[Epic Quest] Karakuri (Sahova All-Stars)

[Panna Cotta]

"Law I / A robot may not harm a human or, by inaction, allow a human being to come to harm Law II / A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the first law Law III / A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the first or second law" - I, Robot Sahova had seen worse days. Years ago, a ruckus caused by a number of rebels left the Citadel's residents in friction and turmoil. That day, had things went according to a particular someone's plan, the great towers of the monolithic castle would have fallen, and the structure would have collapsed upon itself, leaving nothing but ruins. But that wasn't the first war that Sahova laid witness to. Nor would it be the last. As the world continued its own repair and survival, out here in this sad little abandoned island, the Citadel sat in between the mountains like a majestic fort - worn and weathered, a bored king sitting on his throne. Perhaps it was with great curiosity how the rest of them had managed to stay alive after all these centuries: rivalries, (un)death threats, ennui, and all. Most of the original Sahovans had long left the lost cause of Alahea, boxing it into compacted memories, prisoners to their own magic. The newer residents were just as beleaguered, though many possess the addiction and madness of a true Sahovan wizard. Someday, we will rule the world, they all thought. There wasn't really a lot to do but continue and wait. Leave the work to the golems, them living mechanical slaves. Those who have been in Sahova rarely speak about golems. For most travelers, most of them merchants, the highlight of being in Sahova was meeting a Sahovan Nuit. After all, there wasn't a lot of hype in conversing with a talking piece of log. The golems were often ignored, neglected pieces of living furniture. There was something unassuming and innocent about an automaton at first glance. They looked like they're just walking and prattling around, almost as if they were on an aimless path. But they weren't as mindless as some people assume them to be, although their physical appearances - usually made from wood, sometimes assembled with metal - belittled their true capabilities. Almost all functioning golems in Sahova were as old as the original Sahovans. They've gone through the worst of the Valterrian, endured endless pain and repairs and calibration. They had been exposed to djed storms, changing climates; They have been to numerous wars. Bereft of unnecessary emotion, cold and logical, focused and driven. One would not call their existence mundane, if they could learn to appreciate what the golems do for Sahova. But golems were not without their faults. Copied from life, artificial intelligence - they were imperfect creatures. Their shortcomings depended on the ability of the wizard who created them, and their durability in the materials that they are made of. They cannot escape malfunction, and were defenseless against destruction. The Goddess Caiyha frowned upon the craft of animation, and Dira was sure to bring back any overstaying soul back into the ring of life and death. It was a great mystery how they have never laid heated eyes on Sahova's undead and golems. Some historians say that their influences do not hold sway over Zarik Mashaen's Grand Oath. Occassionally they would look at Sahova from the Ukalas, shake their heads in disappointment, and leave the future to the fanciful Lhex. Maybe, Caiyha and Dira were both in the opinion that Sahova's destruction lies within its own self. And the Nuits continue and wait, expecting something like this to fall unto them sooner or later. It had been centuries since the earth rocked the island. The first explosion rippled a tremor through the mountains, a warning signal. The Citadel swayed ever so slightly, and in some hidden laboratory a can tipped, a flask broke. Most of the wizards were unperturbed. It would be such a bother to check what was happening outside. They had survived the Valterrian by staying underground. No harm in staying underground for a little bit more. If there was going to be another attack on Sahova, there were golems to take care of it. Ha! All but the last sentence was true. Quest players: kindly wait for a PM regarding the rules of the game before posting.

[Rayage]

There seemed to be a hint of frustration in the air of the Lab 45E as the nuit, Rayage, paced to and fro. The pace was fast, brisk and stellar for a walking corpse. His tattered and age-worn cloak flowing with him every step that he took, and with every step the emotion seemed to intensify he had once again forgotten what he had been doing. It happens every now and then, but then every genius has their personality quirks. Rays memory was perfect! Almost perfect that is. Though one could assume this is what five hundred years of living could do to a person and perhaps make one contemplate death as not such a bad thing compared to going insane. Though some people still manage to do so in their mortal lives Rays insanity came on with the wear and tear of time and its endless marching. ”What was it? What was it? What was it?” he asked himself as he paced his arms moving as if he were in a brisk run and with each word he spoke his voice grew more and more angry. Anger not at himself mind you, but at his desk for if it hadn’t been for the desk and its presence there by the far wall he wouldn’t have looked at it and therefore would not have forgotten what he set out to do. Was he going over to the desk to do something? No, it involved Alchemy that he was sure of. But what was it? A solid frown on his face his features twisted with that easily recognizable emotion called rage. It sickened him that did that desk. It just made him want to destroy it, want to use it in some half-baked attempt of alchemy. Perhaps as a charger so he would never have to use it again. That would teach it to distract him from his all-important work. Didn’t it know that he was trying to raise and army here? He looked at it and how snugly it sat there staring right back at him. The paper covered structure probably would have been gotten rid of right then and there if it didn’t serve a purpose. If he got rid of it where would all the paper go? Hand raising to his forehead, clearly aged and it was evident that he was going to have to get a new body soon, he stopped to just think, as if stopping would make him think any clearer. It had to be important, but now that it was lost… He sighed and gave up on whatever he was going to do. If he thought of it he was sure he would think of it again. It always happens, but the thing is he wouldn’t know if he thought of it before based on the fact that he forgot what it was that he was thinking about. Though those technicalities aside it would come back…. Eventually. A sudden turn and he was again facing the desk, the once enemy and stealer of thoughts now a guardian of whatever thought would come from his head. Well guardian of whatever thoughts and processes that he trusted with paper, and that not being a lot at all. He only wrote down things that he knew Qiao would want to know about his experiments and leaving out a key detail here and there that way if they ever do decide to get rid of him they will be missing big pieces of the puzzle of homunculus creation. Some pieces that he was sure Karte could provide but he thought wouldn’t for various reasons. Advancing to the desk he took a seat in the small, low to the floor chair that was provided for him when writing papers. Taking a minute to look over the scattered mess that lay on the desk his hands filed though the paper looking for a blank sheet or a blank enough sheet. He had decided that he would write. Writing about a subject close and dear to his heart: Alchemy. Though close and dear might not be quite the words to describe the Alchemists obsession with his own profession. It would be close enough. Taking a quill and some ink he carefully dipped the tip in and then started to write a little lecture on Alchemy: Alchemy the art of… but then the parchment began to shake and the letters began to look weird because of the shaking involved. Bracing himself he didn’t know what was going on and so let the quill drop on the paper, the black ink on it leaving its mark. Surprised the shaking continued and he tried to stand up but found he was off balance do to the slight shaking of the room and so he quickly found the seat again and waited it out. Soon enough it quit and then he was baffled, ”What was that?” he asked thinking of all the possibilities. Could it have been a magical experiment gone horribly wrong floors beneath him? ”A earthquake?” he asked himself as he sat there, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He had lived through plenty of earthquakes but none of them were quite as tame as this one. With another couple thoughts on the subject he looked at the paper he started and the blot of ink of where he had dropped the quill and scowled at it. That was not what he was doing or going to do. It was just something he would do when he was trying to remember something important about his art… Taking the quill he threw it across the lab and then turned his new found rage on the paper promptly crumpling it and throwing it too yelling after it a hateful, ”Trash!” He didn’t like ‘trash’ at all.

[Gunto]

Gunto’s teeth ground against the hardened jerky in his hand, tearing away a chunk of the stuff to be devoured ravenously. Sahova had not been good to him. What little there was to eat was not offered to him most of the time, and he had taken great pains in procuring what he could from ship captains coming and going from the docks. He’d paid more for this filth than a man would have on a banquet, but merchants being the heinous creatures they were could smell desperation as well as soiled breeches. His teeth ground against something hard and likely to make him sick, and Gunto spat it onto the ground in disgust. With an exaggerated sigh he leaned back against the wall in the darkened hallway he occupied. His job, if you could call it that, had him spending most of his time standing around seething as his charge seemed to take great care and pleasure in doing nothing at all. So he stood there leaning up next to a wooden door to a room that Kamalia occupied, likely staring into space or fiddling with her dress or some other nonsense. I am not to be disturbed she says. Wahh. Wahh.

The Myrian did look out of place, and not only because his chest rose and sank with each natural breath he took. He appeared plucked out of the jungle, his face tattooed in a startled display of savagery and littered with bone and metal piercings. His choice of garb was no less odd, a mishmash of cultures ranging from Falyndar itself all the way to Zeltiva. Even a bit of Sahova showed through in the now tattered hooded cloak he wore, albeit the hood pushed back. There may have been a food shortage for the living in Sahova, but if there was one thing they would never run out of it it would have to be black cloaks. Footfalls drew his eyes down the hallway, and he took in the sickly form of a Nuit shuffling towards him. Abominations, all of them, and it irked him that he could not stick every last one of them. To think it and to do it were two very different things though. He could probably stick at least two before he burst into flames or was sliced in two, or maybe just melted. Perhaps three. Probably three. Maybe just two though. Indeed, probably just two.

He shook his head and grunted as the Nuit vanished down the other end of the hall. He wore his full armament as often as he could, though the Nuit never seemed intimidated by it, nor his decorated face. He considered running a whetstone over his knife for perhaps the tenth time that day, but shrugged off the urge. He wouldn’t have any blade left if he kept that rate up.

“Woman, you’re trying my patience...”

His words floated down the hallway in his native tongue, answered only by dead silence. What was he doing here again? He didn’t even know where in this gods forsaken hellhole he was, which furthered his mounting frustration as it stole away the only feasible course of action he could think to do; stomp his feet, yell at her to hurry up, grab her by her bony little wrist and haul her right up to the docks and away from this catastrophic waste of time. But alas. He waited. Tapped his foot. Shifted his belt. Burped. And waited.

Just as Gunto’s patience had finally worn so thin he had began to reach and knock on the door to Kamalia’s borrowed room, he stumbled. With no likely reason to be stumbling, he realized something was... shifting. It was over quite quickly, but enough was enough. He had nearly starved to death for almost three months, and for what? To stand around, eating rancid dried pork and look at walking corpses. Now the whole place was shaking, and no doubt one of those cursed Nuits would bring the whole citadel on top of his head in their madness. Indeed, it was time to go. Gunto slammed his elbow into the door, banging it repeatedly and yelling in Common. “Kamalia! Enough is enough! Let’s go!”

Of course she would come out and spat all sorts of haughty things at him, and he would stare with a flat expression and likely imagine bludgeoning her to still her incessant mouth. She was not so bad most of the time, but those princess streaks had worn thin long ago. He continued pounding, slightly relishing the thought of disturbing her in whatever it was that was so sacred that she would have him monitor the door like some mangy sellsword. Well, he actually was a sellsword and truth be told he could stand for a bath... anyhow.

He continued pounding with his elbow, yelling for her to come out. He hoped that for the first time since he’d managed to get himself tangled up with her, she would see reason and perhaps do things his way.

Ha! This place must really have been getting to him for that notion to cross his mind.

[Neuge]

Neuge was awaiting his master's late return in her study. His feet were propped up on her desk, lazily shuffling her papers into the bin beside the wooden structure one by one. Soft whooshing noises could be heard emanating from the metal trash as a gout of flame flickered up from the bottom. Scrolls had been set at the base of the bin for destruction purposes. The undead man sighed and watched the sun outside the Citadel through a window. He'd been waiting all day and so far Clair had apparently forgotten about him. These events were growing more and more recent by the day but it wasn't something that actually concerned his mind. He could always study more magic. The Nuit got to his feet and glanced at the door barring him from the outside world. Nodding a bit he smirked suddenly, a forced and conscious effort for no-ones amusement but his. "To the Vestibule then. If anyone knows of her whereabouts it'll be one of the messenger golems I'm sure.." He began to wander out into the hallway before suddenly leaning against a wall as it felt like the earth was shaking. Something that tended to never invade the Nuit's head suddenly did. Fear. Things like this in Sahova were rare. The fleeting emotion vanished a moment later however as he dismissed it as a magic act. He pushed himself away from the wall and began to wander back towards the Vestibule, walking onward to find his master.

[Amireh]

Her eyes were grey again. Not that she was aware. The blackness of her quarters left no room for physical speculation. Were there was no light, there was no distraction. And there she sat. Naked, her legs curled over one another in a simple poise for meditation. Soft, deep breathes filled the room with each moment between cluttered with a simple, succinct mantra. I am nothing. The words echoed between the stone walls of the tiny room, reflected and tossed about with a lackluster intention. With eyes wide she stared into the darkness. Concentration. There was nothing there. Perhaps that was the point. A shift in atmosphere was all that announced the change. Before there was nothing and oddly there was still nothing, only now it lead somewhere. Silent. Unseen. The swirling mass of black energy that sat before the woman was invisible among the absence of light, yet she knew it was there. Even if no one else did. Contemplating the Void drove most insane. So it was that Amireh left such depths undiscovered. She merely existed with it. She let it flow through her, that deep emptiness. That hollow, dark, and hopeless feeling. That was what she held in her hand. Despair. The intangible presence of the Void. Of nothing. For once, her concentration allowed her to fathom what it was she possessed. That was until the Citadel shook. The energy vanished. Amireh almost screamed. Grah! Her eyes flashed yellow as she shifted from her bedding, her only arm pressing against the floor with a solid thrust. Who the hell was shaking the damn stone work?! With a growl the woman stood and fumbled around for clothing. These days she had taken to wearing little. The Nuits did not care and neither did she. Without much fuss she slipped the unwashed black dress over her torso. It was loose. Had she lost weight? Of course she did, they barely fed pulsars here. Her lips turned into a snarl. She shifted about the unfurnished room and grasped for her bag, the item enclosed perhaps more precious than anything else she owned. Her arm. Or, at l east, her replacement. The damn thing itched some awful, thus she only wore it when it was necessary. For now it would remain nearby. Only a few moments passed before Amireh passed through her door, the dark, supple skin revealed in what little torchlight lit the passages these hours. Her cant lead her forward without hesitation. Winding past the corridors, Amireh followed the twisted pathways toward the office that what was her one, true hatred on the whole of the forsaken island. Aelobius. She almost spat at his name. She knew the trail like the back of her hand. At least her natural hand. Shoeless, annoyed, and without patience, Amireh nevertheless assumed her voiding poise. Her eyes flickered grey. He seemed to enjoy that. She straightened her back and made a fuss over adjusting her bust, though once finished she stepped into the horrid office. Knocking was pointless. He knew she was there. He always knew. "Are the earthquakes a new addition to studying or is the Island being invaded by pixies?" Calm, balanced, she approached her Master very much the same way she approached her magic. Wearily.

[Irriari]

Irriari paced around the Venenium Laboratory and took in every shelf and piece of glassware that graced the thin shelving on each wall. She had to admire the Nuit's sense of organization as well as the sheer amount of hardware the lab housed. Beakers, vials and containers of every size were stacked or put into wooden cabinets. Thankfully, Irriari's inability to read was hardly a liability when it came to the crystal clear glass. She could judge by eye which size she would need to transform her reagents into a working, potent poison. Irriari had already grabbed a handful of beakers, in preparation for one of her biggest undertakings yet. While the Nuit hardly enjoyed her company, few of them ever spoke to her. It had taken over two weeks to prove that her skills at poison were not to be laughed at. They had expected her to have to craft each poison by hand, using the stockpiled materials the laboratory had on hand. Her supplies were dwindling, a fact she had noted when she left the sea of grass, but she did have her own materials. While no one from the colony had expected her to be able to craft poisons on the go it irked Irriari all the same to have to look at her ever decreasing bunch of supplies.

The actual plants, fungi, oozes and venom stockpiles that the laboratory held were labeled with even more care than the glassware. Her first day at the laboratory had been informative, as one of the oldest Nuit informed her of the system they used to classify the poisons. It was, from the sound of it, extremely detailed and well thought out. The more deadly reagents were placed in the back of the shelves and the precaution saved mizas, as few apprentices would dig all the way to the back to experiment with a novel ingredient.

Irriari grabbed three slender beakers and wrapped them each in a thin cloth before carrying them over to her work station on the ground. In her own colony, she never had the luxury of a table, and she preferred a simple working surface now because of it. Irriari began heating two of the vials over a small flame she had produced in the middle of a make shift fire pit. Herbs and syrup could be added to the vials and heated until the herbs were sufficiently broken down and infused into the syrup. Irriari held the thin glass calmly and observed the mixture as it bubbled, reduced and changed color. The herbs had been a light mint green when she started, but after only a few chimes they had changed into a much darker shade, reminiscent of the leaves on the tall trees back home. After they morphed, Irriari knew removing them quickly and cooling the substance was a must. She propped the small vial against her pack.

It was fun to watch the substance thicken, so she indulged herself for a moment. Suddenly, the vial shook violently, and crashed onto the floor. The liquid that had started to set so beautifully was slowly oozing from the center of the broken glass forward, towards Irriari's ankle. It was a simple enough maneuver to grab the cloth and use it to sop up the ruined liquid and glass shards. Irriari threw her arm into it, angry that Sahova had ruined a good poison in the making. But she wondered what the sudden disturbance in the earth was. Irriari had never felt anything like it in the wild or here. Someone would tell her eventually, she was sure, so for now she continued picking up the glass.

[Rayage]

Watching the paper fly across the room he straightened up and there was a soft sound when the paper hit the laboratory floor. After such an exertion of the emotion of rage a hand would come up and lightly bat back some of the hair that had fallen out of place with the throw. A grin would appear, spread and show itself as he let the hand drop to his side, ”Trash! All of you” he yelled turning back to his desk and with a swoop of his arm send most of the papers on the desk flying off to find a new resting place on the floor below. Those notes were not of any importance to him, he knew it all. He had done it and his memory, perfect. Or that is what he kept telling himself. A pace started again as he walked from the desk and turned back within five steps and started towards the desk again only to turn around and do the process all over again. ”Why do I have so much trash?” he muttered to himself. Sure an archive of his work and theories of what makes a good homunculus is useful to some people, but he considered such a topic as a man’s life work to be highly personal and therefor the art of Alchemy extremely personal to him, and such topics shouldn’t be out for display. Though that was the price of getting things moving once again in this Island colony that seemed to have stalled itself; sometimes he wondered where the spirit of taking over the world went? Did it die? Get reincarnated? Although his thoughts quickly went from taking over the world back to the little quiver that was felt in his lab; it just brought him so much joy to think what some idiot broke to cause the whole place to shake. Even Nuits can be stupid, and he thought past all their rules and regulations on this island most of the nuit inhabitants were idiots full of themselves. He would change that. In time, of course, he would have to keep reminding himself, in time. There was a delicate game to play here, one that involves using his numerous talents to various ends to rule this place once he jump starts Sahovas war with the rest of the world. ”What could they have done?” he asked himself pacing the entire time. The question itself provoking amusing, to him, images of a mages failed summoning, or a reimancers failed spell glyph, maybe even something to do with a spiritist and their workings with things… unnatural. Whatever the case was it made him wonder if such tremors were common-place. Having not being here too long he didn’t know what was common and what was not, but nothing seemed broken or out of place. He observed the lab for damages with quick piercing glances about the place. Nothing… Well no damage except what he caused noting the papers on the floor and the quill and balled-up paper wad, but those can easily be rectified. Amused he began towards the large door that proclaimed his labs existence, the door that seemed more like a safe than a lab entrance. Even on the inside the heavy metal used in its construction could be seen and there were no attempts in hiding it either. It was there and it served a purpose because without these heavy doors, and even reinforced walls of the facility there was a danger of djed radiation spilling out into the rest of the citadel. Though, now, it was all safely contained within the lab, and for anyone lucky enough to step foot in the alchemy lab. Placing his hand on the cold iron of the door it opened without too much effort pushing on it with all his might. He would make note to collect a new body sometime. He already was beginning to notice weakness in the muscles. Petching bodies decompose too fast. Or it could be one of the numerous side effects of being constantly exposed to djed radiation. Something along those lines. Sliding out he pushed the door closed behind him with a slight grunt. Nothing could be easy could it? No, nothing… Looking past that though he turned his attention to the halls before him, the maze that people call Sahova were going a direction was easy but knowing where was the hard part. Choosing a direction that seemed to best suit his purpose he started off, slowly, almost regrettingly leaving his laboratory. Though he wanted to see if there was any damage anywhere and if anyone else higher above felt the same quake he did. That, his sick and all too human curiosity, is what got this nuit to leave his lab. That and he wondered where Karte was…

[Kamalia Timandre]

It was always dark and bleak here in Sahova. Life in here has always been dominated by endless magical research, vivificated by the occasional treachery, death or undeath, and the ubiquitous feeling of being in danger. If there was a place to learn magic, it was here.

How nostalgic, Kamalia observed, as she remembered her days in Mura when she was only an apprentice. The Konti had worked wizardly disciplines for years, drawing upon her own innate talent and the quick mind that wrapped itself around convoluted theories and techniques as if swallowing them whole. With hard work, superb training, and flawless discipline instilled to her by her Konti teachers, Kamalia had made herself into a credible wizard. Yet nothing—not her Timandre heritage, not piles of books, not years of sorcerous education and discipline— could prepare her for the wonder that was Sahova—the treacherous citadel of the undead, where magic freely roamed and stirred about, where the ancient kingdom of Alahea still breathed, where they still reached for the sky.

“Reach the sky,” the Konti half-whispered in her native tongue. Was sky really the limit? How beautiful and preposterous that vision was. But Sahova was a little more than a dilapidated old slattern now, hunkering in the eastern seas, drunkenly cursing at passersby to recall Alahea’s faded beauty. Kamalia wondered if Mizahar would once again see an age of powerful magic, as grand and glorious when the Nymkarta still reigned supereme, when wizards were not treated with suspicion, but accepted and even prized.

In the privacy of her quarters, Kamalia communed with the Mother of All Seers through Divination. First she lit several candles and placed them around the edges of the scrying bowl. Filling the opal container with reimancy water, the young Konti chanted softly and sang the words of a prayer. She bent low, gripping the sides of the bowl with both hands. The young seer closed her eyes and waited, plunging into the depths of the Chavena for answers.

Nothing. There was none.

Like one asleep, Kamalia rose from her desk and picked up the bowl. She tipped it, letting the water slowly spill out onto the stone floor. Then she hurled the opal bowl aside and glared at the elaborate wooden rod resting against the wall. She grabbed the Pathfinder, a cedar staff that featured carvings of four robed wizards on its top. Mother Avalis, what must she do to find out how to tame this accursed, thrice-damned staff? Kamalia was an exceedingly patient woman, but three months of agonizing attempts to compel the magic staff to recognize her as its new master had stretched her fortitude way too much. There were no books that could help her and no Nuit willing to lend a hand. The young sorceress felt foolish resorting to her divination in her desperation to seek the chavi of the god—once a mortal court mage—who formerly wielded this staff. All that in an attempt to learn how to tame this damnable stick!

Kamalia breathed and sighed, and stared at her reflection in the tall frame mirror standing in a corner. Her eyes could appear sharp as a falcon’s when she was angry. They seemed to pierce the blackened glass, now. In truth, she was angrier at herself for failing. She studied her reflection and saw that her limbs had gotten thinner, her body eating away the muscles developed from swimming. She had been so preoccupied with her studies and her mission that she always skipped meals. Food was hard to come by here, after all. She was content that knowledge nourished her mind. Despite these changes, she was no less beautiful. Kamalia commanded grace and a radiance that made her stood out in the dark, dreary Sahova. She adjusted the gossamer shawl around her shoulders and straightened the folds on her dress, before smiling—a bare curve at the corners of her mouth—at herself. “Reach the sky.”

With both hands Kamalia held the Pathfinder aloft, and through the use of her auristic vision, examined the inner structure of the staff. Slowly, methodically, the sorceress attempted to channel her Djed through the cedar shaft, marshalling all the discipline of her wizardly training.

And then her world shook.

Kamalia almost fell facedown on the floor, but she propped herself up with the staff. Pain erupted behind her eyelids and she rubbed at her eyes furiously with her fist. If she had been attempting to collect more djed in her eyeballs, she might well have been rendered temporarily blind by the magical backlash!

What caused that tremor? A rapid insistent pounding came at her door. A second thumping, even more vigorous than the first, sounded before she crossed the room and opened the door with a placid, calm expression for the Myrian who guarded the entrance. “There was no need to to clobber at my door,” she said serenely.

[Panna Cotta]

The Citadel stopped swaying, but the far-off rumbling continued. The sentry golems could not locate anything yet, but the alarms have been sent out. At the onset of the chaos, Qiao would have pulled the rug of authority under Mashaen, as he had subtly been doing for the past two seasons, but Mashaen had the audacity to send a note saying "Deal with the golem attacks" to his office. Obviously, Mashaen left the decision making to Qiao, as he had been doing for the past two seasons. But if one were more familiar with the daily bantering, one would be curious to know: how did Mashaen know that golems would be attacking? How, indeed. Qiao, blinded by his arrogance, failed to ask this question. He placed the responsibility of rounding up every body able to fight, which typically included all apprentices on the island, on Farke's shoulders. The next Sahovan quirk was evident in the next bell - masters who have long disappeared or unheard from by their apprentices started showing up, as if they knew the precise location and moment where they could find their apprentice. Rayage was the first to be greeted by two huge, obviously alchemy-modified animals. They were of considerable size, as large as a full grown bear, meaning both could overpower him in an instant. They growled and snarled. Their footsteps pounded on the floor. All sorts of fear were wiped out when he realized that they were both shackled, and at the end of the chain that bounded their necks was none other than his own master Karte. "Hello," came the almost jovial reply, "You'll be out there, as Qiao would order you to, something about golems possibly attacking the island." And then disdainfully, "I really could not be bothered with, but what kind of Master am I if I don't look after my own apprentice?" He ordered Rayage to come forward, forcing the apprentice to walk in between the two 'animals'. Closer observation of their physical properties revealed that their bristly fur stood stiffly, like a hedgehog's, but with great similarity to a black shiny rock. They growled, rumbling sounds coming from deep within their bellies. One of them pawed at him gently, curious as to who he was. The other sniffed at his feet and found the scent undesirable. Karte was all smiles. "Meet Lily and Martha, bring them out for a walk, will you?" His master brought the two gold rings to one hand and removed a sling bag from his free arm. "Standard military-issue. Haven't seen one of these in a very long time. I suspect there's war outside the Citadel, but at times like these all the masters are usually ordered to stay underground. The others outside will take care of things." Inside the bag were five glyphed scrolls, each charged with ten bolts each. Scrutiny would reveal that they were all branded with the word "ICE". ***** Neuge, still looking for Clair, found his way to the Vestibule. He was surprised to see that a number of golems were assembled, as if reporting for duty, lined up and geared up. He had never seen so many golems in the same place, most of them taller and bigger than him. These weren't the usual messenger golems that Clair used to send his way, or those pitiful delivery golems that roll around with parcels and packages. No, these were fully armed golems -- not with limbs, but rather intimidating armament. They had cannon barrels inscribed with glyphs. He was momentarily interrupted when four golems rounded him up: they where meant to cage someone, and caged he was. Where was Clair when you petching needed her? She was away, of course, receiving orders from her own master. The cage appeared to be flimsy, but if he dared attempt to get out of it, a blade would point at his neck, threatening to cut off his head. He was moved on one side of the Vestibule, where he was lined up with another mulling apprentice, caged like he was. ***** Irriari found herself in pretty much the same circumstance as Neuge, only she suffered from a bit of golem-handling. Four cagers wasn't enough to bring her down, what with the wings and the temper from being assaulted. It wasn't until Alakina appeared and ordered the golems to stop harassing her did they stop poking her with their rusty blades. She might have suffered a cut or two, but none too deep. "Ha, apprentice. You should make yourself useful." The voice was kind, but it held an imposing command. Past experiences taught the Zith to obey the Nuits in the island without question. The harrowing experience of being poisoned and tortured, if you could call it that, was still fresh in her mind. "It seems that there is quite a commotion outside, whatever it is it appears to be BIG!" A laugh cut through the air, "They are looking for every apprentice out there, I suggest you find your way back to the Vestibule. You're technically under my wing, so here you go." Alakina handed her the oldest short bow Irriari had ever seen, its wood was dark brown, polished, and carved with leaves and... grapes? The string was tight and taut - the weapon felt brand new in her hands. "That is on loan, apprentice. It is worth more than your own head. Break it and I will personally break your wings." The threat was followed by a quiver filled with arrows shoved onto her chest. There was 50 all in all. "Special arrows, these things EXPLODE." Alakina made sure that the Zith understood what explode in capital letters meant, her arms stretching and spreading well above her. "There should be standard arrows down at the Vestibule." Alakina drove the point by poking the Zith, "And well, sort yourself out. A warden will probably come pick you up. I will need to retreat underground." A sigh, as if retreating was going to be such a great bother. ***** Clair finally appeared in the Vestibule, face displaying a myriad of emotions, which was typically uncommon. "You." She stared at Neuge. Her slave, if he could be called that, was immediately released, "Good to see you're still alive. It seems that we have been chosen to fight against a group of malfunctioning golems. Biggest crowd since Drainira. Qiao is most certainly displeased." She very nearly spat the words out. Neuge was given two bags, "I have no reason to be here, I am a full wizard, dammit." She said it as if to convince herself. It appears that Clair wasn't considered part of the wizard club in Sahova. "These are for you." Neuge was handed two bags, each filled with magical scrolls. Upon inspection, one bag was filled with WATER scrolls, and the other was filled with FIRE scrolls. Five of each, ten charges for each scroll. Clair apparently gave her own share to him. "Don't die, 'kay?" And she left him to greet the two other apprentices, one of them lumbering behind two abnormal bears, the other, a Zith wielding a short bow. Kams/Gunto, please figure out your characters, need a little more interaction between you before I scoop you up for the quest. Also, sorry for being late.

[Neuge]

Nothing more than confusion and a hint of anger filled Neuge's mind as he was captured by the weapon-bearing golems. At first he had tried to escape the walking machinations but soon realized that attempting to even trying would be futile when they raised their blades to him. He was set into a cage like an animal and paused, allowing himself to rest in order to let his mind catch up with his body. There were others around him in the Vestibule as well. The one that really stood out was a Zith just entering the room. Neuge could hardly take his eyes off her so fascinated was he. "The blazes is one of her kind doing here?.." He stared for a moment preoccupied by his thoughts as they began drifting him away. The other was a Nuit and he was used to his own kind. The only odd thing about him were the two bears lumbering beside him. Surely there was an explanation for such a strange situation. People weren't just rounded up and dumped into the front of the Citadel for no reason. He was answered moments later by Clair, the appearance of which startled him out of his revere. He stood confused as she dumped two bags before him, hauling them up and peering inside. The woman was speaking and Neuge glanced back at the older Nuit before pausing before fully absorbing what she said. "A fight?.." He muttered quietly. "This place is forsaken. We have nothing of value here excluding perhaps knowledge.. and a few items." The gaunt man stared up at Clair as he was released and allowed to roam the Vestibule. Clutched in his hand were the bags. He almost spoke up for a moment to question her but the dead woman was already walking away. Neuge let out a tired sigh and began to stare at the Zith once more with a look of almost longing. Raising a hand and pointing slightly bemused by her presence, he beckoned her over. He then glanced at the man surrounded by the two monstrosities and hesitantly waved a hand to him as well. This was going to be a long day and he might as well figure out who he was defending the complex with.