Oct 16, 2019 4:39 PM
Veron in Corth
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There indeed do not seem to be any skeletons wandering around the streets this morning! 

Wandering around at random will bring him to a street fountain after not too long; there's one on every major intersection. This one has mostly dried up, but there's still a small trickle of water. 

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Oh, good. That might work. The water doesn't smell weird or taste strange if he tests it?

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The water smells like water, which is to say it doesn't. Its taste is within tolerances for regional differences in water taste, although it's not one that's familiar.

It seems to be reasonably fresh and clean. There are plants growing all over the fountain, including below the water line, but the water itself is clear. 

He should probably be more worried about those voices in the distance. 

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Oh! Voices! People! He's tentatively excited about actual non-skeletal people.

Can he identify which direction the voices are coming from? Can he go in the direction the voices are coming from?

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Yes and yes. The voices seem to be coming from the same general direction as the house he stayed in last night. 

As he gets closer, he can hear that they seem to be arguing about something - the word "bones" is mentioned several times. 

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He really hopes he didn't commit some kind of sacrilege or something in killing the skeletons. He's pretty sure he didn't, but. Well. He's a little nervous anyway.

He goes to the voices.

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"It was over several hours," echoes a woman's voice, more than a little testy.

"Maybe he's a wizard?" wonders another voice, this one male.

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"I am not sure that even a master wizard could take out this many undead with no damage to their surroundings," says a third.

"A cleric could take out a few, but even if they spent the whole night at it, I doubt most of them could manage something of this scale either." 

Vinas can see them now, a group of seven standing around the heap of bones. Most of them are looking down at the pile, but a couple are keeping watch. 

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"Perhaps we should just ask him," sighs the woman. She points.

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"Uh," says Vinas. "... Hi?"

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The shortest member of the group - one of the ones on lookout duty, although ey happened to be looking the other way - lets out an absolutely foul curse in what, if Vinas is paying attention, he will notice is a different language to the one the others were just speaking. He can still understand it, though. 

Ey whips round to stand between Vinas and the others, drawing a sword that looks almost as tall as ey is. 

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"Greetings, stranger," calls one of the others. 

He steps forward, placing one hand on the hilt of his sword and thrusting out his chest. 

"I would have your name," he continues, projecting his voice out to cover the distance with the ease of long practice, "and know your business in this godsforsaken place." 

He sounds more like an actor in a play than a real person, with the way he's placing over-dramatic emphasis on each sentence. 

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"Vinas Siethan, and, uh. Would you believe me if I said I was really lost?"

 "No," says the woman, flatly.

"... Well, fair enough, but can you at least not wave swords at me while I try to explain myself?"

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"No-one's waving anything, but surely you can understand the need for caution in a place like this." 

He takes another step forward.

"I am Donato Ruiz, minstrel and historian," he introduces himself, with an elaborate bow.

"These are my travelling companions. You sound as though you have an interesting tale to tell, Vinas Siethan." 

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"And since when," mutters a young man in gleaming full plate, "were we your 'travelling companions'?"

His face is a study in refined disgust. 

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"Are we not all each other's travelling companions?" wonders a man with pointed ears and a wide smile.

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... Vinas looks a little uncomfortable. And confused. Which is accurate, he feels a little uncomfortable and confused. There's something weird about the words they're saying, but he's having trouble placing it.

"It's mostly a whole bunch of mysteries, but that probably adds up to interesting if you squint at it hard enough. Where are we?"

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The man in blue robes starts to answer, but Donato cuts him off. 

"You stand, sir, in the ancient city of Kadar, once capital of an empire that covered the known world." He flings his arms out to the sides.

"For a thousand years, it has been gone beyond the reach and knowledge of men - and now it returns..."

His voice drops to a whisper. "But returns changed." 

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Vinas raises his eyebrows slightly. Can someone else maybe try talking? No? He's stuck with the overly-dramatic person.

"... Cool," he says. "Next question. Why are the dead walking about."

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The blue-robed man steps forward, holding up a hand as Donato looks about to speak again.

"I am Elouan d'Aramitz," he introduces himself. 

"I cannot be sure, but my current theory is that large amounts of free-floating necromantic energy have gathered here over the centuries, causing the dead to spontaneously animate. We have been here several days without finding any sign of deliberate necromancy, although admittedly we have not yet explored the inner districts or the lower city." 

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He has never heard the word 'necromancy' before. It's completely foreign, except - he knows what it means anyway. What. As Elouan d'Aramitz explains, Vinas's expression grows more and more grave. Hold on. What. Is the color green doing some kind of sneaky translation? It seems like the color green is doing some kind of sneaky translation, and it doesn't hold up to squinting. Or maybe teal's responsible, he doesn't know. Either way, he's hearing words in his native language, except when he listens in the right sort of way, he - doesn't. In short: aaa.

"..... Okay," he agrees after a longer pause, with a mechanical nod and the expression of a man who just swallowed a lemon. "I would like to change my assertion that I'm 'really lost' to 'really, really lost.' And maybe also sit down. And throw up. Not sure yet, we'll see."

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Elouan frowns, discarding the question he was about to ask regarding the piles of bones.

"What can we do to help?" he asks instead, motioning for Darya to put eir sword away. Stepping closer, he holds an arm out ready to catch Vinas if he falls over.

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Vinas doesn't look in danger of falling over! He locates something sturdy and sits in a fashion that could more accurately be described as 'crumpling.'

"Just, uh, give me a minute." He rubs his face.

  "... So, probably a liability?" wonders the woman quietly, in Araith. She's eyeing Vinas like he's something she might scrape off her boot.

  "I wouldn't go that far," replies the man with extremely pointed ears, in the same tongue.

Vinas briefly glances up, but offers no comment. If he's not mistaken, that was another language. And - yep, he understood it just fine. Aaaaa.

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"I'm sure he'll be fine," Elouan contributes. All three of them have different accents, and Elouan's reveals, to someone paying attention, that Araith is not his first language. 

"He's clearly had some kind of shock, possibly been the victim of a magical accident," he continues, taking a step back and crouching down to look Vinas in the eye. "And I'd give good odds he's responsible for that pile of bones - you call that a liability?"

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  "I do if he can't keep his head in a crisis," says the woman. "Strange abilities or no, if he panics, he's a liability."

"Yeah, uh, my strange abilities go a bit further than the pile of bones. It's been that kind of week," says Vinas, deciding that he'd rather not sit on his magical polyglot powers and quietly listen.

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