(Auxiliar): You say, "Evening, Auxiliar. How goes it?"

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "Hullo, Conduit!"

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "I wish I had better news. I do not. I am sadly devastated. But on the plus
side, I can finally tell you about my brothel plans!"

(Auxiliar): You say, "Hm! Devastation not so good, but let's hear about it."

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "I had applied for the open position of Chief Engineer for the ministry of
Spinesreach, ma'am. I was confident that they would hire me! It was to be a surprise. After all, how
could they deny my canny ability to see a golden opportunity in the need to develop a brothel for
the city?"

(Auxiliar): You say, "Ah, did you apply with that pitch?"

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "Yes ma'am! I had wanted to impress them."

(Auxiliar): You say, "I suppose they must figure that Spireans can organise their own trysts."

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "I was also sure to list my extensive experience with government, ma'am,
having learned all the proper forms of address in greeting them during my tavern upbringing!"

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "I assured them that I was highly skilled at saying, 'yes sir, right this way
sir, may I take your jacket?'"

(Auxiliar): You say, "To be fair, chief engineer is more about saying 'Sven! Put that beam over
THERE you clod, if I wanted it HERE I'd have said so!'"

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "I suppose that's a good point. I shall try to be more forceful next time.
"

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "I suspect it is a matter of racial discrimination, ma'am. They thing that
because I am an imp, and I am short, I am incapable of putting the fear of Gods into insipid
meathead builders like Sven."

(Auxiliar): You say, "I can assure you that isn't the case. One of our most beloved chairwomen for...
 goodness, decades, was an imp."

(Auxiliar): You say, "Anyone who thinks that an imp can't get the job done is either too young or
too daft."

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "Oh, well. I will just have to focus on my studies in the guild. I will be the
greatest engineer Spinesreach has ever seen, whether they name me chief or not!"

(Auxiliar): You say, "If it's any consolation, you have a lot more fun as a Cabalist engineer than
as the city one."

(Auxiliar): You say, "People don't get quite as uptight when we explode things."

(Auxiliar): You say, "It's sort of expected."

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "Oh, good!"

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "That is one of the main reasons I want to be an engineer. I put that down in
my application too."

(Auxiliar): You say, "I once blew out every window in the citadel using a clock."

(Auxiliar): You say, "Those were the days."

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "A clock! How did you manage that?"

(Auxiliar): You say, "Well, some error in a numerologically-enhanced bell, for the most part."

(Auxiliar): You say, "We still have the clock, of course. It's the one down in the Chambers."

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "Ahhh. My mentor did warn me about that one."

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "Are you an engineer as well, Conduit?"

(Auxiliar): You say, "I'm known to make things, yes."

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "Oh! That reminds me. I was told to ask you to educate me about some situation
involving a disembodied hand."

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "Some sort of cautionary tale, I assume."

(Auxiliar): You say, "Goodness me, that's an old tale. What had the boys bring that one up?"


She is a wise Human with a stocky, broad-hipped and well-padded build. She seems an earthy, no-
nonsense individual, with narrow brown eyes that hold a calculating glint. Her face is round with
soft features, a small nose and an expressive mouth. Her hair is fully longer than she is tall, and
has been collected back into a tight braid and pinned up out of the way in a few loops at the back
of her head. Her fingernails seem unusually thick and clawlike, with a bluish tint toward the root
and a pointed tip. Furthering the reptilian appearance of her hands, her arms are sheathed from
fingertip to shoulder in glossy greenish-blue scales.

                        (covering the body) : a formal longcoat of the Cabal
                       (covering the torso) : a sleek, black and white leather top
                            (atop her head) : a pair of heavy, crystal-lensed goggles
                         (on the left hand) : a silver wedding ring, inlaid with dark opal
                         (worn on the legs) : a pair of simple white trousers
                         (worn on the feet) : decoratively tooled leather boots
                     (tucked into a pocket) : a silver pocketwatch


(Auxiliar): Nia says, "Unfortunately I do not recall the specifics. I think it was something to do
with my interest in reanimation."

(Auxiliar): You say, "Ah, well that does make sense."


Brass Monkey Imports (21061) - Spinesreach (25)
A circular bar table stands here. Absently polishing a flagon as he eyes the crowd, a surly
bartender stands here. There are 2 wooden ladder-back chairs here. A long hardwood bar is here, a
glass tip jar, a basket for used cups, and a few paper Brass Monkey coasters atop it. A large,
crimson-felted table stands here. A round wooden table is here, a few paper Brass Monkey coasters
atop it. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A large fireplace
of stone and iron provides warmth and light to the area. Hands folded in the sleeves of his dark,
voluminous robes, a cabalist stands ready to guard his city. There are 4 tall wooden bar stools here.
 A rack holding long, tapered poles stands nearby. A simple, porcelain cup has been dropped here.
There are 2 wooden spindle-back chairs here.  You see a sign here instructing you that WARES is the
command to see what is for sale.
You see exits leading east (open pine door) and down (closed pine door).

(Auxiliar): You say, "I could tell the tale. Over a glass of something, I think."

Your pose is now set as:
Eleanor is seated over by the fireplace.

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "Have you been to the Tenor winery? It's very fancy, Conduit, I think you'd
like it. Although... I suppose it probably isn't a story for public telling. I can bring
absinthe!"

(Auxiliar): You say, "I'm... not partial to things with the name 'tenor' on them, to be honest. But
I'm already down at the Monkey, so that will do."


(Auxiliar): Nia says, "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I did not know. Some day you should tell me why
that is as well. I can make my way to the Monkey."

(Auxiliar): You say, "It's not really any sort of secret. Tenors are historically largely unpleasant.
"

(Auxiliar): You say, "The kind of folk who think profanity is wit and that if they claim to be
terribly clever, it must be the truth."

Nia arrives from the east.
She is followed by a large riding dog.

(Auxiliar): Nia says, "Oh. I suppose you have met Zaila!"

(Auxiliar): You say, "Indeed. Her father is not much different."

She is a normal Imp, a pug-like creature unblessed with good genetics. Her features are squashed and
asymmetrical, with a misshapen snub-nose and a wide, lopsided mouth. One of her eyes is notably
bigger than the other, though both share the same sanguine hue and bearing. The exact shade of her
irises seems to shift depending on her mood and the light, from a translucent, glittering red to the
almost-black colour of coagulated blood. Her dark brow protrudes above them, down from a sloping,
wrinkled forehead, arching at the corners in a way that makes her always seem a touch too playful,
or up to something. Her head is too large for her body and squarish in shape, hunching over limbs
that are as skinny as they are flabby, notched with cellulite and poor fat distribution. She has a
pudgy gut, sagging breasts with a proudly displayed cleavage, and thickly muscled thighs that curve
from round, swaggering hips. Tokens of her race may be found in her small, scaly barbed tail, which
has a series of knife-like, receding prongs near the end; and vestigial wings, leathery and clawed,
like a bat or a dragon's. A shock of sleek, obsidian-black hair sweeps from her head and down past
her shoulders, split by a widow's peak. It looks wiry and brittle, such that it easily keeps out of
her face without much fuss. Tufts of its growth trail down from her nap to the top of her spine,
where it is notably shorter. Following the line of her ears and pointing skywards, a pair of
undulating horns protrude from her skull, hefty and ribbed like a ram's, but spiralling back away
from rather than towards her face. Her blemished, pock-marked skin is mottled in hue, blending pale-
grey and vaguely pink over most of her body, but turning a darker plum-purple towards the
extremities. In particular, the colouration of her tail is visibly ringed.

                    (slung over a shoulder) : a plain grey pack
                        (covering the body) : a plain grey robe
                         (worn on the feet) : violet and cerulean striped boots
                         (worn on the legs) : leather-banded, black fabric leggings
                        (covering the body) : a suit of academy chainmail
          (plopped on the head at an angle) : a paper hat folded from a Spirean diploma
                          (around the neck) : an extremely long striped scarf
                         (worn on a finger) : a flame-etched obsidian ring
                         (worn on a finger) : a magic emblem ring
                         (worn on a finger) : a frost-etched obsidian ring


You have emoted: Eleanor raises her bottle in a casual sort of salute.

You say, "Evening."

Nia whistles to her large riding dog, which she warily pulls to a stop, drawing back her teeth.
She's clearly uncomfortable with the mount, and a touch terrified, but trying her best to maintain
her balance. Panting, the hound knocks down a chair, before the imp looks up at you, a touch sweaty
herself. "Evening, ma'am!"

Nearly as large as a very small pony, this dog is a rather unidentifiable breed of mutt who appears
to have been saddled for a quite small rider. Ideal for a child, Imp or even a skinny Dwarf, the
beast seems happy enough with his duty, tongue lolling out and tail swishing in an eager wag every
now and then.
A large riding dog looks weak and feeble.
It weighs about 272 kilo(s).
It is loyal to Auxiliar Nia.

You have emoted: Eleanor eyes the dog thoughtfully. "Quite the hound," she comments, apparently
unbothered by the disregard for furniture. The bartender, in the background, seems less content.


Unsteadily, Nia carefully extracts herself from the large riding dog back, her thighs visibly stiff,
but she gives him a pat on the head all the same. "Thanks. He was a gift!" she tells you while
righting the chair, giving the unamused bartender a sheepish, apologetic grin. That done, she
proceeds to bow before you deeply and respectfully, flourishing her arm beneath her.

You have emoted: Eleanor gives a somewhat queenly nod in response to the bow. "Looks like the stocks
are low at the moment, but there's ale and whatnot if you fancy something that won't punch you in
the teeth. And there's the Emeralds if you do want the punch."

A surly bartender grudgingly polishes a flagon, remaining stoic as ever.


"I got my own, if that's okay and not too cheap," says Nia, lifting a long-necked glass bottle of
absinthe and tapping the side of it. She once again flashes the bartender a smile, trying as hard as
she can to ingratiate herself and thus avoid highly warranted wrath. "But I'll buy a couple glasses
if you want to share with me."

You have emoted: Eleanor raises a hand, with a brief shake of the head. "I'm not so much one for
absinthe. The boys are, though. That's what the Emeralds technically is."

You have emoted: Eleanor upnods toward a chair nearby. "Anyway, make yourself comfortable, eh?"


"It's great stuff," says Nia, who hurries into a chair when indicated by you. "Great to finally meet
you in person, Conduit. Heard so much about you. And of you. You know, on the guild aethers." She
taps at her ear.

Nia drinks from a long-necked glass bottle of absinthe.

You have emoted: Eleanor takes a sip from her bottle. "Truth be told, you hear me a lot more than
you see me. I'm often up to my eyeballs in paperwork." She sniffs, wrinkling her nose. "With age
comes bureaucracy, unfortunately."


"To eternal youth," Nia says to that, raising her long-necked glass bottle of absinthe to you in
toast.

You have emoted: Eleanor gives a wolfish grin, with teeth that are altogether far too pointed to
belong to a real human. She returns the toast, and takes another swig from the bottle.

You say, "So let me see, the incident with the hand. Where to start."

You say, "Well, perhaps a beginning place is- do you know how the living are alive and the undead
are- well- differently alive?"

Nia pauses, trying to think of something clever, but ultimately looks to you and shakes her head.
"Don't know much about vampires, ma'am, save they all seem to take themselves too seriously."

Nia drinks from a long-necked glass bottle of absinthe.

You have emoted: Eleanor tilts her bottle toward Nia, using it as a gesturing implement. "Vampirism
is yet another bucket of eels, actually."

You say, "Different from both life and undeath."

Visibly feeling stupid, Auxiliar Nia says, "Oh."

Reassuringly, you say, "It's a very common misconception."

You say, "Pit, some vampires don't even know what gets them up in the evening."

At that, Nia smirks.

You have emoted: Eleanor waves a hand. "Anyway. I'll see if I can summarise."

sip bottle
You sip from a long-necked glass bottle full of raspberry ginger beer, and the refreshing fizz of
the drink is perfectly balanced with ginger and sweet raspberry.

You say, "The state of living is a function of life-essence. It's within everything that's alive.
"

You have emoted: Eleanor describes a circle in midair with the neck of her bottle. "The state of
living is made possible by a constant cyclic flow of that life essence. When you break a thing
enough that the flow can't be maintained, that's when you've killed it. The essence, static, fades
from the corpse."


"What's it made of?" Nia cuts in, vaguely gesturing at her chest, and the beating heart beneath her
mottled grey skin. "Life essence, that is."

You have emoted: Eleanor purses her lips, considering the question. "Essence is essence," she
supplies. "It's a thing all of its own, like air is air and water is water."

"Oh," says Nia, nodding her head.

You say, "The Ascendril don't call it an 'element' as such, but it's one of those things you can't
really make from anything else."

You say, "Anyway, let's see, where was I... ah. So, the living are living because their body
supports the natural flow of essence."

You say, "The Undead, though. They are technically a vessel that -cannot- support that flow. Really,
they ought to actually be a corpse."

You have emoted: Eleanor taps a claw against her bottle. "How, then, do they contain essence without
it ebbing, and do the things that living people do more or less?"

Puckering her mouth and frowning in concentration, Nia is clearly trying to offer no further
interruptions, but like her tapping foot and inability to sit still, she finds it hard to shut up.
"So they gotta take it from other people," she surmises. "Like an animal gotta get food from other
things while a plant makes its own. So the undead are advanced predators?"

You have emoted: Eleanor shakes her head. "No, although that's a good guess."


Holding up her bottle, Nia punctuates, "Or like how I gotta get my alcohol out of this bott-- Oh."
Although wrong, she still drinks. For science.

Nia drinks from a long-necked glass bottle of absinthe.

You say, "The living get essence from those animals, and the undead don't eat living people, so
they're not... next in the chain, as it were."

You say, "In actual fact, the key to why the vessel still holds essence lies in the Ritual of Union,
through which a person becomes undead."

You say, "It's actually a Divine binding- an arrangement with Him of the Earth- that keeps the
essence in flux within the undead in an equivalent of how it moves in the living."

"Huh," Nia says with a frown. "That's different from what I was taught. And makes me feel much
better about vampires, I suppose."

You say, "Well, vampires are different again, as I said. For them, it's that they have the Blood,
which stores their essence for the most part."

Nia nods her head emphatically.

You say, "Blood is typically very essence-rich, so it makes perfect sense for them to sustain
themselves with that as food instead of... well, food."

Auxiliar Nia says to you, "But like, you can be undead and still be vegetarian, for instance."

Impersonating a zombie, Nia holds her arms out in front of her, a glazed look in her eyes as she
moans, "Graaaaaiiiiiiinnnsssssss."

You have emoted: Eleanor scratches her chin absently. "You could, yes. It'd be tougher to deal with
sickness and whatnot- plants don't work on an undead vessel like they do on the living, which is why
they turn to organs instead- but as long as you kept yourself well, you could get by being undead
and- haah, yes, that." Again, the razored teeth show in her grin.


Her expression sobering, Nia nods again in understanding.

You say, "Anyway. This leads into the incident the boys were alluding to."

You say, "My area of specialty is essence theory, and by extension things like life and undeath and
whatnot."

You say, "And I had always thought. If a Deity can make a thing that really ought to be dead still
be alive, well, why couldn't I?"

You say, "The key is in recreating the flow of essence. That's what lets things be alive or- well-
differently alive, as I mentioned."

You sip from a long-necked glass bottle of raspberry ginger beer, and the refreshing fizz of the
drink is perfectly balanced with ginger and sweet raspberry.

Already amused by the direction of this story, Nia bares her own teeth in a grin, eyes gleaming. She
offers no further interruption however, listening intently.

You have emoted: Eleanor tilts her head back, clearly digging into memory- fond and otherwise- to
spin the tale. "Now, there are ways to numerologically move things about. Touch of Rafic and what
have you. The issue then becomes -sustaining- the effect. You can put a jolt of essence through a
dead muscle and it will jerk around, but only as long as the essence is flowing, and as soon as it
gets to the other end of the thing, that's it and the fun's over."

You say, "So, how to maintain a constant flow? Numerology is a function of the Numerologist's will,
so it needs that spark of thought or there won't be any effect."

You have emoted: Eleanor holds her hands up, shaping something unseen in the air. "I started small.
Just a hand. Trying to replicate the flow of essence for an entire body, goodness no, the complexity
is staggering. But I could do a smaller part."


You have emoted: Eleanor crosses her legs at the ankle. "I made a cap, of sorts, that wedged into
the cut-off end of a wrist. Some chambers for cycling fluid so that the essence had something to
move within. And on the base, etchings for the diagrammatic... hm... pattern, I suppose you'd say,
that I wanted it to create."

Increasingly amused, Nia follows the motions of your hands, but still doesn't interrupt.

Drus swaggers off to the east.

You have emoted: Eleanor scratches the back of her jaw again. What she's itching at appears to be
small, discoloured abrasions that look to be a rash creeping up her neck. The larger ones have a
peculiar blue-green colour to them. "But the pattern isn't the only issue. It would work, but only
as long as I was applying my will to it. Not the effect I wanted, particularly."

You say, "But more than just Numerologists have will, you know. You don't have to handle the numbers
to focus on something."

You say, "So it occurred to me, what if I use the will of an outside party to keep it in motion? I'd
just need someone to be thinking about it."

You have emoted: Eleanor taps her bottle against her temple. "And it stands to reason that if I've
cut off your hand, you'd be thinking about it, correct? So that is perfect."

You have emoted: Eleanor takes a moment to resettle herself in her chair, looking toward the fire
for a stretch. "The miscalculation largely came from my chosen subject, truth be told."

At this, Nia looks down at her own hand. "Rather like mine attached," she admits. "So I suppose that
would give me... paws for thought." With her intact hand, she pats her riding dog on the head. He
pants happily, oblivious as to the macabre nature of the conversation at hand.

You have emoted: Eleanor snorts lightly- it seems the humour has a good record of hitting its mark,
judging by her response each time. "I thought that for such a prototypical venture, it might be
useful to choose a candidate who already had experience with such focus," she continues the tale.
"Down at Rebel's Ridge there's a failed Cabalist, Creinne by name, I believe. Contemptuous bint, by
any measure."

You say, "But she was fitting, I thought. If anyone would be able to produce the effect I wanted,
she'd be a decent bet."

You have emoted: Eleanor takes a deep breath in, then exhales shortly. "Well, I can tell you that it
did work." She makes a significant pause, then adds, "Problem was, it worked too well."

You have emoted: Eleanor wriggles her fingers in a crawly sort of gesture. "The thing had a
semblance of life, the essence flowed just fine. Problem was, there was a link, I suppose, between
her thought, her pain, and the diagram. So, it came to life with, as they say, a vengeance."

You have emoted: Eleanor rubs her left wrist with the opposing hand. "With the benefit of the
Numerological reinforcement, it was far and away stronger than any normal hand ought to be. Crushed
my wrist in the first few moments, and damnear had me by the throat. I'd have been its victim if the
boys hadn't arrived in time."

While you regale, Nia digs into her pocket and produces a candy whip of black licorice. "Liquorice?"
she offers, not put off by the grisly talk. She sticks it out towards you, though she's clearly just
being polite -- she tilts it half-poised towards her own mouth.

You have emoted: Eleanor shakes her head, raising a hand in polite decline.

Clamping the candy whip between her teeth, Nia chews and chomps her way through the black licorice.


You say, "It got away that time, and I spent an extremely uncomfortable several months jumping at
shadows. The thing kept coming for me, scuttling out from under cabinets and whathaveyou."

Nia snickers at this part of your story, more entertained by the prospect than horrified.

You say, "Plenty of near misses, I can tell you. In hindsight, I probably would have outlasted it-
without a way to eat, it had no way to gain essence, so it was going to wind down like a pocket-
watch eventually. Didn't occur to me at the time, of course, I was frightened out of my wits."

You have emoted: Eleanor taps her bottle against her chin. "It was the Wolfdog who caught it
eventually," she recalls, though she doesn't supply any explanation as to who- or what- that might
be. "He caught it in a net of time, just moments before it would have leapt on my face. Burnt it to
ashes on the spot, and that was that."

"So was it Creinne's conscious essence trying to kill you?" Nia wonders, batting out her own open
hand in thought. The remainder of her liquorice she sticks in the corner of her mouth, saving half
of it for later. "Or was it just a mad hand?"

You have emoted: Eleanor considers the question. "Well, it's unlikely that we'll ever know for sure,
but I suspect that its capacity for violence was induced by her influence on the entire thing."

You say, "It might just have been a mad hand, but that it only came for me..."

You say, "Well, I suppose it could just have been mad at me for making it."

You say, "But you wouldn't think a severed hand would have a great deal of capacity for thought. Not
being attached to a head and all."

"So I guess really the moral of the story, is next time you gotta try this with the hand of someone
who doesn't wanna kill you," Nia surmises. "Like the Commissar?" Her grin turns malevolent, cracked
wide from ear to ear as the imp raises both of her intact, living hands, wiggling her fingers
tauntingly at you. "Zombie love-hand."

You have emoted: Eleanor grimaces. "Do -not- suggest that in his presence," she warns, then glances
away and gives what appears to be a genuine shudder. "He's been known to come up with spare hands,
he'd probably try it."


Unable to restrain herself, Nia giggles incessantly, and even without the aid of her large riding
dog, nearly topples backwards in her chair before she catches herself.

You have emoted: Eleanor gives a crooked sort of grin, watching the mirth with her own sense of
amusement. "I suppose you're not familiar yet with his... what would you call it. Hobbies, with the
flesh?"

Nia shakes her head, straightening herself up in the chair as she chokes down her laughter, quickly
forcing herself to regain her composure. She sends the bartender another quick look and becomes
complacent, as if to silently assure, 'I'll behave!' before she takes another sip of her absinthe.
"He don't talk much about himself. He asks me a lot how I am. I guess I only have myself to blame
for not asking back," she admits to you. "Gave me this book, though..." She glances about this way
and that, wary of prying, non-Cabalist eyes, then slips the cover out just a peek from under the
fabric of her pack, allowing the Conduit a glimpse.

Nia takes a simple book entitled, "A copy of a simple book entitled, "Junakutz-Lionheart
Numerological Compendium - Ed.1 R0"" from a plain grey pack.

Nia displays a simple book entitled, "A copy of a simple book entitled, "Junakutz-Lionheart
Numerological Compendium - Ed.1 R0"" for all to see

Nia puts a simple book entitled, "A copy of a simple book entitled, "Junakutz-Lionheart
Numerological Compendium - Ed.1 R0"" into a plain grey pack.

You have emoted: Eleanor nods, sagely. "That's a mark of good faith," she observes. "He doesn't give
that to just anyone."


Nia gleams with pride. "Made me work for it," she says, although on second thoughts admit, "Not all
that hard. More of an interrogation than..." She flexes her arm. "Labour."

You have emoted: Eleanor runs her tongue over her teeth. "Given some... incidents... in the past, he
does like to check as best he can that you're not going to blow yourself up or worse with the
information."


Pressing a hand to her chest, Nia vows, "I solemnly swear, if it comes down to it, I will do my
absolute best not to blow myself up, and blow up another subject if necessary. I've a much too
healthy sense of self-preservation."

You have emoted: Eleanor seems oddly solemn, given her apparent attitude to matters of plosion
thusfar, when she points out, "There are worse things, you know. And not just in a public-safety
sense, some of the fates that befall unwise Cabalists are..." she trails off, her focus shifting to
something distant. She doesn't elaborate, but she also doesn't seem to be thinking of anything
pleasant.

You have emoted: Eleanor shakes her head briefly. "Anyway. You'll learn about those eventually, and
hopefully it'll be second-hand."

Nia gives you a scrutinising look, scrunching up her eyebrows... but perhaps you had to be there. It
only lasts a few seconds, and the message clearly hasn't fully sunken in. She nods her head all the
same.

You have emoted: Eleanor takes a swig from her bottle. "I don't know if the boys warned you, but as
far as mentoring goes you've, ahah. Somewhat picked up more than you might have bargained for."

"I'm not afraid," says Nia smugly, following you in taking a swig from her own bottle. "That just
means I got more to learn. I wouldn't want to learn from someone who isn't gonna teach me."

Nia drinks from a long-necked glass bottle of absinthe.

You have emoted: Eleanor gives Nia a knowing look. "What I mean is, you've signed yourself up for
three teachers, and I'm one of them. Can't keep us out of each other's business, as it were."


"Good with me," says Nia cheerily. "Sounds like a bargain deal then. Who's the third? And who're the
boys you keep talking about?" Tapping her lip, she notes, "I've noticed the Cabalists are mostly
girls. Kelliara, Riannon... well I guess that's about it. Dotteo's not a girl that I know of. I
haven't met that many."

Adding more sombrely, Auxiliar Nia says, "Chair Kelliara's terrifying. But I mean that in a good way.
"

You say, "It is the struggle with this guild, digging the scholars out from under their books are a
thing."

You say, "The Doyen is something else. Long before she was the Chair, she led the pack of Spirean
wolves. Back when they were arranged like a guild."

You say, "She's always been ferocious. Challenged Him of the Skies to a drinking contest to bargain
a boon for her pack."

Nia shivers at the mention of the shapeshifters, but when you mention the Doyen challenging a God to
a drinking contest, she just looks halfway between appalled and impressed.

Snapping her fingers, Auxiliar Nia says, "Damn. And she's taken."

You say, "The Big Man was fair impressed with it. She got His favour and a cigar, as well."

Nia grins. Pointing to a large riding dog, she mentions, "Present from her wife. The Commander. Also
a fearsome lady, though a very nice one."

You have emoted: Eleanor nods sagely. "A good friend of mine, as well. A fine soldier. Chip off her
mother's block, for certain."

Tilting her head curiously, Auxiliar Nia says to you, "Is her mother that imp Chair you mentioned?
She said it was an imp, who bred these dogs to ride on."

You have emoted: Eleanor nods sagely. "That's the one. Moirean Seirath." She leans back in her chair,
 grinning nostalgically upwards. "Now she was a lady. Half the size and twice the attitude of anyone
you'd ever meet."

"Xenia don't seem all that impish," Nia dubiously notes. "Though she did say her ma was adomptive.
Moirean Seirath, huh?" The littler, less notable imp grins. "Guess I got something to aspire to.
"

Nia drinks from a long-necked glass bottle with traces of absinthe.

You have emoted: Eleanor gives a short chuckle. "In any other city, you might be dismissed for your
impishness." She gives a grand gesture, indicating the area at large. "Here in Spinesreach though,
everyone knows what an imp can do if you give them half a chance."

You say, "So anyone who knew her will be eyeballing you with care, I'd say."

Nia grins, seemingly as always. Like most imps, she is easily amused. "Step one, I gotta make that
hat," she says with a nod, her voice turning a touch more formal as she sniffs, "I expect people'll
take me more seriously once that's done."

You have emoted: "A hat, eh?" Eleanor gives Nia an appraising look up and down. "What manner of
hat?"


Looking surprise and aghast, Nia asks, "Did I not tell you about that hat?" She sits upright in her
chair, shaking her horned head. "Oh Conduit, it was an outrage, a travesty, I say! I was hoping
someone could help resolve things before they escalated. But if you haven't heard, maybe that means
you can still help?"

You have emoted: Eleanor rubs her chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps," she muses. "Tell me about it."

"I used to have a hat," Nia laments. "A hat that other imps can only dream of, one that fit just
perfect, just right over my horns! Didn't rip, didn't scratch, didn't tug. Now it wasn't a pretty
hat, Miss Conduit, nothing fancy, I got no illusions about that, but it was my hat, and it fit just
right."

You have emoted: Eleanor nods, inviting more story in this reversal of roles, her posture intent,
one elbow leaning on her knee as she listens.


"Hats make a world of difference, you know." Nia taps her own current hat, which is made of paper,
and so she cannot move it much for fear of tearing it. "Now the folk at Slavers' Isle, I'm betting
they knew that. Insipid bureaucrats, I was just on my way to Spinesreach, finally hoping to make a
hope there, when m'boat was capsized and the incompetents got their paperwork all mixed up. They
thought I was supposed to be a pleasure slave. Me, a pleasure slave! Can you imagine?" Haughty, she
lifts her chin. "They got one look at my face and the paperwork and realised though that had to be
my mistake. So yes, after a stern talking to, they corrected it, agreed to send me on my way. But
they took my hat! And when I told them, when I told them I expect full recompense, want my
belongings back and especially that hat, they flat out refused me. Now I filed a complaint, and I
tried to get that sorted right away soon as I got here, get someone to throw the book at them
perhaps, but the Commissar said he couldn't help. That apparently they always do these messes over
there. You'd think, trading slaves, they ought to be a bit more organised. No wonder they're losing
profits!"

After this very long explanation, Nia slumps in her seat, heaving a sigh, "At any rate, I no longer
have a hat. Not a proper one. So I've decided to make one. And it'll be the best hat that Sapience
ever saw. Unless, unless you're telling me, maybe there's hope, maybe you can contact Slavers' Isle
and throw your weight to maybe help resolve this issue, as the Conduit?"

You have emoted: Eleanor rolls her eyes dramatically. "Oh my stars, do -not- talk to me about their
sorry excuse for a structure. I have no idea how Bloodloch hasn't simply burnt them to the ground
you know, they deal with them a lot and I can't imagine it's a situation without much hair-pulling
and frustration."

You have emoted: Eleanor shakes her head. "If you've articles in their lost-and-found, I'm afraid
that's one chase you're unlikely to succeed at."

Relieved to be receiving a sympathetic ear, Nia widens her eyes at you and bobs her head with
fervent, passionate agreement. But her shoulders slump anew when the Conduit is unable to instill
her with hope about the missing hat.

You say, "Someone needs to go in there and give them a damned firm kick up the bureaucratic backside,
 but I'd need much more reinforced boots to manage it. There's some mountains that even I can't move.
"

"That's a shame," Nia says with resignation, furrowing her brow. Fortunately, she perks right back
up soon after. "At any rate, now that I live in Spines though, I can probably afford to make an even
better one. The economy here is way better than the sorry sandspit I used to live on."

You say, "Quite a bit better, I should think."

Nodding agreeably and finally finishing off her liquorice, Auxiliar Nia says, "Oh yes. I like it
here. Did you always live here?"

Nia drinks from a long-necked glass bottle with traces of absinthe.

It is now noon on Gosday, the 20th of Slyphian, year 460 of the Midnight Age.

You say, "For the largest part of my life, yes. I was born elsewhere, but I came to the Cabal as
soon as I came of age. Been here ever since, give or take."

"Lot of stories to live through," Nia notes. Risking the wrath of the bartender, she makes herself
at home, pulling her boots up onto the chair with her to hug her knees.

You say, "Oh yes, centuries of them."


A surly bartender seems to be watching the conversation, but he isn't swinging the weight he usually
does when patrons are misbehaving. Perhaps because of the current administrative company.

You have emoted: Eleanor taps her claws against the neck of the bottle, making a distinct ringing
sound. "And you know, I'm quite handy with organising production of things. We could arrange a hat.
Perhaps even- dare I say it- a BETTER hat."


Grinning, Nia notes, "Commissar said I should ask you. Said you had experience working with horns,
since, in his own words, you're an imp -- occasionally." She looks vaguely insulted by this
statement. "Not sure how you can be an imp occasionally, but anyway! I said I wouldn't." She shakes
her head. "I said this is something I have to do for myself, y'see. Not just because, in all my
years of hat-shopping, I ain't never found one that could fit just perfect over my horns like my old
one used to. It's just... you know how it is."

Auxiliar Nia frowns and says to you, "Someone kills your father, it's your job to kill them right
back. Someone takes your hat, you're never quite the same until you've regained it yourself."

You have emoted: Eleanor nods, knowingly. "I do understand, and I won't try and take the project
from you." At the mention of occasionally an imp, she seems thoughtful.

You say, "Word of advice, for the boys and for me."

You have emoted: Eleanor draws back her lip, baring the edged teeth briefly. "You'll want to learn
what our essence feels like- you know, when you sense a person."

You say, "Every person has a personal... hm. Resonance. Distinctive. Like your fingers-print."

You say, "And knowing us by that will serve you well, because some days we don't at all look like we
did the day before."

Aghast, Auxiliar Nia exclaims to you, "You mean, you might not be Miss Conduit Eleanor? I'd be in so
much trouble if I'd been spilling the beans to an imposter!"

You have emoted: Eleanor gives a gregarious sort of laugh. "I'm far too old and far too married to
be any sort of 'miss'," she points out. "Just 'Conduit' will do. And I'm always me, but there are
times when- well." She gestures to herself. "I won't look like this."


Nia makes a cursory note of your appearance, frowning, but then nods her head. "Oh, well -- ma'am --
Conduit -- I'm familiar with reincarnation. I mean, I know there's ways to change shape and all, and
might be one day I'll try that too. I just mean..." She sucks in a breath. "Once an imp, always an
imp. Imp ain't something you slip in and out of. It's in the Laughter." She gestures to her throat.
"Your, uh, essence. Imp essence."

You say, "Oh, yes, that."

You say, "I do agree. There's something at the heart. I'm not -actually- an imp when I'm small.
"

Frowning, Auxiliar Nia says to you, "I mean, you could turn me into a blasted pixie, but I'll be an
imp 'til the day I die. For good."

You have emoted: Eleanor waves a hand in the air. "But I look near enough that people think I am."

You say, "What I -actually- am is an Idreth, same with the boys. But what that is defines what we
can appear as."

Leaning her elbow on the table, Nia dreamily laments, "I'd love to ascend to an Idreth some day.
Maybe then I'll be able to fly." She flaps her wings, stretching out their leathery surfaces, but
alas, they are vestigial. Useless.

You have emoted: Eleanor looks at the wings with sympathy and a distinctly knowing eye. "Well, it's
something to aspire to, but there's a lot more to your life before that, I should think."


"'Course there is," Nia says with a bob of her horned head. "I still got that hat to aspire to. And
engineering. And!" She grins conspiratorially, looking to you with brightening red eyes. "Zaila
Tenor has promised to teach me the Big Ass Violin. Though I know you said you don't like Tenors.
"

You have emoted: Eleanor shrugs lightly. "None of my business if you enjoy her company. Best be
careful, though. She fancies herself a manipulator, which means she might try to toy with you."


Tapping the side of her nose, Nia notes, "I got wits of my own, Conduit ma'am. I'll manipulate her
right back."

You have emoted: Eleanor gives a small smirk. "Good," she approves.

You say, "You've got an unfair advantage, of course. Cabalists have excellent pattern recognition.
"


"'S'why I joined," says Nia. She leans her head to one side, as if to listen to something, and
points a finger at her ear. "I was hearing this... this thing. Was like a music? But like something
deeper than that. Music of the universe, I call it in my head. Always wanted to be a bard, but never
had the chance. I was good with numbers, and I figure, maybe with numerology, I'll be able to
finally figure it out. Finally make it make sense."

You have emoted: Eleanor considers Nia at length, with a smile on her face which fairly glows with a
combination of pride and approval. "You'll never understand completely, but we can get you a damn
sight closer, that's for sure." She drums her claws against the bottle again. "So you've a penchant
for music? Interesting. I had a protege once who took to the Spheres musically."


Nia nods her head. "Commissar said there was someone else like that... I don't remember the name
though. But it means I'm not the only one." For that, she sounds relieved, and looks to you
anxiously as she asks, "I hear the world singing, does that make sense? Like everything's got its
own little unique hum, and patterns, like you said." She waves her hands in vague circles, trying to
make these patterns clumsily apparent. "So the numbers -- yeah, like your protege I guess, they got
their own sounds, to me. They're like... chords. Of reality. They make sense of it, and music makes
sense of it."

Squinting at you suspiciously, as if wary of being accused, Auxiliar Nia says, "I'm not crazy though.
 Honest."

You have emoted: Eleanor nods. "That makes perfect sense," she approves. "One thing about Numerology
is that just about any Numerologist approaches it in their own personal manner."


Curiously, Auxiliar Nia asks you, "How do you?"

You have emoted: Eleanor holds out her hand, as if pushing her fingertips against a curtain. "For me,
 Creation is a tapestry. A thousand-thousand tiny threads, each one with its own thrum and life."

You say, "It's fitting, I suppose. 'Idreth' is an old word meaning 'weaver', and I was the first.
"

Brow furrowing pensively at that, seeming intrigued, Auxiliar Nia says, "Hrm."

You say, "The boys see it more... diagrammatically. Everything an enormous web of linked symbols.
"

Seeking clarification, Auxiliar Nia asks you, "Which boys?"

Unhelpfully, you say, "The Commissars."

A little, haggard boy walks in from the east.

"Commissars?" Nia prompts, stressing the plural syllable and sounding confused. Her black brow lifts
high beneath her paper hat folded from a Spirean diploma.

You have emoted: Eleanor pauses halfway through a sip of her drink, the bottle poised at her lips. A
grin tugs at the corner of her mouth.

You have emoted: "Think you'd better have a sit down and a good chat with your mentor," Eleanor
comments, in a tone that indicates she won't be adding further explanation.


Nia waits for you to explain, remaining confused and furrowing her brow. "Alright," she says. "I
thought there was just one. Is someone taking over?" She is a persistent imp, after all. Mulling
this, she takes another drink.

Nia drinks from a long-necked glass bottle with traces of absinthe.

You have emoted: Eleanor might not be an imp, but the grin currently on her face couldn't really be
described as anything short of impish. "Goodness me," she muses. "Mentor at first sight, isn't that
a thing."


Nia drinks from a long-necked glass bottle with traces of absinthe.

You have emoted: Eleanor casts her gaze upward, a fond gleam in her eyes. "Not that I blame you.
Such charm." The mood might be cheeky, but there is clearly a great deal of love present in his
regard.


Nia gives you another aghast look, pulling her absinthe bottle from her lips and clearly taken aback.
 "What are you implying, Your Conduitness?" she asks. "He's just a mentor! That's all!"


"Besides," Nia sniffs, pointing her chin to one side. "I have my eye on someone else. My heart
belongs to another."

You have emoted: Eleanor absently digs in a pocket, finally retrieving something along the lines of
a small, silver pocket-watch. She pops it open, replying casually, "Don't worry, I'm just joshing
with you." The machinations inside the piece don't seem to be any sort that would actually display
time as one would understand it, but nevertheless her brows hike upward a notch. "Dhaivol's dancing
shoes, is that the alignment?" She glances to Nia. "I've kept you occupied for quite some time, it
seems."


The loud sound of thunder rolls through the skies, shaking the air around you.

"Very occupied," Nia concurs, turning back to you and peering over at the pocket-watch. "And I thank
you for it! It's been an entertaining experience. I have learned a lot about disembodied hands and
life essence."

A lightning bolt streaks down from the skies, full of fury and anger.

You say, "You'll likely gain a wealth of stories from this mentorship."

Nia drinks the last drops from a long-necked glass bottle with traces of absinthe.

You say, "That's something old Cabalists have in spades."


This is a polished silver pocketwatch, sized to fit neatly within the palm. It has a winding-stud on
the righthand side, around which there is a loop that has a long chain attached. The cover is etched
with filligree that contains floral motifs interspersed with the geometric sweeps and curves of what
looks like Numerological diagrams. Pressing the stud causes the lid to open, revealing a complex
mechanism of silver and brass gears within. A number of hands and rings rotate slowly in sequence,
some marking what might be time and some displaying cryptic measurements of a less obvious nature.
The mechanism is protected by a glass lentille, and tucked into the lid opposite is a tiny painting
of a handsome Xorani gentleman.


You have emoted: Eleanor tilts the watch, noting the interest in it.
You display a silver pocketwatch for all in the room to see.

Nia grins, then finishes the last of her bottle and gives it a little shake. Grimacing, she admits
aside to you, "I don't think this was all that strong," although maybe she's bragging. Hopping down
from the table and dusting her feet on the floor, before wiping down the chair she was using as a
foot-rest, the imp straightens up to her full height -- which is not much.


You say, "Absinthe is an interesting thing. Comes in a lot of different strengths."

Nia's eyes widen. "That's pretty," she says to you, leaning over again to inspect the watch. "And
cute." She points out the painting of the Xorani, smirking.

You have emoted: Eleanor gives a fond smile. "Well, what can I say," she comments of the crimson-
scaled Xorani. "He always was terribly dashing."

A lightning bolt streaks down from the skies, full of fury and anger.

You have emoted: Eleanor glances upward briefly, with the manner of someone who's just overheard a
snippet of conversation- though the only notable sound in the relatively quiet bar is the boom of
thunder overhead.


"Maybe some day I'll find my soulmimp," Nia muses, rubbing her squarish chin. "But I think I fancy
my independence too much. 'Sides, there's always the Lover's Fling to scratch an itch." She stares
down a large riding dog, trying to prod the panting, tail-wagging, happy thing to his feet with the
tip of her own.

You say, "A lot of folk get consumed by running about looking for it."

You have emoted: Eleanor tucks the watch away. "But if you ask me, when the person's right you'll
know."


Auxiliar Nia smiles with a wink and says to you, "Like I said, already got my eye on someone."

A lightning bolt streaks down from the skies, full of fury and anger.

A stray, brightly colored wooden ball rolls by, helped along by the breeze.

You say, "Well, hopefully Lgakt is kind to you, hm?"

Nia yawns suddenly and mightily.

Grinning at you, Nia bobs her head. "Think he'd like that. I'll tell him you said that." Spurring
her hound to his feet, she hops onto her back, bowing her horns. "Have a productive evening,
Conduit! Full of endless paperwork, I'm sure."

Nia climbs onto a large riding dog.

A lightning bolt streaks down from the skies, full of fury and anger.

You have emoted: Eleanor grimaces, and levers herself up out of her own seat with the air of someone
who has aching joints.

You say, "No rest for the Cabalistic, they do say."
You say, "Do take care, hm? I'm glad to have gotten a chance to chat."

You have emoted: Eleanor turns her head left, squinting a little. "Hm... aha. There's one."

You give Nia a respectful salute.

say ixurya
You say, "Ixurya."
You flick out your butterfly knife, slicing swiftly at the threads of reality. A shimmering fault
appears in the air, and moving quickly you step through.

A dim, cobblestoned crossing (49820) - The Junction (Unmapped)