Guardians of the Citadel — Legacy Forums

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#481

Retreating after Spiderheart, Gyma fired a magic missile into one of the human-plant hybrids' chests as it drew near to the group.

When he reached the partially petrified monk, the other man could hear him mumbling, "... such a crass name for such an interesting hybrid, I really do wonder if they have some sort of society hidden in these bogs. I really must return here someday, hopefully after they've forgotten this unfortunate incident. Maybe I'd even be able to... ." At least, such is what he heard before Gym hurried past, far too fleet of foot for a man who'd presumably spent much of his life in the halls of some mage college somewhere.

Pariah rolls 1d4 and gets 1. So 6 more damage to val's new friend. 3 spells a day definitely limits ones ability to most effectively attack the opposition.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#482

Lucky whined in reservation, the idea of impaling himself upon potentially thorny spines not one he relished, Silveressa's shouted command snapping him from his momentary indecision as he sprung to her side with a snarl, grateful she hadn't forgotten Wilem in the confusion, the rotting odor of the swamp flooding his sense as she kept pace next to her, ready to lend what aid he could should she fall, trusting the group to find a safe haven from these unnatural monstrosities.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#483

Turning to follow the group as it retreated, Tusserk twisted and ducked while trying to angle himself towards Spiderheart in order to get him moving, and to cover the mage’s retreat.

“I don’t think we are going to have time for many spells before they turn us into pincushions. You two may want to move faster.”

IF I am able to concentrate and run at the same time (HA hahahaaaaaa… I kill me), then I am going to try to concentrate on the determining the direction we are running willy nilly in… so we do not get lost.
(23:21:42) Minion: Tusserk rolls 1d20 and gets 2. Direction Sense: Wis+1 = 17

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#484

Tusserk caught up to Spiderheart in the blinding mists, and helped the stone-armed monk along, as Gyma whizzed past, ecology and society on his mind.

The companions were all making their way through the fog trying to avoid the shrieking plant-men, as the needled ones attacked again. The creature that Gyma had blasted with magic screamed as if he was burning alive, but more reared their spiked heads and fired anew...

Mystic meanwhile kept heading for the house, the only landmark that made any sense, everything and everywhere else he looked, was thick mist. At last he seemingly broke through the miasma, and saw the house he had spotted earlier, up close. Whoever lived here could not much care for needlemen, or travelers for that matter. He could hear sounds coming from inside the house now as he neared the door! How insensitive to what was happening outside their own door could this person or people be?

He was still thinking that when his latest step, found only dead leaves and...air. The giant, blue-swirled warrior felt himself falling. Last step was a doozy.

Mystic landed with a loud splash, going under fully, until he burst back up, seeking air. He had stepped on some trap door or pit covering, and after having fallen a dozen or more feet, now found himself waist-deep in blood-red, tannin-rich swamp water. Looking up, he could see only mist, and could hear the sounds of his companions and their foes.

(ooc: Mystic fell into a pit, covered only by dead leaves. Needlemen attack. Another 3 volleys. Sil and Spidey (that d**n half-elf) get hit this time. 3rd needleman missed! 4 dam to Sil, 5 dam to Spidey. Tusserk gets 1 more pt dam from being too close to Spidey when the volley hit him. Everyone else's turn now.)

Echo and Sil's eyes now spotted the house up ahead as well. Lucky, val, and Gyma came through the wall of mist just then, looking around for their companions. Tusserk and Spiderheart lagging slightly behind.

Weird sounds came from the house up ahead. "The Alchemist", they heard Spiderheart say, almost in a whisper due to his suffering, as the two monks emerged from the mist as well. Myst was no where to be seen but they could hear him, splashing(?) somewhere nearby and below.

The needlemen seemed loathe to leave the protection of the unnatural mists enshrouding them, but they sounded like they were drawing closer again, readying more needle volleys.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#485

“DOWN!” Tusserk dropped to the ground before the words even fully formed as the darts flew the area where he had been standing. Spiderheart silently gasped as the stone that composed his arm slowed his reactions, the darts burying themselves in his torso.

Springing forward, Tusserk grabs the monk and pulls him towards the building and yells for the inhabitant to let them in.

(22:31:19) Minion: Tusserk rolls 1d20 and gets 15.
YAY Dodge

(22:36:24) Minion: Tusserk rolls 1d20 and gets 6.
Not so yay for Spiderheart...

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#486

Echo hoped the flaming arrows would keep the beasts at bay long enough for the others to withdraw to the alchemist, firing at their pursuers whenever their shapes emerged from the mist distinctly enough to be identified as such.
Luckily, no one of us is yet badass enough to wear spiked full plate, eh?
Fire.
Fire.
Pew pew. (11:57:06) Minion: EchoMirage rolls 2d20 and gets 9,19.
Taking position behind a tree near the alchemist's door, the priestess continued sniping, and would do so until all of their band were either safely inside, or deemed lost.

"Run, run inside! I'm right with you."
See as the Needleman bends forward before extreme dorsiflexion? That's when he's about to fire. Duck behind the tree, shoot him right after when he reels after his salvo, withdraw again...

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#487

(17:12:03) Minion: MysticMoon rolls 1d20 and gets 5.
(17:12:06) Minion: MysticMoon rolls 1d20 and gets 8.

Mystic clawed and scrambled at the edges of the pit, getting lost momentarily in the physicality of it. Damn, but he enjoyed inhabiting this body. Which made him wonder... would he ever have to give it up? Go back to his old, weak self. The thought made him cringe inside.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#488

Mystic crawled up out of the pit, but it seemed that the pit had crawled out with him. The giant warrior was now covered head to toe in some semi-viscous red liquid, almost honey-like in texture...

"Run, run inside! I'm right with you."

Echo continued peppering the mists with his shafts, and heard the last one he shot connect with a thwooop into a gaunt Needleman.

Meanwhile Tusserk was shouting at the door and window of the weird looking house, trying to keep Spiderheart upright.

He suddenly spotted a face in a window...what looked to be a young large-eyed girl? Or something similar...the creature (?) stared out dispassionately at the monk and his companions, giving Tusserk an involuntary shiver. Her stare was...dead, like that of a fish.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#489

Seeing the hole in the ground with the sound of sloshing emanating from within, Gyma grimaced, "the Alchemist may not like company. Presumably he or she is a throwback to an older age of thaumaturgic study. All secrecy, smoke, and mirrors. Most disappointing, they will likely not wish to share any interesting discoveries they've found. Granted, seeing the use of physical deterrents such as a fluid filled pit tends to make me think they're unable to cast something as simple as a warding scheme capable of discerning hostile intentions. Has anyone knocked?"

Firing off his second and last magic missile Gyma blinked and called down into the hole, "You weren't planning on killing the Alchemist, were you? Because physical traps that only triggered due to hostile intent would be a nontrivial undertaking, and likely instill a false sense of confidence in who ever was trying to kill you."

Pariah rolls 1d4 and gets 2. So 9 damage to another lucky neddleman. Could one of you melee fighters try to secure our entry, I only have 5 or 6 rounds worth of darts, and I'm at -1 to hit with them...

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#490

Propping the Spiderheart against the wall, Tusserk grabbed the window and pulled upward until the wood splintered and forced the opening free. “Pardon the intrusion but my friend is wounded and we seem to be under attack.”

Pushing the wounded monk through the opening, Tusserk grabbed his meager coin purse and jingled the coins. “Hopefully you are this Alchemist that everyone has been talking about. These and more are yours… IF you heal him, and if you sell me one of your torches.” He proceeds to drop the coin purse into the female’s hand before grabbing a torch from the wall, along with her broom.

Lit torch in hand, Tusserk turned to re-enter the fray by way of the front door. Carefully propping it open as he tied the torch to the end of the broom to make an impromptu flaming spear… like thing. “Get your asses in here!”

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#491

Tusserk barely registers that the bag of coins tossed to what at first appeared to be a small girl rebounds off her and falls at where her feet would be, were she standing on the ground and not floating mid-air. The two-foot tall miniature adult floats about the room, following him as he gathers a torch from beside a large furnace and a sooty, well-worn broom. As he runs back out the door he can hear the sound of quick footfall entering the room behind him.

"The gods-be-d**ned window? Really? The door is right there!"

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#492

Silveressa cringed and bit back a yell of pain at the impact of the darts, lowering her head and dashing forward, relieved the lack of screaming from Wilem likely meant he was so far unhurt, aiming for the now open door and throwing herself inside, grateful Tusserk had chosen to use the window for his defense rtather than block the doorway with his body and impede his comrades run to safety.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#493

Mystic stumbled inside, flicking as much of the muck from himself as he could.

"Ugh, what the hell is this stuff?"

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#494

Valadaar did not spare shoe-leather and made for the house, following the monk through the window to avoid the inevitable jam at the door...

Once inside, he pulled out his sling, ready to plink any of the walking cacti he saw.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#495

What appeared to be the human model for the small floating construct stood scowling in the doorway to the warehouse. Upon sight of the gooey fighter, however, she rushed into action. Breaking into a run she swiped a flask from a nearby table as she dove into him, attempting to shove him out the door.

(09:38:21) Minion: PoisonAlchemist rolls 1d20 and gets 16.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#496

Fully occupied with wiping the muck away, Mystic was taken by surprise, and went sprawling, half in and half out of the doorway.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#497

Lucky Snarled in frustration and barreled through the door behind Silveressa, glancing back to see if any more of his comrades were incoming as he attempted to shield his mate and the boy from any stray needles that may find their way through the door before it could be safely closed once everyone had fled to the safety therein..

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#498

Pulling three darts from their quiver, Gyma went to the door, prepared to throw them if the needlemen made any untoward charges in the party's direction.

From just outside the door he called out, "Echo, dearest, I do believe that we are the last ones outside of the threshold. And, while I will admit, it likely offers scant protection from mortals such as this,the walls seem solid enough. Let's pray get inside."

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#499

The needlemen seemed loathe to leave their protective giant bubble of mist, and/or did not want to approach the Alchemist's house, Echo and Gyma noticed almost immediately as they covered their comrades cottage-crash. The creatures made horrible noises and flexed their spiky torsos, but no new volleys came. On the other hand, Echo's machine-gunning arrows did find targets, and some of the slow-moving needlemen now had rather larger "spikes" sticking out of them.

For a second, the moment reminded Echo of those zombie shows, then Gyma's words ripped him from his reverie.

Suddenly there was only the unnatural mist, and no needlemen could be seen. Their sounds did not die down though, the creatures wailed, as if promising vengeance on the elven interlopers into their domain.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#500

The alchemist quickly removed her thick leather apron which had adhered to Mystic the Gooey; "You'll thank me for this later." Muttering something about 'd**n heroes' as she quickly scrabbled to her feet. With the flask raised high she paused, as if actually seeing the fighter for the first time.

"Be glad it's not your real face." She then spiked the flask of Alchemist's Fire onto his chest.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#501

Meanwhile...

Lucky snorted immediately at the bizarre and foul aromas inside the house. Some kind of horrendous stew of chemical smells greeted his sensitive nose, in lieu of baking bread or boiling soup.

Willem smiled at Silveressa, blissfully unaware and somewhat unconcerned with both his own safety and the physical stress he was putting on the noble elven ranger.

Spiderheart slid down the wall Tusserk had propped him against, and was now sitting on the floor, breathing heavily, or rather full-on rasping. The basilisk-milk stone was now almost over his shoulder and encroaching on heart, throat, and lungs.

Val kept his sling at the ready glancing through the window, but could not help cast a few furtive glances around the house as well. Vials, vats, bubbling liquids, and weird-smelling jars were everywhere. Ooooh, a bonified chemistry lab, val, little v, considered.

The floating miniature woman glared at Tusserk. If looks could kill...

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#502

It had been a long journey. Though the journey over the vast seas had been pleasant, basking in the presence of her patron, once she had made land fall, the journey had become grueling indeed. The port of Marlingspike, though it laid on a trade lane, was little more than a waystop for ships bound to bigger and wealthier places, and she had stuck out like a sore thumb there. She'd managed a small trade for little more than a few weeks rations, and a chart that had almost gotten her to where she actually needed to be, but in the process of purchasing these, no less than four priests of strange and ineffective gods had thrust strange symbols at her and "abjured her back to the depths from which she came." The first two had been pointless - a ritual done with insufficient faith to mean anything at all. The fourth had tickled slightly. It was the third which had actually driven her out of town, not before the might of his lord, but after retreating to get backup in the form of two dozen faithful with pitchforks and torches. Her decision had been that discretion was the better part of valor, and Celsia had fled into the swamps before them. After all, her divine mistress had a task for her to complete, and it was not meet for her to get killed by a random mob along the way. It was a discussion that they'd had early on, shortly after Celsia had been first been touched by the Lady of Water. So, she had fled out into the swamps, and dutifully slogged her way through the muck and mud, though, to be honest, she had taken the time to play in a few puddles.

She had stopped counting the rises and falls of the sun by the time she reached the Alchemist's hut the first time, there to explain her need, and proffer payment in the a form that few could - a heart of ice from the deep glaciers of the south, cold its own elemental form. But that had not been enough, for what she needed called for exotic magics, sourced in the kidneys of a beast she had though mythical. It had been days more out in the swamp, until she found them - and was lucky, though it had been sourced in another's misfortune. A clan of Vodyanoi, returning a young warrior's body to the swamp, slain by she knew not what. To wait, to hide, to convince the waters of the swamp to allow her to harvest what she needed without killing another, these had been relatively easy things to do, then to travel back through the muck, evading its inhabitants where she could. The mission after all, was all.

Now, as she approached the home of the alchemist once more, she heard the screams of dying plantmen, the cries of fighting men and women, smelt the fire. Steam take it all, she was so close. Yet, all she could do now was approach slowly, and silently, keeping to the waters as best she could, the better to feel the currents of anything that tried to attack. Forwards, to the cottage, trying her best not to engage the Needlemen.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#503

And through the mire and muck Celsia waded, successfully evading notice from the needlemen. Sliding from the water, the pale woman managed to somehow leave all of it behind her, striding towards the door of the Alchemist's home. Somehow, safely, though she wasn't entirely sure how. Inside, she blinked several times as she took in the scene, wondering just what had shown up on Honey's doorstep.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#504

Staring between the flaming warrior, his torch, and the exceedingly dry bristles on the broom, Tusserk drops his makeshift spear and tries to put the fire out.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#505

Seeing the others safe inside, Echo likewise joined, attention first on the neat al-chemistry lab (neat!), then on the floating alchemist (convenient!) and then on the burning MysticMoon (why does this not surprise me?).
"Whenever you are done burning, I will put you back together."
"Now, allow me to ask for the forgiveness for our intrusion - a haphazard troupe of needy adventurers as we are is certainly taxing your hospitality. While we do need a) shelter from overly tenacious Needlemen, b) directions to the Monastery, and c) possibly a cure for our half-petrified friend, we are ready to repay any aid and repair whatever damage we have done to you abode."

"Also, I thank you for the simple pleasure of a roof above, where no one is trying to kill me for five whole seconds."
The priestess reached out with her hand. "Liantirie, or Echo, whatever is more convenient."

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#506

"Honey." Caught in the middle of rolling up a cigarette the alchemist simply nods to Liantirie.

"I will not have any of you dying in my house and haunting me." Having taken her first drag she took a moment to look Liantirie over. "Your aura in particular is weaker than the others; is your body significantly different from your original?" Spying Celsia Honey gestured her forward. "And did you assume need 'e' was self-evident, or have the lot of you resigned yourselves to your few remaining months of living before your souls are consigned to hell?"

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#507

"Well, so much for having the option to choose between returning home and staying here. Truth be said, we've been running mostly since we came here. People were rather scant on information, and rather eager on capture and murder. So, no, we've had no real chance to find out what is going on, or a dry shelter, for that matter."
Echo shrugged, and sat down, one hand on the forehead.
"And yes, my body is different from the original, good aura sense you got there."
The priestess looked up again, brow furrowed.
"There was some talk about how our coming here was accompanied by a few individuals leaving for our world. So, the sudden departure of Morena might indicate she's enjoying herself back on Earth. I am ever so curious how that is working out for her. Or for Earth, for that matter."

Echo looked at Sil, their glances exchanging much of what they had discussed and planned in their late-night talks.
"So. Few months before ending up in Hell? Why is that?"

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#508

Seeing that she was, at the least, among those unlikely to assault her, Celsia removed her helm, her long, braid of rimed black hair uncoiling and falling behind her to knock against her armor with a noticeable sound. It concealed more of the world from her than she cared for at the moment, with these strange folk about her. Were they why her Lady had sent her here?

It was hard for her not to turn to the burning man, to extinguish that fire. She had heard of such being done by the servants of the eternal flame for allegedly restorative purposes. Even more reason to dislike it. Yet, she forced herself to ask first, swallowing the bile that rose at the smell and wave of heat. "Should I put that out?" Somehow, her voice remained quiet and level, concealing the roiling distaste far, far in its depth. "Or no?" Either way, she reached into the pouches at her belt, extracting two satchels, one steaming with the cold in the moist air of the swamp, the other clotted with strange ichors, quietly proffering them to the alchemist.

Once they were taken, she looked to the elven priestess, and frowned, the concepts tumbling through the flow of her thoughts. "A person is a person, but they fill the goblet of the body, matched and shaped. If my guess is true, from what little I have heard, and you have been poured into new goblets, the filling to shape is not complete - or possible."

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#509

As a young child, Mystic had once fallen into the middle of a hot tub; it had only taken a few seconds before an attentive adult had hauled him free, yet those moments had dragged on for a much greater time in his perception. On second thought, it was nothing like that. It was pain and fire and a little taste of hell.

He would have barreled out the door and sought the coolness of the muck pit if he could have found his feet. Instead, he merely thrashed about upon the floor and screamed.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#510

Honey placed one of the offered satchels into a wooden chest, carrying the other about the room as she gathered various glassware upon a workbench. "It will put itself out when the ichor is exhausted, you can douse him then." The flames around Mystic began to rapidly subside, though certainly not quickly enough for his taste.

"In places without abundant magic deamons are summoned into existing bodies since they can't form their own. The host soul is shunted off to the nearest plane." The small, floating version of Honey began hovering over the workbench to observe. "Non-native planes are inherently caustic to foreign souls and yours are effectively naked, wrapped in a thin membrane of..." she cast a sideways glance at Echo again "...whomever you imagined yourself to be at the time. Additionally your original body is bleeding the deamon's corruption into your soul, which weakens and taints it." Having watched the task the homunculus continued the processing of what appeared to be internal organs. Honey stepped over the now-smoldering body to retrieve the broom and began dispersing the smoke outside.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#511

"Don't look at me like that, this one is..." Echo looked up and down the priestess' form, "...very tame."

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#512

Lucky looked over at Silveressa, bobbing his head at the information from Honey, lowering his voice and bring his muzzle almost to her ear, "Several months, not a long time, still it's better than your meat body's prognosis earth side, if you wish to remain regardless of the potential for hell, I'll be by your side come what may." He licked the side of her face and and eyed the alchemist skeptically, "Assuming she speaks the truth anyway."

He eyed the burning mystic with a sense of disgust, wishing someone would put him out of his misery and quaff the stomach churning smell his burning body was generating.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#513

She smiled in gratitude to Lucky, whispering down low, "Your loyalty as a wolf is to be admired hon, but I wouldn't worry, her story rings with falsehood."

She turned to regard the alchemist with a slightly amused smile, "Did we suddenly come into being as whomever we imagined ourselves to be at the time then Echo and myself would not have uncovered past life memories of these bodies before we inhabited them, not to mention Lady Karalyka existed, as did the history of escorting her before our arrival, so you are either deliberately misleading us, or grossly in error."

She pulled the cactus man thorns from herself with a flicker of pain, tossing them to the side and shaking her head.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#514

Valadaar similarly attended to himself briefly. removing the thorns. His real world body bore the scars of hawthorn thorns he ran through by accident. He didn't feel it then either.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#515

As the fires on the warrior's body died down, Celsia held a small white flask over him. Pulling the cork, she whispered a word, dousing the man thoroughly with fresh water. And a drip more, before she tilted it upwards, corking it over to stop the flow, looking down at him. All these folk were in dire straits, it would seem. Pursing her lips as she listened to their predicament, the frost-touched woman looked to the Alchemist. For just a moment, she let her mind go to the still, silent place where the Gods reside with men, there to contemplate the purpose hers had in sending her there, It was rare for that watery deep to speak directly, and here, it did not. Not yet.

"If it is bleeding into this world through them, could there be other places this... demon is tainting our world? The Lady was quite uncertain as to the source of the poison that I was sent to deal with... Unusual, for Her."

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#516

Honey stopped fanning and leaned on the broom. Flicking her fading cigarette into a puddle she began in a distinctly monotone voice: "Oh no. I'm found out. My plan to minor in cosmology, move out here, and lie to strangers about planar mechanics has been foiled." Her voice resumed its normal weary tonality. "Interplanar Transit: Limitations, Accommodations, and Conformations of the Body and Mind, top left shelf."

Shaking her head she moved past Mystic once more to sweep up the broken window, stopping to address Celsia. "Thank you. The surfactant, catalyst, and reagent will be ready in five days. You are welcome to stay."

Having swept the glass from around the dying Spiderheart she knelt beside him and carefully examined his wound. Quickly standing again she began rummaging through various drawers and pulling out another selection of chemicals. She frowned at one vial in particular; it was empty. "Liantirie, if your friends life holds value you must leave, now."

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#517

Gyma walked over the the bookcase, past the, thankfully extinguished, warrior, and briefly studied a few pages. Looking back over to the group he said, "Kaezerin? You're relying on the writings of Kaezerin the gnome? While I won't argue that he was well versed in the cosmology of the planes, he was also insane. For instance, he claimed to have found a world composed solely of turtles stack one atop another stretching into infinity downwards, and, whenever one climbed to the one underneath there was no longer a turtle above. He then refused to provide any proof for his preposterous claims, claiming that the "unpure" would "defile that most transcendent of worlds". Now, while I will admit, I am no expert on the topography of the astral sea, nor the cosmology of the planes, immediately jumping to the conclusion of "demonic possession" strikes me as foolish, not to mention alarmist, benighted, and droll. Now, as I said, I am no expert, there are, I believe, other possible explanations. Perhaps, what is her name, that Dwarven conjuror, the one who'd claimed to have found a way to distill the magical agent produced by blink dogs into a potion of teleportation, a shame that failure of the mine's foundries turned her lab into a giant slab of iron before the results could be verified, has been conducting some more esoteric experiments and this is an unfortunate side effect. While your claims of demonology no doubt fool the average peasant that comes to you for explanation of why his child has a different hair color than either he or his wife, in all actuality demons are, for the most part, fall less powerful than the unwashed masses give them credit for."

Filling his pipe, Gyma read over some of the other titles on display before turning back to his recent companions, "Mainly to assuage my curiosity, you weren't, in fact, worshipping demons at the yime of your translocation, were you? Because that would tend to lend credence to her claims."

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#518

Satisfied that the warrior was fully extinguished, Tusserk stood and retrieved his coin purse from the ground before casting a quick glare at the little, dead, floating girl thing. “No coins for you… you were not very helpful.”

“What do you mean we need to leave if we wish to save our friend?” Holding out his hand, Tusserk offered the coins to the bossy woman before turning to look at Spiderheart. “For the window.”

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#519

Honey looked at the bag of coins, at Gyma, then back at the empty vial. Setting it down on the table she stared off into the void. "Eighteen square feet of ruined floorboards, ten trespassers, three demands, two insults, one ruined apron, one broken window, one used flask, one soiled trap, and a dying man in my house." Drawing out of her meditation she waved away the bag of coins.

"For the widow."

She walked over to a stool by the broken window and began to roll herself another cigarette.

Re: Guardians of the Citadel

#520

Silveressa shook her head at Gyma's question, a musical laugh accompanying her movement. "Hardly, nothing even remotely of the sort, like I said, she's grossly mistaken, otherwise no one we spoke with woudl have any recollection of Lady Karyalka, let alone memory of having hired us to escort her, that fact people we never imagined existed know of our bodies actions and choices before our possession of them proves we did not wink into existence."

She shrugged in indifference, "That's not really the concern at the moment regardless, Spider Heart's well being is, so tell us what must be done and let us get on with it before he passes the point of no return."