Game: Blades of Git'riban : Primal State

Damn. Ya'shenn is not overly surprised, though. Either of them might easily serve the Silver Eyes. "Sister, do you recall either of them saying anything else? Was it clear to you what they intend?"

The psion is not very comfortable with the idea of direct command -- as opposed to indirect influence, something that those of her Order tend to enjoy wielding -- but at least some of the others seem to have been looking to her for direction, lately. Ya'shenn therefore... asks... that the formerly conscripted githyanki avoid traveling alone within the city. While a barbarian is seldom a great threat to a githwarrior in a one-on-one fight, it wouldn't do to unnecessarily sap their strength fighting graith, and larger ambushes against a lone githyanki are certainly possible.

Ya'shenn is still a psionic healer, and after speaking with the Git'ribani she immediately joins Ha'kan'a in seeking out a crafter (preferably githyanki, but a graith might have to do) who might be able to assist the young githwarrior. While Ha'kan'a probably does not realize it himself, Ya'shenn is rather envious of him, for the githwarrior appears to possess the usual Githyanki bravery in full measure... while she does not.

She also renews her mindlink with the githees, if necessary, and with Kirath, if possible. The psion seeks out merchants (again, githyanki, by preference, but barbarian if necessary) of various projectile weapons, as well as directions to the best alchemist in Starmantle. Ya'shenn then seeks out Ib'm, preferably with at least Ii'Jyka'Vaar also present.

Ya'shenn eyes the skiff for any obvious signs -- a standard, a carved ship's name, or a distinctively ornate prow -- of whom the skiff might belong to, or why it has arrived in Starmantle at this time. Nor is she unwilling to ask the local githyanki if they recognize this ship. Failing these, the psion uses her own clairvoyant powers, as cautiously as possible, to try to determine more about the astral skiff.

[I figure Ya'shenn would have a good idea where psions would normally be stationed on an astral skiff, or what psionic anti-clairvoyant precautions might be in use. The idea here is to try to identify the ship, which warband/s the crew belong to, and similar general information, preferably without alerting the crew.]

Ii'Jyka'Vaar allows Ya'shenn to mindlink with her, and if asked will accompany her to any meeting she wants to attend, after they stocked up on equipment...

(DM, can I write off the axe, and add the other wish-list items to my backpack? aka character sheet)

Ii'Jyka'Vaar listens intently to all the words being spoken, all the while silently eating her fill, as if she needs to eat for more then just herself.. though she doesn't touch the wine, it intrigues her that any gith would slowly fall down a spiral of abuse (of oneself)... more reminiscent of herself probably... but she tries to put that thought far back in her mind.

She listens intently to Ib'm and soaks up all the info she can...

"Regardless of the fact that the Queen might be "no more".. I expect respect from the ranks according to anyone's stature... I am a Knight, and expect to be honoured as such. Your comment (and she addresses the insulting Gith-soldier), was unacceptable, it was out of rank, and out of stature, and thus I demand satisfaction.
She then looks at Ib'm and says: "I demand a duel, however, seeing as we want to keep relations in the good sphere, I propose unarmed and unarmoured, until full submission..." with that said, if Ib'm agrees or does not disagree, she will then proceed to undress her weapons and armour..
If the duel continues as expected, she will even undress her uniform, saying: "I will show I am simply a child of gith when in this duel, so no uniform and no ranks untill the duel is finished.."
She rolls up her sleeves of her under-tunic (showing the swirling wind and cloud like tattoos) and stands in a ready stance to have a go at this..

*To Azure: I don't need to have the duel be fought round by round if you don't need it either.. so to keep the pace, IF I am better able to handle myself in this duel and kick snot out of this upstart, I will bring him to 0 hp and of his total hp 2/3rds will be simple subdual... and to define if its my advantage or not i will send you some details of my char. in a pm.

Ya'shenn's face remains relatively impassive, though the expression in her eyes seems rather troubled. First, the psion becomes more fully aware than ever of the simple fact that Gy-Nath is no longer here to keep the knight under control. Still, given a choice between dealing with Ii'Jyka'Vaar and dealing with Pale... and what Gy-Nath's decision to remain with the necromancer says about his own true loyalties...

Second, the fact that as blunt as Tij'di seems, he is at least far more brave than Ya'shenn is herself. Third: that such division cannot be very helpful with Pale and his fleet essentially holding the city in a state of siege. Fourth: That Tij'di is in possession of potentially valuable information, and as such should be treated well.

The psion does not appear to clearly favor either opponent as the duel proceeds.

Once Ya'shenn realizes what Ib'm intends, she is quick to volunteer: "Portmaster, I am a psionic healer. I would like to heal this warrior myself, if you have no objection."

She also sends to Ii'Jyka'Vaar: ~Sister, I certainly do not doubt your martial prowess, but it is likely that eventually you will challenge someone who is even more skilled than you are.

Ya'shenn sends to the Portmaster: ~Ah, yes... She relays the goblin's message concerning the rope in storehouse #3. Probably at about the same time Ib'm's latest petitioners do so, actually. At a moment when the other psion seems marginally less distracted, she adds: ~Portmaster, a ship arrived here earlier today; I do not recognize its provenance. She describes the mystery vessel in question. ~Anyone aboard is likely either a guest or a prisoner of Pale by now. I would very much like to know the identities of anyone aboard, and their purpose for coming to Starmantle at this time.

The psion focuses her attention on healing the overly rude, if otherwise skillful, warrior. While she had not cared for Ib'm's remark, Ya'shenn does not really anticipate that healing Tij'di will be all that physically painful... by her standards. After healing fire and acid burns from githwarriors...

[Empathic Transfer and Body Adjustment here.]

As a matter of habit, she also checks the warrior for any sign of which warband he might call his own.

If the rude githwarrior comes to, Ya'shenn remarks mildly: "You fight bravely, warrior. Few could last so long against Ii'Jyka'Vaar as you have."

She also sends to Tij'di alone: ~One might wonder which githees gave you such offense in the past. I doubt that Ii'Jyka'Vaar was that knight, though.

Ya'shenn also contemplates what this Tij'di must think about her, given his opinion of Ii'Jyka'Vaar. The psion, after all, actually is a sycophantic sort. Not only is it a simple aspect of who she is, it is literally a part of what she has been trained to be, as a member of her Order, and... She also rather doubts this one is very familiar with the habitual etiquette associated with many Tu'narathi.

A somewhat raspy low voice broke through the palpable scilence as Ya'shenn healed Tij'di.

"You had best thank Gith's merciful soul this woman was decent enough to heal you, for I would not. However, I am neither a kith'rak nor am I in any place to give orders. I ask your pardon."

The originator of the voice straightened up, moving out into a lighter portion of the room and revealing a black-haired githyanki female attired in a burgundy brocade vest, a white linen tunic and long black trousers tucked into fine leather boots. The oddest part of her appearence was the pair of gold spectacles inlaid with dark red lenses she wore, which she pushed to the bridge of her nose before making a formal bow, the sweeping scars curving along the edges of her right eye socket clearly visible.

"Azthri'Zhan'kel the Plague-Healer at your service."

She blinked, flushing at the other giths in the room.

"If I had known we were having a meeting I would have worn my piki--er, my damn armour. "

Hesitantly, the tall woman edged herself over to a chair and slid into it, her entire demeanor now one of bravely-subdued embarassment.

"I was late due to having to amputate Ysra'xhael's arm this morning. I tried mending it as best as I could for the poor woman, but those graiths knew their poisons. Necrotizing venom, of all things! Starmantle could use a few lessons from Sigil and prosecute them for attempted murder."

Azthri'Zhan'kel clenched her fists. "Apologies for speaking out of turn yet again, brethren."

The rogue then proceeded to take a large book out of the satchel slung over her shoulder and pored through the pages, scowling.

(OOC: Mahaha can't escape the Cant no matter how hard you try, lass. Btw, the book is a text on anatomical deformities.

To all - hail, sword-brethren. )

Azthri'Zhan'kel adjusts her spectacles, ignoring the familliar presence pressing in the back of her skull as the enchantment continually barrs her mind from scrying. Steadying herself, the githyanki rogue lowers her slightly palsied hands and, not without a flicker of dread, meets Ya'shenn's gaze. Derog is fiercly attempting to gain control again and Azthri'Zhan'kel bends him to her will, locking him deeper into her subconcious.

{{Stor'shen'ska, do not speak to that psion! I forbid this!}} Derog snarls in her mind.

{{Don't tell me what I am permitted to do, spirit. You'll not use me as a puppet. Not today, not in front of other children of Gith.}}

{{Who saved you countless times during the Incursion when your Sigilian backwater attitude and manners would have been your undoing? Who imparted their knowledge and wisdom to you? Me.}}

{{Silence! It is not my will that you know my thoughts!}} Azthri'Zhan'kel shoves him into his place, away from her, away from everyone, before clearing her throat to speak.

"You speak truth, honoured Sister of the city of Tu'narath. I was hatched in a soup kitchen in the Hive. Here...." Azthri'Zhan'kel delves into her satchel and reverently removes a fine burgundy cloak from it, bearing the insignia of the Chrysocolla band. "....that's the only thing I have from my mother."

Glancing around, she takes a measured breath, fighting the urge to break anything non-gith in reach.

"Ach! Where's my manners? I am...er...was attached to the the Carnelian band. They were slaughtered during the Incursion--"

This time, an agonized expression crosses Azthri'Zhan'kel's face.

"It is still very painful. They were the closest thing to a family I ever had in my life. I've been stranded here for weeks....has it been weeks? Hells, I don't even know anymore. I only wanted to take my place as one of the People as a warrior, not a Hive rat." Her shoulders sag visibly, the ramrod-straight militaristic pose gone in an instant. "I'm as gulible as a zerth disciple, I suppose."

------
(OOC: edited by request of Azure. =D

Apologies again, mate.

Stor'shen'ska - gender-neutral term used to refer to a very astute gith who shows enough skill to warrant a promotion. Derog is employing this mockingly.

Don't worry, Azthri won't be having these little moments often at all. It will not take over the game, I assure everyone. However, if she were younger, it would be an entirely different story.)

Azthri'Zhan'kel crouches beside Ya'shenn in concern, observing the psion's body language. Peering intently at Tij'di, the Plague-Healer rummages through her satchel and sets aside various small bottles filled with unidentifiable murky fluids. Squinting, she takes hold of one of Tij'di's limp wrists, keeping careful mental note of his pulse and resperation rate.

"With your permission as his current healer, Sister, I request to draw off a sample of his blood." Azthri'Zhan'kel states to Ya'shenn before glancing up at Ib'm for further affirmation. "Perhaps our combined, though diverse. skills may aid Tij'di where one will not suffice?"

If this were not the result of Ii'Jyka'Vaar's retaliation, the doctor might have suspected she had employed the use of a cold-damage enchantment to add an advantage to her strikes. However, this particular effect on the areas of flesh struck by the other woman was most certainly beyond Azthri'Zhan'kel's own level of knowledge, much to her chagrin and disappointment.

----
(OOC: Tweaking PC sheet, will send ASAP, Liberator willing!)

"Very well then." Azthri'Zhan'kel nods, extracting a wooden case from her satchel. Her fingers are a study in rapid motion as she dabs the fluid from one bottle onto her hands to sanitize them, prepares the syringe, swabs the area over the vein she intends to use to aquire the sample and places a tourniquet just above where she disinfected the skin. The doctor then inserts the needle, Tij'di's blood filling it halfway. Satisfied, Azthri'Zhan'kel removes it, swabs the area once more and bandages it, depositing the blood into a vial.

"I have equipment in my office to preserve the sample. I have no doubt your brash young warrior will recover, though I am not certain if he will sustain lasting damage. These are......curious injuries. I admit I haven't encountered any like them before. I mostly deal in more mundane conditions."

In an instant, Azthri'Zhan'kel's voice trails off. She feels as though she were falling, though she does not move from her current position or give any indication of the terrifying war between wills occuring in her mind. Palpable fury and a twisted hate for the psion burns through her veins, though it is not most certainly not her own. Azthri'Zhan'kel cannot cry out a warning as the githzerai spirit wrenches the control of her body from her......

"I couldn't help noticing your dagger. It's beautiful......I've never seen one like that before."

Derog slips the bottles into the satchel again, subtly eyeing each person in the room and memorizing their faces for future reference. Azthri is screaming her defiance against him and the githzerai permits a tiny flicker of a smile to cross his host's features before violently locking her deeper into her own mind, the shrieks fading.

{{So brilliant, yet so stubborn, stor'shen'ska.....}}

{{You're no better than a ghai--}}

{{Shut. Your. Mouth.}}

(OOC: Meet Derog, neutral evil githzerai ghost. Poor Azthri will regain control later! An additional note, if the spectacles are removed, Ya'shenn will have a definite sense of something inherently 'wrong' about Azthri. Considering her formidable training, she would be able to reach Azthri's mind.)

This one, the psion muses, seems quite open and innocent at times. Of course, that is sometimes true even for otherwise hardened Sigilian githyanki. Even Sark'ja clearly craves acceptance from her own kind. Ya'shenn reverently draws the small blade, though slowly, so as not to alarm any of the other githyanki in the room. Predictably, given the name of her Order, both edges of the blade are quite sharp in addition to the point. The blade is long, thin, and probably quite capable of slipping through gaps in armor. While she does not often show off the weapon -- not least because the presence of one of her Order sometimes makes other githyanki uneasy -- she feels a certain duty to educate this githyanki raised among heathen.

While well maintained, it looks like a blade that has seen use, possibly even the githyanki equivalent of an heirloom -- not passed down between generations of a family but rather from older to younger generations within a profession. The blade itself, as opposed to the hilt, is spartan. "Its name is Mercy. Blades like this one were designed to slay illithid tadpoles... after implantation." The psion actually provides a mock demonstration of this use with a swift stabbing motion. "It has other uses as well, of course. Sister, should you see another blade like this, you may be all but certain that its wielder is either a telepath, a clairsentient, or both." Unless someone either stole the weapon, or you happen across Gith's own blade, that is.

The psion is mildly unsettled by the seemingly innocent question. If she had truly wanted to conceal her membership in the Order from these Apocalytes, she would have done so and not worn the dagger at all. Even so, she would not have wanted to be so public as to speak of the Order, or its symbolic weapon, so explicitly. Secondly, she suffers from a brief moment of insecurity -- for even the People feel such things at times -- concerning her own worthiness to carry it, particularly after her recent dealings with Mist-of-the-Mind. The blade reminds her of the younger and much more idealistic githyanki she once was.

"Azthri'Zhan'kel, if you encounter poison again, please find me. The psionic arts cannot duplicate a conventional healer exactly, but extracting venom is easy for us." Ya'shenn returns the dagger to its sheath, and looks at the newcomer thoughtfully. She hasn't forgotten that this one hails from Sigil. "Sister, how long ago exactly did you come to Starmantle? Why Abeir-Toril, and not one of the other worlds?" She is probing for a portal location, though she has no particular intention of leaving Starmantle until Pale has been dealt with -- one way or another.

To Ii'Jyka'Vaar: ~I think that this one is merely one of the many troubled githyanki who hatched far from a varsh'isk, either due to a renegade parent or some other cause. Even so... Let us make sure that this one attacks an illithid as soon as a good opportunity presents itself -- yes?

[Flavor note: I'm thinking that perhaps showing a named weapon to another githyanki is a gesture of friendship and trust.]

~That is assuming she is willing to join our little merry band of misfits, Ii'Jyka replies wryly..

Ii'Jyka'Vaar makes good use of the respite in time given, and slowly finds out that the two Onyx are in it for the "protection in the short run" and that the dubious third is in it for more, but what that more is, she isn't sure of as yet, this will take some more time to figure out, but she is intrigued by the prospect..
She allows the two Onyx to accompany her, and gives them enough attention in the form of weapons training that they "stay interested", but her focus is on the third Gith..

She peaks a head into where Ya'shenn dissapeared into, and says: "Should we get ready for moving back to the ship or are the girls having to much fun over a "broken body"..?" she says with a hint of humor and an ever so slight smile on her lips.

Ya'shenn becomes visibly more interested as Azthri begins to speak of the portals leading from this world to Sigil. Portals! Perhaps we might actually return to Git'riban and not find the place in flames. That would be nice. The psion has not forgotten Will. The Lady of Pain has been able to keep the War of Two Skies from spilling over entirely into Sigil -- so far. Had the ulitharid been able to change that by now? It is not a happy thought.

~Shall we invite her along, at least for now? She has something we have been seeking -- portal locations. We should cultivate this one. Ya'shenn is also more inclined to like than to dislike this newcomer on first impression, but does not actually say so to the knight. ~And what of these three -- the Onyxes, and that other?

Ya'shenn addresses some of Ib'm's warriors. "If some of you could inform the Portmaster and your other healers concerning the warrior Tij'di... I have done what I am able, and I remain available as a ghustil, but this defies my abilities." She speaks with her usual courtesy, but Ii'Jyka'Vaar can easily sense the sourness of the psion's mood over the mindlink.

Ii'Jyka'Vaar sleeps a relatively quiet sleep, none of the dreams or nightmares the others seem to be having.. though she is unaffected, there seems to hang a palpable aura of cold around her when she sleeps, a small line of frost covers her skin and it seems as if its filled with shadow...

(more to come, but got to go home now and sleepy time)

"My condolences at the loss of your father. I imagine he would be exceedingly proud of you. It takes a brave man to endure such pain and keep his wits." Azthri'Zhan'kel smiles, though her heart sinks a bit the instant she catches the disappointment in his voice.

"My home in Sigil was.....less than satisfactory. To be honest, it was little more than a two-room flat. I kept the front room as my office where paitents could be cared for, while the back room was my living quarters. Brother, I would be greatly honoured to share kip with you, should your offer still remain."

Azthri'Zhan'kel gives Ha'kan'a an elegant bow, grinning broadly behind her spectacles. She straightens quickly, spots of colour appearing on her high cheekbones as it dawns on her that her statement could be interpreted in another manner entirely by the younger man and clears her throat before turning her attention to the two githyanki women who seem to be close to her age.

"So, Sisters, have either of you killed ghaiks before?" the doctor inquires, snatching a tablet and primed quill pen to take prescise notes on their methods of executing the hated monstrosities.

{{You are as transparent as ever.}} remarks Derog dryly before sequestering himself out of reach in his host's mind.

Azthri'Zhan'kel arches her eyebrows and nods.

"Very impressive! I myself have not had the pleasure of bringing death to our former enslavers, much to my shame. If you will pardon what may seem to be a painful or impolite question, may I ask if you were able to give the appropriate obsequies for your fallen brother? I.....have a small remembrance tradition of my own creation. If you like, I will perform it in his memory. "

She fails to mention its origins during her time as a young Collector horrified at the notion of dead giths unable to be granted proper funerary rites aside from the dubious ones accorded to them by the Dustmen.

"While we're on the subject, why not see if we can acquire a list of any recently deceased brothers and sisters and I'll do it for all of them!" Glancing at Ha'kan'a she added; "I will do this for your father as well if you wish."

{{Azthri'Zhan'kel, that is enough! Focus on the task at hand. You are here for rrakkma, not foolish sentimental nonsense no githyanki will ever view with approval. If I were still among the living I would take a quarter-staff and give you a sound strike across the shoulders for your stupidity!}}

{{Stow it, zerth-worshipping thrall.}}

Derog slams his presence full-force, causing Azthri'Zhan'kel to lose her balance and waver as though she were dazed. She places the tablet and quill on a nearby table, gripping the sides of her head in pain.

{{Why don't you drag your crippled hatchling sho-dai off to the basement for a good thirty minutes, you piking yellowskirt?!}} snaps Derog venemously.

{{Insult me all you want, but leave my companions out of it!}}

Tapping her forehead Azthri'Zhan'kel grunts, 'Migraine.' to the three giths.

(OOC: Yellowskirt/yellowshirt = a prostitute who caters to giths of any sort, usually githyanki pirates.)