experience and power may recognize it. It was the emblem of a short-lived, ancient sect of drow necromancers. (History here: https://www.hollowgame.com/wiki/Crown_of_the_Shade) Very little information is available about this secret society. The drow matrons were very thorough in erasing their memory from Hollow, but their symbol and legends endured.
Larewen also took some tea from the tray, if only to wash the horrid taste of the substance from her mouth. When the warmth of Josleen's hand found her own, the elf stiffened slightly and inhaled sharply, undoubtedly taking in the other's scent. There was a glimmer of fang for the briefest of moments before the necromancer composed herself and allowed Josleen to guide her finger over the symbol. She seemed to grimace. "And this symbol was found in Xalious?" she asked, her brows furrowing. The elf appeared to be confused, if not surprised.
Josleen feels the predatory tension between them and quickly darts back to the seat as soon as the vampire recognizes the symbol. She combs her hair quickly over one shoulder in a nervous tic, then finishes her tea to help steady her nerves. “Y-yes. Sort of. I found this symbol just outside the village proper, just off the road that connects Xalious to Craughmoyle’s Southern Gate. It was painted in black ink, much like the ooze there, beneath a firepit in the mountains. I had also found three squirrel corpses near the pit, their throats slashed.” Her hand falls away from her hair to rub at her collarbone. “Why? You recognize it, correct? What is it?”
Larewen lifted her chin faintly, still visibly puzzled. "I have seen it mentioned before," the elf said quietly. "But beyond that, there is little to be known. Even the Black Library has little to say of this symbol and its history. I would have been content to leave it as a one might a legend, with no proof of whether it was true or not." The elf tilted her head downward slightly, once more toying with the vial of dark magic in her other hand. "Supposedly, they were called the Order of the Shade. They were necromancers, powerful ones at that. I find it strange to find that symbol present within the forests of Xalious, when few even know of it..." She rolled the vial over in her hand, dark, sightless eyes fixed upon it.
Josleen cants her head to the side as she puzzle through this revelation. “Do you think someone is trying to revive that old magic? I have reason to suspect they are trying to summon something from another plane. An alchemist who analyzed a sample of the ooze accidentally summoned a talking tree from another plane who claims three mages, who fit the description of the same who haunt Xalious, those three mages have tried and failed to summon something from its plane. Why? What was the Order of the Shade after?”
Larewen tilted her head upward slightly, her head turning to sweep the room though it was a gesture without point. "Margret!" she called, and within a few moments the woman had arrived. "Fetch the black tome from my desk, if you will. The one that you cannot open." Margret's features seemed to redden, if that were even possible. Larewen was well aware of the woman's desire to nose through her belongings. "Of course," the undead servant responded and waddled away, trying her best not to appear embarrassed. The elf's head turned back in Josleen's general direction. "They wanted what many of us want: power. It has actually been a topic of my more seclusive studies, while the living within these walls rest. The Order of the Shade, as it was, consisted of male drow with their usual distaste for their matriarchal society. Just as I began to delve into dark magic in search of more power, in search of striking fear into the hearts of others, they did too. They lived in the shadows of their women, and unlike most males, sought to rise up against it. Now... Now would actually be an opportune time to rock that boat, so to speak. If the Order of the Shade does, in fact, still exist, the recent war and the rebellion in Trist'oth would work in their favor. If they are ambitious as I am, and I have every reason to believe they are, then it is possible that they will not stop there." Her features darkened and her lips pressed into a thin line once more. Craughmoyle. It made sense, for the symbol to be found upon one of the openings into Lithrydel's belly. "It is also possible that this is the work of amateurs. Of fledgling necromancers that know not what they toy with. That, too, would bode ill for more than just Xalious. Power is a very potent drug."
Josleen doesn’t want power, thus the punchline was a mystery until the very end. These women couldn’t be more different if one of them was a man. “My sense is that they *are* amateurs. They have been cleaning up after each event. One such event occurred in the valley just north of the Hobbit burrows. Grass, moss, trees had died. I was witness to this. Yet, when I returned a few days later, I discovered the flora has been replaced. Yet, upon close inspection, the shape of the leaves and grass were all wrong. My father is a naturalist and I have some knowledge of botany, if you’ll permit me the immodesty.” Josleen has encyclopedic knowledge of plants, particular the local variety of Xalious. “It was the worst terra-forming I have ever seen. Like a balding man’s embarrassing obvious hair transplant.” Her lips purse as she considers the possibilities. “If you witnessed one of these events, would you be able to track the magic doers? Or determine their intention?”
Margret returned, a begrudged look upon her round features as she held the tome out to her mistress. It was of dark leather, and upon it bore only the symbol of the Order. With a raise of her chin, the servant was dismissed and Larewen's hand moved over the book. It protested as it flapped open upon her lap, its pages seeming to have a mind of its own, as if it were throwing a temper tantrum - and it was. Much like her talking skulls that functioned for long distance communication, Larewen had also enchanted the journal, binding the soul of one of the many departed to its pages. "Stop it, Phyllis," she said, her words a cold, harsh whisper. With a groan of protest, the book fell flat. Josleen's words were heard, and a frown again found its home upon her lips. "Has anything else been seen, outside of Xalious, pertaining to the same magicks?" the elf asked before nodding. "Magic is much like thread. Before it disintegrates from the air, it can be traced much like a thread can be followed. Timing is of the essence; however, if these mages are as inexperienced as they seem, they should be easier to track. My concern is that they might be a distraction." A moment later, realization set upon Larewen and she looked quickly to the book in her lap. "They could be seeking the items forged by the Order of the Shade, as well. Phyllis, tell Lady Josleen of the five items." The book again groaned in protest, flipping through its own pages until it fell upon one that bore drawings and descriptions, each penned in Larewen's own hand. When the book spoke, its voice was gravelly and filled with vexation. To be fair, spending ones after life as a tome full of dark secrets probably wasn't Phyllis's idea of heaven. "There are five items in all, each bearing their own powers. The Crown was crafted by the most powerful of the Order of the Shade, and grants two abilities to its wearer: the ability to conceal their identity, or embellish it, depending upon whom they interact with. The Signet, by far my captor's favorite, is a tool through which knowledge can be obtained by way of yet another undead servant, because clearly Lady Dragana doesn't have enough corpses to torture." The book paused, its hatred seething. "The Brooch provides the wearer with the guise of the undead, while the Boots conceal the sound of the wearer's footsteps. It also allows them to float. Why do the living want to be so much like the dead? You are all mad. Mad!" That was four items, though. "The last is the Whip, and while there's no definite ability associated with it - if these items even exist, - the Lady believes it might serve as a sort of tether, further binding the will of the undead to the one who wields it." At this point, the book abruptly fell silent, again ruffling its pages in an attempt to try and catch Larewen's finger. The necromancer drew her hand back and slapped the book, as if punishing an ill-behaved pet.
Josleen shrugs at the initial question. “I am unsure. If the same magic has been seen outside Xalious, the gossip has not circled back to me.Or if The Guild is involved, they may be stymying the flow of information.” As ‘Phyllis’ rattles through the five items, Josleen’s face remains blank. All of this is new to her, and frankly just beyond her full comprehension. “Lady Larewen… I would ask the Mage’s Guild to aid my investigation, but I am not yet sure who within The Guild I can trust, aside from my father and husband but they lack talent in the dark arts or necromancy. Would it be too much to ask you to visit Xalious with the hopes of intercepting these mages?”
Larewen is unaware that she's practically lost Josleen with all the information that was vomited from the book. The concern with the mage's guild is a valid one, and Larewen could see reason for that despite the fact that she, too, was a student of the guild. Granted, most of her dealings were with the Necromancer's Guild. Josleen's inquiry was met with a lift of her head. "Not at all," she answered. "I fully intended to go, regardless of whether or not I was asked. The information you have provided, regarding the Order of the Shade appearing within Xalious, only further tempts me to do just that. We ought to be wary of both guilds, for that reason alone. Dark magic has a way of bringing out all sorts."
Josleen smiles despite the fact Larewen can’t see it, suggesting it’s a genuine one. The bard is practiced in masks, and has been wearing one of bravery throughout most of this encounter, but Larewen’s helpful disposition has seeded trust. “I am glad to hear it and heartened that you understand the need to keep a low profile in Xalious. In truth, it bothers me that I have no recourse against The Guild, should I need it. It is the de-facto governing authority of Xalious. Isn’t that strange? Wrong, even. It’s wrong that the villagers should be ruled by an institution into which there is no transparency and through which they have no representation. Someone should do something about that.” The fire in Josleen’s diatribe suggests beyond a doubt that Josleen will be that person to do something about it. “But I won’t bore you with small town politics. Thank you so much for your time. You have been a tremendous help. Do let me know when you plan to arrive in town. I would love to meet with you again, for business and for tea.” She rises to signal that she must go. “My driver is surely mad with impatience by now.”
Larewen dipped her head to Josleen, offering the other a fanged smile. "Yes, the creatures out there can be awfully frightening, too. Be safe, and I will seek you soon in Xalious," the elf said quietly. She was flipping through Phyllis's pages again, though she could not see the words. Her voice was distracted, and it was clear that the necromancer was quite suddenly preoccupied once more with her studies. As for Xalious and it being governed by the Mage's Guild - Larewen could certainly see eye to eye with Josleen on that.