The Rone Resurgence - 5118-09-17 - Of Anchors and Aging (log)

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Imaerasta 17-18, 5118

by Florania Autumnwind of the TownCrier


  • Townspeople wander by, some expressing concern about the Landing's independence with the new elven presence and building ships for the Imperials while others are happy with the money they're making and food they're feeding their children.
  • Prax comes along to the docks and says the ships are coming along nicely. Shinann asks if Estoria is paying foor these ships and he says yes, some of it. She says they're sending coins after calling the Landing liars, in reference to the White Sparrows' claim that the Landing attack first; Prax says that, like the Landing, there is not just one voice in Estoria.
  • Afterward, in the trophy room at the Raging Thrak Inn, Prax speaks on Larsya Caulfield. After noting that Xorus' work was the most complete and accurate in what Breshon had collected, and assuring that he'll fix the fact that Xorus hasn't yet been able to inspect her blood, Prax says that he's recently detected that Larsya's blood appears to be a temporal anchor serving a purpose beyond her curse, as if it's a blood beacon sending a message.
  • Prax expresses hope of being closer to a cure and asks Magister Raelee if she can reopen Dennet's portal to the Bleaklands to collect soil samples; she says she can. Dergoatean asks Prax if he'd received his letter about plants and premature aging in Toullaire and Prax says it was what led him to consider his current theory that the origin of whatever caused the curse lies in the Wizardwaste.
  • Prax sets a date of traveling to the Bleaklands on the Eve of the Huntress, then leaves for the evening.
  • Afterward, a scream is heard and a search party sets out. A figure is spotted running and stumbling through the Lower Dragonsclaw--and when at last located, he's seen to be a rapidly-aging half-krolvin whose body crumbles apart like dust.


Town Gossip

[Town Square Central]

This is the heart of the main square of Wehnimer's Landing. The impromptu shops of the bazaar are clustered around this central gathering place, where townsfolk, travellers, and adventurers meet to talk, conspire or raise expeditions to the far-flung reaches of Elanith. At the north end, an old well, with moss-covered stones and a craggy roof, is shaded from the moonlight by a strong, robust tree. The oak is tall and straight, and it is apparent that the roots run deep. You also see an herbal remedy donation bin and some stone benches with some stuff on it.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

Some townspeople wander by, gossiping amongst themselves, " we've allowed elves to take root nearby, and the imperials to build ships in our backyard and we still claim to be free I wonder how much our Mayor and town council got paid..." The voices fade as the townspeople walk out of sight.

Some townspeople wander by, speaking amongst themselves, " much that we've enough now for the winter. I owe that to our Mayor for her good sense in growing this town, and the size of my children's bellies..." Their voices trail off as they travel out of sight.

[Prax greets people on the amunet and says that he'll be heading to the docks, so Mayor Lylia leads the group to the middle dock.]


[Wehnimer's, Middle Dock]

Laboring dockworkers and strolling seamen mingle here on the weathered planks of the dock, between the hulls of large seafaring merchantmen. The groan of ships pulling at hawsers, the clatter of feet upon gangplanks, and the swearing of the dockworkers mix with the cries of seabirds and the cadence of waves against the pilings. You also see some huge wooden crates, some huge wooden crates, some stacked piles of supplies, the skeletal frames of large ships and a black imperial wagon with a glowing blue-white pylon on it.

From out of the murk of the rain and fog hugging the streets, Praxopius comes slowly wheeling into view. Behind him, not too far off, stands his huge giantman bodyguard.

Praxopius smiles.

Praxopius slowly empties his lungs.

Praxopius says, "The smell of rain never gets old."

Lylia: "Praxopius is at the North Docks with us now, if you wish to join us there."

Dergoatean: "Middle docks?"

Praxopius: "Not to draw any political ire from the sitting Mayor but...middle docks."

Praxopius smiles.

Praxopius says, "Every dock looks the same."

Praxopius chuckles.

Lylia: "Yes. That is what I said."

Praxopius slowly empties his lungs.

Praxopius looks up at the sky, allowing the rain to fall on his face. He smiles.

Praxopius says, "The ships are coming along nicely."

Praxopius says, "Who said you cannot have speed and efficiency..."

Praxopius grins at Raelee.

Speaking to Praxopius, Shinann asks, "So is Estoria paying to have these ships built?"

Raelee glances skeptically at Praxopius.

Praxopius whispers something to Raelee.

Praxopius grins at Shinann.

Praxopius says, "Some of it, yes."

Shinann says, "I see."

Shinann says, "They call us liars and then send us coins."

Shinann nods.

Praxopius says, "The Lords of Idolone are not ones to suffer the same mistake twice."

Shinann frowns.

Praxopius says, "I am sure you can understand."

Praxopius says, "There is not just one voice in Estoria."

Praxopius says, "Nor even a dozen."

Praxopius says, "Not much unlike here, in fact."

Shinann says, "I see."

Praxopius asks, "How many voices speak for Wehnimer's Landing?"

Shinann folds her hands behind her back.

Praxopius says, "I think we're still counting."

Praxopius chuckles.

Praxopius asks, "Shall we head inside somewhere?"

Praxopius says, "Out of the rain."

Praxopius says, "I'd like to discuss Larsya."

Praxopius asks, "Are we all following Sir Cryheart?"

Cryheart says, "The mayor."

Cryheart nods at Praxopius.

Praxopius nods.

Praxopius wheels in close to Lylia.

Praxopius joins Lylia's group.

Lylia says, "Helga's has too many stairs. The Raging Thrak should do nicely."

Temporal Anchor

[The group proceeds to the trophy room.]

[Raging Thrak, Trophy Room]

Tiny smudges of soot mar the fieldstones used to create the grand fireplace in this cozy room. A collection of plaques hangs above an immense grey marble mantel cluttered with trophy cups and bowls. Fashioned from a single stone slab, the hearth extends to an impressive black bear rug with its maw frozen in a silent roar. Several overstuffed wingback chairs, each covered in deep jewel-tone chintz, are scattered about the room. Against the back wall, a tall glass-front curio houses several ancient mementos and a thrak hide curtain hangs nearby. You also see an intricately woven straw wastebasket, a basket of sticks, a shifting twilight grey rift and a carved wooden sign.

Praxopius grins.

Praxopius wheels towards the fire.

Praxopius says, "You know many things."

Praxopius nods at Xorus.

Xorus nods at Praxopius.

Praxopius says, "Your work was by far the most complete, and likely accurate, in all of what Breshon had collected."

Praxopius says, "But I've detected something, recently, with her blood."

Xorus raises an eyebrow.

Praxopius says, "Originally based on its reaction at the Reach."

Xorus says, "I was never able to study her blood itself."

Praxopius says, "We'll fix that."

Praxopius nods at Xorus.

Xorus says, "Excellent."

Praxopius says, "I suppose the word I have to describe it, is fitting, given our time at the docks earlier with the ships."

Praxopius says, "It's as if her blood is an anchor of sorts."

An officer of the Empath Guild arrives and glances around. "Ah, there you are, Cerridween!" he says in a slightly agitated tone. "I have come to formally declare that your membership privileges have been revoked." He then makes a note on his parchment and leaves.

Praxopius glances at Cerridween.

Praxopius says, "...awkward...."

Praxopius whistles tunelessly to himself.

Cerridween blushes a nice shade of light pink.

Speaking to Praxopius, Raelee asks, "Physically or temporally? Or both?"

Cerridween mutters something about sillyguilds.

Balley softly asks, "What is her blood an anchor to?"

Praxopius says, "It's hard to explain, even by me. Still speculation truthfully."

Praxopius says, "But it's as if..."

Praxopius says, "A temporal anchor."

Praxopius says, "The blood is serving a purpose beyond her curse."

Praxopius says, "It is holding something in place. The way it reacted at the Reach."

Praxopius asks, "It was as if, it was sending a message. Reaching out. A blood beacon?"

Praxopius says, "Baffling, really."

Praxopius exclaims, "But incredibly fascinating!"

Speaking jokingly to Praxopius, Cruxophim suggests, "A bleacon?"

Praxopius smirks at Cruxophim.

Praxopius says, "But, despite that abnormality..."

Praxopius says, "I believe we're closer to a cure."

Praxopius says, "If..."

Praxopius glances at Raelee.

(Raelee raises both eyebrows slightly.)

Praxopius asks, "Magister. Do you think you are able to re-open access to the Bleaklands?"

Speaking bluntly to Praxopius, Raelee says, "Yes."

Praxopius says, "I came to understand Grand Magister Dennet had collected some soil samples, but none could be found."

Speaking to Praxopius, Dergoatean asks, "You received my letter some weeks ago? About plants and pre-mature aging in Toullaire?"

Praxopius says, "Either he used them up, or they were taken."

Praxopius nods at Dergoatean.

Dergoatean nods at Praxopius.

Praxopius says, "Yes. It is what got me considering this."

Praxopius says, "I believe whatever caused this curse, its origin lies in Toullaire."

Praxopius says, "Well, the Wizardwaste."

Dergoatean holds up his hand and tilts it side to side in a so-so gesture.

Praxopius says, "We have a very similir situation closer to us, in the Bleaklands."

Dergoatean says, "Same-same."

Praxopius says, "I wish to put that to the test."

Praxopius asks, "So you can get us there?"

Praxopius peers quizzically at Raelee.

Speaking to Praxopius, Raelee says, "It is just a portal."

Praxopius says, "Not tonight, heavens no."

Praxopius says, "I'm not even wearing my travel blanket."

Praxopius says, "Yes, if opening a portal was only just that."

Praxopius says, "The difficulty lies in what happens next."

Praxopius chuckles.

Speaking amusedly to Praxopius, Cruxophim ventures, "Travel blanket?"

Praxopius shrugs.

Praxopius indicates the heavy blue blanket draped over his lap.

Speaking dryly to Praxopius, Raelee says, "You will require a shovel, I believe."

Speaking politely to Praxopius, Cruxophim offers, "I'm sure we could acquire you a fine flaxen one more durable against the elements."

Praxopius waves his hand in a dismissive gesture.

Praxopius says, "Flax is so 5117."

Xorus says, "The new rage will be called Prax."

Xorus smirks.

Praxopius laughs at Xorus!

Praxopius says, "Yes I like this."

Speaking to Praxopius, Raelee asks, "Soil samples. And what else were you looking for?"

Praxopius says, "A finely-tailored tan prax vest."

Praxopius says, "That should suffice."

Praxopius nods at Raelee.

Praxopius says, "I will need all of you of course."

Speaking to Praxopius, Dergoatean says, "Now, to be clear, the research I found related to Toullaire as civilization, rather than as Wizardwaste."

Praxopius says, "I do not predict it will be safe there."

Praxopius nods at Dergoatean.

Praxopius asks, "Eve of the Huntress?"

Praxopius asks, "Would that do well?"

Praxopius peers quizzically at Raelee.

Speaking to Praxopius, Raelee says, "I could open it now. I can open it then."

Balley softly asks, "Works for me.. will you bring samples of her blood for us to examine as well?"

Raelee adds, "Or the lot of them can walk. It is not that far, relatively speaking."

Praxopius says, "Awkward..."

Praxopius grins at Balley.

Praxopius says, "One does not simply wheel around with someone's blood."

Praxopius says, "It's a powerful thing."

Balley softly says, "I am a healer I like blood and such."

Speaking dubiously to Praxopius, Cruxophim muses, "Really?"

Speaking pointedly to Praxopius, Raelee says, "I said them."

Cruxophim collects a bone chalice of shadowy viscous blood from a large compartment inside the ebonwood kit.

Cruxophim raises his viscous blood skyward!

Praxopius says, "I was referring to Balley."

Praxopius nods at Raelee.

Cruxophim brings the blood to his lips and tilts his head back, his eyes closing as he takes a deep drink of viscous in a reverent fashion.

Cruxophim plops a bone chalice of shadowy viscous blood into a large compartment inside the ebonwood kit.

Praxopius says, "Some exceptions to the rule I suppose."

Praxopius nods at Cruxophim.

Balley softly says, "Sorry I just am curious is all."

Balley grins at Praxopius.

Speaking politely to Praxopius, Cruxophim concedes, "Many."

Praxopius exclaims, "Well good!"

Praxopius says, "It is a date then. We'll travel to the Bleaklands on the Eve of the Huntress."

Praxopius says, "Perhaps when she is cured, the Lord will give you a small hamlet."

Praxopius nods at Xorus.

Xorus smiles.

Xorus says, "That would be most generous."

Praxopius says, "I'll make sure not to take most of the credit."

Praxopius says, "Only some."

Praxopius holds up two fingers and slowly pinches them together until they are almost touching.

Praxopius says, "Well, goodnight everyone. Thank you for your time and company per usual."

Praxopius says, "I am filled with a renewed hope for the young lady."

Praxopius wheels away.

The Aging Half-Krolvin

[A few minutes later...]

Someone screams nearby!

[A search proceeds through areas near enough to the Raging Thrak Inn, but nothing is found for quite a while.]

Some covered wagons are wheeled into the area by some imperial soldiers, but then stopped by a trio of Wehnimer's militiamen. After a few moments of an inspection, the militiamen wave the soldiers on and the wagons proceed towards the town docks.

Someone shouts nearby, "He...he looked horrible!...he...he ran out of the gate!"

[The group proceeds with a search outside town.]

A gnarled figure rushes off nearby, stumbling, nearly tripping, bouncing off a tree as it shambles into the darkness of the woods.

[The search continues through the Lower Dragonsclaw and eventually...]

[Lower Dragonsclaw, Forest]

You realize that you have been climbing steadily, if gradually, as the vegetation changes to the rugged pines and firs that thrive in the higher elevations. The subtle herbal scent of the lower forest has been replaced by the pungent aroma of pine.

A gnarled figure shambles by, thin arms clawing at his face and neck. The figure appears to be a half-krolvin, but very, very aged. His scalp is discolored and patchy, with frazzled threads of bone white hair that seem to be shedding with each movement. The half-krolvin gasps, coughing and wheezing ,veins spreading along his thin, sallow arms and legs. The half-krolvin turns and looks at you, eyes wide in pain, yet glazed with a thin opaque film. Then just like that, the body begins to crumble apart like sand or dust, any remnants tossed about by the storm's wind.