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Post by Harrier Wren on Dec 26, 2016 2:56:43 GMT
Roy Gilmour I hope this letter finds you well. It's been some time since we met. In fact, you may not remember me. I may be conflating you with others I've encountered over the years, but there's one memory that's sharp in my mind. Perhaps it's of you, perhaps not. Hawk-faced, rough hands, prone to skulking in the library at the College in Elbion. This would have been perhaps fifteen years ago, maybe more. You were younger than the other librarians, but you knew where everything was. I'd only recently joined the College. I think I might have been around twenty. I wanted so badly to excel, but the reality of the Foard proved disappointing. Then one day I ran into you -- at least, it might have been you -- in the dustiest and most obscure stacks of the library. I'd gone back there to cry over failing an exam, I believe. We spoke awkwardly. You left in a hurry, but I followed your fingerprints to a wrapped scroll: the diary of an obscure mage called Darion Kromwell. I read it, just as you did. It set me on edge and I abandoned it, just as you must have. It compelled me to read it again, just as I believe it compelled you, because when I came back the next day it was gone. And later, when you were thrown out of the Foard -- well, I knew why, and I was eventually thrown out for the same reasons.
As I said, it might not have been you. This was a long time ago.
Circumstances and public opinion being what they are, I understand if caution dictates that you not respond to this letter. If you choose to reply, leave the letter under a stone at the base of the Markaryen Obelisk in Ashdell.
Regards,
H
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Post by Roy Gilmour on Dec 26, 2016 3:23:52 GMT
A week after H's letter had found him, a simple parchment was left rolled beneath a stone at the base of the Markaryen Obelisk in Ashdell. Once found it read the following:
I would admit that the details refreshed my memory. The name of D.K is a dangerous name to be written these times, let alone spoken.
A safe haven for us to speak is the tavern - 'The Fair-Maiden's Flagon' - in Ashdell.
Meet me there at noon a fortnight after the Wine Market ends.
Order Talon's brew.
Regards,
G
Harrier Wren
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Post by Harrier Wren on Dec 26, 2016 3:41:40 GMT
Roy GilmourA fortnight and more was a long time to wait, but some mage-hunters could be patient. Prudence demanded caution still. Therefore, at the appointed day and time, a random dark-haired woman from elsewhere in Coalhurst was paid a good silver piece to run an errand. Wearing a black hood and cloak, said random woman entered the Fair-Maiden's Flagon, blushing at the signage. She approached the counter. She ordered Talon's brew. Elsewhere in the Fair-Maiden's Flagon was a tired-looking tinker, a woman dusty from the road. Ratty packs slouched against the side of her bench. She'd been drinking here for a week on and off, friendly enough in her way, hitting on the occasional man with more or less success on any given night. Every tavern had a couple of examples of her. Not a lot of what you'd call upper-class academic dignity, let's put it that way. And maybe she kept an eye on that classier-looking woman in the hooded cloak, but if she did, she was fairly unobtrusive about it. The great art of being a spy or a fugitive, as some old book put it, was to do nothing of substance, convincingly.
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Post by Roy Gilmour on Dec 26, 2016 4:17:41 GMT
A little while before noon at the designated date Gilmour had arrived at the Fair-Maiden's Flagon. The tavern was a secluded one and definitely one for worker's class, it was poorly kept but it served customers who barely heard anything else than their own blabber. It was a good place for those that practiced the dark arts.
The mysterious woman who the warlock barely remembered was supposed to be here, whether it was a woman or a man actually was something he was not sure about. When noon struck, the words uttered by a hooded lady a few seats away from him on the bar took his attention.
It was the woman. The enigmatic H.
He remained on his place even when the bartender nodded at him. There was no such thing as Talon's brew, just a key for those that had to stay in the shadows. Lord Blacktalon, a man of the Synod, who had the ambitions to turn the Synod into a united front and something more than what currently was, paid the bartender well to keep his silence. The Fair-Maiden Flagon, Lord Blacktalon had assured him, is a safe haven for those that are more curious than the rest.
A minute later, he stood up and sat besides the woman using the typical 'a drink for the lady' as cover for moving next to her.
"Greetings, Mrs. H. I believe we have something to discuss." Gilmour spoke gently as he took a sip from his own brew.
Harrier Wren
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Post by Harrier Wren on Dec 26, 2016 5:10:05 GMT
Roy GilmourThe cloaked woman looked him up and down. She'd been given instructions for this eventuality, and paid well. Now that the moment was upon her, however, she found herself growing wary. There was something about the man that said he could transcend the normal boundaries of manners and humanity if he wanted to. She'd known men like that before. Her lines flew out of her mind; she opened and closed her mouth, then turned and headed for the door as quickly as she could manage. At which point the dusty tinker-woman sat down behind Gilmour on another stool. An unsheathed dagger tapped his thigh and vanished into her sleeve. "Call me Harrier Wren," she said. "Forgive the play." It wasn't the name she'd used at the Foard, the one she'd been born with, but then again that name wouldn't mean anything to him. It wasn't as if they'd been friends. He'd been older, presumably a dabbler already. She'd been in her teens or barely out of them, and their encounter had been her first taste of the forbidden arts. They hadn't had much in common or much reason to talk. "You're the one I saw back then, in the library." Memory charms were indispensable in magical academia. She'd done some digging, but she'd found the face. This was that, plus a decade and a half. Now that she'd seen him and verified he was who she'd intended to contact, the meet could proceed as planned.
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Post by Roy Gilmour on Dec 26, 2016 14:43:55 GMT
The awkward silence and lack of response from the woman prompted Gilmour to feel slightly tense. Upon her unexpected departure from the tavern, he remained frozen on his seat. The warlock was out of ideas on how to react until the shuffling of feet behind him took his attention. An introduction followed the soft touch on his thigh and the enchanter almost snapped at that.
The female that now set beside him was certainly much 'lower-class' than the one that had abruptly left but this one was the actual person Gilmour was supposed to meet. The play she had orchestrated was certainly impressive and it both spoke of a cunning and cautious person.
"Caution is always useful. " He tried complimenting her actions and explain his own reaction to it. "The name's Roy Gilmour or just Gilmour and memory does serve you well." Gilmour's memory came back to him at a more closer look of Harrier's face. By far older but the identical features of the curious teenager in the library were there."By your letter I can only assume you have more than just read...D.K's diary."
The warlock slowly stood up motioning to follow him to a table at the corner. Even if the tavern was near empty due to the time of their meeting, he still could not fully trust the purses Blacktalon gave to the bartender.
"What is it you exactly seek, Harrier ?" His tone was calm and curious. As she had been thrown out of the College for the same reasons as him, Gilmour believed she possibly had followed a similar path of his. This meeting was bound to be interesting and enlightening. Both to the former student and librarian.
Harrier Wren
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Post by Harrier Wren on Dec 26, 2016 18:13:58 GMT
The door shut behind the cloaked woman. Harrier refocused on Roy Gilmour - or appeared to, at least. Her attention had never really left him. She reclaimed her packs en route to the corner table. She put them down where she could see them, reach them, but move without tripping on them. "The same as anyone wants: freedom and security. And like anyone, I have to pick a balance between those priorities. That often means taking chances which have implications for both. Making contact with a potential ally, for example, at a cost to my anonymity. "I propose cooperation leading to the trust necessary for an exchange of ideas. I reached a higher level of expertise in the formal sphere. You've been pursuing our mutual interests far longer than I have. I suspect we could each learn from the other. But first, as I said, we need to explore the possibility of trust. Your thoughts?"
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Post by Roy Gilmour on Dec 26, 2016 18:59:02 GMT
Gilmour listened carefully to what Harrier before him spoke and found her goals identical to what most other practitioners of the forbidden arts want to achieve. Gilmour included. Her earlier play hinted of a cunning and intelligent character, not what usual dropouts of the Foard were branded as. But the Foard's ignorant opinion was the one he least cared about. Gilmour, himself, had been branded as incapable and lacking enough skills to be called a mage.
"We have no other option than trust to extend our knowledge." Gilmour said dryly. That was the truth, without trusting, even if it was a blind trust, one's possibilities of gaining new knowledge were severely hindered or made unbelievably difficult. "My thoughts coincide with yours. Expanding our sphere of knowledge is certainly beneficial for both." The warlock paused before continuing with a much lower voice. "Now tell me, how much do you know about Darion Kromwell ?" Direct to the point as always.
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Post by Harrier Wren on Dec 26, 2016 19:21:13 GMT
"I only read his record once, but I've had the chance to look back on it using memory enhancement techniques. I know whatever details he saw fit to include in that scroll. Those details led me to uncover others over the years, though not many. For most of his life, he was a man who kept a low profile." She spoke even more quietly now. "After all, one can't play with demons, spirits, undead and great enchantments in public. I don't know what sort of balance he found in his skillset, where his priorities were, or what his legacy might still have to offer. As for myself, I have a broad grounding in the standard Foard techniques. Insofar as I deviate from their ideal, it's in necromancy - conjuring spirits, raising undead of various kinds, the occasional resurrection experiment."
Even saying that much was a major first step in the tentative trust department.
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Post by Roy Gilmour on Dec 26, 2016 22:44:47 GMT
A necromancer. Interesting. By far one of the most complicated branches of dark magic and one that, in Gilmour's experience, was rarest found. Perhaps the woman had talent on top of intelligence. He very well knew that the sharing of one's skill set certainly required for the other to clarify his. In the end, that was how trust was formed. "Very well." Gilmour nodded, necromancy was by far something he was inept at doing despite acquiring theoretical knowledge of it, the warlock was definitely not a practitioner. "The diary of Kromwell, or the one we read back in the Foard, is a very disputed piece of work." He began unaware if she already knew that but nonetheless proceeded on summarizing his lifetime findings. "What is found in Kromwell's diary is just a tiny bit of knowledge of the whole dark magic arts. Even more, it has been redacted over time and there are a lot of elements that are missing as you might have found." Gilmour paused, his eyes still locked with Harrier's. "A group of dark mages such as us have made their agenda, along with their personal agendas, to find out more of the lost knowledge. As any research, it often leads to different view points and theories. All can agree, though, that the arts we practice have been scattered throughout the world while some lost forever." He stopped abruptly considering whether to proceed and share more information. Shifting his eyes around, the warlock knew his passion for knowledge would be victorious in the end. "I travel the world seeking more and more knowledge of these arts, at first solely focused on my own skill set - fell magic. Eventually I learned that what we have read in Kromwell's diary is just a foundation, and possibly a very small one, even until now the identity of Kromwell is shrouded in mystery. Was he a scholar or a powerful practitioner ? What was his purpose ? And the question that we are all obsessed about - how did it come to this world ?" Gilmour took a breather before continuing, his passion cooled down. "These are but a drop in the lake of questions that answers are to be found." Silence befell their table before the warlock asked her a very serious question. "There is a lot to learn, Mrs. Wren. Both for you and for me. Let us collaborate." Gilmour took out a vellum neatly sealed and if she would open it she would find neatly written a short summary about 'The Grimoire of Jovaar Qal'. The short description informed the reader that the grimoire is a lost item, some calling it a fable, that belongs to a figure believed to be the father of necromancy. Gilmour's proposition to seek knowledge was obvious. Harrier Wren
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Post by Harrier Wren on Dec 27, 2016 1:29:26 GMT
Roy Gilmour Harrier's eyebrows rose at the word 'group.' He'd meant it as a hook for her attention; consciously, she'd taken the bait. She held her piece, though, as he explained more. He finished by sliding her a folded piece of vellum. She cracked the unmarked wax seal with her fingers, disdaining a knife, and scanned the writing in moments. "You speak in egalitarian terms," she said, "as if you and your friends operate as a sort of...gentlemen's club, where mutual respect and cooperation abound, where self-interests balance each other out. Have I inferred too much? I doubt it." She set down the letter and tapped it with a fingernail. "And you're leaving me to infer that a fair share in such things would be mine, a share proportional to my work. I ask no assurances -- trust is more about actions than about words, as we both know. But I want you to be aware that I'll settle for nothing less than fair and full access, if we're successful in finding something that even partially fills this description. In return I'll do my utmost to ensure that success, up to and including conversations with the malevolent dead." The letter vanished into her sleeve. "I'd prefer Master Wren, by the way, or simply Harrier. I never married, and 'Miss' wouldn't do either."
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Post by Roy Gilmour on Dec 27, 2016 14:31:16 GMT
Gilmour chuckled at the mention of a gentlemen's club. When he thought of the way he described it, it did fit the bill but it was by far more...complicated than that. "Good, Master Wren." He nodded with a slight smile on his face before it turned serious once again. "This gentleman's club...it is as you described. A bit more complicated but could be crudely described as you did." The Synod was certainly still away from members enforcing their political views and their personal agendas. That's when trouble would stir and Gilmour honestly had no idea until when would that last. "The knowledge shared in this... club, is something that would open many doors for you. Doors that would always remain closed at the Foard." For a moment he wondered how much did Harrier know. Drastically, Gilmour decided to divert the topic to something more productive for both. Pointing at the letter that disappeared into her sleeve, he spoke. "To get, one must give in return. We have a month and a half to find this, if it exists. Then, the gentleman's club would reward you well for that work." Harrier Wren
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Post by Harrier Wren on Dec 27, 2016 15:18:00 GMT
"It all sounds sensible enough. Time limits breed productivity, a month and a half is probably reasonable, and I almost never expect to be paid in advance."
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her boots, fingers laced over her stomach. "The letter I just read -- it seems to have a paucity of details. Some things are better left unwritten. What do we have to work with, what are our starting points, if they're not mentioned in that letter? The name's familiar to me, and there's a nearby association that might or might not dovetail with whatever you know, but I'm curious what other leads you have. Long-lost heirs? Burial sites? Old family estates? Underwater ruins?" Half a joke, half not. The cliches had become cliches because, so often, they actually did wind up containing traces of value as a matter of natural progression. Relics and memories were handed down or interred or rendered inaccessible; that was just how time worked.
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Post by Roy Gilmour on Dec 27, 2016 18:38:18 GMT
Gilmour caressed his short stubble, his face implying the answer she was going to get. They lacked a lot of leads. A lot. He had just recently acquired more knowledge of the grimoire, just a theory on what its contents could be and a location to start looking for it. "Do share every bit of knowledge you have about it. We need every little piece of information we can get as we are severely lacking." The warlock admitted sighing in the process. "We need to leave at dusk, a month and a half may sound terribly long but with the lack of information we have, it's terribly short." He paused to unwrap another letter from his pouch setting it before her. He summarized what it said. "According to some sources, dubious as they maybe, Jovaar Qal is not a name but an alias in Old Macharian dialect, a language which I am not too sure many people speak. Other sources found records of a family name bal-Qal in Mystmarch. Both sources could be argued for, seeing that it is believed that the Free Cities were the first to dwell on the dark arts while Mystmarch is known for being a source of sorcerers through history." Gilmour stopped as if he had more to say but it was only his wish that he mad more to say. Unfortunately, he had nothing more but perhaps Master Wren did. It coincided with her specialty and she might very well have been more information that is from more legitimate sources. Gilmour's eyes shifted from the letter to Harrier's eyes waiting hopefully on another piece of the puzzle.
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Post by Harrier Wren on Dec 27, 2016 19:30:04 GMT
Roy GilmourShe spread out the second letter flat, thumbs and forefingers tacking down the corners, and read it in more depth than the first. Then she read it again, and a third time, until the implications had sunk in. "The Old Macharian connection comes from the Kellensbook annals. They're stylized and derivative, but in the time since you left the Foard, they've been considered more authoritative. That's probably because some of their more satirical passages involved peripheral members of the Imperial household, and there's no longer a need to safeguard the Free City-to-Empire power balance with appeasement by leaving the Kellensbooks peripheral. All that to say, there's no longer anyone important for those books to offend, so now they're being taken more seriously. There's been more research backing them up. "I'm not familiar with Mystmarch, not at all, but I'd lean toward Macharia. I read an account once, a poem really, but one whose details were authentic. It involved summoning a nameless founding figure of necromancy, in spirit. The location was left purposefully vague, but there were certain environmental details that fit the south far, far better than they fit the north. There were implications of a nearby city as well."
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