A bemused look on his face, the Incenjucar turns his own eyes to the illithid, his absorbing light rather than properly black, making it seem as if twin shadows fell over his eyes, despite the flames that erupt from them. From his currently-humanoid face, four flames suddenly erupt, then coalesce in to the white metallic fire that lies at the seeming floor of the plane of fire, before cinders coat then die upon them, becoming the same pale ash that covers him as skin. What would be called hair on him is reabsorbed, along with his other humanoid features, until he has produced a stylized illithid shape, a faint chirp of protest produced deep within his chest, where lies a fire bat awaiting its purpose. Despite his race, now clear to those few who know of them, he draws more heat towards him than he exudes, seeming to favor the more negative side of his nature, at least for the moment.
The Fortune's Wheel (Lady's Ward)
Peter comments to those at table in general, "Believe me, I'm not saying anything I wouldn't normally tell someone. Excepting a few isolated details which I have no intention of letting slip, I don't see any need to keep my origins secret."
Then, addressing Shemeska more specifically, "Getting back to the original topic of our little 'chat', your reputation does precede you in a rather major way and I don't think we could make any sort of a deal. I'm not quite so worried about just talking... after all anyone knows to watch what they say when talking to strangers."
Considering his last comment for a moment, Peter remembered that Shemmy had contacted him telepathically. He quickly got "The Song that Never Ends" stuck in his head and continued.
"Of course, you've probably got more important things to do with your time than chat with a clueless about nothing in particular."
Jaspar's mind responded, his mind a hum of power over a strange alien droning. "A bit uncalled for at this point, but certainly not out of the question. I will see what I can gather by diplomacy before I fillet his mental defenses like so much fish. The lesser races tend to not appreciate it, I find. Best not to...'burn any bridges'? Yes. We will converse about my latest discovery once you are done." He continued to sit, not far from Shemeska, but neither close, contemplating his next move.
Before Erte could stop her, Dianne spoke into the minds of the humans at the bargaining table. "Please, finish your dealings with Lady Shemeska as quickly as you dare. It would gain us nothing to escape her snares to be caught by those being laid by the newly arrived."
((OOC: JasperDM: Nothing personal, and no offense intended. My bard's intelligent lute has a deep-seated hatred toward slavery in all forms – and thus illithids. The bard, however, is smart enough not to pick a fight with someone so obviously powerful.)
Jaspar looks over, as if it had heard the telepathic communication. He rises, glances back over his shoulder to his thrall, then takes a few steps towards Erte. As he does, he reaches out with his telepathic abilities, bridging the gap between Erte's mind and his own. His mental voice echoed with restrained power, and vibrated with an undercurrent of sibiliant whispering that made no sense, but vaguely sets the subconscious mind on edge with a sense of 'wrongness'.
"Greetings, sentient. I am Jaspar Arelius, famed planeswalker and metacartographer. I noticed you took attention of me. May I help you?"
(OOC: No problem, Jaspar can take care of himself, and he always dispels his Microcosms. Eventually.
)
Jaspar noted the fire elemental, taking especial note of its manifestation of quasielemental and paraelemental traits, and its shapechanging abilities. He polled the depths of his volumous knowledge concerning the Inner Planes, and struck a chord. A recent discovery, beings of pure Elemental Planes, absorbing the traits of their neighboring planes as their natures waned. They were theorized to be proof of the Elemental Collapse Theory, which stated that the Elemental and Energy Planes were consuming and absorbing their related "borderlands". If this elemental shapeshifter was any evidence, the Collapse Theory obviously held some worth. Jaspar resolved to question the fiery being later, and turned his attentions back to the tiefling and his telepathic harp.
Erte suppressed a shudder at the powerful being's mind touch. He turned slowly to face the alhoon, hands to his side, smile on his face. Only the slightest hint of panic on his face.
"Lord Arelius, you do me honor. I am known as Erte Dennijay, and this..." Erte's eyes unfocused for a short second as he uncharacteristically stumbled over his words. As he spoke, Erte strapped his lute to his back, and gathered his last drink.
" This is quite an honor. I would be remiss not to recognize one with a reputation such as yours. And... unfortunately for myself, I need very little at the moment; and thus, in need of very little help. I thank you for your offer, but I shall have to decline. My companions seem to be on the verge of a major diplomatic breakthrough with the good King, if you'll excuse me."
Careful not to touch the powerful being, Erte slipped away from the bar and made his way toward the rest of the group, taking up a poisition behind Edward.
The rogue turns from the Marauder's sarcasm without so much of a sneer....it is unknown whether or not the little modron even understands sarcasm. Then again, it could just be apathy. The rogue turns its focus to the illithid.
"Race: Illithid. Common name: Mindflayer. Apparent present condition: Undeath. Alhoon. Lich? Unknown." The modron turns to the Marauder. "Excuse me. Social interactions are no longer necessary. Sarcasm indicates present company is beneath your notice. Analyzation of available information reveals only a slight chance of manipulation. Please be advised: Previous threat is still in effect."
With that, the modron gets up from the table and proceeds to converse with the illithid. "Please excuse Nordom. Nordom had moved to the table of designation: Shemeska without designation: Erte Dennijay's notice. The bard wished to introduce Nordom." The modron's eyes shrink before continuing. "I am Nordom, a NOT modron. Individual. Rogue. Please repeat personal designation so Nordom can update memory sub-routines."
Vex looks at Jaspar and shudders and thinks to himself "Such power... incredible."
"Race: Illithid. Common name: Mindflayer. Apparent present condition: Undeath. Alhoon. Lich? Unknown." The modron turns to the Marauder. "Excuse me. Social interactions are no longer necessary. Sarcasm indicates present company is beneath your notice. Analyzation of available information reveals only a slight chance of manipulation. Please be advised: Previous threat is still in effect."
With that, the modron gets up from the table and proceeds to converse with the illithid. "Please excuse Nordom. Nordom had moved to the table of designation: Shemeska without designation: Erte Dennijay's notice. The bard wished to introduce Nordom." The modron's eyes shrink before continuing. "I am Nordom, a NOT modron. Individual. Rogue. Please repeat personal designation so Nordom can update memory sub-routines."
The alhoon brought up his tentacles, and they began a complex interplay, for a good six seconds or so. Once done, he inhaled purposefully and spoke. "This should be more tolerable. I am Jaspar Arelius, a lich, previously an illithid. I suppose I would be 'designated' as an alhoon, you are well-versed in my kind to know that term. I am a metacartographer of some renown, but then, your kind has little information for esoteric knowledge, compared to the immediately useful. So, register this, 'Nordom'." He uses a feeding tentacle to point to himself. "I am here to find adventurers and field researchers for a trip I am planning. It involves a willingness to enter the Abyss and Limbo, and as such, I expect I will have few takers."
(At least his 'vocalize' and 'tongues' spells can convey the sarcasm and condescension he is feeling...)
The rogue's eyes dialate and shrink as the alhoon 'speaks', and several *chirps* and *clicks* can be heard inside the modron's body before it speaks.
"Statement processed. Grettings, Jaspar Arelius. Metacartographer: one who explores and details the metaphysical. Limbo: plane of ultimate chaos. Abyss: plane of evil tainted with chaos. Equal parts evil and chaos. Same. Query: What possible metaphysical similarities exist between said plane other than chaotic ethical axis? Nordom has a possible interest in accompanying you."
The elf's attention shifted from the fire elemental, which had just assumed the form of the illithid, to the illithid itself.
For the first time since it entered the inn, it spoke. Psionic waves still stirred the elf's mind as it did. Such power.
It spoke of an expedition. When it mentioned the name of the Plane of Chaos, the elf became interested. Limbo. It had been a while since he had been there. The other name didn't sound that inviting, however.
But what was he whining about? He needed to get out onto the Planes again, especially to Limbo. And from the looks of it, the box had an interest in going as well. That could be interesting
The elf took the last sip of his firewine, and wove a simple spell. The spell itself didn't do anything, really, but it should be enough to attract the Deader's attention, even through that immense magical aura of his.
The elf sat back in his chair.
With a simple mental command, the color of his clothes shifted, and four small pieces of chaos-matted slid from the bracelet to the palm of his hand. A lump of dirt, a puddle of water, a small flame and a whiff of air. The four lumps melted together, rolled through eachother, and started floating above the elf's hand. Limbo.
"Statement processed. Grettings, Jaspar Arelius. Metacartographer: one who explores and details the metaphysical. Limbo: plane of ultimate chaos. Abyss: plane of evil tainted with chaos. Equal parts evil and chaos. Same. Query: What possible metaphysical similarities exist between said plane other than chaotic ethical axis? Nordom has a possible interest in accompanying you."
The alhoon moves his facial tentacles together, twisting them slightly about one another, and then lets them go slack again.
"The mission is to corroborate some observations from a pocket dimension bordering between Radiance and Positivity, and possibly, betwixt them and Negativity. Simply put, I may have inadvertantly discovered a plane of pure eldritch energy, a 'Pseudoelemental Plane of Magic', if you will. My discourse to the Fraternity of Order is recorded in the Sensorium, if you are interested. Nonetheless, while I am still gathering data to set forth having this dimension added to Inner Planar maps, I wish to insure there are no ambient connections to Limbo or certain uncharted Abyssal layers before concluding that the effect is, in fact, purely elemental in nature, as it would, naturally, present quite an upset to elementalists multiverse-wide. The connection betwixt the two is that they are the only planes that might produce an effect similar to that observed in this pocket dimension, barring the Astral sub-fabric. It is my hypothesis that the energy is, in fact, core to the Positive Energy Plane, and its hidden interaction with the Negative Energy Plane, but confirming that is some time off. For now, making sure there are no 'aesthetic energies' interfering with this plane's existance is crucial before I present my 'Elemental Plane of Magic Theory' to the Consortium of Metacartographers."
As he begins his discourse to the modron, he subtly notes the spellcasting being done near him. Some middling cantrip, of no real effectiveness, barely a glint of eldritch energy, but enough to catch his senses, fine tuned after so much time in the magical dimension of which he speaks.
"Statement processed. No known plane of magic exists within inner planar matrix. It would interest Nordom greatly to assist in possible discovery of said plane. Request permission to accompany designation: Jasper Arelius on said expedition. Query: Do you require specifics on Nordom's explorative and combative capabilities?"
The modron's eyes flicker and something *snaps* inside the rogue's body....
"Tangent: What evidence do you possess, Jasper Arelius, that leads you to the conclusion hypothesized psuedo-elemental plane may be the result of Abyssal energies and/or chaosmatter?"
"The mission is to corroborate some observations from a pocket dimension bordering between Radiance and Positivity, and possibly, betwixt them and Negativity. Simply put, I may have inadvertantly discovered a plane of pure eldritch energy, a 'Pseudoelemental Plane of Magic', if you will. My discourse to the Fraternity of Order is recorded in the Sensorium, if you are interested. Nonetheless, while I am still gathering data to set forth having this dimension added to Inner Planar maps, I wish to insure there are no ambient connections to Limbo or certain uncharted Abyssal layers before concluding that the effect is, in fact, purely elemental in nature, as it would, naturally, present quite an upset to elementalists multiverse-wide. The connection betwixt the two is that they are the only planes that might produce an effect similar to that observed in this pocket dimension, barring the Astral sub-fabric. It is my hypothesis that the energy is, in fact, core to the Positive Energy Plane, and its hidden interaction with the Negative Energy Plane, but confirming that is some time off. For now, making sure there are no 'aesthetic energies' interfering with this plane's existance is crucial before I present my 'Elemental Plane of Magic Theory' to the Consortium of Metacartographers."
As he begins his discourse to the modron, he subtly notes the spellcasting being done near him. Some middling cantrip, of no real effectiveness, barely a glint of eldritch energy, but enough to catch his senses, fine tuned after so much time in the magical dimension of which he speaks.
The ashen tentacles of the temporary illithid spread, revealing a white, metallic beak, which opens as well, the whole peeling back like a hood as it disgorges a canine fascade with golden-hued fur formed of millions of tiny tendrils of radiance. As the illithid 'skin' peels down and under the polar's clothing, it continues the transformation, leaving behind a decidely female figure resembling a lupinal, but with too-large ears, and a too-narrow snout, and a stern, noble visage, as if spawned of Anubis and some holy being. Erupting daintily from 'her' scalp, a tiny, rotating tiara of vines of pure flame. As if it was the entire purpose of the form, those large ears perk up towards the magic-formed words, and the polar's light-hungry eyes watch the illithid for sign of a traitor's manners. Seating 'her'self on nothing but the ambient light in the room, the vixine polar crosses 'her' legs and leans back, addressing the alhoon in delicate tones.
"If one is to travel the inner planes, dear sir, no matter their skill, it is best to have a guide well-suited. And if one is to seek the ...Fabled... Core of the Supernatural, it is best to have one who might better recognize that which is not of the material fold. Know, too, dear sir, that the elements have no one love for magic over other things. Woe to those who mistake their own internal force for something other than that eldritch element made their bone and blood. Just as water can be found within and without, and be recognized as different things, so too is that which siezes minds, summons beasts, and begs the waves to part. If thee seeks truly for the Core of that immeterial power, do not expect something so mere as magic to be thine only discovery. Such a poor fate, dear sir, would not become you."
With a swish of a pure-light tail, with no hole to connect it with the main body, the polar tilts 'her' head, and adopts a sly look not unlike Shemeska's own.
The Marauder smiles, looking genuinely amused for whatever reason as she gestures for one of her tieflings to gather her a pen and paper. A moment later and she has a roll of parchment, an ink well, and a large quill pen in her hand. Oddly the quill seems to shimmer in the air, giving off a pleasant aura in the light.
Shemeska dips the bone tipped end of the quill in a bottle of ink that seems far too reddish and thick for anything normal and proceeds to write out something in elaborate strokes across the page. The faintest whiff of blood carries on the air as she strokes the reddish ink across the page and something tells you that the pen itself seems to bare a striking resemblance to an avoral feather.
"You'll been pleasant company, but I do have others waiting for my time. So, as always, true to my word, here's the information you wanted from me. There's the name of a person to speak with a bit of something to drop when you introduce to them. They'll give you your answer for free."
The arcanaloth holds out the letter daintily with an upturned wrist and waits to see who plucks it from her fingers. At the same time her eyes flicker over towards the polar as it adopts a decidedly canid form, not unlike her own. For the moment however the 'loth appears to ignore it entirely as she's occupied. But if things change...
At the poker table, things are going slowly as the newcomers to the game have the rules explained and bets and taunts are thrown about as quickly as the cards are. A figure, large and well-armed, storms up to the table, having ignored the sign-in book and pushed rudely through the crowd.
"YOU!" he snarls, reaching out one beefy hand to overturn the table. Coins go jingling across the floor and cards flutter like birds' wings as he steps forward to raise a finger in Pyretta's face. She stands to meet the assault, her stance wary. "You sold my brother a key. He's gone now. We haven't heard from him in weeks. Where is he?" He pokes her shoulder, pushing her backwards slightly.
Pyretta widens her eyes innocently. "Why, sir, I wouldn't know..." She raises one hand to slide the fingers through her flame-red mane of hair, the movement distracting even to the very angry man standing before her. (ooc: honor system here...if your character's paying attention and has the mental quickness to catch it, he/she catches her other hand moving swiftly through a series of gestures, subtly). "Can't we talk about this like friends? I'd like for us to be friends..." Her voice is low and soothing, and the anger draining from the man's face is sudden and total.
"I'd...like that too. I'm sorry, I was simply worried about my brother..." The huge man blushes, bowing his head. The change in attitude is complete.
Pyretta smiles and places one caressing hand on his shoulder. "That's all right. We'll discuss that later. Could you perhaps help me right the table?" She takes the age-old pose that is known cross-universally as the 'little old me' pose.
The man seems to see what's happened around him for the first time and looks embarrassed. He rights the table with one quick movement and begins to gather the cards and coins to pile them onto the table with stammered apologies.
Pyretta smiles and sits back down. "I'm sorry the game was broken...but perhaps another time. Oh, the drinks..." She sighs.
The man perks up. "Allow me to buy a new round of drinks as an apology!" When Pyretta beams at him, he smiles happily and trots to the bar to order.
Pyretta leans back. "So...anyone have any stories to tell?"
(ooc: guys: sorry for the gamebreaker; this was done on clueless' behalf. Clueless' writer is having some RL stuff right now and can't be on much, but that'll change soon. 
)
So, the elemental has the nerve not only to taunt the illithid, but the Marauder as well. And it obviously struck a nerve with the Marauder: she gave something for free to those Prime berks. That was about as rare as her taking a vacation in Elysium.
As the elf stood up and moved towards the illithid, the swirling ball of chaosmatter kept floating in front of him, and his clothes shimmered with many shades of blue and a faint glow.
He made slight bow in front of the tentacled creature. "Good day to you, sir. My name is Elethíus, and I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the..." he glanced over to the rogue. "box. Not only would you need a guide when going to the Inner Planes, but if you wish to examine chaos-matter, you would need someone who is familiar with it."
The elf moved his hand near the swirling mass in front of him. The stuff stretched towards his hand, as metal to a magnet. As soon as it touched his palm, it exploded into threads of solid light, that for only just a second filled the room, before imploding into a tiny pearl of pure light.
He looked at the fiery canine to his left, then to the Marauder to his right, and back at the illithid. With a small mental command, the pearl floated into the elf's black hair, where it formed itself into a silvery tiara with swirling curls.
"And of course I have some skill in handeling the eldritch energies of which you speak. Finding an Elemental plane composed of it would be interesting indeed."
Bright blue eyes once again glanced at the elemental. An interesting creature.
Jaspar notices the number of people surrounding him quickly, and takes a step back, to give himself some space, lest they begin to interact with the multiple wards and contingencies on his person. Once clear, with a good five feet around him that might ironically be described as "breathing room", he sits, and gestures for the others to do the same with a grayish-purple hand.
"Now that I have your attentions, I will attempt to fill in your queries as best I can. I can confirm the existance of this dimension, as I have been there for some time. Its visual nature and response to willpower leads me to link it to Limbo's nature, but rather than being a flux of elements, it more resembles the Plane of Radiance, from which I gained access to the dimension. The location's proximity to the border of Positivity was extreme, and even now, I am still so thoroughly warded against such energies I daresay it would take a true dweomer or master power to penetrate my defenses against it. The reason is because the plane feeds spellcasters and psions in the manner that Negativity feeds the undead, and Positivity feeds the living. One literally swells with energy that one must release, or pay for with pain. I recommend anyone travelling there have at least some innate talent with magic. The effects otherwise could be deadly.
But I digress. As I accessed the dimension from Radiance, I believe the dimension abutts it. Also, as I was suffering from Positivity's burn, I also have come to believe it also borders this Magical Energy Plane. These have been virtually confirmed.
"My plans revolve around four key problems. For the sake of the modron, I will adjoin them to numbers:
"First, the possibility that this magical well is in fact an interaction between the raw forces of Positivity and Negativity. These forces are not for leser beings to tamper in, and as such, I will be conducting such research myself." He looks to Incenjucar. "A local guide versed in the 'region' would be very useful.
"Secondly, the swirling forces are extremely chaotic, and bear a subtle resemblance to Limbo. There is a theory that states that there is a dimension linking the Inner and Outer Planes, which has been nigh-multiversally rejected. Nonetheless, time is on my side, so I wish to make absolutely sure there is no interaction with Limbo even modifying this force." He looks to Elethius. "As a trip to Limbo is therefore in order, a guide or proxy adventurer would be very useful.
"Thirdly, as many planeswalkers have learned before, the most likely suspect for a 'new' plane of existance, especially one so outrageous in form, is usually a portal to the Abyss, who has an infinite number of ways to trick individuals, and even disguising its nature. Hence, an expert on Abyssal matters will be required at some point, to lead an expedition to ensure that the dimension is not, in fact, an Abyssal layer. That...will be difficult to arrange, but not impossible."
He takes a moment to note that Shemeska is listening, as are by now most everyone in the room.
"Finally, once I can determine the dimension in fact is devoid of ethical influence, and can be properly defined as an Inner Plane, I intend to plot a fourth expedition into its heart, to map it as best as can be reasonably expected for an infinite plane, and to define its properties for a conclusive debate at the halls of the Fraternity and the Metacartographers Guild.
"The expeditions of course must be prepared under strict conditions, and given to precise detail, so as not to miss any undue influences or clues. I will not be embarrassed before my peers with a substandard evaluation. Of course, I will be funding, and in some cases joining, these expeditions, to ensure they meet my exacting specifications. It goes without saying that those willing to sign on to the project would be briefed concerning my last three trips into the dimension, so as to not be overly unprepared. If the research does, in fact, prove my hypotheses, those involved will naturally become famous multiverse-wide as explorers of a place that will rapidly change the face of the Great Rings."
He twists his tendrils about each other again, and glances at them all. One might begin to assume that may be some sort of wry smile...
http://boards1.wizards.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=161072
(When I said the initial discourse was available at the Sensorium, I meant it. 
)
Nordom stands perfectly still, apparently listening to every word the alhoon is 'saying.' When Jasper finishes, there can be heard several *clicks!* within the rogue....
"Statements processed. Nordom desires to join said expedition. Processing.....Nordom can contribute to said expedition by providing detailed data on the outer planes. Nordom possesses said data from previous Processions."
Vex looks at Jaspar and says telepathically "A plane of pure magic? That sounds very interesting..."
Vex seems to think for a moment before continuing "I would like to assist you in your research of this plane."
Rrodek looks back and forth at his companions then pulls a piece of paper out of one his bags of holding. He scribbles something on it and folds it up, then taking the letter from Shemeska's hand and replacing it with his own.
Rrodek smiles at Shemeska and gets up from his seat.
"Come on guys, I suggest we get moving and on our way. We best get started on our journies."
The letter to Shemeska reads as follows--
Shemeska,
I wish to speak with you in *private* at a later date after I return from helping my friends. Private as in a non-public place, your toadies matter not to me. It is not so much a single, large matter of importance but rather a number of smaller things. Some of it is just general talking, but none the less. If this is not possible, that's ok, just thought I'd at least put forth my interest in speaking with you.
Regards,
~Rrodek~
Jaspar looks them all over, and turns his gaze towards the bar. The shaved, tattooed human rises from his meal, and walks over. He wipes some sauce from his mouth and clears his throat. "You desire something, Master Quasuropsine?"
Jasper looks at him, and points to the pack the human is carrying on his back. "Yes, Ibid, though I dislike interrupting a meal you deserve so. You can finish your meal before addressing this, but find one of the bound tomes in the pack, and something to write with, I am sure there is enough ink left. These adventurers have expressed interest in joining our upcoming expeditions. Once you have sated your hungers, document their names, races, and professed abilities. I will add portraits and analysis later. Make sure to leave three pages per individual. Now, friend, return to your meal." Ibid nods, and heads back to the bar.
Jaspar looks back at the rest. "See Ibid later about that documentation. Anyone else?"
*Writer stood before the entrance to The Fortune's Wheel, hesitating and wondering whether this was such a good idea. He thought back to the odd man he'd first met when arriving in this...This Sigil. A reality where doors between dimensions opened. The name did sound familiar, but he couldn't pinpoint it to anywhere. This worried him. He was aware of having a better than normal memory. In fact, he was pretty sure he had an unfailing memory and when bloody chunks of it went missing and left him stranded in strange places he knew to worry.
In any case, he sure as hell didn't recognize any of the streets and peculiar structures around here...Nor the form of this odd reality. There were also plenty of alien beings he was pretty sure he'd never seen before, unfailing memory or not, walking around. He needed information. After coming to in an alley--not remembering a damn thing about how he got there, well to note--less than two hours ago he'd found the first and best human-looking person he'd met, a man looking like he was somewhere in his late twenties, and asked him where he was, feigning amnesia...Perhaps, he had thought, not even feigning.
Unfortunately the older man hadn't been so forthcoming as Writer had hoped for. The fellow had kept asking after jink, probably a currency of sort, and when he had found out that the young man had none had refused to answer any questions. Eventually Writer had to give up one of his silver pens to the man, after which he was quick to answer a few questions while drawling in that strange dialect of his.
As Writer's questions got more complex it had eventually boiled down to "Go talk wi' Shemeska. She can tell everythings whut's a curies Worm-head like y' need t'know...She'll be 'elpin y' good. Perhaps y' can ask 'er to get y' a mimir, eh?" said with a sly grin. He had no idea who this Shemeska was, but after finding out what a mimir was he had wormed, if you'll excuse the term, out of the man a location nearby where this Shemeska might be found. Relieved, he had left the man--and the unpleasant scent of brimstone wafting about him--behind and had headed in the direction indicated, helped along by a landmark or two, while gawping at everything like a tourist and taking in every detail. He would have to write this down later, he knew. But first...
A human youth, clad in a dark green jacket, forest-green pants, a light green shirt and some rather plain brown skin boots opened the door and strode inside. Ignoring the tingling sensation that was Jasper's mental and magical presence, perhaps out of ignorance, he looked around and spotted the dragon's head. The young fellow gave an unvoluntary start, but relaxed once he apparently saw that it appeared to be fastened to a wall...Then he jumped again, as his brain belatedly transfered the fact that the head was moving and speaking.
After realizing it wasn't about to harm him, and visibly calming down, the youth gazed about at the other things of the nearby interior, clearly new to the place. He saw the guest book, frowned as he figured out what it might be for and then headed over to it. Taking out a feather pen of his own from a pocket, he dipped it slightly into the inkwell by the book and held it hovering just over the page for half a second. He closed his eyes and in the last half of that second his hands became a blur. The youth opened his eyes again, looked at the page and half-nodded to himself upon seeing the familiarness of the pleasant, perfect handwriting.
Writer
Propping the feather back into the pocket again, he noticed Shemeskas signature. Half-raising an eyebrow, he looked at the barkeep and got as far as "Where's..." before the man thumbed in the general direction of the Dicing Cup chamber. Thanking the man, Writer made his way into the room...And stopped short as he saw the assembled personages, from Jasper's tentacle-mouthed and imposing appearance, to Nordom's dice-like body and the fiery vixen form of the fire polar. After taking in these his attention turned to the relatively normal people of humans and elven descent. Something about a pair of the humans struck a chord in him, but the detail slipped away from him before he was able to fasten his attention on it. Shaking his head, he gazed over at a furred being sitting behind a table, surrounded by three-four odd-looking people.
Thought: Ah....That must be Shemeska. Odd...It looks female. Didn't the notice say 'King'? But...Ga-jeez, what're those things?
Stymied by the appearance of some of the clientele, the youth forgets about his desire to see Shemeska immediately and simply stands there staring.
Jaspar looks upon no less than the fourth human to enter the Fortune's Wheel that thought with that strange language. He had heard it once, used by a few cultures in Dread. And now four of them brushing his detect thoughts with that gibberish version of Lamordian...they call it "English". All from the same world, one that rarely interacts with the planes. And now brought together in Sigil, simultaneously with his latest return to the Cage. This was surely a sign from the gods.
"Humans of 'Earth', come here. I would speak with you as a group. My skills and resources as a metacartographer may be useful in opening a course home for you, and possibly even open up a travel route. We will sit, and discuss this. " He does not seem to leave much room to argue as he telekinetically moves four chairs to his table.
Ohtar Turinson stops in the streets outside, remembering what his friends and allies had told him about Sigil, and the important places to visit while there. He isn't sure he likes Fortune's Wheel. It doesn't look like the places he's used to- Far fewer Mercenaries and the average patron would likely be more of the planar elitists that were everywhere in the smokepit of a city. But he's here to make inroads. If you want to influence planar politics, or even just money off business, Sigil's the place to be... or so they told him. Eh. More trouble than it's worth...
But he went in anyway. So a middle aged man, hair just starting to go grey, quietly slips into the Fortune's Wheel, signing the guest book "Ohtar Turinson" in a small scrawled hand that's nearly (but not quite) illegible. He wears a tabard with a silver sword on a green field as the device, and 4 colorful Ioun Stones dance around his head. As he glances around the room while heading for the bar, his cloak changes from green to a miasma of green, black and red and his expression darkens briefly before returning to a netural state. All the same, his left hand rests on the longsword hanging at his belt as he orders his wine and then takes it to a corner, where he sits quietly and sips, watching the other people in the bar.
Making inroads is just not his thing.
Jaspar sat there, in cool repose, waiting, biding his time, but behind him, Ibid, his thrall, rose from his seat, dug into the pack he carried for coin, and paid for his meal. With a glance back at the alhoon, he nods, and heads out the door. He had been given a mission, and he would not fail.
*Writer stared at the tentacle-faced creature as it 'spoke'. He had never seen anything like it before, as with so many of the things around him in this place, but its words...He wondered what a metacartographer was. Probably someone who made charts of...Something. Whatever it was it didn't look like anything to mess about with. He looked around, spotted Shemeska again and suddenly remembered what he'd come here for. Information. Not having any idea that he was the fourth human included in the 'humans from Earth' he moved towards the 'loths table*
Jaspar watched as the human ignored his words, and headed to confront Shemeska. He knew the game and how it was played. He gave Shemeska a telepathic assent as he relaxed deeper into his chair. He understood how she worked. He decided to focus his detect thoughts on the man, and actually flinched at the strange surface thoughts he exhibited; an array of organized chaos, interacting forces, and a almost mechanical drive to learn and record. Jaspar's hand rose to caress a chalky cranial lobe, more habit than anything else, as he was long past the point where the human's mind could stun him with the feedback, but it was still...uncomfortable. He released the focus on the human, and pondered what could engender such a thought process in someone...
The celestial-Shemeska-shaped polar listens and considers quietly, its light-hungry eyes unreadable, though the ears it bears at this moment stay 'tuned' towards the conversation. 'She' reaches back and combs 'her' fingers through the air, strands of silver light appearing to be moved like hair being stroked, only to fade as quickly as the glint of a tress in the sunlight as a head turns. The polar then extends that hand towards the Illithid in a languid gesture, much akin to how one might imagine a bipedal feline doing.
"What precautions, dear sir, happen to be available to you, that you can share? Perchance have you managed to isolate some substance of the Moment, that it might be tested outside of its abode? Have you, dear sir, else found an open gate, where such experiments might be done? Indeed, dear sir, if such a sample can be provided, there may be... Others... who may be interested in the research, in exchange for equal rights to the information thus gathered, they might be persuaded to lend quite favorable aid, should the Moment prove to be of the proper Source. Entirely at thine option, of course; I make no presumptions as to thy desires."
Jaspar turns to address the speaker, his black eyes focusing on the polar with all the focus of a scholar overseeing his research. He contemplates for a moment, then speaks.
"Have I managed to transport some of the energy out of the dimension? Somewhat. That is to say, I have the ship I created, my own spelljammer, the "Enlightener", docked at the Rock of Bral even now, on the Prime Material. The ship was forged using the energies of the dimension to power a desire which I believe manifested itself as a wish or reality alteration, neither of which I can perform outside of that realm. Furthermore, I have brought eight of the native inhabitants, the Shaz, out into the planes, and keep in contact with them. As for my findings, they will be published. Once that is accomplished, I hope that the dimension is added to planar maps, and that it is visited. And as for travelling there, I can return there with my ability to planeshift, as most illithids learn only a few months after ceremorphosis. I can teach others how, as well as guide them there from Radiance, as I went when I discovered the location..."
Feeling bored and drunk, Johnathan buys a room for the night, and heads toward the stairs.
The gold and silver semi-Shemmy adjusts its fiery tiara with dainty, slender clawtips, and continues to address the expired calimari.
"Do pardon my words, dear sir, I merely wish to assure that there will be no risk of secrets kept from those with interest in your ...research. Most who weave things less tangible than cloth have a tendancy to withhold that which others might use to advantage. And what I meant, dear sir, was not an example or proof of the place, but rather a stored bit of raw essence that might be examined for effect. Something that, perhaps, could be experimented upon beyond the plane itself, without risk of setting off a chain reaction of large scale. It would not do, besides, to discover that it explodes when exposed to Ash, and eradicate several spans of the place."
"An unshaped sample of the energy? Hm. That -is- difficult. I will have to create a new spell to try it. Hm, it shouldn't be too complex, a variant on Otiluke's resilient sphere and spell turning. Something to keep the energy in a defined, mobile field that can be given the same arcane considerations as any carried object. That way, I can bring it through portals and dimensional magics. Once I can be sure that the substance can survive after being brought out of the dimension, or even remain stable outside of containment. I suspect, if it is, in fact, raw magic, it will most likely simply dissipate into the local ebb and flow of the area I release it into. But even so, documenting the effects would be valuable to my research. Hm. This may even be the key to the legendary potions of mana that planeswalkers keep discussing.
The serpent-haired tiefling courier sits quietly, awaiting an audience with the so-called King of the Crosstrade. Each of his many snake-headed locks seems intent on a different corner of the room, on a different patron, but every last head turns when he hears the undead illithid's amazing offer.
He immediately rises and makes his way over to the Alhoon. "You would teach one how to planeshift innately, without spells or magic? If this is true, I am very interested in this knowledge. If I join your expedition, you will teach me this?" His tone is half-eager, half-sceptical. Atop his head, a nest of slender, shiny black snakes writhes excitedly.
OOC: Psionic or other mind-to-mind contact with Enzo is somehow blocked. Enzo seems to be unaware of any such attempts.
Jaspar looks at the medusalike tiefling, who does not seem to interact with his detect thoughts. A common defense, to the initiated, so he decided not to comment on it.
"Actually, I was referring to teaching how to use planeshift to reach the dimension I spoke of earlier. However, we can discuss the possibility of my adding to your innate powers, by unlocking the psionic potential of your mind. Of course, such work would not only set my research back, but actually drain off some of my innate power. I would have to have some sort of compensation."
As he is saying this, Ibid enters the Wheel once more, and stands beside Jaspar. "It is done, Master." The alhoon nods, and looks back at the tiefling. "Give your information to Ibid, my thrall. We can work something out, I'm sure."
"An unshaped sample of the energy? Hm. That -is- difficult. I will have to create a new spell to try it. Hm, it shouldn't be too complex, a variant on Otiluke's resilient sphere and spell turning. Something to keep the energy in a defined, mobile field that can be given the same arcane considerations as any carried object. That way, I can bring it through portals and dimensional magics. Once I can be sure that the substance can survive after being brought out of the dimension, or even remain stable outside of containment. I suspect, if it is, in fact, raw magic, it will most likely simply dissipate into the local ebb and flow of the area I release it into. But even so, documenting the effects would be valuable to my research. Hm. This may even be the key to the legendary potions of mana that planeswalkers keep discussing.
The anti-Shemmied polar nods gracefully and tilts 'her' head, lifting a taloned hand upwards, from which erupts a moment of soft green flame, such as from burning copper, which leaves a glowing golden shape, rather resembling a transparent, hollow apple, filled with a silver-blue radiance that seems to pulse on its own.
"Thine wisdom shows its vast extent, dear sir. Such a thing may well have uses beyond counting, and beyond the simple production of spells and unsubtle power at that. And, too, if it should prove a troubling task, it may be that I could procure useful materials for such a container. Cold iron, after all, is but the prime's oh so pale shadow of some materials that exist from the Earthen Source, as I'm sure you, dear sir, are quite aware."
As if forgetting that the 'apple' was merely the product of radiance-born illusion, the polar bites in to it, or seems to, acting entirely as if consuming a true fruit. The illuminated form dissolves at 'her' bite, and the inner blue light flows in to 'her', momentarily producing a bright azure glow within 'her', then, with a pulse, leaving 'her' looking somehow a bit younger, a bit prouder, and a bit perkier all around, as that blue hue fades.
"Suffice it to say, dear sir, yours are not the only theories that abound on this matter. But you are, most certainly, the more intrepid."
"Suffice it to say, dear sir, yours are not the only theories that abound on this matter. But you are, most certainly, the more intrepid."
"Hm, cold iron, a often used material component in spells countering magical effects and fey sorcery. And I had heard about a study on an anti-magical substance called "darkstone". Hm, that is troubling. I'll have to add that into the hypothesis. Good polar, do you mind if I use you as a sounding board?"
The polar bows 'her' head and smirks faintly, 'her' neck seemingly lengthening with the bow itself. The fur of golden light pales and turns a deep, throbbing blue in a wave of color, and begins to collide and fuse in to tiny scale-shaped motes.
"Precisely, good sir, though I meant a lesser known substance than even that. There are such minerals which cannot be touched by magic or the powers of the mind, yet are beyond normal means to manipulate in any other way than simply shattering it, and that with but a dragon's strength. But there are ways for those who are more kindly to Earth, and it yields freely to their desires."
This new change continues much like the last, with an idle showmanship of color and light, as blue light encompasses the polar's frame, and a draconian-like humanoid of vibrating blue hues sits in place of the canine shape, the polar seemingly male in this form, at least for now. His voice alters similarly, to a faint rasp beneath a deep tone.
"I would be both honored and delighted to aid your thoughts, dear sir. Though I cannot claim to be a master of the myriad skills held by the crafters of my brethren, I know of them to great extent. Sound as you will, and I shalt do my best to be of use to you."
As he is saying this, Ibid enters the Wheel once more, and stands beside Jaspar. "It is done, Master." The alhoon nods, and looks back at the tiefling. "Give your information to Ibid, my thrall. We can work something out, I'm sure."
"Apparently I misunderstood. I am sorry to have bothered you." The tiefling pauses, considering his words, before adding, "What you offer is not possible. My mind is closed... perhaps Ibid will one day learn the trick of it."
That said, the tiefling returns to his seat to await an audience with the arcanoloth.
"I would be both honored and delighted to aid your thoughts, dear sir. Though I cannot claim to be a master of the myriad skills held by the crafters of my brethren, I know of them to great extent. Sound as you will, and I shalt do my best to be of use to you."
"Well, my theory holds that the dimension of Magic resides soundly in the theoretical core of the orbic interaction between the planes of elements and energy, between the poles of Positive and Negative. However, as maps are commonly drawn, that would also place the plane between Fire and Water, as well as Earth and Air. Which might very well explain the Limbo-like swirling of energy. The Limbo-like whorls and chaos may merely be the churning of primal interaction of cosmic elemental forces. I shall have to test the dimension for strong eddies of elemental magic, which I neglected to do before.
Furthermore, there are well-documented interactions of opposites in the Inner Planes. If this dimension does indeed prove itself to be a third Energy Plane, does that in fact point to a fourth? A hypothetical of course, but one to consider. Does the confirmation of a Magical Energy Plane demand a Anti-Magic Energy Plane? There is certainly evidence that it could be considered a unified trait in pockets throughout reality, with beings, objects, and fields of space exhibiting traits that may be considered a inhibition or destruction of all magic in their purview. Once this plane's work is done, the next step would be to determine whether it does, indeed, have a counterpart among the Inner Planes.
Thirdly, both Magic and it's hypothetical counterpart, would seem to conform, strangely, to points on the Outer Planes, Limbo and the Spire, respectively. The recently held theories concerning a true connection betwixt the Inner and Outer Planes finds another circumstancial proof..."
Jaspar looks up at Incenjucar.
"Tell me, polar, how do those of a deep connection concerning the Inner Planes speak of the Ordial Theory? That there is some undiscovered plane, channeling betwixt the Inner and Outer Planes, without benefit of ever interacting with the Astral, Material, or Ethereal?"
Jaspar coils his tentacles, in that strange way again.
"Ibid is my thrall, his place is not because of my powers. We are master and thrall. I found him mindless, struck down by one of my kin, and took him in, having destroyed his old master. I took him as my thrall, and taught him of the world, himself, and his proper place within our world. We have learned he was once an assassin, from a desert world, where psions are common. I have given him comfort, and a pleasant home, where he need not be violent, or bloody his hands for his meals. He is my scribe, my friend, my pet and my messenger, as well as my...what is the proper word? Squire. Yes. As he performs well, I teach him how to use his mind and magic, combining both into a whole and singular force. As I am alhoon, he need never fear my appetite overwhelming my love for him. And had he a desire to leave my service, he need only ask. I would find another thrall, to raise and care for. It helps to have a friend."
"If he is your fr...." He pauses, collects himself, and decides to leave matters be. "Your affairs are your own. My apologies."
Ibid watches, and looks to Jaspar. "Your leave to speak, Master?" Jaspar nods.
Ibid steps forward a bit, his tanned skin riplling under psionic tattoos. "If you do not care to hear Master Quasuropsine's words, there are mine. Ask what you will. I will answer. And my words will be my own." He has a more charismatic air about him now, as if his own personality has surfaced, the stance has also changed as well, the easy, reactive stance of a performer...or a killer.
(Ibid is a human bard/assassin from Athas. He is healthy, strong, and possessed of a powerful charisma. You can tell he is from the desert by his dark skin, but he dresses for darkness, wearing cotton and other warm clothes, though his clothing only covers him from the waist down. He does not carry a weapon, though he does wear a collar with a trailing chain that leads to either a hook on his belt, or occasionally, to Jaspar's hand.)
The draconic polar flexes the silver-blue wings that erupt from its back, as it brings its spine-kneed legs up in to a meditative position, still seated purely on the ambient light of the room, looking quite like a half-dragon yogi at the moment. His light-hungry eyes peer deep in to the illithids, showing a strange mix of threat and warning, as the heat of a flame demands that it can, and will burn, if one dares too far, but provides comforting warmth despite.
"Be it known, first, dear sir, of the deepest answers I know, I have willingly given them away long ago, for there are some things that, even in the form of thought, shall not be allowed to venture from their source. Know, well, that it is the same for those who seek too far, for there is a limit for even the petty deities that lord over the cosmos, and for their betters all the more. I must advise wariness in these matters, for healthy fear is the only thing I was not made to forget. Thine current path is as healthy as any other, but do be wary how distant a path thou seeks. Color pools are enough of a doom as it is, do not tempt more, lest a Sinker's is your heart's true nature, and even they, and the Dead themselves, would not be happy were they to follow too old a road."
The polar smiles broadly and kindly, unhindered by the true nature of draconic flesh to stiffen the lips.
"But be it true to tell, good sir, the inner planes are Inward. Just as a planet has its myriad surface layers of unbound visible variety, so too does it hold deeper secrets, of greater power and splendor, if in lesser variety to the eyes of flesh. Let is consider your proposal, thus, in the only way proper to matters of form."
The polar intones caution and promises safety in the same breath, and lifts his silver-taloned, blue-scaled hand upwards, pouring forth radiance with his gesture, as untold legions of motes of color spread about the area, filling the ceiling with myriad hues, just as the ambient light itself dims to his draining, setting about a strange blend of radiating warmth from the light, and a heat-devouring chill from the polar itself. A diagram of transparent light forms, nearly bumping the ceiling, as the popular vision of the inner planes is formed, but in more detail than any artful scribe could apply with the finest pen, or any that the greatest illusionist could bring to imagination. Magma 'tween earth and fire, void and ash draw the light and color from the room, salt glistens and damns water to a slow death, as ice mirrors its cruel sister, but does no dread to air and water. Beyond this surface layer of known elements, a pale shadow and a paler light shine, swirling between each other, like a chaotic tao, their clashing energies flowing out in to the elemental planes, and beyond, fed in turn by them, as reality feeds on possibility, which feeds its caretaker in turn.
"Is this, perhaps, what you envision, good sir?"
The polar leaves the grand diagram floating in the air, suffering it to slowly rotate and churn, as he returns to his casual stance upon the seat of light.
"The Ordial, good sir, is a relic. A thought of another time. It would not do well to seek that which was no longer before the LeShay were conceived of. Perhaps, in a future cycle, you can find its ilk. But for now, your matter is far more truthful than it is. Some possibilities are not to be found in this reality. But possibilities they shall remain, this I promise."
Jaspar watches, in something short of awe, but not by much. He stands, and reaches a chalky three fingered hand into the center, and points, where Radiance brishes up against Positivity, and as close along that border as one can get to Negativity.
"There." As he says it, he casts a simple prestidigitation, and in the point swells a tiny orb of shimmering energy, swirling like the surface of a soap bubble, or the depths of a prismatic sphere. "This is a representation of the dimension, which I have dubbed, for now, 'Magic'. This is the location in which I encoutered the phenomenon." As he says this, he modifies the spell, and the glimmer stretches along the border between Positive and Negative, as if they were the north and south of a globe, and it nestled securely in the core of it all. "This is where I feel that the area is, in truth. That it is not just a variance in Radiance, but is in fact, a core point, if you will. Being influenced by Positivity and Negativity evenly, if not all the other elements surrounding it. If the hypothesis is true, then it would literally be the focus point where Creation itself begins to spew forth from the Energy Planes, like the focus crystal on a wand. This point would be constantly bathed in immeasurable power. Power like I felt on Magic."
As if water responding to a physical force, the motes of light part slightly where the cantrip presses, an effect brought forth obviously by the polar's choosing, due to the cantrip's nature.
"While I shall concede thee an expert in matters of magic far greater than I, I offer a counterpoint. If you had found the Source, the Core Point, as you put it, do you truly feel that you would be able to so freely enter, depart, and alter it? I would wager, indeed, by all the souls on the prime, that while you have gotten closer than most of the modern ages of the planes, you have but found the next layer down. Few journies are so clean and direct, particularly to the Source. Tales be true, even the Lady would tremble at the Source's nearness. Indeed, some have said she hides in Sigil, the farthest theoretical point from it, to escape it. Were this true, I would wager those same souls that we'd both be flayed for plotting access to it. But I shall leave the discovery of that nature to you, dear sir, as is your honor."
Jaspar tugs at a tentacle as if a human scholar might tug at his beard.
"I feel that Magic and the legendary Source are not one and the same. I had never truly considered the possibility, as I had never really believed in the Source. But if the Source does exist, I would wager that Magic is very close to it. Perhaps so close as to border it, as Ice does Water. Though, if Magic is an unending source of magical and psionic power, pouring into one without limit..."
He stops, and stares at that core point...
"...even I fear what may be the nature of such a place that would dwarf even all that we have discovered."
He modifies his spell again, a flat grey counterpart to the prismatic force, clearly the Anti-Magic plane he spoke of earlier, both coating as swirling about a glowing central sphere.
"Perhaps this is more accurate?" He looks at Incenjucar, then stops. He gestures again, and the twin forces stop, the prismatic matching clearly with Positivity, and the greyness with Negativity.
"Of course! They would not be complete planes, but Quasiplanes...between the Energy Poles...and the Core of Creation itself..." He stands there, slack-tentacled, in awe of his own mental leap, and the repercussions it might have.
The diagram is extremely pliable to the cantrip's motions, as much for the polar's ease in anticipating even an illithid's intentions, as well as the motes of light acting like colored sand or clay, while the minor magic acts as a strong hand.
"I considered that myself, good sir, but it seemed to easy, even for such a central reality. For, after all, while negative energy decays even magical force in time, so too can it be summoned by that same force. Indeed, wizards have found much less trouble drawing upon the Hunger than on Generosity. However, a thought occurs to me. Would not a realm wholly of antimagic be the ultimate barrier, the supreme shell to protect the Source? And for good reason, at that, considering how grand the risks, and how few the benefits. So, too, would it strangely mirror the Spire, and add credence to the theory of Sigil's true purpose as a barrier."
"My mind is running away from me like a gnomish railcart." With that, he dismisses his part of the image with a wave of a tentacle. "I am getting too far ahead of myself. First, to shore up my knowledge of Magic. Once it can be quantified and defined, then more can be added to it. I cannot permit my eagerness to overwhelm my rationale. One thing at a time. A place for everything, and everything in its place." He says it like a mantra, the catchphrase of the Fraternity of Order, and he actually deigns to take a breath, as if to cleanse his mind and body. Ironic, coming from a dead thing, but the action taken nonetheless.
The wave of arcane and mental energies from the new arrival washed over Erte. As if in recognition, a wave of anger tinged with frustration flowed into him though the link he shared with Dianne. It was the newly arrived alhoon...
Before Erte could stop her, Dianne spoke into the minds of the humans at the bargaining table. "Please, finish your dealings with Lady Shemeska as quickly as you dare. It would gain us nothing to escape her snares to be caught by those being laid by the newly arrived."
((OOC: JasperDM: Nothing personal, and no offense intended. My bard's intelligent lute has a deep-seated hatred toward slavery in all forms – and thus illithids. The bard, however, is smart enough not to pick a fight with someone so obviously powerful.)