RP:Villain Squad Accepts 'Iseng'

Part of the Agitation Arc

Summary: The recent spate of necromantic activity in Xalious has piqued Larewen's interest. She follows the two remaining necromancers, Erlan and Molostroi, to the Fountain of Corruption in the southern section of Xalious Park. There she discovers that they use the fountain water as a portal to a secret hideout. The portal has a magical key she tries to mimic, but instead alerts the necromancers to her presence. They invite her in to trap and question her. Soon the trio discover they have a lot in common and all want to usher in dark days and resurrect The Order of the Shade. Larewen, however, is not so trusting and gives a semi-false name, Iseng. Her middle name.

NPCing by Josleen.

Fountain of Corruption

Erlan and Molostroi, two apprentice necromancers of the Guild, approach the Fountain of Corruption under the cover of dark. Twin pairs of elven eyes peer through the trees, pointed ears twitch to discern nature from spies. Once the elves are sure no one spies them, they stand on the lip of the fountain and pull dismembered, bony knuckles from the pockets in their robes. They finger the artifacts and whisper a phrase as they step into the fountain. The fountain swallows them whole, faster than the pull of the earth, and when they are gone the water remains still, the moon’s reflection on its surface, unbroken.

Larewen held within the tips of gloved fingers a small vial, and within the confines of its glass, was a small sample of the odd magicks that had been encountered in Xalious. A bit that she'd gathered, after the Savage Queen's first appearance, with the ultimate intention of using it to track the amateur necromancers. She'd not made use of it thus far; rather, the elf had spent more time mingling among those that would do good, long before they'd do harm. With each passing day, the necromancer was sliding backwards, rolling down that narrow path that Emrith had set her upon. He was not here, and there was nothing to deter her thirst for power. Tracking the necromancers proved a bit more of a challenge than the elf had anticipated. With no sight, her movement had become clumsy and it was via use of magic that she had become accustomed to "seeing" around her. Magic that, those sensitive to the arcane and unholy, was nearly tangible within the air around her. So it was that the elf was forced to remain within the confines of the town, whilst the pair returned to their lair beneath the fountain. A mistep, or the flare of her magic, would give her away too easily if she followed suit. The vial she held became the main focus of her attention, dark eyes fixed blindly upon its contents as her lips mouthed words that no other around her could hear. Dark wisps of energy flared around the glass, entwining itself with her fingers and through the magic, the elf would feel around her. It was done in much the same manner that the necromancer identified the nearness of others; their identities. Like smell, magic had its own unique touch, and no two casters wielded it precisely the same way. When she felt that there was no longer a tie nearby to what she held within her hands, the elf finally moved. Feeling it was safe to follow undetected, a small bit of magic was loosened in her immediate vicinity, confined to no wider a circle than armslength around her, as she traversed through town and into the park. Her blind eyes could not see the transformation that had taken place here, and perhaps that was for the best, for this place had once, in life, been dear to the elf. She could feel it, though, and that brought with it a strange sort of excitement. Her tongue ran over the points of her fangs, as if she could almost taste the chaotic darkness in the air. Eagerness almost proved a folly when she dashed her boot against the base of the fountain. The yelp of surprise was bitten back, and then a frown weighed pale lips downward behind an ebon veil. It was precisely here that the feel of that dark magic seemed to linger. It did not lead away from the fountain, into the woods that lined the park, or even back into the town; it simply... was there. Perplexed, Larewen tucked the vial away within a fold of her gown, into a pocket that had been carefully sewn into it whilst she could still see. She had not been near enough to hear whispered phrases, and even if she were not blind, she would not have seen the fountain swallow them; she'd been too far away. Her only recourse was once more through magic. The small aura that surrounded her swirled as she lifted an arm, stretching it outward. Fingers moved, and with each gesture, the elf's magic fell to her command. It roamed outward, drawn toward the fountain by the remnants to the trail the necromancer had followed. The arcane energies encompassed the fountain, roaming into every nook and cranny, exploring every crack for signs that would reveal its hidden purpose; for a ward, that could perhaps be broken, or for the door, that she did not yet know how to unseal.

Larewen’s magic probe would find that the water itself is charmed with a ‘double locked’ teleportation cantrip. The double lock refers to teleport activating mechanism: the right item and the right password that will teleport a person to a hidden location. Given the strength of the cantrip, it’s safe to assume it’s somewhere in a 5-mile spherical radius from here. Thus Larewen can either comb everything in a 10-mile wide sphere around this fountain, or try to divine the item and password necessary, or, if she’s really good, whip of a magical skeleton key like some sort of magical reverse engineer. Or, hey, maybe employ someone else to do any or all of the above! Options abound, but this obstacle is not quite so straightforward.

Larewen 's brows furrowed beneath that obscuring veil in lieu of her discovery. It also explained why the trail suddenly went cold. The elf was, for once, stumped, for though she'd scoffed at the prowess this group of necromancers had displayed previously, the device with which they used to obscure their meeting place was surprisingly complex - if somewhat on the weaker side. Clever, really. It was an idea she tucked away into the back of her mind, undoubtedly for later use. An exhale of needless breath broke the silence of the eerie area, her eyes closing for a brief moment before again, there was a push of magic from the necromancer. She was probing further within the charmed waters of the fountain, with the hopes of discerning more information about the cantrip. While the item and password would be a grand thing to pluck from the threads of the spell weaved into the teleportation device, and was undoubtedly something she sought, the elf was also seeking a failsafe device: something that might be used to trigger and warn the necromancer's of a possible threat - something that might draw them out to her, rather than leave her to seek them out.

Further probing reveals that the cantrip scans for an item that is arcanely inert, as in non-magical. Whatever the key-item is, it’s scanned for type of substance, shape, and size. Thus, because it isn’t a magical keyed item, it may be easy to fake if Larewen can figure out the type of fake to create. No information is revealed about the password. As Larewen probes deeper, the water flashes electric green for a split second. Unbeknownst to Larewen, an alarm has gone off in the elves secret hiding place. They weren’t powerful enough to set up a permanent magical periscope, a view to the fountain remotely to see who intrudes, thus they have no idea who has set off the alarm. The elves whisper (needlessly, there is no way Larewen would be able to hear them if they were shouting) and develop a plan... Meanwhile, in Xalious Park at the fountain of corruption, the locked teleportation opens! The sudden opening of the gate feels like an invitation. Larewen may enter the water and follow them. If she does, she’ll find herself in a torch-lit cave, large enough to lay down five cots in a row, though there are only two bedrolls along the southern wall, and an altar along the northern curve of the round cavern. From the west rockface looks to be a tunnel that has been blocked by many many boulders. It is the only exit, now cut off. The necromancers are nowhere to be found. The altar bears the avatar of Vakmatharas, and on a crate beside it are several texts pertaining to The Order of the Shade. It’s all historical accounts, much like the book entry Larewen has, but dust traces a clean outline shaped like an open book. Some text was recently taken. By all accounts, Larewen appears trapped. There is no obvious portal back out. That’s if she entered at all.

Larewen felt the shift in magic as the doorway to their hiding place opened up, and again her own magic shifted. Again, it fell toward the ground, crawling out before her like invisible limbs, feeling their way through the perpetual darkness that the elf lived in. Carefully, she raised a booted foot to step over the lip of the fountain, and then with the same caution, she moved through the opening and into the cave. The elf's head turned, tilting at a perplexed angle as she felt the portal close behind her; she would not be returning the same way that she had arrived. With a shrug of her shoulders, and the realization that there was no going back presently, the necromancer again expelled a burst of magic, allowing it to flowing away from her and through the room whilst simultaneously inhaling the smells lingering within the cave. There was no one present now, but there had been. She felt the magic wash over the cots, and then curl around the alter and the crates that lay near it. No exit was found, for the blocked tunnel made it seem as if the room were simply a capsule within the ground. These the necromancer approached next, and her hands extended first toward the alter. Gloved fingers would feel along the features of the avatar, and her lips were teased upward into what might be an approving smile. It was hard to tell really, with that veil in place. "At least you've chosen the right deity," she whispered softly to herself. From there, her hands fell to the crates, oblivious to the missing tome as her fingers ran over the texts present. It yielded very little for the elf though, for she still wore her gloves and she could not feel the indents created by written word - if it was even that. A moment later, she turned left from the alter, but not without a small, whispered prayer to Vakmatharas, and began to circle the room. Her right hand was extended, gloved fingers running along the cave wall as she moved counter-clockwise, and soon the elf found the irregularity of the collapsed tunnel and stopped. Then, she cursed. Her magic was drawn in once more, and then focused upon the boulders, seeking its way through their cracks to find out just how deep they'd filled the tunnel.

The boulders Larewen touches hum with a magical enchantment. They are very much real, but some cantrip placed upon them allows the wielder of the cantrip to pass through them at will -- not quite a teleportation, but a shitifting of matter to allow flesh and cloth to pass through stone, like a blade of grass through wind. Unfortunately, Larewen once again lacks the right password and item. The mages responsible for the magical entrances and exits to this cavern have an obvious foundness for magical locks. Suddenly over the altar a grey, masculine face and head appears. It does not resemble Vakmatharas himself. That would be blasphemy! To Larewen in a booming voice it asks, "Who are you?" Larewen's probing magic would easily identify the apparition as a basic illusion. It is anchored to a crystal placed on the altar in the same way the lich appeared at the forum in Xalious. If Larewen can follow the magical spell to its source, the trail will lead to the enchanted boulders and beyond. The mage is just beyond those boulders.

Vexed was, undoubtedly, the most accurate term for the emotion that flooded over the verdant clad necromancer as her magic found the same result as before - another magical lock. Just as a surge of magic was about to be expelled, the illusion came to life upon the alter. Having been concentrated on the cantrip before her, and lacking the sight with which to see the face that appeared, it would be a lie to say the elf was not startled. She spun upon her heel to face the alter, her dark stare missing the visage as it called out to her. Her lips curled upward soon after, amusement replacing the surprise. "Are you necromancers, or are you tricksters?" came the elf's reply, rather than an answer to its query. As she spoke, the magic meant to further decode the stone wall shifted once more as she focused upon the alter. It was not the first time she'd seen their crystals. Her dark eyes seemed to follow an imaginary line as she traced the magic to its source, which led her back to the door. She wasn't about to talk to a wall though, and so ultimately her stare would turn back in the direction of the alter and its illusionary speaker.

"What makes you think there is more than one behind my face? And why do you believe we, or I, are necromancers?" speaks the bald, pale male face that Larewen cannot see. [It's 'we', plural; they are necromancers, baby necromancers, and they need a leader badly.] "Who are you and why did you follow the portal here?" Quave, the necromancer at the Xalious forum whom Larewen saw, was promptly arrested after the forum, taking to jail, tortured by another undead creature, then killed. He never relayed to his necro-comrades about what he saw at the forum, or gave any clues as to who Larewen must be. Thus, lack of information has the elves spooked. Larewen seems to know more than they expected. How could it be? What did Quave say? In their fear, they talk too much, through the illusion as well. "What have you seen and what do you know?"

The annoyance quickly began to shift back to amusement as the illusion spoke. She'd caught the slip, the correction buried in an attempt to sound ambiguous - not that it really mattered anyway. Larewen knew what it was she was seeking. Or rather, what it was -they- were seeking. A grin broke out across her lips, and there was mirth in the notes of her voice, as if she couldn't believe how oblivious the necromancers have been. "You've made yourselves known; you've been seen by more than one eye. You've also been foolish enough to leave a few too many clues laying around. Tell me, which one of you thought it'd be a good idea to leave the symbol of the Order of the Shade laying around? I must say, of all the things that have been brought to me, of all my knowledge that has been sought, that was one I did not expect. Your carelessness will end your plight, long before you succeed."

There is a hesitation as the elves whisper behind the boulders. Even to Larewen's sensitive ears, all she can hear is the shushing of whispered words and a few key words such as 'bluff' and 'trust' and 'abandon'. Finally the pale head at the altar speaks again. "You know the Order? What is it to you?" Again they whisper and when they speak again fear colors their voice. Is she ally or foe? "Who are you and why are you here?"

Larewen shifted her weight, arms coming to wrap around her torso as the whispering was heard through the boulders. Given her stance, one might expect the elf's foot to begin tapping against the cave floor. It did not. Her tongue did, however, click against the roof her mouth, shortly before the illusion spoke once again. "Any necromancer that truly loves their craft -should- know of the Order," came her reply, laced with vexation. She felt the query to be stupid. As for her identity? The necromancer didn't quite feel like revealing that, especially given the fact that the elves did not recognize her. That was an advantage, and one the elf intended to keep for the timebeing. "A proper gentleman would introduce himself first, rather than demand a lady's identity. I am here, with the intent, of keeping you clowns from getting yourselves killed. You've started something, something that will - no, already has - drawn the attention of some of the most powerful men and women in Lithrydel. The Savage Queen's death was only the beginning, boys. You can either take a chance and trust me, for I can help unlock your potential - and complete your quest, or you can wait for Death to find you."

More whispering behind the boulder. After several seconds of silence, one elf body pierces through the boulder like a needle through cloth. Larewen's ability to see magic would detect the elf's silhouette glowing in an electric green energy. "Very well. A token of trust. Be warned, my comrade remains behind the boulder to act should anything happen to me." He bows despite the fact Larewen is clearly blind. Blindness isn't a problem in mage's circles. He doesn't think less of her for it. On the contrary, her attire, seen know for the first time, inspires respect. She is clearly from Vailkrin, the residents of that city (like all cities really) carrying with them a certain stature that is distinct. "I am Erlan." The illusion on the altar blinks out of existence -- Larewen would see that magic disappear. as Erlan dispels his own spell. "Your turn, miss."

Larewen turned her head as Erlan stepped through, taking note of the glow that laced his silhouette. A bit too bright of a green for her taste, but it provided her a more accurate guide for where to turn those dark eyes. "Erlan," she repeated, commiting the name to memory with the breath upon which it was spoken. The air was pregnant with silence as the elf debated how best to respond - she hadn't expected him to step into the open (or rather, in this clase, the closed) so easily. The threat that was voiced of what lay beyond inspired an amused chortle from betwixt pale lips. Providing the pair with her name could backfire in the long run, and this was a fact the necromancer was too weary of. However, given their knack for traps, what proof was there that the male before her hadn't crafted some sort of trap meant to detect lies? With that thought in her mind, the elf settled for a half-truth. "Iseng," she replied - her middle name, of which none that still lived had been told.

"Iseng," Erlan repeats much like Larewen had done. A name without a title. The elf's chest puffs and shoulders square. He tests her, this titleless necromancer. "You say you want to aid us in reviving the Order of the Shade. Very well. But what do you know so far? What do you know of the Savage Queen? What do you know of the Order?" If Larewen suspects she hears condescension in his tone, she'd be right. He cloaks it in politeness, she is after all a clear vampire to his baby-necromancer eyes, but all the same a woman of no title as far as he knows.

If Larewen was insulted by the manner in which Erlan spoke to her, she did not make it clearly known by posture nor reply. Instead, the necromancer answered, "Of the Order? That they are an ancient sect of necromancers. Drow. Five males, actually. And each of them crafted relics. Relics of power, and I am certain those interest you." She stopped for a moment, letting the knowledge linger there for a moment. "The Savage Queen is dead. The first time, false. Clever, to use Hildegarde as a phylactery. A shame really, I liked the dragon, but clever nonetheless. It seems she was foolish enough to think that binding herself to someone the people loved would stop the do-gooders from ending her. Certainly, I'm interested in how she managed to do that; and by what means she persuaded Orikahn to do her bidding."

Erlan nods and makes an ambiguous, "Hmmm" sound when Iseng completes her recap. "I can help you with the latter part. Orikahn worshipped her before he came to Frostmaw. He carried her there. After his native island's volcano erupted, he washed up on shore here. The Savage Queen saved him and in exchange he worshipped her. She attached herself to a garland of skulls and gifted it to him. It was through him that she infiltrated Frostmaw and had the opportunity to worm in close, fatally close, to Hildegarde. As for how she bound herself to Hildegarde's heart, those are secrets she was not quick to reveal. Like a magic trick, revealing the art makes it easier to unravel. She didn't want to be unraveled, as you can imagine." He laughs as if he just told the most brilliant joke. He didn't. "We're trying to continue the Savage Queen's work without her. We want to summon the Shade Nightmare from the dark plane, but... the texts are lost or unclear. It's been difficult, I admit. We've stopped trying in the last month in order to do more research and let the village calm a little. The calamitous events that took place here were the by product of failed summonings."

Larewen tilted her head at an angle as he spoke, a genuine interest curving her lips. "Is that so?" the elf said quietly. "So -that- was same Savage Queen that he told me about, when his hunt fell into my lap that day." Her mind traveled back to that day, to when she'd created the device by which Orikahn was able to communicate with her, if he so wished. The skulls she'd enchanted had come from his garland, and it was a first attempt at such a spell that she'd ever made. It was bad juju, to the feline. His joke appeared to be lost on her, for there was no mirth to join his. As Erlan continued, the elf lifted her chin. "Letting them think you've gone dormant is, perhaps, the best way to go. Ceasing your attempts while you lack the knowledge is an even better way. How do you think it was that I was able to track you? There are others, just as strong as I, and others stronger, that could undoubtedly do the same thing, if they thought to put their mind to it. What texts -do- you have, Erlan?"

Erlan nods in agreement when Iseng says their current course of action, to lay low, is wise. "But we cannot leave this area," he interjects. "We've done much to infiltrate the Mage's Guild and tap into its resources right under its own nose. That is why The Savage Queen stationed us here. So we could slink in and out of the Tower and make use of it. Though this cave is in truth close to Craughmoyle than Xalious." She asks what texts they do have and his willingness to share information abruptly ends. "I have not yet decided how you can be of help to us. What's your vision? Are you after the artifacts?"

Larewen knew that that query would eventually be asked, and thus showed no reaction to the sudden shift in Erlan's vocalization. It was another line that needed to be toed, alongside her identity. "If you mean, would I pass up the chance to have them in my possession were it to arise, then yes. You could say I am after the artifacts," she answered after another period of silence. "I happen to have all the time in the world to pursue that, and I am in no hurry." A fanged grin punctuated those words. "You, on the other hand, do not. As long as you count yourself among the living, your time will grow short. The same could be said for your companion, I am sure. I seek power. With your Savage Queen gone, what is your purpose? What will you do, if you happen to, somehow, summon the Shade Nightmare? Which of you will control it?"

Erlan replies simple, "Controling it is not the objective, but my accomplice would try to influence it. He is the more advanced necromancer. I began my magical training as an illusionist, but in recent decades saw the wisdom of necromancy." He ways at where his illusion recently stood over the altar, often forgetting that Iseng is blind. Furthermore, his accomplice has not shown any particular gift for necromancy beyond the standard. "But ultimately we want to unleash the Shade Nightmare because legend has it he will naturally gravitate to the hidden bunker of the Order of the Sect, where the ancient drow founders would practice in secret. There the Nightmare will usher in a new dawn of necromancy unlike the world has ever seen before. This plane is meant to be dark. Too long has the light gained traction here. Would you agree, Iseng?"

Larewen listened in silence as the other spoke, and there was a pleased curl of her lips. Clearly, the elf believed their craft to be the superior form of magic; she had excelled as a sorceress long before turning over to it herself, and had applied herself fully to the dark magic. "Indeed," she said after a few moments. "What do you expect the Shade Nightmare to find there that would bring such to our world?" she asked, a brow arching slightly. Certainly not the artifacts - at least, not all of them. Larewen knew where one of them was. As for the query posed, she nodded. "Indeed, and with that light, this plane has grown soft... weak." Her features twisted with disgust. "You need only look at my kind, and the drow that dwell upon the surface, to see that."

Erlan nods, pleased with Iseng's answer and calls over his shoulder to the stones. "Molostroi, I believe we may want to consider Iseng a like-minded ally in our quest." Then he answers her question. "The Nightmare can use the ancient scripts to bring about the dark days in a way no living necromancer can. His necromantic power is unparalleled in this plane. We must unite him with the Order of the Shade's texts and dark arcana faunt. There is rumored to be a fountain of mana there, a well spring from the darkest pocket of the planet. He will intuit where it is for he is made of the same stuff."

Larewen committed the name to memory as it was spoken, her sightless eyes would have falled to the boulders, but that would have been useless. What Erlan told her intrigued the necromancer, there was no doubt about that. Darkness was something she was fond of; darkness was, when all else had failed her, all that had been there for her. She hadn't simply woken up one day and decided she had affinity for it, but rather had, over time, been drawn to it, and pushed toward it. "Then I suppose we ought to figure out the right way to summon him, no?" came the elf's reply, and for the briefest of moments, there was mischief in her pale features which gave her a surprisingly young and lively look.

Erlan grins broadly and looks to Molostroi who nods approvingly. "Here's what we have so far..." They go on to explain the ritual, the resources necessary, the arcane problems to be solved. The specifics of these, if they are interesting to Larewen's player, Larewen can make up to better fit the necromantic lore she has built into the world. Molostroisays, "We'd like to be timely about the summoning. For example, there is an election coming up. A day full of hope. Squashing that hope would be a rather fitting introduction for The Nightmare." He grins darkly and Erlan nods as if entranced by the tenants of a cult.