Longshot97

Eighth of the Eve stumbled to his feet as the girl drew him away. Oddly enough, his captors released him easily. Had he the room for extra thought, he would have pondered. As it was, it took everything he had to stoop and retrieve his bundled coat, containing all his worldly possessions. "Just a minute, young miss," a voice said from behind, and Eighth turned wearily to look back. The man's voice died off as he met Eighth's eyes. How battered do I look? By the Father. The graybeard, however, was not so easily deterred. He set his hand on his partner's shoulder, drawing him back. "We have multiple reports on this man," the graybeard said. "Disturbing the peace, assault and battery, not to mention resisting arrest. This man is not safe." Eighth met the man's eyes. To his credit, he maintained eye contact for longer than Eighth would have thought. But eventually, he looked away. Almost...guiltily? In a flash, Eighth finally recognized them for what they were. It had been many moons since his Travels had taken him to a land with a functioning constabulary. He admired such men, generally. Peacekeepers. Today, however, his battered body and clouded thoughts tempered any such empathy. "I approached no one," Eighth said softly, "and drew no weapons. No one demanded my surrender. The law was never mentioned. I was assaulted. I reacted accordingly." Eighth drew himself up, struggle evident in the motion. Father, but he hurt badly. He could feel the swelling begin to set in. "Can you say as much, good constable? @Lunamor Thank you for the clarification, and for phrasing it so politely. I think it has in fact been mentioned in one of Eza's previous scenes. In the interest of clarity, however, I assume the above is in reference to this comment. On my part, this was in response to the below text (emphasis mine). The "smoking rations" bit was an attempt at an in-character metaphor.

His assailants had stopped. Eighth of the Eve forced his eyes open. It only took three tries. His head was beginning to clear. He could just about make out his surroundings, and things were steadily coming into focus. The men around him looked...confused? Eighth followed their eyes. He felt his breath catch. It was her. But how? How had she made it here? Yet it was undoubtedly her. The short height, the slight figure. The dark hair, the tan skin. The green eyes... Sound finally filtered through his dazed mind. "...for finding my Dad! He gets lost sometimes. He's got these memory problems, and he can get confused, and really scared, and I just-" Eighth blinked. What on earth? That wasn't her voice. But, it was her. It had to be! "I found him, though. You guys found him. Thank you!" What had happened to her? Her voice sounded, rough. Coarse. Like a merchant after a long day of smoking rations. Yet... "Fall?" Eighth whispered hoarsely. "What are you doing here?" His beleaguered mind finally began to run once more. "Father? I'm not your..." What had he said? Why was she looking at him that way? Why did she look that way? @Lunamor

Eighth of the Eve, Smokestack, Koloss Head Munching Day Festival It had been a fruitless day. Hours of searching. Hours of asking anyone he could, looking everywhere he could think of. He had even begun actively seeking other lenswearers. Yet the minute he tried to find them, it seemed none were there to be found. Eighth of the Eve trudged in the general direction of his safecamp. A generous term for the plot of pavement he had staked out alongside other waywards, but it was better than nothing. Seiju flew above, enjoying the calm winds of a closing day. Eighth made his way through the crowds. It was slower going, without Seiju. Still, he was able to outpace most of them, and made his way through the area he now knew as Smokestack. Through that, he would find his home. He reached the end of a tight alleyway, weaving around a stack of boxes. There, he paused. The area was overflowing with people. Strange stalls hawked food, wares, and contests. When had this come in? No wonder the Cauldron had been so empty. Half the city must have been here. Eighth whistled, high and sharp. He was relieved to see Seiju's familiar form winging its way towards him. The Aviar flew straight towards him, landing on his shoulder and huddling down. Seiju usually liked people, but no one could enjoy a crowd this large. Eighth held up his arm, and she stepped down gratefully, tucking herself up against his chest as he brought her down. Eighth scratched her head soothingly, doing his best to navigate without disturbing the bird. He soon found himself moving easily through the gathered mass of people. He felt Seiju relaxing against him, and smiled. They were both most at ease like this. Navigating terrain, Aviar and trapper. This was their domain. As always, Eighth scanned his surroundings, on alert. Or, at least close to it. It had been so long since a flash of red hair or strangely colored glasses had led where he wanted them to. Still, he had to keep looking. She was here, in this strange world. He was sure of th- Cries of alarm sounded, and a small form came pelting out ahead of him. Almost directly towards him. The crowd around was shifting away from it, faster than he would have thought possible. He felt himself jostled around, barely able to control their movement. He was still in the runner's path. Seiju shrilled frantically. At the last second, Eighth gained room to step aside, barely avoiding a head-on collision. As it was, the figure glanced off his side, and Eighth went spinning. He flung his arm up and outwards, and Seiju took to the air safely. He himself rebounded off a hefty man with gray skin. He shook the stars from his vision just in time to see his assailant darting past. Eighth froze. Short stature. A flash of green eyes, briefly visible as she passed. A lock of dark hair, blown free of her hood. It can't be. Ignoring the curses of the grayskin, Eighth pushed off and tore down the street. Above him, Seiju called anxiously. The people had already begun filling in, but Eighth wove his way through the crowd at a dead run. He barely felt the brush of clothing from his passage, let alone the contact of skin. Ahead, the figure rounded a corner. Eighth swore, slapping his wrist against a passing lamppost. A glowing cord of energy trailed behind him, extending freely. Sprinting towards the intersection at full speed, he commanded the lightline to cease extending. Eighth of the Eve whipped around in a tight arc, dismissing the line at his apex. He heard a cries of dismay behind him, and the sound of more than a few bodies hitting the ground. He didn't care. She was getting away. Eighth shoved his way past two men, vaulted a seated festivalgoer, and dashed between a strolling couple. His steps were sure and safe. Nothing got in his way. He would make it. She wasn't running to swiftly. He would- The figure shot away, moving at impossible speeds. Eighth's eyes widened as they ran five times the pace he was setting. No. No! "Fall!" He screamed. The sound was swallowed by the crowd. "Fourth of the Fall! Is that you?" The figure rounded a corner and vanished. Eighth of the Eve slowed to a halt, staring helplessly. Then the world became a blur as an impact drove him to the ground. Arms tightened around him, and the thud of approaching boots filled his ears. Blue-coated figures, seemingly sideways from his angle, slowed to a jog as they approached. He felt hands grabbing his arms, and struggled helplessly. A brightly colored speck approached from above, but a frantic whistle sent Seiju winging away. Hands hoisted him upright, and one man pulled his head up by the hair. Sight blurred by tears, Eighth only just made out something swinging towards him, straight between his eyes. Everything went black. * * * Eighth of the Eve, Smokestack, Constabulary Office Eighth felt himself slowly awaken. Everything hurt. His entire left side seemed to be one massive bruise. His shoulder was on fire, as though he had almost pulled it from its socket. His lower back ached fiercely, as though he had arched his back too far, too fast. And his head. Father, but he could barely think. The pain was everywhere, worst right between his eyes. He groaned, blinking them open. Sunlight struck his eyes, and pain lanced through him anew. He forced himself awake, opening his eyes fully. "'E's awake!" the man on the right said. Eighth ignored him. Cobblestones passed by slowly underfoot, though he wasn't walking. His legs dragged limply behind him, sandalshod feet scraped and bloodied. He wasn't wearing his coat. He could feel, now. Two people, shoulders beneath his, were hauling him along. His arms were bound behind his back, wrists facing each other. Eighth painfully raised his head. Ahead, one man carried his trapper's coat as a rough bundle. Within, a variety of items bulged out. He made out the dull shine of polished carapace. They had his gear. Beyond, an ominous structure of stone and metal came ever closer. "You're in trouble now, son," the other said. "We'll take good care o' you, though. Don' you worry none." Who are they? Soldiers, sent to kill? They had not the build of fighting men. Mercenaries, then? But who would want him dead? And where are they taking me? First things first. Eighth examined himself. He was hurting but hale. He could move his fingers fine, and he felt muscles flex as he wished them. Almost absentmindedly, he explored the knots around his hands, pulling it apart with barely any effort. He was a trapper, and all trappers knew their knots. He was still garbed in the plain clothing of the colorful land. They hadn't touched that, it appeared. And on his upper arm... Yes. He could feel his weightloss secured there, still making him lighter. Eighth of the Eve smiled. Then he released his weightloss. The men at his sides stumbled at the sudden increase in weight. One, a portly elder with graying hair, staggered to one knee. That was enough. Eighth lifted one leg and planted a solid kick in the man's ribs. The graybeard gasped, falling to his side. Eighth, pushing off the kick, leaped the other way, bearing his full weight on his captor. The man fell to the ground, and Eighth rolled off him. His arm screamed as he hauled himself to his feet. No time for pain. The man ahead was already turning, bundle tumbling carelessly to the ground. Eighth charged him as he fumbled at his waist, grabbing the man by the wrists. One hand gripped on a cudgel tucked at his belt. Eighth continued onward at a run, forcing the man back, wrestling for the weapon. He felt the man stumble, and rode him to the ground. The man's head smacked the cobblestones, and he struggled dazedly. One down. Eighth whipped the club out, raising it high overhead. Then an enormous impact struck him, right beneath his upraised arm, forcing him off to his side. Breath exploded from his lungs, and he rolled upright, shoulder protesting the treatment. The graybeard menaced him, cudgel in hand, standing before his partner. Eighth backpedaled, narrowly avoiding the man's swing. He tried to meet the next with his own, and got a crack on his wrist for his trouble. He winced, bounding back clumsily as the graybeard approached. He needed to act, and quickly. Eighth threw his club. It was actually easier than the machete, without a blade to speak of. The whirling weapon caught the older man in the shoulder, and cry tore from his throat as his cudgel clattered to the ground. Eighth charged him once more, shoulder tucked. He caught the man right under the ribs and heaved, sending him sprawling to the cobbles. Eighth stood there, breathing heavily. Then a faint footstep sounded behind him. He tried to turn, but the second man's blow caught him in the shoulder. The bad one. Pain flared like flame, and he stumbled as he faced the new threat. Then a hand latched around his foot, and he went to the ground. The graybeard rolled painfully to his feet, advancing with his partner. Eighth tried to rise, but his shoulder gave out, and he fell once more, head striking the cobbles. Hard. By the time Eighth's vision had cleared, he was being towed towards that building once more. Not carried, not this time. Dragged. By the arms. Bound once more. Eighth could barely remain conscious from the pain. This is not going well. @Lunamor

Oh yeah, most assuredly. As is, he got rugby-tackled to a paved street, then took a truncheon to the face. Even if I change things, he'll look messed up right now. And yeah, it'll be easy to cut to him approaching the constabulary. Now, away I go.

All good. I myself am in a summer course, and so will probably experience a few delays on my own end. I was going to go ahead and post the excerpt above in response to this post, where events would take place from that point on. Do you think that works, and is there anything off the top of your head to change in my excerpt?

I should apologize: I don't think I explain things very clearly. The way I ended Eighth's interaction with Plutus was meant to be a conclusive end to their story. At least, that's how I envisioned it. For the sake of clarity, I should have ended with something along the lines of "They would never meet again." I could go back on that, but I think I stand by it as a characterization choice. Oh, thank God. I was very worried about causing offense That works a lot better than my plan. I had initially thought his Aviar would investigate the outside of the prison, trying to get through. From there, anyone already monitoring the prison would notice a bird displaying uncommon intellect and, through some creative pantomime, eventually help break Eighth out. If that someone is Eza, however... That is really creative. I applaud you, good sir. There are ways around this. Off the top of my head, you've conveniently placed a blacksmith near the constabulary, meaning there will be an abundance of soot and ash available. I've read multiple books where thieves mix that with grease to smear over their skin and mask their complexion. I agree that what you've laid out is a bit of a stretch, but not with a little tweaking. For example, the constables don't necessarily need to be unnecessarily brutal. Instead, Eighth could be struggling against them very capably, catching Eza's eye as someone who could help her. Then she runs up to help her "father." The constables could buy it, especially since Eighth didn't exactly hurt anyone, didn't draw any weapons, and wasn't precisely resisting arrest, just generally struggling. Eighth might even unwittingly support the deception since Eza - having darkened her skin - could more closely resemble his niece. All in all, I really like this. So long as you're good with it, I am all for playing this out.

The above is a quote from Stormlightsong. It occurs to me that this could go on for a while, barring any changes of plans. Out of fear of the AV plot stagnating, I would like offer a proposition. Eza is already in position at the prison. I currently have my character in a state of flux, but while I was brainstorming by freewriting, I somehow ended up getting Eighth thrown into jail. You know, as one does. So, if anyone thinks it necessary, I can have Eighth thrown into jail, wherein he meets Eza (somehow). This is kind of a slapdash plan, so I'm hesitant to even post this up. However, I do love the current story, and wish to avoid a long period of inactivity. So, barring IRL commitments (obviously) any response is appreciated. This would allow Eza to remain active whilst Asylum is otherwise indisposed, lasting only as long as is necessary. Below is the sample playing it out. Tl;dr, Eighth sees Eza running off after Asylum's capture, assumes it's someone he knows (i.e, Fourth of the Fall), nearly catches up to her, watches her rocket away on Ironpulls, and gets captured by local officers for making a ruckus.

Eighth of the Eve, The Cauldron, Constellation Eighth of the Eve nearly smiled. He caught himself just in time. He could feel his fondness for the shopkeeper, the reputation he was building for her. She was too open, too honest, too curious. She would have questions. And he would find himself back here, again and again. His face a study of solemnity, he nodded courteously to the shopkeeper. Beneath his hand, Seiju shifted uneasily. This is why I am here, he thought. I believe, Father. I swear I do. One can believe yet make mistakes, can they not? The shopkeeper's face shifted from levity to a lost expression. Eighth felt a pang of remorse for her confusion. Then he berated himself for that. Fool, he thought. Keep your distance. Speak only when necessary. Solitude. Solemnity. Sanctity. Silence. Self-control. This is your life. A chime sounded from behind him. Eighth moved swiftly. He re-sheathed his machete, donned the lightline, and strapped on his blowpipes. He took a moment to slide one of his newfound darts into the weapon as Seiju hopped to his arm. He knew what needed be done. The shopkeeper would awaken tomorrow, only to find the now-functional quicksilver gone. In its place, all he would find was a stone, glowing with the light of a thousand suns, and a note to reassure him. Eighth would have his artifact. And the shopkeeper would be properly compensated. Eighth turned, knee-length coat swinging about him. On his arm, Seiju whined in distress. He lifted a hand to soothe her, and got a bite for his troubles. He sighed, brushing past the newcomer. He opened the door, and the Aviar flew out ahead of him. Eighth of the Eve walked down the street. Hands in his pockets, head down. Surrounded on all sides by people, yet still so alone.

See you, friend. Hope to still occasionally interact with you around the Shard. Thanks for being a part of this.

Eighth of the Eve fought to maintain an air of calm. It wasn't like the device belonged to him in the first place. Yet, as with all he collected on his Travels, he felt connected to them. They were proof of his pain. He had earned them. He should not have. He had never wanted to. But so it was. Ah yes. This world had thought of "money." Of course, so had many others. Eighth did not bother with meaningless bits of metal. Only that which was useful or valuable stayed with him. Of that, he had some remaining... Within his coat, a sunheart burned fiercely. Not that he could feel the heat. It was contained perfectly within. His hand paused over the heart, then continued further. This shopkeeper had been cordial - pleasant, even. And Seiju liked them. They deserved something more. He had kept it...there. Right next to his sparkflicker. He pulled out a strange jeweled bracelet. Ten oddly colored gemstones were affixed to the surface in a unique pattern. More than a few were cracked, which was how he had initially acquired it. This shop, however, had a great many in store, of all shapes and sizes. It should not prove an issue. The remaining gemstones had shone brightly not five lunar cycles ago. Then the light had vanished, just like that. He would have kept it, attempted to uncover its secrets, but for one thing. It appeared to have been constructed for a woman's hand. His own arm, lean though it was, could not accept the artifact. It appeared as though the shopkeeper's could, however. And she was likely to know its function. He judged it equivalent to the kindness she had done this day. Eighth of the Eve deliberately set down the bracelet. Then he met the shopkeeper's eyes. "Would this suffice?" @Koloss17

No worries whatsoever. I am excited to see this play out. It's kind of awesome how well this situation (potential godmodding aside) aligns with Eza's backstory.

I wonder what a cell for a world full of superpowered beings would look like. Aluminum seems an obvious option. Maybe some Smokers and Leechers, or Aviar and Larkin. Seekers or white sand would help a lot.

@Tamriel Wolfsbaine First off, I wanted to say that your character seems awesome. It's a nice combination of different factors resulting in something greater than the sum of its parts. I also tried to get an image for my own character. None of the generators I tried were satisfactory. Which generator did you use, and was it free?

Eighth of the Eve, The Cauldron, Constellation "It..." Eighth hesitated. How did one explain? He reached for the waterskin and opened it. The quicksilver within seemed to capture what little light there was and magnify it. Smoother than water, it rippled and swirled, like a mirror, melted down. "I know not what it is. But the glove...controls the metal. With it, the quicksilver almost takes life of its own. The metal flows where one wants, into whatever shape one desires. Stronger than steel, faster than fire, more lithe than liquid. It dances through the air, like smoke gone solid, to the violet vibrance of the wielder." Eighth of the Eve clamped his mouth shut. Father, he thought. It's getting worse. I'm getting worse. "It has been three lunar cycles since it last did so. The glove's glow dimmed, and eventually was gone. And with it, the power." He fell silent. Seiju, it appeared, was sidling towards the shopkeeper again. I know, my friend, he thought, reaching to scratch her neck. You trust them. As do I. @Koloss17

So it was called a lightline. How quaint. Eighth clicked his tongue, and Seiju reluctantly returned to his shoulder. He fiddled with the powercell and bracelet, eventually connecting the two. The metal band began to glow, steadily increasing in radiance. Eighth assumed it would function once more. He set down the item, then regarded the shopkeeper. The woman seemed...honest. Or at least candid. She had provided him with powercells of his own, rather than demanding regular payment. Eighth hesitated. A rush of air buffeted him as Seiju fluttered into the air. She came down once more, preening - right on the shopkeeper's shoulder. Eighth made his decision. Ignoring the two of them, he reached into his coat. At his waist, opposite the machete, rested a waterskin. He paused only momentarily before setting it on the counter. Secured carefully to the skin was a black glove. Silvery lines ran down the fingers from the palm, like liquid metal. Fitting. Eighth had seen those veins hum an otherworldly violet, so long ago. He had tried to wield it, in the days since. He hadn't progressed far. He had barely managed to store the quicksilver away before the artifact had ceased to work. He removed it from the waterskin before reverently setting it on the counter. "This no longer functions, either," Eighth of the Eve said. "What can you do for this?" @Koloss17

Uh, breaking this down, you suggest patching ruptured organs by using Hemalurgic spikes to rearrange material, right? The thing is, the material is already rearranged rather forcibly (read: split open). So the organs the spikes move would still be damaged, right? Blood may no longer exit the body, but internal bleeding could still occur.

Eighth of the Eve, The Cauldron, Constellation Eighth of the Eve eyed this woman. Four arms, midnight hair, ivory skin, flowing robes, ostentatious jewelry. He...did not believe he had ever seen a species like this. How novel. He stepped forward, discreetly tucking his sketch away. Never show a merchant how badly you needed their wares, until you had gauged their honesty. Or greed. He opened his mouth to state his demands. Then hastily changed course. "I...Good day, shopkeeper." There. That should meet the demands of courtesy. He continued on, tossing his lightline to the countertop and unstrapping his blowpipes from his arm. "I have need of supplies, and advice. The device there has ceased to function, and I know not why.” He set the blowpipes on the counter next. “I also require darts. To fit this weapon. Preferably of this material.” Eighth drew his machete. From the same world as his pipes, it was the same black shell-like material. As strong as steel but lighter and...well, less sacrilegious. As natural a tool as any man could use. He laid that on the counter as well. Seiju, now curious, hopped off his shoulder to land on the blade. Eighth almost brought out his quicksilver, but thought better of it. Most people on his Travels had been enthralled by it, but many more had tried to seize it. Even nonfunctional, discretion was likely wisest. He ignored his Aviar, who had begun pecking at the tool, focusing instead on the shopkeeper over his array of items. "Well?" @Koloss17

Eighth of the Eve, The Cauldron, roughly near Constellation Eighth of the Eve became the hunter today. Too long had he moved as prey did. The worlds he saw were wild, wondrous things, but the denizens were something else. It seemed no matter the place, always would someone take offense to an outsider. Not everyone was happy with one such as him appearing from nowhere, dropping into their lives. Not to mention the Pantheon. Why, the beasts of his homeworld... Eighth immediately turned from that trail of thought. Only pain lay that way. One did not sprint in pursuit of an Aviar already in the air. All one could do was see what remained, and search thoroughly for opportunity. He wandered down the crowded streets of the Cauldron. A fitting name. The path practically boiled with people of all kinds. The noise here far exceeded the small area he had staked out as his own. He would have never ventured into such an area by choice. The people here seemed not to mind, but to him, the clamor and commotion was practically deafening. It was all he could do not to walk with hands crammed over his ears. Still, an Eelakin trapper would hardly engage in such behavior. And he was more than a mere survivalist. The Pantheon Isles may hunt him and his kind like prey, but if there was one place Eighth was the hunter, it was here. In this stone-and-sawmill jungle, with people rather than wildlife, his prey could not elude him. He stalked, unnaturally light in his feet, down a wide road. The individual stones felt odd through his leather sandals. Supposedly, now was a good day for the market. Supposedly, one could expect mild crowds and open paths. Yet Eighth could hardly take a step without pressing up against someone. The passage of the crowd was slow. Frustratingly so. Thankfully, Seiju was not far. With the Aviar at his side, Eighth plunged into the throng of people, moving through them like a fish through rapids. Every step was sure, and he slipped between people easily. In but a few deliberate motions, he outpaced a milling group of short, pale men with wide eyes. He had met their ilk on one of his Travels. These ones, however, dressed in sharp cuts and unnatural colors, and he eyed them as he passed. He continued through the crowded path, barely watching where went. There was no need. He kept his eyes on the shops instead, comparing them to the sketch the armorer had provided him. It, along with some directions, were written on paper of the purest white Eighth had ever seen. The charcoal strokes stood sharply, clearly visible to him. Even so, he failed to see it. Surely, he had thought, such a strange shop would stand out. And yet, it seemed every store in this area competed in their strangeness. He didn’t know how he would- Seiju trilled sharply, and he spun to face her. He found her perched at the edge of a strange, domed roof. Eighth eyed her, idly sidestepping passing craftsmen. A second, sharper trill prompted him to consult the sketch in his hand. He smiled slightly, then approached, holding out his arm. Seiju winged down to rest on his forearm. He shook his head, approaching the shop. This side matched the sketch, and the sign confirmed things. This was the place. Eighth glanced at Seiju, perched on his forearm. She immediately took flight…and landed on his shoulder this time, talons digging into pads sewn there. He shrugged slightly, scratching her idly beneath the neck. If she wanted to come in, so be it. He pushed into the shop, hardly needing to stoop to let Seiju clear the doorway. That was fair. He had rarely seen such enormous people as there were here. And to think he had been considered tall… All thought fled his mind. Eighth of the Eve stood, staring. At his side, Seiju let out a low whistle. The shop was dark, dark as night. Pinpricks of light, like stars in the gloom, palely illuminated all kinds of objects. Hollow-eyed masks, impossibly large gems. Vials of sand, in all colors and shades. Weapons of every kind and craft. Eighth heard a faint chime, and caught movement in the corner of his eye. He turned, facing a tall, ivory being - undoubtedly the shopkeeper. He had found his prey. All he needed do now was strike. Eighth of the Eve strolled up to the counter.

Yes, please. That would be helpful. EDIT 06/14/2024: As you can see, I wrote an essay's worth of background description, but had no idea how to engage in dialogue. Please help.

Sorry for the late reply, I got ridiculously busy for a time. Ah, that makes sense. That sounds nice! So long as you're definitely open to it, I would love to. Part of Eighth's character is that he (tries to) eschew modernity in every sense. This extends to a distrust of technology, hence why he utilizes deceptively simple tools, or else items that seem outright magical. So it could be interesting to have him deal with someone very much "modern." That could translate to a varvax in an exosuit, a Scadrian in a fine suit, or anyone overtly advanced/tech-ey. For such a diverse list as Eighth needs, someone with a fabricator mechanism would be best. So, this NPC should probably be a very technologically advanced character. In my head, he acts condescending towards Eighth's "primitive" appearance and requests, but that's just me. You're kind of the NPC expert

Though you can't see me, assume I'm acting suitably embarrassed. @Koloss17 it occurs to me that Eighth has a couple of things he needs to purchase around Alleycity. His Detritian light-line would need to be recharged (according to Skyward they need it every month or two), he would need a power source for the Rtich motivator, and some ammunition for his Taldaini zinkall. I could chalk that up to behind-the-scenes work, but it might be good practice to RP it. Do you think Venser could help with such a diverse set of needs? Eighth would probably pay in something valuable that's not traditional currency - a Rosharan fabrial, some Taldaini sand, a Canticular sunheart, a Komashi lightpair, something like that.

Noorden

General update, simply in the interest of open communication. Currently, Lunamor and I have a basic plan to insert my character into RP. I am still open to suggestions, but it seems a solid plan, and I'm happy with it. As a side note, I am considering bringing in a second character for RP. It's nothing serious yet, but I know a couple of people are (or were) RP-ing multiple characters. For those interested in responding (no pressure) are there any issues with having more than one character, or any reason not to?

Sad as I am to lose a potential storyline, I admire your commitment to character. It's something that struck me as I was reading through the Alleyverse episodes (No, I don't have a problem. Yes, I have a life). @Lunamor I am all for this way of entering the plot. However, given the intense encounter Eza, Asylum, Arranis, and Frisian are all involved in, it might be best to let that play out before Eighth of the Eve enters the stage. The fate of Asylum Smedry (and, to a lesser extent, Eza) hangs in the balance.

Ah, excellent, thank you for bringing that up. I somehow missed the nuance of Eza feeling conflicted over her relationship to Asylum, so thanks for laying that out. This gives me an idea for a rough outline of one way Eighth of the Eve might meet Eza. To set the scene: Eighth would catch a glimpse of Eza in a large crowd, and jump to conclusions. He would pursue her and catch her attention, probably grabbing her by the arm or something. Almost immediately, he would realize he has never met this person before in his life. RP-hijinks/meaningful roleplay would ensue. Just an idea, though. It's funny, I'm growing increasingly convinced that there are a lot of connections to be made between Eighth, Eza, and Asylum Smedry. In no particular order: - Eighth has a very ornate, distinctive, shiny ring from his Smedry wife he keeps on a cord around his neck. - Eza loves shiny things - it is a fair assumption that, if Asylum is indeed related to Eighth's wife, he would recognize the ring - Eza hates bird, which Eighth has - Asylum dresses in a very modern style, something Eighth's first reaction would be to dislike - It's not totally unreasonable to say Eza would remind Eighth of his niece, leading to some interesting interactions I'm already chuckling quietly to myself. However, purely to avoid any confusion, I should clarify this. Eighth openly wears the Rtich glove, but carries the mercury itself in a concealed fashion. In my head, it's settled into an inner lining stitched around the lower half of his leather duster. Overall, thanks for the enthusiasm, it was unexpected but certainly welcome. I suddenly find myself very excited. I need to sleep tonight, darn it /j.