Just a side thought, how would the gholem go about learning magic disciplines not pre-programmed into him? I'm thinking something that would allow him to awaken plantlife allowing conversation. Eventually he might be able to create something similar to himself (on a smaller scale though of course). Unless that would fall solely under Flora, I'm thinking small questions might work but as far as mobility and imparting self awareness it probably falls under other keywords.

---

Walking isn't a lost art - one must, by some means, get to the garage. ~Evan Esar

Safrac isn't really sure what to say to this, it's all very bad news not just for his original mission, but for everything in the path of the rogue army, or the army sent to chase them down. Chasing them keeps them all together, and not chasing them would mean disobeying the crown and wouldn't be popular anyway. Like a wild fire out of control the only option seems to be fighting losing battles and hoping it goes away before too many important things burn. Even worse there are certainly people that would join such a fire just so they aren't burned by it.

It's all too much for him to deal with on his own, with his small lance, and nothing he can do seems as if it will help. The only thing keeping the knight together at this stage is that, by technicality, it isn't his mission any longer. The fact that he could never turn his given task into anything useful still stings though and he doesn't even realize that he's gained more information to send back to command.

In the end all he says is, voice somewhat mournful, "Sounds like things are worse than I had heard... Makes me glad I'm not still assigned to chase them..."

---

School requires more work than I remember it taking...

Kheitain- good question; acquiring new magic- hell, acquiring new skills in general- is one of the holes in the system, and I don't see a hard and fast rule actually being all that useful- basically, relevance. Finding someone who already knows and get them to show you the basics, essentially.

Spawning- not sure what else to call it at the moment- would probably require earth, flora, fauna, motion, and enchantment; that's several separate fields- not impossible, but a lot of XP away.


'Look on the bright side,' the druid says to Safrac, 'it could be so very much worse. And I suspect I'm about to tell you exactly how.'

You all end up in the large study room on the top floor, Caranthir takes a quick look around then pulls out of one of the heaps of scrolls, a map- pyrographed deerskin, showing most of the county. It's not ornamental, apart from anything else pyrographing is a long, slow process. It's also not entirely accurate, as the two people present who have winged creatures under their control can attest.

How did he know exactly where that was? Anyway, he hands the floor over- not literally, of course- to the druid, who introduces himself. 'My name is Aburon, and until about four days ago I was a wanted man, outlawed and hunted. Your people tried to kill me on several occasions.' he says to Mathilde.

'I'll give you the really short version- a proper explanation wouldn't make this any more believable or palatable. No-one else knows this yet, and I'm thanking all the spirits of everything I can think of that I got out of the job of having to tell the public- some poor bastard of a king's messenger will be doing that tomorrow at noon.' He's clearly in no hurry to get on with it himself, but after some prodding from Hara, he does.

'In gratitude for saving his throne, or revenge at having made a hell of a mess, or both, his lack-witted majesty has been leant on to grant the vacant dignity of Count of Auvaine to the colonel commanding the Striking Phoenix.

I've seen the royal warrant, it's legitimate, and anyway it's too evil news not to be true. The wolves are running the sheepfold, the monsters are in charge. At this point, I'm pretty much open to suggestions.'

The druid's words are the worst news that Safrac has heard in a while, not in the least because it means that he's basically been sold out by the crown he'd sworn to defend. He thinks of how to do things and comes to realize that they have only once shot at things. The enemy is stronger than they are so that leaves the easiest way of ending things out of reach. The people aren't strong enough to rise against either the Striking Phoenix or the crown, so the diplomatic way is out. That only leaves the hard way.

"Seeing as all other options are out, we must assassinate the new Count of Auvaine and kill as much of his council as we can. While they will each be strong better a small group than an entire army. If what I have learned of them is true a then, should we succeed the lack of leadership should cause the groups to turn inward and fight or simply scatter. However time is critical, he may fix the issue by handing out lands and titles with his new authority," Safrac speaks his thoughts with the determined plainness that earned his men's respect.

---

School requires more work than I remember it taking...

The gholem reluctantly enters the building, and mills about uncomfortably while the map is explained, he hates being indoors. He waits untill all have said their piece and then takes a moment to work the kinks out of his rapidly healing leg and braces. He clears some dust from his system before saying his piece, "Why would you want to kill the leaders? This Striking Phoenix moves without direction, the Kurr-Nul has to stop them or else he can't hold the territory."

The gholem fidgets for a moment and reforms the rest of the nicks out of the stone plates covering his arms and legs, he's not sure if he's even understood the problem. While making sure the taper and edges are sharp an idea pops into his head, "What if we made this what they don't want?"

---

Walking isn't a lost art - one must, by some means, get to the garage. ~Evan Esar

(Some human perception rolls occur; and they are damned good. Caranthir's left eyebrow goes up a whole millimetre and a half- while normally a sardonic, sarcastic bastard, even by elvish standards, he is shocked and surprised, and after a moment's thought comes to the conclusion that it would be an extreme long shot. He and the druid are both thinking sideways, exploring possibilities and options. It would be a good idea if it could be made to work.)

'Unlikely;' Aburon says to the gholem, 'if life is good here, then someone will want it- if we scorch the earth ourselves, if that's what you mean, the rest of the situation is going to get worse. Although... are you thinking what I'm thinking?' Aburon says to Caranthir, pointing at a place on the map.

'I would like to be rather more certain that we've both just played out the same conversation in our heads, but it's more feasible than most of the alternatives.' he pronounces. 'What do you think?' he askes Randolf, Mathilde and Valette- then it occurs to him. He adds to Valette 'We may need bait- I think it's time I examined your head. A map is as good a ritual focus as any for this and better than most.'

'What would be ideal?' Aburon asks him.

'A diary.' he says. 'Well?'

Sincerest apologies for the delay; some fairly bizarre events are in the process of unfolding and I keep getting sucked into them.



"Valette. Actually, a simple attempted murder would be a rather pleasant change of pace at the moment... In any case, it's a pleasure to meet you."

(Not much to say, really, and Valette gets the feeling that further conversation would be a bad idea as it would distract our resident medic from all the people who need medic-ing around here.)

---

Conversion Table:

2000 Mockingbirds = 2 Kilomockingbirds
Basic Unit of Laryngitis = 1 Hoarsepower
453.6 Graham Crackers = 1 Pound Cake
1 Kilogram of Falling Figs - 1 Fig Newton
Time Between Slipping on a Banana Peel and Smacking the Pavement = 1 Bananosecond
Half of a Large Intestine = 1 Semicolon

Randolf pauses to wipe his forehead and harrumphs at the knight's thanks. "Save it for when he wakes, you might not appreciate this so much then." The number of possible complications, the risks of what might have happened if he accidentally healed the wounds with some contaminant still in there, its all a bit heavy on him. He glances at the orc medic before standing up and following the group up into the lounge. What's on his mind isn't clear, especially given the way he doesn't seem to want to look at anyone but the injured, and even them not in the eye.

At the news and the knight's reaction, he groans softly and leans back against a wall to stare at the ceiling, muttering to himself about having become a doctor to avoid politics. At the direct question, he swings his gaze down again. "My only opinion of this matter is that if the Pheonix is bad for the general populace with its leadership, they would be worse without it, if only for as long as it takes for them to wipe each other out. Even if that plan could be accomplished, which I very much doubt."

---

Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)

"Scorch the earth? no!" The gholem is shocked by even the possibility. He reaches across and takes one of the weights used to pin down the map and then makes one of the small flowers groing out from his arms crawl down to his hand. Once it's there he moves his hands together and tells the flower to reach across to the weight, he then makes the flower grow rapidly untill it can wrap itself completely around the weight and lift it from his hand.

He takes another moment to shape the flower slightly, so that the stem and leaves are wrapped around the weight completely and the bloom is once again facing upwards. The gholem looks pointedly at Caranthir, hoping that this time he'll get the point.

I realise this isn't a viable alternative in the gameworld but I'm trying to make the gholem a little more involved.

---

Walking isn't a lost art - one must, by some means, get to the garage. ~Evan Esar

(tried to post this last night, but was too tired to make it make sense...)

'Her.' Mathilde points out. 'Colonel, and now Countess, Johanna Calvern.' Now there is a name that trails a black mist behind it; Reputation adds as a bonus to other people's History or Banter or Local Culture or what- have- you skills to have heard of you, and she is notorious- something on the level of Vlad Tepes. 'For the damage she has already done and most especially what she may do, she needs to be stopped, and who else is to do it?'

'Here, have your spine back.' Caranthir says to her, dismisses what's left of his magic, and carries on 'I do not see the whole of the politics of this yet- she may well have become a monster, but not a fool; Central Army command are monsters, quite literally, but not fools- they would have read the future and weighed the costs, and don't make me laugh about their being tricked. How exactly does one keep a dragon in ignorance?

Whatever they were doing, they thought about it and saw an objective that was worth the price of this devastation. She's a ferociously difficult target, trouble enough, but we are not going to be able to get away with it until we can understand not merely what happened, but why.'


'That's an understatement.' Hara says. 'Having seen her fight- no, no way. You wouldn't believe me, so try this for logic; the Striking Phoenix runs on the basis of personal leadership, it sure as crap doesn't function on the army rules and regulations- and what sort of being do you think it would take to win the respect and admiration of those madmen of a dozen different races and three score homelands? A worse madwoman than the lot of them, that's who.'

'On the whole, though,' the druid Aburon points out, 'and speaking as someone who's being paid by her...I think it may be wise to try. We're back to wolves again; look and see how she treats the average being in the street- but she respects (as far as I can tell) danger, and dangerous people.
At the very least we need to show our fangs, and if it works, there we are. Even if it doesn't we, and I'm including the people on whose behalf we would be claiming to be doing it, would actually be safer and with more leverage, more chance to make things change and make them better as a respected enemy than a harmless innocent. And I think you have the idea how.' he says to the gholem.


'Find an environment that can be used against her.' Caranthir says. 'A trap rather than an assassination as such- and this might just be the place for it.

First things first, and in order; you need to sort your troubles out.' he says to Mathilde. 'Fight your duel, then break that young pup of a Valdemironian, you should be able to assist with that.' he adds to the druid. 'Then meet me here, or more likely my representative, at noon tomorrow. This needs further planning.'

---

"I beseech thee, In the bowels of God, think it possible that you might be wrong."
-Oliver Cromwell to Parliament, 1647
"It is good to keep an open mind; but not so open that your brains fall out." Attributed to James Oberg

A pack of wolves and a trap, not the sorts of things he had been expecting when he came to this meeting. Safrac starts to think to himself about how one goes about trapping a dragon as he gets up and starts to walk down the stairs. This time he's the first one out, moving alone trying to think, he's never had this much weight pinned on him before and he's reverted back to a more primitive way of thinking wanting to do it all alone.

Lucky for him he hears footsteps behind him and he pulls himself together and looks at Mathilde as she comes down the stairs, making eye contact he says, "Let's go deal with that duel."

---

School requires more work than I remember it taking...

In case that bit confused anyone- the Empire of Tol Authran is bsically run on the framework of an open, competitive- exam, civil service meritocracy. Anything and anyone can join, and if they are good enough, rise. Dragons tend to do well in that environment, and there are a number of them in the senior levels of the administration, including the Chancellor and the Marshal-General.


'He's right about the politics.' Mathilde admits, gloomily facing the fact. 'Managed by monsters though it may be, Tol Authran is not usually so brutal- your people are better than this. Their rule may be high- handed, but it is at least usually efficiently done.

Everyone has been thinking and hoping that the Striking Phoenix were renegades, gone rogue, but the speed and organisation they showed, that wasn't a unit whose internal discipline had broken down. They were doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing.

I do not like or trust that elf; and the main reason is that he is sharp, very sharp- finding him here tonight was an unpleasant surprise that cost two of my people. He could have gone in earlier, but he let us do most of the work, and most of the dying, and-

and every time they get involved, I come away with a head full of conspiracy theories and black ramblings that take days to untangle, days we don't have. You may be right. One thing at a time.'


As Valette is turning to go, Caranthir says to her 'I said I would help you, and I shall. Come over here and place your hands on the map.' Who's heading to the temple, who's staying to watch, objections, contributions?

---

"I beseech thee, In the bowels of God, think it possible that you might be wrong."
-Oliver Cromwell to Parliament, 1647
"It is good to keep an open mind; but not so open that your brains fall out." Attributed to James Oberg

Randolf went over to Valette and looked at her quizzically. "You want to go through with this? In the middle of all these things happening? It's a damned fine time to have an existential quandary like this crop up." He looked around at all the others. "And just who the hell are these people you'll be putting yourself in the hands of? Are you really going to be that trusting?"

---

Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)

Valette takes a deep breath, says to Randolf "This is probably the most important thing in my life. Of course I'm taking advantage of this opportunity," and places her hands on the map.

---

Conversion Table:

2000 Mockingbirds = 2 Kilomockingbirds
Basic Unit of Laryngitis = 1 Hoarsepower
453.6 Graham Crackers = 1 Pound Cake
1 Kilogram of Falling Figs - 1 Fig Newton
Time Between Slipping on a Banana Peel and Smacking the Pavement = 1 Bananosecond
Half of a Large Intestine = 1 Semicolon

'It is the ideal time,' Caranthir points out to Randolf, 'because I suspect her existential quandary is involved in all of this. Study the map.' he adds to Valette. 'Feel the ground under your feet, roll the placenames around your head to see if they spark memories, see the hills and valleys. Think of place and sense of place, and I will follow that trail and piece it together- you will not be conscious for this.
I will need to reach in too deep, to things you perhaps do not want to remember, you will drift into a fugue state and Doctor,' he adds to Randolf, 'I presume you will bear witness?'
He adds something to Rav which Valette can't quite catch- a very obscure subdialect from a native speaker, but she can interpret tone, hostile, and by context, it probably means "interfere and die."

Then (and if anyone interferes we'll backtrack to this point)- the magic begins. it is effectively a running ritual- a complex, composite act of magic in an improvised, nonspecific arena. Several of the powers woven together are specifically elvish political-ecological magic, difficult for a healer to follow the symbology or the logic behind it, more of the rest comes from the druid who is assisting with the powers of the old faith-

Valette sees a blizzard of images, more streets than fields, a handful of faces that seem to focus in and out of vision- smells and shapes of patterns, the markets and houses, boats, a city by the water, on the water, power and pagentry and damp, smelly cellars, the taste and smell are the most enduring clues, overlapping and overlaying each other, blurring.


The watchers, on the other hand, get a much more coherent picture. "A child in the Giants' Hall- the canals make it unmistakable. Mother living, father dead and gone, if she ever knew in the first place. Brother, playmate? Childhood in a thieves' kitchen- no, this is wrong, there are too many gaps, too much patchwork and thin places.

I'm not missing something, she is. Someone's been in here already removing memories, some of those that are here seem misaligned- there has been an attempt, and it smells like Shaper, to demolish the contents of her head and build a false personality in place, on the bedrock of the muscle- memories learned in a life on the wrong side of the law.

That is not easy, and anyone who could do this would not come cheap, anyone who can pay for this kind of work to be done would not have small objectives in mind. I was right, it is political after all.

Bearing in mind that the false memories seem to be the ones richer in texture and tone, but also the most impressionistic, what seems to you to have been the object and aim here?' he asks the druid.

'This is an ugly, ugly business.' the druid says.

'a great crime was committed against her, certainly,' the elf says, 'but it was intended to facilitate a greater still.'

'I think you're wrong about the muscle memories,' the druid says, 'some of them are false too...they, and they were damned good, tried to take a fatherless street urchin and make a noblewoman out of her.'

'Are they good enough to have deliberately left it looking unfinished? Because that flashbulb of the tower, we are meant to think she escaped before they could complete the conditioning process, which comes close to incriminating the Culiean of Oremedda?'

'Why is it, for a seeker after truth, you seem to inhabit a world full of lies?' the druid asks him. 'No, that...that has the smell of reality about it. She was being conditioned to be used as a political pawn, and escaped before it could be completed.'

'Why, it is in virtually everyone's interest to lie to me; even my own on occasion...reconstruction is going to be a long and difficult process, and someone out there, we know which way the evidence appears to point, tried to make a lost princess out of her. I wonder why her, why she was chosen?'

At that point, Valette starts to come out of it.

"It is times like these that it may be good to seek aid from another temple, have one of them help untangle things and be in debt to them, were it only that we were in a position to do so... Thus we must use what resource we have, though we may be loath to do so. Let us settle this duel, and then, I suppose I am to take it that I am the young pup refereed to; though I am not really the typical sort to join your ranks..." The knight still doesn't realize that he has already used a limited amount of the same magic Mathilde and Theresa posses.

---

School requires more work than I remember it taking...

'No, no, he seemed strangely at ease with you, he meant du Lauloy- and those dovetail neatly. Embarrass him, destroy him politically, and that should gather a measure of support- enough to make it feasible to convince some of them to lend their support to this assassination.

Which I would be more confident about if Caranthir wasn't involved- he probably spent decades perfecting his ability to spark touches of paranoia in people, and it paid off. He was there to do what, rein in the elves who threatened to kill everyone? Not that I believe he would have held to that, wouldn't have backed them up if things had gone down differently...what were they there to cover up in the first place?

He could be an extremely potent ally, if I thought for a second that it was safe to let him into our counsel, that he would not somehow weave a mesh of secret deals and alliances that would leave him owning us all in the end- I'm probably being unjust to him. Goddess, I hope I am, because I'd hate to be right about what I suspect he wants in the long run. And at the very least, I have to respect the threat he could present.

He leapt on your assassination idea- more or less put himself in charge of it, in fact. And in the company of a known outlaw. Not that this is as bad as it could be; a personal duel, with no-one except those directly involved in harm's way, is about as clean as war gets.'

She pauses for a moment, says 'The goddess approves of you. Seems to think you're doing something right, anyway. It's not a night for revelations- or too choked with them for many more- or I'd be making much more of this, but I think if you prayed to her, she would listen.'

You get to the temple quadrant, and there's a jester waiting in the shadows- she steps out, and- for once she's going to tell it pretty much as it is, there's no point retyping the tale of de Andorra's defiance.


Baerne, Vehrec, you both hear this last bit; 'Think of all the rigorous tests someone with that much weight of future riding on them would be expected to undergo, and how they could have expected her to pass.' Caranthir says.

'Bloody hell.' Aburon says, obviously realising. 'Did we bring her out too soon?'

'No,' the elf says, 'this part of the secret is written in her flesh, not her mind.'

"Well, that was... interesting." Valette's voice is shaky, but she's trying to retain something resembling her usual composure. "I don't suppose anyone can explain what I just saw? It all happened too fast... too many images... too much to process." At the end, the strain she's under starts to become more obvious - a slight catch in her voice, rapid breathing.

---

Conversion Table:

2000 Mockingbirds = 2 Kilomockingbirds
Basic Unit of Laryngitis = 1 Hoarsepower
453.6 Graham Crackers = 1 Pound Cake
1 Kilogram of Falling Figs - 1 Fig Newton
Time Between Slipping on a Banana Peel and Smacking the Pavement = 1 Bananosecond
Half of a Large Intestine = 1 Semicolon

The elf moves straight into the explanation, with grisly cheerfulness; 'I'm not the first person to have been inside your head. Someone tried to give you a set of false memories and a synthetic personality- turn you into a political pawn. We think you escaped before they were finished, but considering the subtlety of the work there could be many layers of deception.

I can give you a portrait, a name and a rough location for your mother and brother; no other family that I found. In all probability you have reverted to the last coherent set of memories and abilities you had- a minor thief and con artist. Some of your known associates in your past life, again, description and name, location, identifying marks, modus operandi.

Inside your head my own mind wandered onto the subject of charges to be brought very readily, I can assure you; how you got involved in this is hazier, but at a guess you defrauded someone who noticed that you would be ideal for their purposes.

You were intended to be moulded into something that could convincingly be presented as a missing heir, a by-blow of some high nobleman of the land; to what is less clear- but the amount of effort and money your abductors spent on you makes it unlikely this is over. Even if you did, legitimately, escape as we are intended to believe. The safest place for you to hide may actually be at the centre of the vortex of another crisis.'

Hey guys, I think I'm going to have to drop out of this. Sorry. Neither my time nor my internet connection are stable enough for me to really check in on any sort of regular basis, and I don't want to drag down the game. I think the best move at this time is to bow out.

Sorry again, and I did enjoy the game. I'll keep my eyes open for the published version.

That's a shame. Is there any prospect of things getting better, or even of just being able to check in occasionally?

I'm happy to let the character remain "in limbo" in the hope that circumstances improve. If not, and anyway, good luck with whatever the problem is.

"I think we can take care of du Lauloy pretty swiftly. Even I was able to talk so that his own church listened to me over him, and I know that there are men in that church that would see him fall. Yet even that can or maybe must wait, until Theresa is dealt with," he doesn't say anything about Caranthir, he doesn't want to think that far ahead until the problems that can be dealt with are done.

The conversation moves on after that and Safrac hears that the Goddess approves of him and his eyes open at that. The realization of what had happened earlier with his super human burst of speed finally dawn on him. He'd never thought to find himself beholden to a god or temple before, but now that it is here he knows he'll have a long night ahead of him trying to get things straight in his head.

While he's still thinking a young woman, a jester, steps into the street and explains about de Andorra and his battle. The orc curses at the causalities of this bloody night and he wonders who might be best able to get healing to him. Looking back he wonders where the doctor or the druid might be.

As he ponders what he can do to help a friend he looks to the construct and asks, "Can you fix another person the same way you fix yourself?"

---

School requires more work than I remember it taking...

I guess put de Andorra in limbo if you're all right with that. This problem should resolve itself in the next few weeks. Hopefully.

I was trying to do this fairly flowerily, but it just isn't flowing, so- what happens to de Andorra, essentially, is that as he is fading in and out of consciousness, trying not to breathe too much in case a bone fragment goes the wrong way, the dimly- lit stone around him fades to black, and fades back in again in bright red and yellow. Sort of like the inside of a circus tent.

There is a being standing next to him, dressed in motley like a fool, who says in a booming voice, "Welcome to the afterlife! For all eternity this shall be your dwelling place, the Clown's Paradise where you shall have pratfalls all day long and thousand year old jokes for the next five million years...

sorry, I just had to see the look on your face when I told you that. Cult requirement. You're actually not dead, this would be the wrong afterlife for you anyway. We have, ah, borrowed you from the normal mainstream of existence. Have you ever played the shell game? Of course you have. Three shells, three cups, doesn't matter.

In exchange for your life- you weren't far off visiting Huran's Halls, don't forget- I want you to help me play a trick. Many tricks, in fact. That shell game? You're going to be the pea. You're going to turn up at various places, at various times, doing various unlikely things, and getting people running around in circles trying to figure out who, what and where you really are.

When do you get to go back to normality? When someone picks the right cup.'

All right, it's not exactly limbo, it should be much less dull for the character for a start, but it'll do.

Hey again, I didn't want to clutter up other players spotlight with another "The gholem is uncomfortable/enthralled by ____" post. I'm hoping to develop his personality as the game goes but I've never played by post and am not used to how long character development will take.

The gholem tilts his head at Safrac's question. His healing is a little different, but it may be possible. " I don't fix myself, I form what is already here... She could be reformed..." The gholem thinks hard for a moment, "It would hurt." He drops back to his three limbed means of locomotion and moves to follow Safrac to wherever this person that needs to be fixed is.

I'm thinking, and I realize that this method would permanently scar any conscious person, not to mention cause unfathomable pain. Localized applications of cleanse, combine form and grow to shape and possibly a skill roll on surgeon/veterinary. Definetly be doing something like this in the garden.

---

Walking isn't a lost art - one must, by some means, get to the garage. ~Evan Esar