Relaxing a bit, this tough as well as nice looking female faces the metallic humanoid and speaks in a low, almost growling voice: "You maybe taste well enough to a creature I haven't met yet and I could cook all of you ... (squinting at Nelja) or eat you."

Then, with her voice more at ease and to all three: "Both aren't things I'd like to do."

Slowly she takes her hand off the talisman and with an unexpected soft, gentle voice and almost smiling she says to Nelja: "I pointed to cliff, because there is my campfire, where you could dry."

Reluctant at first Nelja takes the first step towards the campfire. "Well then we should all go there! I hope you won't try to eat us, I propably taste awfull you know" and smiles...

The soulforged on the ground gestures at where its lower half ought to be and says in reluctant Chatter, "Help would be good. Name is Vimess. Nice to meet."

Posted by MuadMouseThe soulforged on the ground gestures at where its lower half ought to be and says in reluctant Chatter, "Help would be good. Name is Vimess. Nice to meet."

"Sorry, Vimess. I haven't forgotten you," says Vee. He easily but carefully lifts the wounded soulforged, giving a hint of his strength. As they approach the campfire, Vee plods forward steadily, but still keeps his eyes on the tusked one. Despite her reassurances, the nature of her... joke... didn't exactly put him at ease. "So, you know my name, but I'm afraid I don't know yours?" Vee asks her. "Or... yours." his head swivels to look at Nelja inquisitively. "Tell me something about those strange markings you wear. Is it some ancient language?"

After picking up the shoulder bag and giving the remaining clouds of smoke and ashes a last look over her shoulder, the driest of the four turns around, sighs and leads the others along the narrow, serpentine path away from the beach. Hoping, that her duty as witness is fulfilled.

Posted by Sapient"So, you know my name, but I'm afraid I don't know yours?" Vee asks her.

Without turning around, the person in front of him replies: "And what of the things you said to me was your name? I don't know half of those words. My people don't have much use for this tongue."

As they approach the upper end of the path, the dripping trio spots close behind the Weatherfingers a very well build campfire, a number of items and a horse.

"Subject Numbe... I mean... Nelja... Yes Nelja" Says and smiles as they approach the campfire takes a sit fairly away from the campfire and stares at the horse.... "Fire makes the air go up, I 'll be fine here..." immediately when she says that she starts examining herself.... Takes a look at the runes and seems relieved (they are all at their place for now), stretches her fingers, touches her legs and toes. "My master makes them" she says to her new friend... "you asked me a while ago, right? that's all I know and all I have left from him"

Vimess looks around at its company and utters in its halting Chatter, "Not be rude... sun is warm, sun dries. Water not a problem. Me missing parts a problem. Damage of Vee a problem." At this, Vee hears the unpleasant creaks and groans his body makes with every move, and knows that he'll need the help of a competent smith or he'll start suffering from increasingly severe malfunctions within days.

Vimess points out with its stump southwards at the chimney-smoke rising from the port city that lay there. "Greenwater Cove has help."

Turning to Nelja, the crippled soulforged adds in Islish, "Miss, there is the possibility your master managed to escape before... the destruction... and in that case I'm sure he would seek refuge in the city. I understand many of the members of Velhohovi had dealings with, let us say enterprising individuals operating from there."

Vimess' distaste at switching back to Chatter is apparent - many people consider Islish a superior language, especially when compared to the 'mongrel' Chatter - but so is the eagerness to be polite. "Smiths. Craftsmen. Friends," it says, again indicating south.

There is a clear, well-worn path to Greenwater Cove. The path slopes down gently from the cliffs, and the trip shouldn't take much more than an hour at a brisk walk.

What do you do?

"Forgive me, I'll stick to trade-speak for now," Vee says, bowing his head low to the tall, dark female. He rises slowly, then looks deeply into he eyes getting a good look at her face for the first time. His own eyes glow dully with the pale green light of his trapped soul. "Vee. That is my name. I am in training as a priest. Know you of the goddess Saint Martha, or Armo, or..." Vee looks back in the direction of the devastated city, ".. Kosto?" he asks. Vee stretches his left arm and leg, just to test the damage. The normally smooth whirring motion is replaced by audible straining and scratching of metal against wood. "That fall was worse than I realized," he admitted. He nods to Vimess, in agreement with the other soulforged; clearly they are both going to need patching up. "Nel-- ja," Vee pronounces the name thoughtfully, "That sounds beautiful. It's almost like... butterflies in the moonlight! I do hope we can be friends."

Nelja smiles at him "Butterflies... How nice of you Vee. I do hope we can be friends too!!" She shakes her head a bit "I almost forgot it... You said my master could be there, right?" says and looks at the damaged soulforged. "I must go there.... but how.... I might not survive the night.." her eyes look watery again...

Suddenly, Gustheight Rock reminds you why it’s named that when the campfire flickers and a violent wind threatens to sweep Nelja off her feet - she is spared only at the last moment by her quickly taking cover behind Vee’s bulk. The Blackorc doesn’t seem to notice. She is sitting in front of the fire and staring at the furiously spinning flames entranced, her lips forming words that no one can hear before the wind catches each utterance and carries it away. “Well, she seems rather grounded, wouldn’t you say,” Vimess says in Islish with perhaps a hint of snideness. “Let us, however, depart before we get tossed into the sea again.” The wind pushes firmly on your backs as you head south down the path, making the going easy down the sunny path toward the city. As you gain distance from Gustheight Rock, the stark rock of the Weatherfingers makes way for increasing tropical vegetation. In less than an hour you have reached the ridge overlooking Greenwater Cove. The city of Greenwater Cove is built along the banks of a circular bay about a 500 meters across and up the surrounding slopes. It has no walls, trusting rather the high ridges encircling it to protect them. On top of the ridge to the southwest stands the fortified, brightly decorated manor of the Lord Mayor. Right below it are the mansions of the rich and powerful merchants that have made the city what it is today, and downslope live the teeming masses who give the city the lively nature it is known for. Over a thousand homes cling to the green slopes of the cove. The cove is very verdant, with tropical plant life making every open place a hodge-podge garden. From up here you can clearly see the prodigious growth of bright green seaweed along the north and south edges of the bay. Across the middle there is an aggressively harvested lane broad enough for any ship small enough to enter the bay to make it to the busy harbour without getting their rudders tangled up in the notoriously tough seaweed. Now, however, the bay is full of ships and boats colliding with each other. The cove is in chaos as over a dozen refugee ships from Taikasaari have pushed back weedtender rafts and some merchant ships apparently trying to head for the sea. Fighting has broken out between one merchantman and two refugee sailing ships, one of which has a burning sail. The city itself seems to be more in shock than anything else. Greenwater Cove owes its fortunes to its proximity to the wondrous Taikasaari, the Isle of Magic which they thought eternal and all-powerful. And now they were being told of the island’s annihilation. It is not strange to see then, that the city’s many small temples are teeming with people, their prayers and supplications a contrasting murmur to the unrest on the waters. Greenwater Cove is known for its merry, freewheeling nature and fondness for earthly pleasures. It is said that in this city you can find any service you can imagine - and thanks to traffic with Taikasaari, some you never thought possible. What do you do?

Apart from the unequal length of her tusks and the impression that she has always lived in the wilderness, Vee spotted something else in her eyes while looking in her face. It reminded him of a dog standing suddenly in front of a dead fish which has been very ill. This continues to pop up in his mind.

Posted by Sapient"Vee. That is my name. I am in training as a priest. Know you of the goddess Saint Martha, or Armo, or..." Vee looks back in the direction of the devastated city, ".. Kosto?"

The wilderness female sat down close to the tired looking horse, squinting curious at Nelja's runes and spoke to Vee: "I not know any of them, exept the names. Kosto, he ... was send to do this ...?" and nodded at the remains of Taikasaari.

Posted by Sapient"That fall was worse than I realized."

The black female suddenly said: "My people don't easy tell someone their names." She then added with a trailing mind and her gaze at the sky where the three moons were some time ago, "but since ... you gave me part ... of your names ... call me Arteschka ... for now ."

Vee, Vimess and Nelja all got the impression, that their newest acquaintance has always something more to say but either forgets to or doesn't want to tell them. This assumption was strengthened as she sits down at the campfire, facing the former location of Taikasaari, staring into the fire.

Updated 23 August 2014 (18:25)

"Ooooh," Vee says, enjoying the simple charm and beauty of this cove city. "This must be a wonderful place to live. And there are so many interesting people." His eyes linger a while on the rows of homes for residents of differing wealth. Vee stops to bow and greet a few men who are strolling in their direction, creaking slightly as he does so. "May the blessings of Saint Martha be upon you," he says. "We-- that is, this other Soulforged as well as myself-- have need of some repairs. Is there a tinker nearby?"

The two portly middle-aged men - natives to these parts, judging by their brown skin, auburn hair and garish clothes - stop their heated debate and look up at Vee a bit befuddled.

“Saint Martha?” asks the somewhat drunk man with the fat moustache and a confused look on his face.

His companion with the sideburns - who is more merry than confused in his drunkenness - gives him a friendly slap on the back of his head and says, “No, Orn, he was asking for a tinker, you dolt!” He looks at the two soulforged appraisingly and adds, “And looks like you really could need one. Well, Bregour is the one to see; he’s mad smart with your lot! Just take a right onto Crescent Street, and follow that ‘til Craftsman’s Lane, go upslope and you can’t miss it. Just look for a brass cog the size of a cartwheel.” His moustachioed friend nods enthusiastically.

“Now if you’ll excuse us,” the one with the sideburns says a bit hurriedly, “we have an important bet to settle!” As they shuffle away, you can just hear the bearded fellow insist, “You’ve been on dreamjuice again, Pern, the Beacon can’t fall!”

Vimess stirs in Vee’s arms. “I’ve heard of this Master Bregour!” he exclaims. “I understand he once worked for one of the Arcane Colleges on Taikasaari, but fell out favour and left. A capable artificer, but said to be somewhat unscrupulous.” He sighs and adds, “The best we can hope for, I suppose.”

As you follow the portly pairs’ directions, you are quickly enveloped in the hive of activity that is Greenwater Cove. Some people are running towards the shore to see the clashing ships, some are scampering upslope to see if the rumours of Taikasaari’s fall are true, some are wailing in despair, but many more are preparing to sell things to the refugees. The bazaar that is Crescent Street is full of carts and bearers being stacked high with merchandise to offer at the docks. All this excitement of course in no way detains the sellers from hawking their wares to you, too.

Having waded your way through Crescent Street - with whatever weird and wonderful purchases you may have acquired along the way - you find it terminating in what must be Craftsman’s Lane; this well-cobbled street is flanked by workshops of all varieties. From here you can already see a big brass cog gracing the side of a large, solid-looking stone building. As you come nearer, the sound of metal being worked by many hands is clear to hear.

Suddenly, a youth in a leather apron bursts out the door, followed by a flying oil-heavy rag. The youth dashes past you nimbly and continues down the slope. An aging dwarf appears in the doorway and proves his lungs are in fine condition when he bellows after the apprentice “And make sure it’s black dendan oil this time, you twit!”

After a routine bit of grumbling about his apprentice having quicker legs than brains, the dwarf notices you and lifts a brow already encrusted with the rock of age. and bearing a an intricate set of various magnifying glasses. “Well, aren’t you two a right mess,” he says in gravelly Islish as he brushes something off his smith’s apron with rough-skinned hands. He heads back in, beckoning you to follow, almost-shouting “It’d be a shame to see good work go to waste! Come on in!”

Vimess peels the oily rag from his chest but doesn’t quite seem to know what to do with, and so decides to hold it like a soiled handkerchief. “Yes,” he says a bit unenthusiastically, “that would be Master Artificer Bregour.”

Inside, you see a dozen workbenches with apprentice and journeyman artificers of all descriptions tinkering away over them. Bregour grabs a heavy listening horn from a bench and puts it to his ear. “So, what’s the matter with you?" he yells over the din. “You’ll have to speak up, my hearing’s not what it used to be!”

What do you do?

Updated 25 August 2014 (02:30)

Like a moth to a flame Nelja is mesmerized by the hectic and merry life of the city. With her eyes wide open as if she would take in more of the city she follows her two new friends. She seems to have forgotten her master, the city that she left behind... the runes on her body that start to fade... It's clear that the dwarf just noticed her when they all went into his workplace. Her two slim legs would barely be seen behind Vee.... "Um, you wouldn't happen to see my master?" says and her head sticks out next to Vee...

Meanwhile at the Weatherfingers, Arteschka is still uncertain if she is free to return home, thinking: "But why did I meet the girl and those other things ...? It could be, that I was supposed to meet actual eye ... or rather body witnesses ..." After some deliberations she decides that, if she has to meet witnesses, Greenwater Cove would be ideal in any way. She gathers her belongings, thanks the Weatherfingers for shelter with a prayer and sets off towards the harbor city having a small meal in the saddle. "Hmm, another place where one has to have money to barter. I hope there are some people, who are sensible enough to accept my services as a trading good ..." She thinks to herself before entering the city. "... and I need to practice this ... this Chatter."

On seeing Nelja, Bregour’s jaw goes slack and he lowers the ear horn absent-mindedly. After a moment of sheer shock he flicks an oily-tinted magnifying glass down over his eye and peers at her anxiously. “They did it… those powerhungry fools actually did it!” he hisses to himself.

His face turns grim, he straightens and says to a strapping young man hauling a sack of coal “Goorve, make sure no one comes in.” The young man strides to the door, casually grabbing a hammer and loosening the knife at his belt casually on the way. He closes the front door carefully behind him.

Vimess shifts nervously and asks, “What seems to be the matter, Master Bregour?”

“The matter,” the dwarf responds acridly, “is that Taikasaari’s destruction was no surprise to me, but the survival of this child most definitely is!” He leans closer to Nelja, and with words dripping with bitterness, says “It is because of your master and those like him, their greed and arrogance and sheer insanity, that just cost the world thousands of lives and countless treasures!”

Bregour starts pacing around the workshop, huffing and puffing in barely constrained rage. He draws a long breath, seems to calm down, and the n yells with all his might in the direction of Taikasaari’s former location “You maniacs! You were warned! Twice! And even after you’ve destroyed yourselves you dump the problem at my doorstep! You bastards! Will I ever be rid of you!”

Everyone at the workshop tries to concentrate on their work as if their lives depended on it.

Having let off some steam, Bregour calms down visibly. He approaches the group with a tired gait, says “With any luck, child, your master is dead. Tell me what you need, and I will aid you as best I can,” and resignedly lifts the horn back to his ear.

Meanwhile, Arteschka is entering the outskirts of the city. All through the ride from Weatherfingers, vague visions, snippets of dreams, and elusive omens have been swarming inside her head, as if looking for a shape, or perhaps to show her something.

An eight-pointed star above a bleeding, V-shaped wound. The words “Twice-warned, thrice-damned”. A tiny feather twisting through the air and landing on a steel gauntlet. A disc of dull gold rolling back and forth on its tooth-shaped edge. Eyes reflecting alien constellations.

Suddenly she is roused from her reverie: a youngish man of local colouration, his workaday tunic trying to hide a fine chain shirt and a warrior’s bearing, asking her something in Islish. He thrusts a piece of parchment at her. The man switches to fluent Chatter: “Have you seen anyone with these markings?”

She has - these are the sigils the girl Nelja bore on her limbs. However, what jumps out at Arteschka even more is the intricate tattoo on the man’s neck: a star above a V-shape.

Arteschka can clearly sense a violent hatred in the man’s tone - he does not mean well for the bearer of those sigils.

What do you do?

Updated 28 August 2014 (18:53)

Arteschka climbed off the horse upon entering the city, leading the horse by the reins. Both are slightly puzzled by the confusion between the inhabitants and the refugees.

Posted by MuadMouseSuddenly she is roused from her reverie: a youngish man of local colouration, his workaday tunic trying to hide a fine chain shirt and a warrior’s bearing, asking her something in Islish. He thrusts a piece of parchment at her. The man switches to fluent Chatter: “Have you seen anyone with these markings?”She has - these are the sigils the girl Nelja bore on her limbs. However, what jumps out at Arteschka even more is the intricate tattoo on the man’s neck: a star above a V-shape.Arteschka can clearly sense a violent hatred in the man’s tone - he does not mean well for the bearer of those sigils.

"Hmm, I've seen many people with many kinds of markings since I've left my native lands." is her answer to the young man. Arteschka grabs the parchment firmly so that the questioner would tear it apart, if he pulls it back. She memorizes the face and tattoo of the man, while studying the parchment.

"I'm not sure I did, but I might be able to help. Where can I find you, if I see someone with signs like this?" Just before he answers, Arteschka says: "May I have this?", slightly pulling at the page. "It may help me help you."

Without waiting for an answer Arteschka suddenly rips as much as she can, in a crosswise motion to his grip, off the parchment. Hopefully ending with a rather large portion of it in her hand. "Oh, erm. I thought you nodded." Is her statement, while she starts to feel up his tattoo, examining it closely.

She also touches his side of the body where the tatto is, quite thoroughly with her breasts, breathing on his shoulder and neck. "Mhm, this is a nice painting, but it looks like it is in the skin. How do you wash it off, when you don't need it anymore?"

Updated 29 August 2014 (14:50)

Arteschka tears the parchment in two. The man's expression hardens until she presses against him. Then he gives her a crooked grin and hands her the rest of the parchment. "Here, take the rest. I've got more back at the Fuming Flagon Inn," he murmurs in her ear while giving her buttock a firm squeeze. "You can try to rub it off all you want there tonight," he adds, extracting himself from her embrace with a wink and a bow, "just ask for Jax." "But now, I'm afraid, I must keep doing my master's bidding," he says and pulls out a roll of parchment from within his tunic. "Come to the inn if you see those markings, won't you? There's a reward - for you, more than one!" He turns to show the parchment to a merchant and winks over his shoulder. Just then, a sparrow swoops over Arteschka's shoulder, flies some distance away upslope, and wheels a few times above a solid-looking stone building before landing on its roof invitingly. There is something very similar in the bird's descent to the way Nelja fell toward the sea. The bird appears to be waiting. What do you do?

Leaving the young man to his work, Arteschka thinks: "Pff, young males ... so easily distracted. But, Jax, I thank you for the tangible information you've given me." She stuffs the parchment between the layers of her sleeping bag.

Posted by MuadMouseJust then, a sparrow swoops over Arteschka's shoulder, flies some distance away upslope, and wheels a few times above a solid-looking stone building before landing on its roof invitingly. There is something very similar in the bird's descent to the way Nelja fell toward the sea. The bird appears to be waiting.

Nodding to the sparrow with a feeling of gratitude she mumbles: "Showing me the way, eh? Thank you." Arteschka goes further into the city, doing her best to endure the smells and masses of people as well the sensing of that many disturbed emotions.

While making her way towards the location the sparrow has shown her, she stops to ask an elderly woman: "I'm looking for the Fuming Flagon Inn. Please tell me where it is."

"My, aren't you tall!" exclaims the old woman in flawless Chatter, straining her bent spine to look Arteschka with her rheumy eyes. "Not the usual sort for that place; never seen a wizard as big as you!" she chuckles warmly. "Now, dear, finding it is easy as pie - just follow the Crescent here until you come to the bridge," she says, pointing her knobby walking stick toward the center of town, "then turn toward the temple of Voitto - you can't miss the gold dome - and The Fuming Flagon will come up on your left." She fiddles with her wicker basket a bit wishing Arteschka "Good dealings!" before going about her business. As Arteschka comes closer to where the sparrow perches, she see that the building is marked by a great brass cog. The sparrow flutters to the roof edge above the sturdy front door. A young man about Arteschka's size is leaning on the closed door, a smith's hammer hanging casually from his hand. His eyes seem to jump onto her instantly, and he stares at her with a questioning frown.