Park Rain
Tenebrae - Thursday, April 16, 2015, 5:45 PM
-=--=--=--=--=--<* A06: Lower Alexandrian Gardens District *>=--=--=--=--=--=-
The city is divided, unofficially, into Upper Alexandria and Lower Alexandria. The Upper resides further up on the slope of the mountain, and rests to the east of the great river. The Lower resides to the west of it, and if the Lower could be said to have a heart, this verdant park might be its center.
Amid all the bustle of the Lower City, its Gardens District provides a peaceful respite. The warmth of Althea holds sway here, and though Daeus receives the occasional nod, this is clearly Her domain. She shares it with Dana, in the verdant green of this area. Vines and trees, remain green no matter the season and numerous flowers bloom along the park's walkways. Faerie-light lanterns hang from branches and along hedgerows.
A number of shops may be found here, most notably the city hospital, for which the park was originally built. Though now open to the public, the gardens by and large, remain underneath the hospital's care. However, in the Althean tradition, much of the work is provided by volunteers.
The gardens are a peaceful respite of a spring evening, and tonight is no exception. People are lingering here and there in the gardens, whether out to enjoy a peaceful stroll or a tentative lap outside the doors of the Soldier's Defense aimed at strengthening injured limbs.
Well, they were anyway. Up until a gentle spring rain began to rustle and tap on the shiny green leaves beginning to unfurl themselves, and wet the cobblestone pathways. Now they're making at various speeds for cover as the initial few sprinkles turns into something rather more intent, if still gentle in keeping with spring.
Aldean's sitting on a favored rock in the middle of the gardens, new panpipes between his hands, where he's been playing for a small crowd that has abruptly scattered. He looks up himself, and quickly tucks the panpipes safely into a pouch. "Right then, time ta move," he says to no one in particular, although he is slower than some others to get up and begin to make for cover.
Godwyn sits again at the chess table. It's been here for days now. Yet she sits now in quiet contemplation, eyes closed and the hood removed from her eyes. The adamantine weapon she's carried around for months now sits in her lap, the black metal glowing just faintly.
Dea sighs, and Godwyn smiles in turn, as if she can *feel* the contentment. "I've gotten used to this spell again, I think. I can use it at any time you want now."
Godwyn nods. "Thank you, Dea. I'm glad you're so eager to be of use."
And then... the first drops begin. Godwyn's eyes open as she pulls the hood over her head. "Mmm... guess there goes my game. Not like I was..." Her ears seem to perk a bit. "...playing. Aldean?"
She stands and glances in his direction. "Okay, Dea. Let's find out what you're all about, once and for all." She stands and makes for the sailor, who is himself making for the nearest shelter.
Rain upon metal. The ping of droplets like tiny cymbals. Blue eyes shining under it all.
Thanix stands with a natural quiet, staring out over the park like one of its myriad statues. Unmoving, he obesrves the Unforged-- the men and women of flesh and blood-- move and recover from injuries, each in their own way. Soem with music, some with games, some via crutch and bandage and magic. And odd assemblage.
He observes, in quiet curiosity...
Munch crashes in. Well, into. Which is to say the golem was strolling peacefully, paying no heed to the rain, when someone who was heeding the rain more than objects on the path ran into him. No harm done to the golem, though the fellow scurrying off in a panic might have a little mental scaring.
His audience scattered and seeking shelter, Aldean pulls up the hood of his cloak over his hat and closes the front before preparing to do the same, when a call distracts him. "Aye?" He pauses, looking around him as if for the source of the voice.
Godwyn ends up to his right side once he looks around, and clears her throat. "Let's get out of this rain first, then we can talk!" He'll notice that she's carrying her weapon with her, and now it has a subtle glow about it.
Curiosity. Thanix glances upward, towards the grey sky and its array of shining droplets. "They do not melt," he intones, as if repeating an old lesson. "But the rain does not bring them comfort." He moves, a creaking of old metal; the absent pigeons taking cover beneath the armored figure suddenly spring to frantic flight, scattering away. Thanix steps forward from grass to cobblestones, re-entering the pathway with a steam-puff hiss.
Munch watches the fleeing person a moment before peering around, and making his way towards the music player. Well, former music player. And likely future. Anyway, Munch's travel halts a moment as the other Made Man moves, and peers in curiousity.
The grin that Aldean flashes at Godwyn is a complex mix of his usual easy good humor, recognition and greeting, and understanding. "Over here, lass." There's an outbuilding at the edge of the gardens -- likely a gardening shed or similar -- with a generous overhang, of which several people are already taking advantage. There is room for the two of them as well, although as with all shelters in an unexpected rain shower, it's friendly territory. Aldean gestures Godwyn to precede him into shelter; the two are apparently among the last in, as they scrambled a good deal less than others, and eyes go to the pair as they join the group.
A virtual study in opposites-- Thanix stares at Munch with the same cool disregard the metallic warrior seems to give everything in existance; only the glittering pulse of gemstone eyes belies the intensity of his interest. "My memoria does not recall your unit or designation," he states simply. Broad feet crunch on the cobbles, smooth strides taking him alongside. "12th Iron Legion. Designate: Thanix. Subdesignate: Ironclaw. According to Unforged instruction "Sandiel 204", greetings are in order. Welcome."
Godwyn makes her way in and smiles as she glances over the group. Her robes mark her, blatantly, as Althean. Quite a great many in light blue and silver around, so it's not uncommon. "Matron guide you," she says as she takes a seat.
"I can see you have new pipes, sailor."
Munch halts outside the shelter, unfazed even as the rain comes down harder, well aware most fleshies are uncomfortable when he gets too close. Turning focus to Thanix, the alchemic abomination touches a hand to his brow. Well, forehead, lacking actual brows. "'Sandiel'? Be cautious of that one, her advice is... bias. Anyway, unique prototype model, recently forged, in the grand sceme of things. Call me Munch, known as the TerrorMaw, the Golem Who Eats. You new around here, Thanix Ironclaw?"
"Aye, still gettin' used to 'em." Aldean flashes an easy grin once he's under shelter and has moved to the back wall against the building, to lean against it. He'd pulled his hood clear of his face almost as soon as he'd reached the overhang; now, he laces his fingers together and puts them behind his head as he leans, an easy and open gesture. "Old ones got caught in one too many campsites," he tells the Sentinel, amusement wreathing the mobile features. "Ain't hold a tone, so tossed 'em as offerin' to the Serpent an' got better. These be bigger, aye, an' with a cleaner sound, too."
He pauses, though, looking at the greatsword between Godwyn's hands. "Ain't remember that," he remarks. "Who's yer enchanter?"
"Relatively," Thanix replies, following. Heavy feet thump against the cobbles, rain splattering relentlessly against the armored shell. "Due to circumstances, I reawakened only a short span of time ago. Consultation directed me to Alexandria. Further investigation led to assistance of the humanoid populace against various situations." He pauses, cool blue eyes sweeping to take in those beneath the shelter, assiessing danger. "It has been satisfactory. However, time and age have deteriorated my workings. I am not at full functinality."
Godwyn looks down at her weapon. "Honestly, I am. But the light?"
A voice, from nowhere, whispers. Almost sounds like the female speaker doesn't want to disturb the atmosphere too much. "...that's me."
Munch nods to the fellow metal man. "Good place to be. Lot of the locals are dumb as anywhere, but are a few worth the effort. Only two places that might be better for repairs, and neither holds a promise of independance." He turns towards Godwyn, or more precisely her blade, his typically blue magicite eyes shifting to a near-white for a moment. "...and there's always somethign new and interesting."
Just about everyone in the shelter jumps out of their skin when the sword speaks. /Everyone/ is staring, without exception and with varying stages of trepidation, shock, and curiosity. One couple immediately grabs hands and darts into the slanting rain, pulling hoods up or futilely shielding head with a hand against the droplets of rain as they seek a shelter with fewer odd things in it. More back up, and a few stare in fascination. One boy of about seven is being held back by his mother by his good hand -- the other wrist is splinted and thoroughly wrapped.
Aldean is no less interested, straightening from his lean, his hands falling to his sides. Rather than trepidation, unfettered curiosity lights the dark eyes. "Only other time ever saw one like that, twas in the hand of a bitch as ain't want naught ta do with me."
Thanix eases into proper oversight position, blue eyes curving away, sweeping the more-or-less abandoned park with a glance. "That does introduce a curiosity," he replies to the Alchemical Aeting Maechine. "Though I do not recall my full schema, what I can recall points to a morphological capability." He holds up one arm, demonstrating with a simple click of steel fingers. The metal clicks, whirs, running through a simple gauntlet of shapes. From four fingers to three, to two; to a single, spade-shaped hand, then reseperating to a trio, fingers sharpening and extending into heavy climbing claws. "I have only been able to unlock minor equipment options," he continues-- if anything, faintly annoyed. "The techgnomagical personal within the city have been unhelpful. Vivisection and dismantling was mentioned on four occasions."
Kiroth has arrived.
Munch nods, casually pulling the massive adamantine greataxe from his back, setting the haft on the ground before him and reasting fingers lightly on the dragonhead top to keep it upright. The eye etched into the blade blinks, and peers towards the other weapon with it's own curiousity. Munch glances to Thanix, and nods. "I suggest offering to dismantel them first. Typically cuts back on offers. Beware those few who agree."
"I agree," Thanix returns-- blue eyes raking down to the odd weapon. "However, primary guiding directive override saying such, even in jest. I am told that I am very poor at jesting." Bright eyes return to their sentinel watch, cool rain plinking from helm and frame. "Controlling Directive: protect humanoids from danger. Reasoning: they are Unforged, and incapable of full self-preservation. Forged are expendable."
Godwyn blinks. She says nothing, but Dea gasps. "Please, there may be children about!" A pause, then a sigh. "But I have seen you before, Aldean... you'll have to forgive a few of my predilections. Godwyn has named me Dea Favente for the time being. Just call me Dea... until I can remember just what my real name is."
Kiroth comes in from the south and he is wearing workers clothes that are dirty with white dust that has water streaks on them from walking back in the rain. He does have a longsword hanging from his belt though and in his left hand he has a tool box full of masonry tools. He hears familiar voices and makes his way over to them. He gives a polite nod, "Greetings."
The scandalized response draws a lighter chuckle from Aldean. "Dea, heard me first curse word afore me third summer," he says, moving over to where Godwyn's sitting and squatting on his heels in front of it. "Still, I ain't after offendin' a lady, an' here's beggin' yer pardon." A glance extends the remark to Godwyn as well. "So ye know me, do ye? How much ye heard?" He seems to be taking the idea of talking to a sword quite in stride, and indeed the expressive Cerenzan features are alight with fascination. Only Kiroth's arrival pulls his attention, and that only long enough to look up. "Oy, think there be room yet," he nods to the small crowd beneath the shelter.
Godwyn chuckles as the banter moves forward. Dea's voice brightens considerably. "Much, actually. I would list it all, but it would take quite a bit. Suffice it to say you have quite the beautiful voice, and use it marvelously, even if some of your songs are a bit..." She takes in another breath. "Apologies again. Your songs are wonderful. And they are a gift to those that hear them!"
Munch mmms to Thanix. "I was a proof of concept. I work, so concept proved, purpose filled. Anything beyond, have to come up with myself. Having been working on something towards the line of 'Global Apex Predator'. Anyway, a moment." Turnign back to those under the shelter, Munch leans his blade foreward a little. "Dea Favente, meet Reaver the GreatAxe. Reaver, Dea. And pleased to meet you myself, Dea."
Thanix 's gleaming blues curve back, bright gaze resting on the dark sword in Godwyn's hands for several seconds. Acknowledged, recognized-- he glances away without further comment, returning to the steely, statuesque immobility broken only by the fiant curve of his head, the shimmering of sapphire eyes.
Godwyn takes in a breath. "I can see there are other weapons like mine. I've taken notice of that fact. But this may be a unique case... Aldean, what do you know about souls in objects?"
Dea chuckles. "If I could bow, I would. Greetings, Reaver. And to all of you!" Her voice is still soft, reserved.
Kiroth shakes his head, "Thank you, but I'm fine out in the rain. I will need to wash up anyway once I head back to the temple." He looks to Godwyn and her talking sword, "Greetings to both of you. I see that you were blessed with weapon of intelligence."
Aldean scratches at the side of his cheek, where the beginnings of a blonde five o'clock shadow has begun to form, as he considers the blade. "There be wizards as can do that. Ain't a nice thing to do. Don't reckon most gods o' the Light look with favor on that. But ... most ain't talkin', neither. Huh." He scratches at the fuzz some more, studying the blade. "Reckon ye've the right of it," he says slowly. "Dea ... mind if I've a closer look?" A glance at Godwyn includes her as well; so intent is he on the blade, he doesn't acknowledge the others' greetings.
Godwyn nods, and smiles as Dea's voice raises in pitch. "By all means! Please, examine away. I'd like to figure a few things out, too." With that, Godwyn handed him the weapon.
Munch buzzes softly in curiousity. "I do asume you mean a soul placed into an object, not one which arrise within an object."
Balancing carefully, Aldean takes the blade and sits down crosslegged with it in his lap, then pulls from a pouch a black, gray, and white feather, and a mug from his belt. It's now all eyes on him , and he spares only a brief remark for Munch. "Aye. Two different things an' I ain't rightly sure which. Ain't thinkin' Althea'll like it much if Godwyn here be usin' a blade as has a soul trapped against its will, aye? Anyone got a wineskin on 'em?" He looks up and around at the gathering.
Dea falls silent for a moment, and Godwyn nods.
"T... trapped? But... but how? I... Nnnnngh..." She sounds woozy for a moment. "I don't... I can't remember how..."
Thanix has left.
Munch buzzes. "Not wine, but I've an alcoholic based liquid that should be safe for human consumption." Should be.
Kiroth hmms as he rubs his chin and he wipes away some of the white mud on him. "It would take some powerful magic to bind a soul to an item if it were even possible."
Dea groans. "How did I end up in... something like this? I..."
Godwyn touches a hand to her forehead. "She's not feeling well right now... distressed. She doesn't remember much about who she was." The Sentinel shivers. "I don't think I'll get used to that, feeling what she feels."
"Got rum ..." Aldean pauses, but finally, a teenaged couple comes forward with a wineskin. "Will this do?" the young man asks tentatively. Aldean sniffs it, then nods. "Ain't need more'n a finger, an' I'd not waste yer wine," he tells the teenager, holding up the mug. "An' me thanks fer this." He pours a bit out, then steps back, and watches, the girl clinging to his arm. "Hold tight, lass," he tells Godwyn, although the mention of not feeling well draws a frown.
He stirs the wine in the mug with the feather, then whistles a complex, mysterious tune with several odd intervals to it, the mobile expression taking on a very intent look. Over the mug, he traces an intricate symbol with his finger as he whistles, the tracery hanging in the air as if written in kelly-green fire; the baritone voice after a note or two takes on a ghostly echo of itself, as if multiple voices are singing. The feather in the mug and the symbol hanging in green fire over the air abruptly vanish, and when he's done, he picks up the mug and drains the contents, then peers intently at the sword for several long moments, turning it over. "Ain't no ordinary blade, lass. Enchanted, aye, but far stronger. Dea, ye've spells o' yer own, I'll wager. An ..." The fascination and intensity written on his face vanishes as if snuffed out. "Aye. Necromancy. Yer a bound soul, lass. Ye okay with that?" Is he talking to the sword, Godwyn, or both?
GAME: Aldean casts Identify. Caster Level: 10 DC: 16
"B... bound soul?"
Godwyn's grimace intensifies. "So someone trapped her in here. The question is... who? More importantly, why?"
Godwyn huffs as she shakes her head. "I don't think Dea will be speaking for a bit. She's taking all this in... please, continue. I'd like to hear more, if possible."
Munch hrmmms. "I've heard of trapping magics, but not in a blade. I've heard of ancestors returning to empower an item, but not without memory."
Kiroth nods, "Yes binding a soul sounds like necromancy there isn't any gem on the blade is there...that could be holding her soul."
Godwyn examines the blade... and shakes her head. "No. Nothing on it. Whatever magic this is, it's far more than just a simple Soul Bind. She's inside the weapon, mind and soul. Or at least, that's what Aldean confirms."
Munch considers. "The wizards of the Society might know more. But first I'd recomend the Mourners; they deal most with those no longer in their flesh. In particular the one with the shovel, Kerbasy. He's timid, but wise, and the past speaks to him."
"Ain't look like artifice, mate," Aldean answers, turning the blade over in his hands and studying it closely, laying the flat of the blade on his palm. He's very mindful of that edge as he turns it in the light. "Aye. Adamantine, too. Ain't many places as ... oy. Belay that. "Ain't artifice at all. The way the blade be crafted ..." The baritone softens with awe. "Godwyn ... ain't many places as got adamantine ... an' the craftin' ain't Charnese. Method be too old." He shows Munch and Kiroth the seams in the forging -- no artifice made that. "Aye, Kerbasy might know sommat ... but make puts me in mind of Azure Kingdoms, lass. Sommat survived." The bard's hold on the weapon shifts subtly -- much more gentle and delicate.
Munch lingers for a while longer, but has little more to offer.