Hey guys.  Sadly, my UO experience has perforce come to an end.  I guess there's always the off chance I might start playing again, but if so, it won't be for months.  Plus, it causes me searing intestinal pain every time I have to give Origin money, but I'm sure I'm not alone there. 

I guess the Baron wants his shilling back.  I, uh, sort of used it to buy a bunch of superballs from a vending machine in Greater Britan.  Yes, yes, I know it's treason, but they were REALLY awesome superballs.  Hrmm.   

Thanks for restoring my faith in online RPing.  I had a blast.

Vae Victus,

-Cull

Ah!  Attendance.  Splendid.

*Scrawls his name in a flowery script, which disintegrates into a smudged mess at the end*

Blast.  Look, do you mind?  Honestly, it's like a wilderness in here...

2nd only to you clovis

*Chuckles* Been taking lessons from Corporal Veldrin, by any chance...?

...The greatest blithering fool the militia has ever seen!  Bravo!

Masterfully done, Mr Arkay.  Not terribly BRIGHT, these orcs, but they do tend to overcompensate in terms of brutality. 

*muses*

"I... have a cunning plan!"

What a delightful little turn of phrase that is.  Not sure why... just has a nice ring to it.    Remind me to use it sometime, just before I'm about to think of something appropriately brilliant...

Well, they've certainly wasted no time taking credit for it.  I was rather afraid this cauldron nonsense would come to violence, but our decrepit antagonists don't seem to possess much in the way of powers of reasoning.  I rather fancied I should be able to talk rings around the fleshless devils until their skulls ached, but as our dear Sergeant Greystone discovered firsthand, the dead are really only interested in one thing...





Awfully INSISTANT that it was one of our lot who purloined their precious cooking-pot, aren't they?  Preposterous accusations, of course...  Why, the only faction in the whole of the baronship who would have interest in such a doubtlessly vile thing would be the Arcane Company, and our upstanding brethren would surely never resort to such petty thievery, to say nothing of the implied heresy of the matter.  Utter delusion. One imagines a rotting brain takes its toll on the wit.  Worms, you know.

I simply wish we had more to GO on as far as this cauldron thief was concerned.  It's the key to the whole business, really.  According to my notes, we're to keep an eye out for a man, possessing a Covian uniform, with... *flips through a journal* "Lotss of flesshh on hiss bonesss."  -- That's three S's in "bonesss," by the way...  Said individual was also reported to be in possession of "eyeballs" and a reasonable quantity of hair, color unknown.

Right, well, that narrows things down a bit, doesn't it fellows?  Do report in if you happen upon anyone matching the above description, eh?  He can't hide forever with this sort of detective work at his heels!

*Sighs* 

Their story has changed more than once.  Initially, they simply accused us of harboring this thief.  Now they accuse him of being ONE of us.   Having spoken to the fiends in question, and having received little more than rasping, toothless gibberish for my pains, I find it difficult to believe this is a cognitive leap the dead are capable of blundering into of their own accord.  Indeed, I find myself unable to avoid the unpleasant sensation that someone's been nudging them in our direction...

Most excellent, Mr Althalus sir, I shall see to it that you're delivered a priority sample.  Do excuse the squishier bits, it was the best I could manage under the circumstances. 


And pleased it meets with your approval, Mr. Fripp.  Though had I known you'd be reading it, I'd have thrown in a few bodies and the occasional evisceration.  *grins*

I'm always up for a good conspiracy.  Living in Australia, however, I tend to be on at some pretty irregular hours compared to the rest of you guys, so I may not turn out to be an option for you.

PM or ICQ at 232-988-404, anyway, if you do decide you're in need of additional grist.

*Scrawls his signature in a flowing, overembellished script*

Voila!  I do so love a parade...

*Flips through the various notices for possible sketches of compromising behavior, and, finding nothing, sighs and strolls downstairs, straightening up his headband and whistling to himself.*

[Report concerning the events of Sunday evening, on the 7th day of the 8th month.]

Report concerning the events of Sunday evening, on the 7th day of the 8th month.

Time of incident:  Between the fifth and sixth hours of the evening, approximately one hour after Mass.
Perpetrator:  Unknown
Victimized party: Sir Murad, Knights Hospitallers (KH)



After the rousing mass delivered by our most enthusiastic Sir Hugo and his pious associates, we of the militia had retired to the barracks to reflect on our multifarious sins, and possibly to come up with some interesting new ones, as it wouldn't do to fall short during confession the following week.  I had been making some attempts at conversation, but our esteemed Corporal Veldrin seemed to be suffering some manner of headache, so I thought it more prudent to take a stroll about the grounds and root out any potential miscreants and evildoers. 

My first thought was to investigate the nearby tavern, that being the logical place for ne'er-do-well's and varlets to congregate.  And, while I conducted my search, surely a tiny nip of the Guardian's burning tipple wouldn't plunge my soul TOO deeply into the fires of unending perdition, yes?

My patrol was cut short, however, by a collision with a tall, impressively armored man who appeared quite literally out of thin air.



The scene of the crime!  Well, sort of.


~


Lost in thought, the pallid man in the dark mail strides headfirst into a wall of burnished steel.  "My dear fellow," he stammers, taken aback, "Do excuse me!  I didn't even see you there..."

The taller man staggers, unfocussed eyes staring blankly through him.

"Thh...." he rasps, thickly, "where..."

The guardsman arches an eyebrow.  "I say, are you all right...?"


~


This newcomer was clad in the attire of a Knight Hospitaller and seemed distinctly the worse for wear.  His sense of equilibrium was clearly impaired, and he seemed to be suffering some, shall we say, cognitive difficulties.  My first assumption was an excess of soul-enslaving alcohol, being, as we were, directly outside the tavern.  However, our unexpected visitor WAS a hospitaller, and I have it on good authority that they indulge in such things only for the most purely medicinal of purposes. 

My evaluation of the circumstances surrounding our chance meeting was at this stage modified by the appearance of Recruit Cor'Ari Ta.


~


"Ah, Mr Ta, excellent timing."

"No... wss...." mumbles the armored stranger, pressing a mailed hand to his eyes and swaying unsteadily on his feet. "Where..."

"What's this, Clovis?" asks the younger man, peering suspiciously at the newcomer.

"This fellow here seems to be a bit inebriated." declares the dark-haired man, gesturing languidly, "Now, if we were WATCHMEN, I'd say mug him.  But we're recruits, and that sort of thing just isn't done."

The warrior's knees buckle and he falls to the turf on hands and knees with a dense thud.  The world spins around him like a cart-wheel, plunging him into vertigo.  A thin trickle of black vomit runs from his open helm, spattering to the grass.

"Oh dear," remarks the guardsman.


~


It was at this juncture that Mr Ta prudently suggested helping our afflicted visitor into the barracks, and, since the poor devil didn't seem as though he was quite up to a brisk jog to the infirmary, I was inclined to concur.  Each taking one of the man's arms, we assisted him up the perilous stairwell (note: eighth and fourteenth steps need repair) and into the relative comfort of our beloved guardhouse, whence I sought expert help.


~


He would never show it, but an old, secret part of him flinched inwardly whenever those cold, inhuman eyes lifted from their secrecy to impale him on the icy, focussed lancet of their hatred.

"Vot is it NOW, ExSanguis?" growls the Drow, pressing a hand to her suddenly throbbing temple.

The charm snaps smoothly into place. "Something of a situation, my good Corporal.  This fellow," he jerks his head toward the bulky, armored figure slung heavily between the two guardsmen's shoulders, "appeared out of nowhere just below the barracks.  In rather bad shape, by the look of him.  Having some difficulty standing up, remembering his own name, little things."   

"So t'kk him to a bloody HEALER!" she snaps, slamming her palm down on the table and swinging her head around to blaze at him. 

"Wouldn't have made it, I'm afraid.  He's fading rather quickly."

"Medicine is NOT my responsibility..." the pain throbs behind her eyes and she screws them shut, willing it to recede, "Vhy are you pestering me vith zhis idiocy!?"

The recruit's eyes harden with an obdurate, veiled contempt.

"Well, judging from the green tinge around his eyes and the way he's just stopped breathing, I'd say poison," he grates. "I thought you might be GOOD with poison.  Just a GUESS."

"You insignif--"

"Look, at the very least, you can GATE him to someone who can assist him, yes?  Though, should you think it beyond your capabilities, of course..." he shrugs beneath the weight of the stricken Hospitaller.

The Dark Elf seethes silently at him, grinding her teeth like millstones and mentally roasting him alive. 


~


Mistress Veldrin's headache appeared to be making a sudden resurgence -- doubtlessly due to her agitated concern over our visitor's wellbeing -- and thus I elected to swiftly leave the barracks and run down to the local Healer's with the intent to purchase an appropriate quantity of antivenin.  Alas, the recent monetary sacrifices demanded by our good Templars had left me with little in the way of financial recompense, if you follow me, and some heated bartering ensued.  I shall be filing my case against the Cove healers in a seperate report. 



Turmoil in the infirmary...


In any case, I managed to aquire what I hoped would be a reasonable quantity of countertoxin and made haste to the barracks, only breaking one of the precious vials in the process. (Note: tenth step also in need of repair)


~


The armored man's breathing is shallow and ragged as he lays supine on the tattered bedclothes.  But the sickly tinge has vanished from his face, and his eyes have begun to clear of their pain and confusion.  The Drow watches with folded arms, tapping her foot impatiently whilst the dark-haired recruit smiles amiably, readying a largish book and a quill.

"I... thank you for... your kindness," the Knight murmurs in a broken whisper. "I do not--"

"ExSanguis!" spits the Drow, finally losing patience.

"Yes, Corporal?" enquires her subordinate, mildly.

"I am not talented with sympathy." she declares impassively.

"WHAT a surprise..."

"You deal with him."

"A wise choice, Corporal Veldrin." the man responds, bowing.

"I am leaving," she informs him, evenly, "And I will see you later.  In the Arcanist's tower."

"Yes, Corporal."

"For practice."

"YES, Corporal..."


~


Our ministrations were as successful as could be hoped for such a slap-and-go effort, and our envenomed guest rapdily recovered his wits and heartbeat, if not the entirety of his strength.

The ensuing interview, split between myself, several superior guardsman and the extremely worthy Scout Regular Kate, was a scattered, uncertain affair.  The man's name was Murad, and he was indeed of the esteemed Knights Hospitallers.  (DASHING armor, that lot, though I do prefer the bleak simplicity of our practical Covian regalia.)  Our good Sir Murad reported an assault, though where he had been at the time he couldn't say for certain.  This assailant, he reported, was possibly Drow, wielding a "Strange weapon."  Whilst I'm uncertain precisely what qualifies as strange for a Drow Assassin who assaults a Hospitaller out of thin air, strikes them before they can react and bleeds them full of poison, this seems an important detail, and I find myself vexed by our lack of description.


A summary of the facts, then:

* Knight Hospitaller Murad, accosted by unidentified assailant, gender unknown, clad in a concealing black robe and hat, the incident occurring possibly near Trinsic between the fifth and sixth hours of the afternoon. 

* Said Hospitaller is attacked with an unidentified weapon, about which little is known beyond the fact that its assault is piercing and/or slashing in nature, and that it was coated in a particularly swift and presumably lethal poison.

* Our good Knight is wounded, fortuitously has the presence of mind to understand the nature of his predicament and casts a recall spell, transporting himself to Cove and escaping a grisly and unpleasant death.


Additional, if somewhat murkier details:


* The patient had received a single shallow cut to his left arm, vertical, discolored with a greenish tinge.  On a morbid impulse, I carved away a little of the flesh around the wound and collected as much blood as seemed polite under the circumstances.  Thus, we are in possession of a reasonable sample of the poison used to debilitate our erstwhile guest.  It is my humble recommendation that we have it examined by our esteemed Arcane and Scout divisions in an attempt to establish its likeliest source.  I shall, of course, be conducting my own analysis of the loathsome stuff, but orcs don't simply bludgeon themselves to death, you know, and I'm likely to be frightfully busy in the coming weeks.

* A quick search of the grounds established that our good Hospitaller hadn't dropped anything that wasn't previously inside his body.  Never hurts to dig about, though, eh?

* My notes SPECIFICALLY indicate that our esteemed invalid said "HER hat," when referring to his assailant's attire, but the man's wits were addled, and he later recanted this statement as a delusion.  Specifically, mine.  Charming man.


~


A bit sparse, I'm afraid, and not much to go on.  And it's not as though we weren't quite enough on the lookout for Drow assassins already, hmm?  I do believe that the only ironclad bit of evidence we have to go on is the poison itself, and the identity of the target.  To whit:  Who IS Knight Hospitaller Murad, and why did he warrant singling out for assassination?  Was he the ONLY target, or simply the only target to survive?  Was this Drow an independant agent, or was he or she operating under the guidance of, shall we say, a darker authority?

I am confident we shall have the answers in time, if we are only prudent enough to ask the right questions.

I am as ever, your servant,

Clovis ExSanguis (rep.),
Guardsman Recruitant of the valiant Militia of the glorious Baronship of Cove.


PS - Please excuse bloodstains on parchment.  Attrition, you know.

Clovis ExSanguis, Recruit ~ 232-988-404

*Walks by the pinned note without looking, hands behind back, staring upward and thinking*

"Dear Sirs".... No, no, too stuffy.... "My esteemed superior offic-"

*Stops dead*

*Walks backward and examines the parchment*

Oh, dear.  First the Arcanists, now the Light Company. *Arches an eyebrow*  Intrigue upon intrigue...

Titilating little missives, these.  *Squints at the ragged paper* ... And I do believe this is different handwriting.  Juicy stuff.  Remind me to take up a few of my own infidelities so I can have them exposed in just such a scandalous eruption of moral turmoil.

Still, that's the thing about Cove.  Hundreds of people to be burned, and only one stake to burn them at.

*Turns and walks downstairs, mumbling to himself*

"To my brutal and oppressive overlords"... No, no, they'd hang me... "Most respected officiates of the Baronship...."

Excellent sketchwork, Mr. Kurt, very vivid.  I should add, though, for the sake of completeness, that I was present at both the hunt and the training session.  I was even privileged enough to play one of the unwashed ruffians yourself and the esteemed Mr Fripp were ordered to cut down, which, may I add, you did with skill and aplomb. 

My back still hurts.

[* Patrol]

* Patrol of the City of Cove and surrounding shire - Thursday 4/ 8/05 2:30pm
* Purpose - To determine the presence or lack thereof of residual undead presence following the latest "encounter" outside the barracks.

Squad Leader:
Drachir

Patrolmen:
Seamus,
Erik Arkay
Clovis ExSanguis (rep.)

Guard duty:
Senech Arevan
Robert Fripp


A total wash, I'm afraid -- Or rather, relieved to report, as NO undead presence in the fair city of Cove is far preferable to the alternative.  Nonetheless, the comings and goings of the unruly dead tend to set one's teeth on edge, and had the troop found something to exterminate, perhaps the evening would have settled better with us. 

Under the watchful eye of Mr. Drachir, Seamus, Arkay and I scoured the shire and city whilst the gate was held by the indomitable Arevan and Fripp, and not hide nor rotting hair was found.  Though I did rather surprise the town's crier and sculptor, shall we say, in flagrante delicto when I barged in on them during the course of our investigations. Scandalous!

How very odd.  Would you mind if I examined this sketch at some point?  I'm curious to discover its origin.  A mere professional curiosity, you understand.

In the meantime, I think it behooves us not to perpetuate spiteful rumor as to the integrity of our arcane brothers (and sisters).  No sense allowing ourselves to be manipulated by some unseen hand.  Not when we have so many more obvious ones to deal with, hmmm?

~ExS