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  #76  
Old May 12th, 2017, 06:51 PM
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The steep winding staircase is difficult for Mara to manage. One hand slides nervously along the central pole, while the other rests firmly upon Runa’s shoulder, clutching her armor tightly. So focused is she upon her careful descent that the Beast initially goes unnoticed. “Thank you,” she whispers to the paladin in a small, taut voice, both grateful and embarrassed.

Though the unyielding stability of solid ground is no substitute for the reassuring embrace of the liquid element, the singer is still thoroughly relieved to be off the stairs. Her gaze skips past the guards, directly towards the prisoner, piercing through the shadows with accustomed ease.

It is monstrous: unnaturally pale white skin, scars like stitches, and worst of all, blank pupilless eyes, like the empty white orbs of the dead and the undead, only more unsettling. Mara shudders, repulsed by the abomination but unable to look away. Have they come to question the dead? Was Harrowstone not enough?

And then, it speaks. The soprano trembles. She can hear it in his voice, the powerful emotions barely constrained, like the uncomfortable rippling sensation of something crawling under one’s skin—the same sensation she felt when invoking her magic. In that moment there is a connection, an unlikely empathy, an understanding between the misunderstood. The Beast did not ask for this. It is as cursed as she. The eyes may deceive, but her soul can hear the call of Shelyn’s spirit.

But not from the dwarf. Mara winces at Pike’s direct approach; she can only hope that the Beast appreciates bluntness as much as Karl did. After giving their client some time to respond, she quickly interjects herself into the conversation, hoping to maintain the Beast’s composure—for she can sense that it straddles a fine line between grief and rage.

“That was a lovely poem you were reciting.” The songstress smiles, albeit weakly, still unnerved but gradually warming to the creature. “But poetry without music is like a painting without color. If I may?” Without waiting for a response to her rhetorical question, Mara closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then gently begins to sing.

It is a traditional
Dice Perform check, for music to soothe the savage Beast:
1d20+15 (9)+15 Total = 24
Taldane ballad, set in the days of its glorious past, rich with lyrical words purified by the soprano’s limpid voice. For Mara, poetry is meant to be sung, with words dancing and reveling in the sheer joy of their sounds. Music brings poetry to life. There is a vile practice slowly gaining traction in Caliphas—thankfully with few adherents as yet—of supposed poets who insist upon the written word, of their ‘poems’ appearing just so on parchment, with fastidious requirements for spacing and font. Mara has seen one of these travesties, eschewing rhyme and meter for quaint visual effects: static blobs of ink dying on dead sheepskin.

However, with limited time for questioning, the singer satisfies herself with just the first two verses, enough to paint a tranquil scene. “Is that not better?”
Dice Diplomacy:
1d20+12 (1)+12 Total = 13
She smiles anxiously. “As my companion has stated, you may call me Mara. If I might ask, what is your name?” She looks expectantly at the Beast before continuing in a deliberately soothing voice. “Perhaps you could help us by answering just a few more questions? We don’t mean to be such a bother, but please, whatever you can tell us will help us with your defense.” She exchanges a glance with the dwarf. “Do you remember anything at all about the people who were with you at the university?”
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  #77  
Old May 13th, 2017, 03:36 AM
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Runahildr Valkadottir

'Sister Runa' sent Pike a reproachful glare while Mara sang for the prisoner. She was many things. A champion of Justice, a paladin in the service of the Inheritor and a warrior on the front line in the struggle against the undead pouring out of the Hungry Mountains. But Sister Runa, just Sister Runa, was both a nickname and a title reserved for those familiar with her and close to her - not what should be used to introduce her to a complete stranger sitting behind bars in a prison underneath a courtroom. A social faux pas by the dwarf that not only made the paladin uncomfortable but did so while also undermining her position and role in front of the prisoner. She would have to reprimand him for that later.

When the songstress was done, she stepped forward
Dice Diplomacy:
1d20+8 (19)+8 Total = 27
to reintroduce herself.
"Runahildr Valkadottir of the Order of the Lazuline Blade out of Lastwall. I also find myself interested in what happened in Hergstag, and would like a full recounting of your doings in the area and the circumstances surrounding Elsa's death. Do not leave anything out."

She was about to step back in line, when she stopped herself and redirected her attention to the prisoner.
"Also, I would like you to identify yourself. I doubt you call yourself 'The Beast' or 'The Dipplemere Horror', and it annoys me to only have these monikers to describe you with. So in short: Who are you, where did you come from and - as Mara asked - what brought you to break into the University?"

Her piece said, the paladin returned to stand next to the others and kept her eye on the brutish creature in chains,
Dice Sense Motive:
1d20+7 (16)+7 Total = 23
searching its features for any signs that it was merely playacting, while she attuned her spiritual senses Paladin's Handshake (AKA Detect Evil)to lay bare its soul - if it had any - for any signs of impurity.


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  #78  
Old May 19th, 2017, 10:12 PM
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A Beast By Any Other NameThe conversation begins, and quickly, the eyes of Pike and Mara adjust. It is not a pleasant sight they behold.

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The creature listens as Pike addresses him, and he looks between the two women as they are introduced. But from there, the conversation instantly takes a dark turn. At the mention of Ellsa, the voice of the Beast raises in a high howl, shaking everyone to their foundations and causing the walls to shake. The flailing of the Beast is minute at best, but his hands go to his scarred face, as he begins to enunciate his noises. It takes them a moment, but it becomes very clear his response: he is weeping. A giant hand covers his larger face, the hand uneven and imperfect, almost webbed looking, and from the white eyes beneath flow tears. "ELLSA! ELLSAAAAA!" He shakes his head, back and forth, as if writhing in pain.

"No, No, No! Not those things, not those eyes!" He turns away, growing angry, then begins:
"To Sorrow
I bade good-morrow,
And thought to leave her far away behind;
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly:
She is so constant to me, and so kind."

The guards grow nervous, but the weeping of the Beast has subsided, and with it, the rage. His weeping is weak and distant now, his hands not covering his face. It is here that finally, Runa can see his face, and his body.

The Beast of Lepidstadt is truly white in complexion, pale beyond reasoning, with scars running down sections of his body, as if autopsied backwards and the skin not replaced. Indeed, he is a mismatch of parts, parts that do not fix together. His muscles are monstrously huge, billowing beyond his clothing's confines. His right arm is not white at all, but is a massing of scarred skin, perhaps not even Mortal, and pink to boot; perhaps a burn? The hand itself is not webbed, as previously believed. The fingers are themselves practically tentacles. The left shoulder is scaled, pink, with craggy horns sticking out of the shoulder part, before the elbow sees the white skin return, imperfect and scarred, some of the skin of the forearm replaced with the same scaled arm before the left hand remains in tact. His pants are brown slacks, torn at the ankles, without boots, and his belt is gigantic. His chest shows no sign of scarring beyond where he was cut, and his face is a crag of emotion. His an enormous nose, gigantic cheek bones, and a huge mouth with equally large lips, he emotes more because he simply has more. Only half of his head is covered with hair; the other half is a white-gray hanging bit of inert fop that covers the right side of his face. His eyes are perfectly white with milky, mercurial centers. He stands bow-legged, as if not put together properly at the hips, but with the right parts for certain.

Mara speaks. The Beast listens, intently, and when the song starts, his eyes go wide, his frown and fear fading as he listens, his mouth hangs open, large enough for Runa to fit her entire hand into. When she finishes, he claps, his uneven hands slapping against one another like uneven fleshy bits. "So good! So good! I know that poem! You sing it good!" Smiling, he looks almost angelic, almost serene, but ultimately is a terrifying child, at best.

"I heard an Angel singing
When the day was springing:
'Mercy, Pity, and Peace
Are the world's release.'"

She convinces him to talk, and he thinks, a bit, on what Pike said. He nods. "I will talk. I will tell you. But I don't have a name. I'm.... the Beast." He seems sad by this, almost slumping while standing; he is still taller than any of them. He eyes Runa warily for a moment, but then begins.

"I had moved nearby, to the little town. Herstag? Is that its name?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "I watched her as she came to the pond one day. She was small, but she noticed me. She asked if I wanted to be her friend, to pick flowers. I did. We became friends. Three weeks, we did. Then... children started disappearing. I became scared, because... Ellsa.... Ellsa was scared. She said that the other children were coming to her, telling her that she needed to help them. I said no, no, they could not! But she didn't listen!" The Beast begins to lose his composure. "I tried to stop her, but she was.... magic'd! They tricked her with dark magic! And led her to that place! The dark place, outside of town! And then... and then...." His voice becomes more and more panicked, heightened and in pain. "I took her body back. She wasn't in it anymore, but I wouldn't leave it. I had to take her home. I knew they'd beat me. And they did, after I gave Ellsa back. But.... I got.... so ANGRY!" He slammed his good fist onward; the iron bars of the cell did not bend, but it it did shake; it might have curved just a small bit. His breathing picked up; the guards moved their spears forward.

"I decided never again to go near a Mortal settlement. Never again. But..." He seems confused. "If I am a Beast for my appearance, then so be it. I have done none of the things I am accused of. I am innocent! But I am a Beast. I am the Beast. Son of a father only seeking a son he could love; demon to a good city; what good have I? What am I but a Beast?" He shakes his head. "That morning I was reading my book, and the next I was in chains. I do not have any memory of the evening I came to Lepidstadt. Hence I have been here." The creature sniffles. "Devil that I am, I have done nothing."

A door above opens, and footsteps are heard: multiple footsteps. "Is the defendant ready?" The voice is that of the Captain's, the guard ready to move him. Veronique speaks up. "You're out of time. If you have anymore questions, ask them now."
 
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  #79  
Old May 22nd, 2017, 03:57 PM
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Hrani looks at the busts as the group wanders past them, initially just chiming in on Carlo's monologue to prolong the conversation. The deeper they get though, the more impressive the people they walk by. Soon, his attention is captured fully. And he isn't the only one. "The Pharaoh of Osirion. And Irori. And there is Nex. And of course Aroden..." Orenmir goes on for a long time, running through some of the most famous, and in particular most powerful mages and arcanists the world has seen. The blade seems to hold something of a professional admiration for a lot of them.

Both magus and black blade would have liked to spend more time with these personas, but they have a job to do, and so he pulls Crowl's strings. Not much later, the group finds itself in a small classroom that has been locked up. Out of use, apparently. It must be nice to have so many rooms you can just give up using some of them. Of course, it also makes it impossible to know what is going on in the university. And more room means a lot of additional avenues of attack in case someone is up to no good. In the end, Hrani thinks he prefers his one-door bedroom with the closet to hide in.

Soon, the professor leaves them, while he goes off to search for "the box". Hrani isn't quite sure what box in particular. If Crowl had explained then the elf hadn't been paying attention. More than likely though, the confused man had just never explicitly stated what was going on in his head. A single box could hardly be all that was left of that particular exhibit, could it?

"Well, this isn't going nearly as poorly as it could be..." Hrani addresses his Varisian companions, the elf's explicit statement of the absence of something negative being about as ecstatic as the two others have seen him about anything since...pretty much ever. "I wonder what else they just stuffed in here...? And with that, the magus begins strolling around and
Dice Perception:
1d20+5 (9)+5 Total = 14
scanning everything around him, with Orenmir adding mostly annoying but sometimes helpful suggestions on where to look.
  #80  
Old May 23rd, 2017, 08:32 PM
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Trembling with both fear and pity, Mara listens intently to the Beast’s story. She can understand why the populace is so terrified. Even when the Beast weeps, too absorbed in grief to have any conscious intent to do harm, he is still unsettling and menacing, like dark, ominous clouds gathering before a great storm. And when his anger bursts like an unexpected thunderclap … The singer cannot fault the guards for being on edge, especially when the prisoner smashes his massive hand into the bars right before her. She actually jumps backwards in fright—not far, of course, but still an amazingly improbable feat given her lower anatomy, and testimony to the power of the Beast’s anger.

Everything about the prisoner seems to be a contradiction, and the emotions he elicits from Mara are likewise in conflict. He is a frightening monster—of that, there is no doubt. Even though the tentacle-like fingers induce a curious homesickness—despite her efforts to the contrary, the soprano cannot help sneaking another peek at his right hand—something is markedly wrong. There is a wide diversity of form in the seas not present on land—pulsing jellyfish, undulating rays, and delicate seahorses, with their quaint bobbing gait, to name but a few—and how she misses them all, with all of their exotic differences. But the Beast is an entirely different order of exotic, an unnatural juxtaposition of castoff parts, the most strange and wondrous of which appears to be a soul.

“Thank you,” she whispers gently, drawing upon compassion to overcome fear, “I know the memories must be very difficult for you.” Waving off Veronique with an outstretched hand, she looks at the prisoner with a small, sad smile, as if apologizing for the necessity of the questions still to come. “We promise to help you, such as we can, but if you could please answer just a couple more questions? Do you remember where you were before you awoke in Lepidstadt?” Her mind turns over the Beast’s claim of never visiting a settlement after Hergstag—that would rule out Sanctuary, but not … “And … did you ever visit Morast?” She pauses, as if trying to think of more than just a name to describe the town to one who was uncertain about Herstag’s name, and looks to Pike and Runa for help.
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  #81  
Old May 26th, 2017, 03:05 PM
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Runahildr Valkadottir

The first poem meant nothing to her. Poetry seldom did. But Runa had heard the second one before. Probably because it was so heavy on religious symbolism. Was it Sister Moira that had jumbled over the words as she had tried to retell it? Sister Ethelherd? No matter, it offered Runa an opportunity.

Stepping closer to examine the creature more closely, the paladin gave a short nod.
"I sense no evil in you and hear no lie in your tale. That will do. But I will not refer to you as the Beast. It is a hatefilled moniker, and its continued use will only work to condemn you further in the eyes of the public. "

The paladin thought for a moment.
"That last poem? Aduard Sulliviani wasn't it? 'I heard Angels singing' or something like that. I think I've heard it before. Or part of it." She studied the creature behind the bars as she spoke. Tried to gauge his reaction to her words. "You seem fond of poetry. Well read, even. We might as well use that as anything else. You ask what else you are but a beast? You are someone with Maybe literally eventhe heart of a poet. Take refuge in that part of yourself, rather in what others would brand you with."

Turning to the rest of the group, she flicked a thumb over her shoulder.
"Allow me to introduce you to our defendant. Sulliviani. Sully for short. I suggest the first point of order is to have the court recognize him as such, rather than by the nickname decided for him by the public."


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Last edited by Thorsten; May 26th, 2017 at 03:09 PM.
  #82  
Old May 28th, 2017, 11:36 AM
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Last RitesA flurry of questions, and in so short a time, how can the Beast possibly answer them all?

A thanks to the Beast's telling, and he smiles at Mara; his teeth are a mismatch of gigantic enameled beasts in and of themselves, each one capable of removing her dainty hand with the smallest of efforts. Runahildr reveals her own listening, that there was no lie, no evil in the Beast: so strange, to be of death and yet not, and lack any evil. It's almost unheard of, though not impossible. Vesorianna proved that. The mention of the poet most interests the Beast. "Do you know more? Tell me more!" Less familiar with the poet, more voraciously hungry for the poems themselves. The Beast has little care as to what it is called, perhaps not self-actualized in that sense. It mentions nothing to that end: if she is going to call it something else, she must choose it and make the name stick. The Beast does not care. But the compliment is well-paid, and the Beast seems proud of that. A poet is a beast all its own, after all.

Sulliviani. The Beast's mouth curls at the name. "Su.... Sully." He smiles. "Sully."

The guards are coming, and Mara launches into action. "I don't remember. I don't remember!" His face struggles to find the right emotion, Sully. "I don't know where that is." So no idea where Morast is. If they hadn't used the name of Hergstag, would the Beast have known that? The Beast seems not to know places or how to describe how to get to them, it seems. Pike, now free, thinks of a torrent of questions.

"What kind of magic? What eyes? Why were the children chosen? How, I suppose? Was Ellsa the last? Your father? Who is your father? Where can we find him? Is—" The head of the guard stops Pike there. "Too many questions." He turns to the Beast. "You recall how we did this last time: with spears. Come willingly this time, and work with the flow of the stairs. You're too big for them anyway." The Beast looks between Pike and the stairs, but then answers what questions he can, so convinced. "I don't know magic, I just saw eyes! A cloak of eyes. He chose them because they were children, good children: friendly. I was run off. I saw no more." Pike makes mental note after mental note as the Beast, led in chains, heads out of his cell; in motion, he seems even taller, more powerful, and the chains, and guards, more pathetic. "My father! My creator! My demon! Ran me from home, sent me away from his tallest tower!" He moans in pitiful pain as he begins twisting himself up the stairs, but goes willingly, not wanting the point of those spears in his side.

The last to go is the Cadet, who smiles weakly to the ground, wants to say something, then goes upstairs.

Their only recourse is to head back to the second floor whence the stairs lead, and go through the court room. Otherwise, they might be forced to sit in court during the beginning of the trial.
Dead Ends
left-aligned image
Without much explanation, the absent-minded professor goes hunting, leaving the Varisians and the Elf to their lot.

They both go about diligently looking through things, Andrzej less studious but no less carefully than Carlo. There is plenty to go through, a lot of them weapons, some of them paintings, many many statues of many different things. Pillars, statues from Mwangi or Vudra or Kelesh, faces of gods and demons. So much to see, and so much to think over. Yet it is Hrani who makes the small talk. Carlo perks up. "Hm? Oh, no, certainly. Somehow we've managed to salvage this, in no small part thanks to you. I imagine the prosecution must be losing their minds over such a simple thing as this." He motions his hand over to Crowl, digging through boxes in the corner of the room and mumbling to himself. Andrzej huffs at the Elf's second comment.

"As much as people put in museums, the relics of the lives of the dead, do you ever wonder how much of it ends up being world-ending devices that should never see the light of day? A staff belonging to a mage-god, a key to an ancient weapon. A wonder Humanity has come this far as a civilization, so willing to dig through the graves of the dead." Carlo curls his lip approvingly.

Hrani, for his part, has found several boxes that seem specific to Osiriani archaeology, heads of long-dead deities and images of pharaohs no one knows the names of. Each piece if marked with a black ink on its corner or base, indicating its number; ironically, those papyrus pieces that are so marked are likely ruined, tainted by these markings. But Hrani finds one of interest: a piece of papyrus telling an ancient tale of a pharaoh with a tainted face, enslaving and ruling over the people. Whatever it says, it is a curse of sorts: for this black pharaoh is a devil of any kind, plain and true. Hrani will have little to do with it, as looking at it seems to fill him with a darkness he has no more need for: Orenmir is enough of that.

"Aha!"

Crowl's cry is met with an arm-waving to bring them over. "Here it is. The box is an ancient Kellid relics found in a crypt... it doesn't say where. Likely we don't know, but the relic was found as part of this collection. Dig through it if you like, and all further information can be found on that card." And so it is: pots showing tales of men standing strong against dire wolves and mammoths, small statues of persons wielding weapons, holy symbols of Gorum and even, notably, a small Numeric artifact, a piece of metal covered in dust, with a strange green glass on it. Some of the strange crevices between parts, knobs and squares, can be turned or pushed, but nothing comes of it. The glass is cracked. Likely some ancient technology of little interest.

"Well, this doesn't seem to help much." Carlo hands the card to Hrani. The note is in short-hand, but tells an obviously damning story: the collection comes third-hand from a merchant in Caliphas, who sold it to Lepidstadt University some years ago. The pieces he says came from a crypt a team raided not long before, holding treasures of a bygone era. Interesting notes from the collection include signs of trade between Kellid tribes as far away as the Realm of the Mammoth Lords to Ustalav, revealing that Kellid culture once saw a high level of mobility (and still does, arguably). The statue of the strange squid-faced god seems to have been a one-off, completely unlike anything else in the collection, and is likely a Dark Tapestry deity with no name, or a name that should not be uttered.

Things they already know.

"A dead end."
 
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Old May 30th, 2017, 06:45 AM
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Pike watches the back of the cadet as she disappears up the stairs "Sully, huh? Somehow it suits the poor guy." his smile doesn't reach his eyes "We'll have a hell of a time ahead of us convincing the people of Leipidstadt that he's innocent of these crimes even though he might damn well be the most innocent thing in this city." the giant had been almost child-like and Pike wonders how this simple soul came to possess this wretched body made up from bits and pieces Best not dwell on that. he thinks to himself as he heads up after their client, his footsteps becoming heavier with each step as they approach the chamber.
For some reason it felt as if they too were on trial and Pike is certain they won't be a welcome sight in Leipidstadt when the word spreads that they as good as volunteered in defending the Beast named Sully.
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Old May 30th, 2017, 12:35 PM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Pike View Post
"Sully, huh? Somehow it suits the poor guy."
Mara gives the dwarf a slightly pained smile, then looks at the paladin. “I must say, he does seem to like the diminutive you have bestowed upon him, even though I would prefer the more dignified ‘Sulliviani’.” The name rolls off her tongue with an easy, lyrical grace that is half-spoken, half-sung. “Still, I believe I understand your rationale—the diminutive would make him seem more approachable and less intimidating, though I like it as much as … say, calling him ‘Beastie Boy’.” Her nose wrinkles in distaste, but then her rounded shoulders inch up and down in a small, acquiescent shrug, albeit accompanied by a quietly firm demand. “But his official name will be Sulliviani, yes?”

After the guards shepherd the prisoner up the narrow stairwell and the exit is free, Mara slowly follows Pike out of the room, my thought is to see Kaple to find out if the trial is delayed and what the new schedule isback to Kaple’s office. “He does seem completely innocent. And your theory about some doppelganger committing the crimes in Morast and Sanctuary … you were absolutely right.” The songstress speaks to her companions in a small, private voice. “I do hope that Barrister Kaple and … Adivion were able to delay the trial. What is our next course of action?”
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Old Jun 1st, 2017, 09:11 AM
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Runahildr Valkadottir

"Sulliviani - after the poet," Runa nodded. It seemed the others understood her motives for naming the prisoner.

"I am not well-traveled in a courtroom," the paladin remarked as she followed the others. "Most of my work takes place outside of it. But I imagine it will take the sting out of a lot of the opposition's words if it finds itself continually corrected. I know I would loose track of what I was doing myself if someone kept interjecting a different name when I was throwing accusations at said person."
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Old Jun 6th, 2017, 11:18 AM
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All According to PlanLed away, the group is left to the moans and cries of the Beast above them, Sully taken onward and led in chains to the court room. The moans are enough to silence the crowds outside which, for the first time, they realize, is quite audible here. The lone window of the basement is partially cracked, allowing them to hear some of the furor of the mobs of Ledpistadt outside the Courthouse.

But that is not their contention: soon, they must go upstairs, following in the path of the poet-beast.

Heading upward, though, they find the Courtroom already packed, to the brim, awaiting the Beast's arrival. His being hidden away in the Holding Room helps no one, his minor mumblings can be heard even over the crowd, all in the balconies above. All of the witnesses are, as intended, in the benches in the back of the Courtroom, each of them regarding the trio in similar fashion as to how they did during the interviews. One seat, beside the Gnome, is empty, and at the front of the Court room, Judge Daramid is discussing, heatedly, with Kaple and another man, who seems incensed. A door to the side, between the Prosecutor's Room and the Defense's Room, is shut, while the other two rooms are open. Adivion sits at the Defense's Table, chatting to the blond woman who sits at the Prosecution's Table, being quite casual and jovial; she seems completely beside herself with enraptured joy. Jamir sits in the Defense's room, reading away at documents.

Adivion notices their entry and invites them over; the eyes of the crowd follow them, some with more intent than others.

Adivion speaks lowly, which is not hard given the crowd. "Well, whatever those Varisians and the Elf are doing, it's working. Kaple is holding off the presentation for now, and the lack of appearance of that Professor fellow seems to be informing them that they should wait. Daramid is speaking for the three judges, today, and I see no sign of the proper religious authorities to consecrate the trial. Smooth sailing. What have you discovered?"
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Old Jun 6th, 2017, 06:21 PM
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At Adivion’s invitation, Mara slowly makes her way over to the table for the defense. She briefly glances at the might as well …
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blonde prosecutor, offering the charmed woman a polite smile, before turning her attention to reply to Adrissant.

“Not as much as one might hope, unfortunately. We’ll need to check with Jamir, of course,” her gaze flits towards the dedicated halfling in the other room, “but I presume that what we’ve heard from the witnesses will simply match the written testimony. At least the evidence is weak: it’s all highly circumstantial, except for the incident at the university, but I fear that that will suffice, given the current environment.” The singer sighs as she looks up at the crowded public gallery. She does not bother delving into the details of what was said, for she feels quite certain that Adivion, with an intellect keen enough to be Lorrimor’s Heir, already knows—or that he would put on airs of knowing. He certainly gave the impression of having read through all the documents earlier. Nor does she mention the two-beast hypothesis: that was not her idea, and it would be inappropriate for her to introduce it. Best to leave such matters to the more experienced detective.

“As for the defendant, he professes his innocence,” the soprano seems relieved, as if worried that the Beast Sully wouldn’t say anything at all in his own defense, “… and frankly, I believe him. The vandalism at the university is troublesome, but the gnome himself hinted at some sort of enchantment. Is that possible?” Mara gazes more keenly at Adrissant. “You have extensive knowledge of arcane magicks—could one control a … a creature like our defendant? To make him do as one commands, without his knowledge or memory thereafter?”
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Old Jun 7th, 2017, 08:30 PM
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Pike keeps his mouth shut and nods as Mara speaks, his thoughts on what tricks the Varisians used to keep the professor out of the trials and if he should worry about him, about them! Having to deal with one troublesome trial is enough without having to try and get his friends out of jail.

Pushing these thoughts out of his mind he takes in his surroundings; the grim judges ahead, the crowd gathered around them, most if not all having made up their mind about the verdict that will be called upon the Beast. Will they demand the same for them? Sucking in his breath he turns back to Adivion and sighs.
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Old Jun 8th, 2017, 10:14 AM
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Runahildr Valkadottir

Runa followed the others, her figure silent and imposing, clad as she was in armor and with her single eye pinning anyone that seemed like they might be holding a prejudiced opinion about the case or those involved.

At the sight of the prosecution having a fit she allowed herself a tight-lipped smile.
"Does this mean we can leave? Our schedule is rather filled if we are to investigate each spot and provide the evidence back here in the allotted time frame."


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Old Jun 10th, 2017, 05:35 PM
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Bang the GongThe blond prosecutor is not much older than Kendra is, or even Mara herself. Her face deeply dimpled, her blond hair is drawn up into a bun, her brown eyes making her skin like milk as a contrast between the blond and brown. Her lipstick is dark, a shade that does not compliment her, and her blush is enhanced with a kind of purple that matches her tight dress, froopy in the right places to still fall in the category of "modest." She does not catch Mara looking her over, and if anything, the woman could be pleasant in the right situations, but this is not it. She goes about her things in an orderly fashion, seemingly confident in spite of her conversation with Adivion; if he was trying to undermind her authority, it did not work.

Adivion nods through Mara's assessment of the witnesses, his mouth moving as he covers his hand with it, strumming on his chin. "I had thought the same as far as circumstantial, but our arguments will be better, I think, if we found the weak points in their armor. Undermine their testimonies. Which ones seemed to be the weakest in that regard? The most circumstantial? I hope it's the swamp dwellers, personally, but we'll see." And then, the defendant: innocent. "I thought so too, when I spoke to him this morning. Then he started all that gods-awful bawling, so... Hm. Well, at least he seems to like you more." But then a point: can the undead, or a construct, be controlled? Adivion thinks for a second, but seems to speak through his thoughts, as if thinking aloud. "Most undead are mindless, so that's simple enough, but he's different. He certainly looks as though he's constructed, doesn't he? A constructed undead... and with a mind of his own. We're in terra incognita, I believe. By the rules of magic, neither undead with a mind nor constructs can be controlled via spellwork, most of the time, but anything with its own mind yet living can. What can the Beast be said to be?" Adivion scoffs at the mention of leaving by Runahildr, but does not answer her.

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Pike and Runa notice Kendra at the door, smiling at them, but soon, she is interrupted, as the room beside her begins to empty: first comes an armored man, easily taller than Samovar, carrying a gigantic greatsword on his back and a gong in his hands, which he bangs, every five seconds. The entirety of the court room stands as the next person to exit is an old woman, dressed in all gray with the symbol of Pharasma about her neck, steps out of line and begins casting a spell. Both Mara and Runahildr recognize her spell easily: she is detecting for magic. After her come two men, one tall and thin, balding severely with almost white eyes, walking without aid, and a younger man, his mustache heavy and his headdress almost Brevic in fashion, a cape following him and a sword at his side.

"Stand and recognize: the tribunal of judges!"

Daramid dismisses the two barristers, as Kendra shuts the door. Adivion, already standing, looks over the trio. "Well, if you truly want to leave and miss the disappointment of the mob, be my guest. Much to do, and we've as much to plan. We look forward to your notes on the interviews, and your findings." Adivion winks at Mara, as she smiles and steps away.

"Shall we? I believe we can find the others at the University."
 
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