The span between the library's two halves is cleared of obstruction. The only things present are you and the man who has trapped you in here with him. Kayton Abraham, Average One, has concocted a trap for the sake of your duel.

Aldric Brunestud is some distance away, separated from you by an army of golems. Even she would take some time to come to your aid. And Wayne, a mage who might have evened your odds, is separated from you by a thick steel wall. You hear him shouting on the other side, various objects thudding against the obstruction. For all intents and purposes, you are alone with your foe. Your eye scans from left to right, getting a feel for your location.

The hallway is tiled, and kept clean. Your shoes have good traction, but a misstep could cause you to slip on such smooth floors. The patterns the tiles weave accentuate this vault of knowledge expertly, as should be expected of such a refined-looking man. There is little space to work with. You are in the exact middle of this corridor. Approximately twelve paces separate you from the wall to your left, and the same amount from the one on your right. The barriers are slick and smoothed; a coating over them appears, to you, to be grease. You won't be climbing them.

Behind you, about twenty-four paces away, is the end of your corridor's half. There is a beautiful fountain tucked within a curving alcove against the wall, where a marbled swan dribbles water from its beak. Behind Kayton, another sixty or so paces away, is a matching fountain, though the swan is replaced by a beautiful woman, her naked body draped across a flat slab of stone.

At intervals of about twenty feet, pillars are places between the walls. They stretch up to the roof of the library, two further stories above you. They are rough and textured, deliberately weathered to create a pleasing effect. Railings guard the two floors of library above you, though there appear to be no walls like the ones to either side of you.

And of course, your opponent goes without mentioning. Kayton Abraham, dressed in an anachronistic style, crouches, his body steeled for the coming battle. His body is coated in jewelery, and a fine silver rod in his hands points toward your breast, arcane glyphs flitting about its rounded tip. "En garde," the mage calls. He awaits your first move.

>1. Say something to Kayton.
>2. Call to Wayne and try to tell him something.
>3. Take up a fighting stance.
>4. Ignore the honor extended, and throw a Black Key. (1d100+10)
>5. Charge with the Cross of Orleans. (1d100+10)
>6. Attempt to maneuver somewhere. (1d100)

>>30464607

>3. Take up a fighting stance
>Send a quick prayer to the Lord.

File: 1393287174305.jpg-(74 KB, 514x945, 1334039145260.jpg)

74 KB JPG

>>30464785

>forgot pic

>>30464607
>3. Take up a fighting stance.

Make sure we can draw and throw our Keys once the fight starts, and offer a prayer to the Lord.

>>30464607
>1. Say something to Kayton.
"To first blood or submission?"

>>30464956
>>30465117
these 2, though I have a feeling it is to the death.

>>30465184
Considering we came to talk initially, to the death does not serve either of us.

>>30465117
>>30464785
>>30464956
You tighten the muscles in your legs. Time slows as weapons beneath your clothes loosen their bonds. They away the lightest of motions, a simple shake to free them, to let the blades drop into a waiting hand. But it doesn't come just yet. Fists loosely raised to your sides, you give a pleasant smile to your opponent.

"So, shall this be to first blood, or submission?" The tips of your lips curl downward, so slightly. "Or to death?"

Abraham's chest rolls with deep, booming laughter that gently echoes off the steel walls. "That much will be your decision, Executor. I feel no motivation to kill you, if you are all I hope you to be. But if you are weak, and cannot survive my test, then so be it."

That's how it will be then. You take a calming breath to quell your trembling body, and expel the fear in your body. The embrace of the Holy Spirit envelops you, and to the Lord you offer your praise, along with a request for His merciful hand to guide you along the proper path.

The dark-skinned man appraises you with an inscrutable stare. His lips begin to move, making the faintest of whispers. You try to catch the words upon the still air... but the incessant banging of Wayne against the steel walls disrupts you.

Light shines around the mage's rod. Three red glyphs flicker and spark, and erupt into flame. Whatever Kayton said, he has finished it, and now wields these flames against you. He speaks a command, a German word you do not recognize.

The first glyph spews forth a stream of fire several feet long. The missile screams towards you without hesitation or mercy. With a yelp of shock you throw your body back, and slam into the floor. The missile passes you harmlessly, and smacks into the fountain behind you. The head of the swan is reduced to crackling embers sinking to the bottom of the pool, and water begins to spurt in several directions. But you are not nearly safe.

The command phrase is spoken again, and a second missile of the same kind is let loose. You struggle to stand on the slippery floors, but do so too late. As you sprawl out upon all fours, your left hand is blasted by the fire.

"Ack-GAAAAH!"

Tears stream from your working eye as you scramble away from the smoking remnants of the blast. The pain in your hand isn't terrible. You're certain you've felt far worse. But the dullness scares you. You know it should feel worse just by looking at your hand. Layers upon layers of your skin were torn away, leaving the charred flesh open and vulnerable to the air. A seeping liquid that is not blood trails down your hand and onto your wrist. Attempts to squeeze your hand aren't fruitful; your fingers barely respond to the orders of your mind, as all their nerves have been deadened.

Yet, one more. One more missile flies toward you. You didn't even here Kayton give the command; it broke free of its own will, and now seeks to blast away your face.

The next motion catches both of you off-guard. Your working hand, by some miracle, detached from the terror of your mind and gripped the Cross of Orleans. With a swipe, the perfectly-shaped sword caught up the magic bullet in its own inferno, and snuffed it. The holy sword stands stiffly in the air, its swing complete. And though you are burned, you are alive.

3/15 Wounds taken! Now Singed: -1 to Attack rolls involving your left hand.

>1. Throw a Black Key. (1d100+9)
>2. Charge and wield the Cross. (1d100+9)
>3. Say something to Kayton.
>4. Attempt to maneuver somewhere. (1d100)
>5. Do something else.

Rolled 89 + 9

>>30465706
>1. Throw a Black Key. (1d100+9)

Hopefully he has a Faith Rating, that might help out. Try to deal some damage before moving in with the Cross.

Rolled 17

>>30465706
>>1. Throw a Black Key. (1d100+9)
Do some prodding before we take a swing.

Rolled 62

>>30465706

>>30465834 sounds good. Throw a key while closing our distance into melee range. Time to show this foul sorcerer a what-for!

Rolled 80 + 9

>>30465834
Good roll. supporting.

>>30465706
>1. Throw a Black Key. (1d100+9)

>>30465834
>>30465917
Attempting to maintain some dignity, you lower your sword quietly and place it back at your hip. Your left hand is shaking, and the damage dealt is too extensive to properly wield your weaponry. "So he's eliminated my throwing arm, no big deal," you whisper. You still have one arm left, and that shall be good enough.The Black Key within your right sleeve is ready to be shaken loose and thrown; you only have five to work with, but one can be spared to gauge this mage's defensive capabilities.

Your arm thrusts downwards. The force is enough to deliver a Key into you palm, and immediately you snatch it up and throw your arm over your left shoulder, moving to throw. You see the silver rod moving upward as Kayton calls out another of his spells. Too slow. Your right arm snaps away from your body and rids itself of the sword it held. Careening through the air, the Key approaches the mage... and for an instant, hesitates in the air.

What happens is difficult to see, but you catch a splash of color in the air. A brief shading of orange that dispersed as the Black Key made contact with a certain point.

Red mist sprays. The projectile was slowed, but wasn't stopped, and has pierced Kayton Abraham's right shoulder. The stoic man sputters out an agonized breath, and grits his teeth as he staggers back a step. Feeling confident, you take a few steps forward at his sign of weakness. But then his eyes narrow, and you feel that was a mistake. He speaks with a quick cadence, and his words seem heavy to your ears.

"Heavy force, tectonic plates shift,
shifting crust upon the mantle,
sliding, scraping, cracking.
Diverting flow... Priest, do you know what I have stored under the floor here?"

The tiles beneath your feet crack, and are ripped asunder.

"Solid rock."

A stalagmite of brown stone bursts forth from the ruined floor, and its large blunted end pounds your chest, right in the pit of your stomach.

Colossal force ripples through your flesh, shredding the organs beneath the point of impact. And the stalagmite continues to move, thrusting you off of its tip and into the air, where you flip backwards, limp to the forces acting against you.

When you finally reach the earth again, you roll, dulling the impact that should have shattered bone. You're back on your feet in an instant, but the ruse doesn't fool anyone. The blow inflicted just now ravaged your insides. Your stomach heaves every few seconds, threatening to chuck up some piece of you that needed to stay inside. Now it's not just your hand, but your whole body shaking. Kayton is nonplussed, standing on the other side of the brutal pillar he created and making no move to approach you.

Your leg lifts off the ground and takes a step forward. The appendage left behind threatens to collapse, but you keep it strong long enough for the other foot to step down. One step forward.

>1. Another Black Key! (1d100+9)
>2. Rush him with the Cross before he can get off another spell. (1d100+9)
>3. This ground isn't in your favor. Look for a way to get out of here. (1d100)
>4. Say or do something else.
>5. Kneel. Surrender.

Rolled 65 + 9

>>30466564
>2. Rush him with the Cross before he can get off another spell. (1d100+9)

Rolled 27 + 9

>>30466564
>>2. Rush him with the Cross before he can get off another spell. (1d100+9)
This is probably a mistake, but if we can close some of the distance, it will be harder for him to react to us with some of his spells, like that one.

Rolled 15 + 9

>>30466564
>2. Rush him with the Cross before he can get off another spell. (1d100+9)

GO BIG OR GO HOME!!

Rolled 32 + 9

>>30466564
>1. Another Black Key! (1d100+9)
I don't think we're capable of running right now.

>>30466610
>>30466680
>>30466818
7/15 Wounds Taken.

You hack something up as you move forward. Red liquid bubbles out from the corner of your mouth and slides down off your chin. But your vision is focused, and your mind is calmed. It's simple. Either you beat him before he has the chance to pull out another show of force like that, or you will lose.

You snort, exerting yourself to draw the Cross of Orleans from your hip. The contortion inflicts nightmarish sensations on your stomach, but you bear them and produce the blade. It hangs flaccid at your side for a brief moment. Your aching muscles tug, and raise it to point at Kayton.

Neither of you says a word. Even Wayne has shut up, as his muffled onslaught against the the metal wall has faded. Your breath rattles out from you.

And you roar. Your feet fall heavy on the sullied tiles, clacking and slamming as you make your move. The charge of your body is driven by momentum, by inertia more than your own power. Having provided the push that got you to move, your own body is having a rest. Physics will do the rest. Your speed is impressive, even given your wounds. Around the stalagmite you swerve, before angling into a beeline straight at the mage. You can see him flinch. Perhaps he recognizes the ferocity in your eye, or he's put off by the snarling growls lashing out of your cracked throat. Either way, your working arm, so barely supported by its crippled sibling, lets the Cross of Orleans hang over your shoulder, and as you throw all your body forward, come out in a downward arc. Kayton tries to parry with his rod. The two objects of silver collide, but it isn't a clash worth your energy. This "Average One" holds terrifying power with his magic. But up close? In a brawl?

He is weak.

The rod snaps in two, sundered by the Cross' superior quality. "HRR!" You exert yourself, and quickly pull back to gain just a little more momentum. You swing down again, and Kayton raises a fist to stop you. Madness, but--

It works. The edge of the Cross halts, warded off by the ring upon his middle finger. The force of your blow travels up his arm, and you see his pain. Still, the swing ends there, and the jewel embedded within the ring doesn't shatter.

"H-how?"

Your only answer are the words "Wind. Force." The gem shines with a bright blue light. And something begins to push back against your blade. You struggle to keep your weapon where it is, but you don't have nearly the strength to accomplish that. What started out as a trickle becomes a mighty font of wind and blinding color. Your arms are shunted away from the mage, and your head snaps backwards. Your body crumples, and your feet lose traction. The entire world flips, and your body takes to the air. Over and over you tumble, nauseated and disoriented until a brutal thud tells you you've hit something solid again. Your back has made contact with the swan on the fountain, and ruined what's left of its body. Your eye tries to regain its sight as the room, upside-down, spins.

9/15 Wounds taken.

Kayton slowly stands back up. Oh. You hadn't noticed you'd force him down to a knee with that last strike. "You broke my staff in twain. And you forced me to use a gem... what is your name, priest?"

"Eeugh." You shift your weight and flop down onto your side. Your head raises up.

>1. It is Bartolomè de la Fuente.
>2. [BLUFF] I'll tell you if you surrender.
>3. It is not yours to know.
>4. Something else.

>>30467528
>1. It is Bartolomè de la Fuente.

Also, if we have a working arm be prepared to throw a Black Key at him, we hopefully won't need to, but it pays to be ready for things.

>>30467528
Wait, how did he know we were coming but not our name? Did he see us in the orb thing?

>>30467528
>1. It is Bartolomè de la Fuente.

Rolled 78 + 9

>>30467528
>1. It is Bartolomè de la Fuente.
"Remember it."

>>30467528
>>2. [BLUFF] I'll tell you if you surrender.
Special options, people! We're at half health, and ailing badly. While badass, it also sounds like a good way to provke Mister Arcmage. The de la Fuenta name is associated with being able to revive Daywalker vampires... I'd suggest caution

>>30467565
>>30467799
>>30467820
You prop up your quivering body with your working arm in an effort to look less pathetic from your position. Your eye meets the mage's, and in a confident voice you announce: "It is Bartolomè de la Fuente. Remember it."

Kayton Abraham does something you weren't expecting. He smiles at you, pleased, and dusts his doublet off. "I will." The library is filled with a cacophony of grinding metal as the walls around you sink back into their compartments. A surprised yelps precedes Wayne collapsing to the floor, no longer having a surface to lean against. His limbs flail all about, and on all fours he runs between you and Kayton, who has begun to approach. "Whoa-ho, hold it muchacho! You keep your hands off the sack of meat formerly known as Bartolomè!"

You can tell just how familiar the two are with one another, as Abraham is not even fazed by Wayne's "unique" turns of phrase. "Take a deep breath, Wayne. I'm finished with him, and he's satisfied my curiosity."

"Oh, whoopity-do! But I haven't satisfied my desire to crack your jaw yet." Wayne cracks his knuckles accordingly. The other mage is unamused.

"I don't WISH to fight, Wayne. And I'm wounded as it is; if you were to strike me now I'd probably fall over and die on this spot."

The wind drops out of the Enforcer's sails, and he glowers at Abraham, who claps his hands. "Yeesh, man, you just don't let ANYTHING be fun, do you?" From the far side you see several of the more humanoid golems march in, before Kayton stretches his hand out to his counterpart. "You meant to return the Orb, yes?"

"Yeah." Wayne snatches the artifact from the inside of his jacket and hands it over; Kayton effortlessly juggles the Orb around his dexterous fingers, looking less than thrilled. Two of the golems approach you and gingerly prop you back to your feet, supporting you and coming closer to the pair of mages. Abraham grins.

"Now then, priest... on to business."

...

"Care for more tea?"

Kayton offers you another cup of the piping hot drink. You are seated in a plush armchair surrounded by astounding comfort, in a more private study. Though books still line the walls, it is a more enclosed space, appropriate for private meetings. Outside a window you can see the weather shifting from rain to snow as the temperature drops. A crackling fire in the hearth keeps you warm.

Gauze and bandages cover your wounds, included a salve upon a compress placed to your stomach. You've been told it's to "mend the internal damage done" during your encounter with Kayton. While you recuperate, a smorgasbord of treats has been laid out to sample.

On the beautifully-carved coffee table between you, your host, and Wayne lies a tray filled with scrumptious morsels. Freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies, so warm the chocolate is still melted. Contrasting it is a crispy, cool creme brulee. Fruit tarts filled with a variety of flavors await your consumption, along with further confections you're not even sure you have names for.

>1. Accept the tea.
>2. You have plenty for now.

>>30468383
>1. Accept the tea.

Fuck it, we've had a long day, drink the tea.

>>30468383
>1. Accept the tea.
Despite trying to kill us earlier, he IS a well-manner wizard. It's best to be polite.

>>30468383
>1. Accept the tea.

That ended better than I could hope for.

is it too presumptuous for me to assume that, now we've cleared a Boss State, we might get an option to unlock some new capabilities? I'm hoping for Luck, but I think Magic Circuits might be a better fit, what with Kayton being a Mage and all.

>>30468457
>>30468474
>>30468630
You accept the offer of tea, and hold out your cup to the mage. He pours out a dark, steamy substance from a marvelous teapot. It looks more expensive than all the good silverware your mother owns combined. The question strikes you of where this man got such wealth from.

After the matter of your refreshment's been settled, Kayton cozies up in his own chair and folds his hands. "I've only heard snippets of the story, Bartolomè, but I understand you've been through a lot these last few months. And I have a few questions for you... but, seeing as I'm your host tonight, it's only fair I offer you the same courtesy. Before we begin, is there anything you would like to know?"

>1. You knew I was coming, but didn't know my name?
>2. So, you made all this food yourself?
>3. Will Aldric be joining us?
>4. What, precisely, does that Orb do?
>5. If you didn't intend to kill me, why did you fight me?
>6. How do you and Wayne know one another?
>7. Why did you give that Orb to Klaus Hind?

Rolled 77 + 9

>>30469332
>>1. You knew I was coming, but didn't know my name?
>>3. Will Aldric be joining us?

Let's start with these two, I think. They are the most gentle leads into conversation.

>>30469332
>2. So, you made all this food yourself?

Start by complimenting his cooking, be friendly, mention that we cook as well.

>1. You knew I was coming, but didn't know my name?
>3. Will Aldric be joining us?

Good ways to lead into questions. After we've gotten those out of the way ask "You said earlier that you didn't want to kill me, but just to test me. What was this test for?"

And if that line of questioning doesn't tell us why he gave the Orb to Klaus Hind then ask him why he did that.

>>30469332
ASK ALL THE QUESTIONS!
>>30469360
I second this. Good way to start things off.
>1. You knew I was coming, but didn't know my name?
>3. Will Aldric be joining us?

Pepper with pleasantries like
>6. How do you and Wayne know one another?

Casual turn the topic to magus-things
>4. What, precisely, does that Orb do?
>7. Why did you give that Orb to Klaus Hind?

After pleasantries,
>5. If you didn't intend to kill me, why did you fight me?

And, when all else fails and we need to defuse an awkward or tense situation, we go to
>2. So, you made all this food yourself?

>>30469360
>>30469525
Best to ease into the conversation. "Will Aldric be joining us?"

Kayton's poise is unhindered as he shakes his head no. "My defenses are extensive, but I don't trust them in the face of a Brunestud. I'd prefer to keep her at arm's length for the time being. Don't worry, I can see through my golem familiars. She's getting on quite well out there, for the time being."

"In that case, let me ask you this: you asked me for my name, but you acted as if you were expecting me. Why?"

"I wasn't expecting you," Abraham explains. "Or, not you precisely. I was only expecting someone like you."

"And that is why you needed to test me?"

"In a sense, yes. You WERE breaking into my home, after all. We might not have come to blows if you'd simply knocked, but I'm grateful you chose the path you did. You've left me without a doubt that you're the one I've been waiting for, Bartolomè."

Wayne, for his part, ignores your conversation entirely, taking his share of the tarts and plopping them into his gullet, one by one.

>1. Why are you "waiting" for me?
>2. Why did you give the Orb to Klaus Hind?
>3. What does the Orb exactly do?
>4. How do you and Wayne know one another?
>5. You made this food yourself?
>6. Ask something else.

>>30469668
>1. Why are you "waiting" for me?


(I'm off. have a good run picking his brain, guys!)
>4. How do you and Wayne know one another?

>>30470180
>2. Why did you give the Orb to Klaus Hind?

"Were you hoping that someone like me would follow it back to you?"

>>30470337
>>30470363
You put the teacup to your lips, drawing out the last few drops with a final sip. Content, you set the cup back down upon its designated plate, and place your hands back in your lap.

"Waiting? Why have you been 'waiting' for me?"

Kayton tells you like it's the most natural thing to say, "Because you were foretold. I assume you also wish to know why Klaus Hind received the Orb of Avalon from me, yes? It is for the same reason. It was foretold that I would give it up to him without a fight. And it was foretold that it would be returned to me by someone very important. You and Wayne returned the Orb to me, Bartolomè, and even with your blatant inexperience you wounded me, and drew forth effort from me. That makes me believe you are the one that was foretold."

"And who... foretold this, exactly?"

He shrugs his shoulders and says, "The Painter, of course."

You hear an angry groan coming from the seat to your left. Wayne's hand rests upon his forehead, fingers cradling his temples as he flashes an unpleasant look at his friend. "Oh, Kayton, you friggin' sack of... you put us through all this trouble on account of that little witch?!"

"Her counsel is not to be underestimated, Wayne. It was foretold, and has unfolded as she predicted."

Wayne leans forward, frowning, and declares, "So what?! Making vague 'predictions' ain't worth jack. Of course the prediction came true, it's logic! Like the Association would let you just give the Orb away. Ever hear of self-fulfilling prophecy, you corny schmuck?"

>1. Ask who the Painter is.
>2. Let them settle this without interruption.
>3. Ask a different question.

>>30471017
>1. Ask who the Painter is.

>>30471041
You lean forward yourself, butting into the conversation.

"Er, who exactly IS this Painter?"

Wayne folds his arms and rolls his eyes, clearly not happy to be going down this avenue of discussion. "She's a big crock of hocus pocus and made-up fantasies.."

"Wayne," Kayton scolds.

"A'right, a'right. Y'see, Bart, certain magi have... 'special' talents that nobody else has. Like a Reality Marble, or Kayton being an Average One. The Painter has one such ability, or so they say."

Kayton takes over. "The Painter has some connection to Magic--True Magic, the kind that that modern-day magi can no longer replicate."

"That's ONE theory," Wayne interjects. Kayton continues regardless.

"Be it by chance or deliberation, she is a gifted artist. And that which she puts to canvas is the equivalent of prophecy: something that is doomed to happen, or becomes significantly more likely than it was before."

"That's about the gist," Wayne confirms. "Though like I said, it's all bupkis."

Kayton closes his eyes, and quietly takes another sip of his drink. And under his breath you hear him mutter, "...Is not."

>1. That DOES sound hard to believe...
>2. Do you think I might be able to meet this Painter?
>3. I had some other questions...
>4. You're satisfied, for now. Let Kayton ask his own questions.

>>30471661
I would like to see the painting that led you to believe I would come here.

>>30471661
This >>30471818

And if it seems somewhat accurate then ask more about her, if we can meet her.

>>30471818
>>30471882
Such a being's existence sounds questionable. But then again, you've encountered several such impossible individuals since taking up your father's profession. And the thought strikes you, if she can make such prophecy, perhaps you could find something related to your father?

But you must verify this information first.

"Where might I see the painting that led you to these conclusions? Could you bring me to it?"

Kayton shakes his head. "No, at least not within the confines of my home. The Painter is very proud of her work, you see. Her work isn't commissioned, she merely paints as the mood strikes her. None of her work is anyone but herself."

"That is unfortunate. Would there be any way to meet her? I would like to judge this work for myself."

"She does live only a short distance from here. I could arrange a meeting this afternoon, actually."

"That would be most excellent." But before you excitement gets the best of you, Kayton holds up a finger.

"I don't do this out of charity, Bartolomè. I will arrange this meeting on two conditions."

"...Name them."

Kayton nods, and holds up two fingers. "One: You tell me everything you saw from your contact with the Orb of Avalon." The first is struck down, leaving only one. "Two: You tell me the name of the one who trains you. I'm... curious where you learned what you know." His sharp eyes scan you, waiting for an answer.

>1. Tell him.
>2. Do not tell him.

>>30472609
>1. Tell him.

>>30472609
>1. Tell him.

>>30472609
>1. Tell him.

half now, half after we meet the painter.

don't really care what we spill first.

>>30472609
>1. Tell him.
It would be hard to make anything of what we saw so why not?

>>30472786
>>30472792
>>30472864
It's certainly not the most offensive of requests. You figure this much information can be parted with without fuss. "The name of my mentor is Catarina Belmont."

Kayton's eyes widen for an instant, then return to the calm visage that seems more suited to him. He exchanges a glance with Wayne, who confirms he already knew with a nod. "The Angel of Death? That would certainly explain a lot about you. And what of the Orb? Did you see anything under its effects?"

You grab a cookie off the table, taking a bite of the gooey chocolate treat. As you chew, you nod, though you only speak once you've swallowed the morsel. "I did see something, though it wasn't anything to write home about. It was some foreign country, I think. And there were two individuals bickering. There was a young girl... and along with her, a man in a green cloak, with orange hair."

Kayton is silent. You look to him for acknowledgement of the deal's fulfillment, but find nothing of the sort. Very slowly, and steadily, he lowers his personal plate of treats and sets them upon the table. He asks you, "Repeat that one more time." You do so, and his mouth opens ever so slightly. "Remarkable. It's never done this before."

Wait. Done what? "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm simply caught off guard, Bartolomè. You describe two people to me that I am not familiar with--yet I know them all the same. I'll contact the Painter, we'll go to her at once. I would like to know if there's some connection." The anachronistic man rises from his chair, moving away from the meeting circle with purpose in his animated gait.

"Pal, hold up," Wayne yells after him. "The hell's got you so worked up?"

Kayton opens the door, and beats a hasty retreat. But as he goes, he gives an answer: "Not long before I gave the Orb to Klaus Hind, I had the exact same vision."

The door shuts, leaving you with the sound of a roaring fire.

This thread is far too lacking in updates for my tastes, but I have to call a stop to it all the same. Getting too late to continue right now, though I hope to have a new thread within a couple of days.

Thank you all so much for playing! Hope you enjoyed today's session, and let me know here or a my Twitter, @Frolloswagendir if there was anything you enjoyed, or didn't enjoy, and think I can improve on.

Looking forward to the next thread, where maybe I can get a faster update schedule going.