Hashkar 130, Day 191 (Hadrian)

[exile]

Daily insanity roll: [dice=20]

"No, no, no, no! Honestly, Rigus, are you even listening to me?" The speaker was, despite his current tone of exasperation tinged with pious resignation, a rather jovial looking man with shining golden eyes and a ruddy complexion. A most grand moustache festooned his plethoric visage and his fingers were thoroughly busied with its oiled tips while he expounded. He was richly appointed in a festive silk caftan of royal purple, trimmed with finest ermine and cinched at the waist with a silver ribbon.

"Head up, adjust your grip, and for gods’ sake don’t let him push you around! You’re a bloody swordsman now, so start acting like one!"

The creature he addressed, Rigus, was a boy of no more than sixteen, barely and awkwardly come into his own. He wore his straw colored hair short and tousled in imitation of the latest style to sweep the upper echelons of Sigil’s society, and still bore himself with the self-confident swagger of youth. Frenetic blue eyes, however, betrayed a profound anxiety over his inability to please his master.

The setting of this exchange was one of the many, secluded training rooms scattered haphazardly about the corridors of the Civic Feasthall. A dozen persons encompassing all manner of description and wielding wood-and-reed approximations of an equal variety of weapons danced and sparred across the matted floors.

"What was it you said you wanted again?" The speaker’s tone now suggested that although his eyes were concerned with naught but his pupils, he had graciously leant his ears to the supplicant at his side.

"I seek Ephram Macrae," Hadrian said, rousing from his quiet contemplation of the dojo’s inhabitants.

"Well you've found him, lad. Now what is it you wish?"

"My master bade me give you this." The aasimar produced the smooth stone trinket and offered it up to Ephram, who in turn raised it up for careful scrutiny. In the bright light of the studio the pebble shone with a blue metallic tinge, marred only by the sharply demarcated groves of a rune of alien significance.

"My, my," he murmured, barely audible above the general clamor. "I had begun to think this debt would never be collected on."

(More to come...)[rand=9566853991280987155960214399744935975152996105419499305490938873]

[exile]

“Well lets have a look at you then, lad,” the blustery character began, turning to regard the Aasimar for the first time with a measuring eye. For a long minute, neither man spoke. Ephram regarded the Bleaker as a sculptor might a marble freshly hewn from the quarry, rough and unworked. In that momentary eternity Hadrian could think of naught but the weight of the gaze that now bored into him with an unexpected ardor.

“I’ve worked with worse,” the judgment, rendered at last. “And your master certainly finds something of merit in you, half-blood. He could have fetched a mighty price for his offering.”

“His offering?” Hadrian’s face was a study in confusion.

“Don’t you know what this is, boy?” Ephram held out the alien stone delicately between thumb and forefinger, inviting the Aasimar’s gaze. “It’s fiat currency for an unparalleled experience. One so unique, or so inconceivable that the Society of Sensation could never match it with a price had we all the coins in the multiverse at our disposal. No, only our service can be rendered for such a treasure; and serve I shall. So long as this building stands, I am obliged on pain of deprivation of my senses to honor this contract in whatever capacity I am able.”

Hadrian absorbed the rush of information with a mixed feeling of honor uncertainly earned, and wonder at the ever widening mystery that was his master. “What exactly did he exchange for that?” he queried.

“You don’t know?” Ephram remarked with apparent surprise. “Well, it’s not my place to tell you I suppose. If you wore our colors you could visit our inner sanctum and view the memories yourself, but as it stands I expect your master has some reason in maintaining his silence on these matters and I will not betray his trust.”

A clatter of wood against reed followed by a slightly embarrassed yelp of pain drew both men back to the training room floor. Rigus picked himself up from the matt with a face as red as a beetroot and eyes that challenged anyone to say a word.

“Gods, give me patience…” Ephram muttered under his breath.

Turning his attention back on Hadrian he continued. “Do you know why your master sent you to me?”

“To train me in the crafting of the Art and the ways of war, I suspect,” Hadrian responded.

“Bah!” Ephram nearly spat. “Any fool can teach you to wiggle your fingers and poke a bushel of straw with a pointy stick. I can help you discover your potential in its entirety. I can see it in you, touch it, sense it, and shape it. Around here the saying goes that if I had become a Godsman, I would be the only one, for everyone else would have ascended with my aid. I’ve never thrust a spear in all my years, never cared much for the Art, but you have. I can show you the path into yourself, and help you discover what you already possess but remain ignorant of. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Hadrian gave no answer but, Ephram didn’t seem to notice or at least care to hear one and continued with his tirade.

“I will not coddle you, or hold your hand, boy. But stick with me and I swear to you I will carve the diamond from the stone. Now, lets see how well your last tutors learned you. Castor! Fetch us two spears from the rack! I want our newest pupil to have a go.”

(OOC: Well, I know its been ages since anyone’s posted but I’m going to give this a shot, and see if we can't revive this story. Stix, if you’re still reading these, lets have a round of one-on-one combat with ‘practice weapon’s [subduing damage only]. Castor can be absolutely any race and class you care to field.)

[Stix]

A figure involved in a nearby fight pauses, holds up a hand, and gives an appreciative nod to his well-dressed bariaur sparring partner, who returns the gesture. He approaches a nearby weapon rack, trading his padded wooden sword for two blunted spears. On the way over, he pitches one to Hadrian; by the time the aasimar puts a hand on it, the other man is in a ready fighting stance.

The very instant that Hadrian readies himself for the fight, Castor springs forward in a rapid flurry of motion.

Initiative
[dice=20+9]

Disarm
[dice=20+8]

(Please roll an opposed attack in addition to your initiative and action.)[rand=3973972777533694009871754282637535469707402340662448041998873808247]

[exile]

Hadrian snatches the spear from the air with ease but without grace or flourish. Adjusting his grip along the haft of the practice weapon, he nods in formal recognition of his opponent and shifts his feet into a fighting stance. There was no signal to commence, no warning or indication, simply the contest. For Hadrian, everything beyond the blunted tip of his foe’s instrument fades to grey. As Castor rapidly closes the distance between them, the Aasimar readies his spear for the strike.

Initiative
[dice=20+1]

Opposed Rolls: (I wasn’t clear from your description which opposed roll you were asking for, as disarm attempts may require up to two depending on the attacker’s feat build)

Step 1 (AoO, any damage negates the disarm attempt; Disregard if Castor has Improved Disarm):
[dice=20+1]

Step 2 (Opposed Disarm)
[dice=20+5]


Hadrian’s Attack Roll:
[dice=20+1]
m

[Stix]

Hadrian swats aside Castor's first thrust, expecting to use the remaining momentum to carry him into and through his opponent. The human anticipates his technique with a deft sidestep and a quick parry, knocking the spear from Hadrian's hands and falling promptly into a relaxed stance as the mock weapon clatters to the training room floor.

"Again," the combatant says in a pedagogical tone full of encouragement, taking a deferential step away from the discarded weapon. On closer inspection, Castor has worked up quite a sweat over the day's training, but shows no sign of favoring even a bruise.

Ephram, standing nearby, watches both men intently, picking a fleck of lint from his mustache. "The stance is right, you're no simple berk -- now watch his waist, and don't let him do that again!" he barks to Hadrian.

[exile]

Hadrian bows his head in tribute to Castor, and bends down to retrieve his fallen weapon. Jogging back to his initial position, the Bleaker adjusts his grip on the weapon’s haft to his satisfaction and assumes a closed stance to minimize his profile.

”Again,” he breathes.

The aasimar’s azure gaze locks onto the figure of his foe and once more he finds his focus. 'Watch his waist,' Ephram had suggested. Hadrian's eyes drink in the subtle movements that will betray his enemy’s intentions, and with a determined cast to his features he tries his hand at a ploy of misdirection.

Initiative:
[dice=20+1]

Feint:
[dice=20+3]
m

[Stix]

Castor hangs back, letting Hadrian close the distance before raising his own weapon. Following Ephram's suggestion, he again attempts a disarm.

Initiative
[dice=20+9]
Disarm
[dice=20+8]
Sense Motive
[dice=20+6][rand=7630475233770659460747052608142755594446984543155734342605492039]

[exile]

(OOC: I'm not actually clear on what results the various actions have had, since the dice seem to be acting funny for me. So rather than try to come up with a suitable description, I'm just going give the quick rolls for the opposed disarm.)

Attack of Opportunity (If warranted):
[dice=20+1]

Opposed Disarm Roll
[dice=20+5]

Free Counter-Disarm (If warranted):
[dice=20+5]m

[Stix]

(My mistake, I neglected to say in the last post that Castor had Improved Disarm.)

Castor repeats the disarming strike and smiles appreciatively as Hadrian knocks the blow aside.

"Seems you can take direction!" Ephram calls over the clack-clacking of clashing practice weapons.

(I'm kinda out of it and also trying to chase my daughter, so I'm forgoing the rest of the description and just moving to the next round.)

Initiative
[dice=20+9]
Attack
[dice=20+8]
[rand=296807373767888909405106260426987391340303216642159828858497051405]

[Stix]

Damage
[dice=6+2][rand=0292765091628894863264660196643421127655624133839137763722004395704]

[exile]

(Not keeping initiative from round to round eh? And no worries about the level of detail, I’m just glad to have things moving again.)

Castor’s jab lands solidly against Hadrian’s exposed flank, raking painfully down his ribs and eliciting a startled grunt. No stranger to battle, the Aasimar pivots and replies in kind with a white-knuckled thrust of his own.

New Initiative:
[dice=20+1]

Attack:
[dice=20+1]

[exile]

Assuming that hit (btw are these mock-shortspears? normal spears do d8 damage):

Damage:
[dice=6][rand=92861238513434730909656132519515214629456746951848535595929798037]

[Stix]

btw are these mock-shortspears?

(Heh, like I said, I was out of it. Regarding initiative, it's always a new roll each round.)

Hadrian's responsory thrust successfully tags Castor, but fails to injure the nimble warrior as he defensively rolls away from the spear's business end, resulting in only a graze.

"Enough," commands Ephram.

Castor lowers his weapon, stands at attention and gives a small salute to Hadrian, smiling emphatically. "I drill at the Portico of Learning tomorrow at peak. You should join me." Apparently, that's all he has to say on the matter, as he turns on his heel to head back toward his previous partner. Across the back of his brown surcoat is embroidered the moon-and-starburst signet of the Transcendent Order.

"You were sorely outmatched," Ephram continues, "but you learn well. Someday, you might be able to give Castor a fair play."

Taking in Hadrian's Bleaker symbol, he pauses to clear his throat. "Why are you learning to fight?"

[exile]

(Never played by that rule with initiative before, I’ve always done one for the fight. Good to know.)

Upon Ephram’s command, Hadrian adopts a relaxed stance and allows his spear tip to fall. Offering a salute to Castor he replies ”I would enjoy that.” More so than any other order, excepting the Ciphers themselves, Bleakers lived in the moment. One could argue the position ought to be held by the Xaosects but they were just as liable to live in the past, the future or, when the mood struck them, some other meta-dimension outside of space and time.

As the man trots back to his previous partner, the Bleaker turns his attention back to Ephram.

“Besides the fact I live in the Hive, you mean?” Hadrian’s tone was dry and his countenance carefully maintained such that it was not obvious whether the comment was made in jest or earnestness.

”In truth I have no reasons for anything. How can I when existence is but an infinite array of coincidences? I chose to learn, because I chose to learn. I know that a Sensate must think that addled,” the aasimar offered a faint smile as he spoke. ”Suffice it to say that in war I can know myself, and in knowing myself I will find truth.”

[Stix]

"I don't find it an addled way of thinking; Bleakers are just lazy. Because there's madness and pain in the multiverse, you all stop looking for anything past it."

He sizes up the aasimar, almost as if he considers Hadrian a threat. "I can't have the faction thinking I'm turning stag training a potential enemy. You should be on your way."

[exile]

Hadrian regarded the speaker with a face full of confusion, which quickly shifted into disappointment.

”This then is the vaunted Sensate oath? What of the bargain your faction struck with my master? Were those allusions to the deprivation of your senses merely honeyed words, master Macrae?” The aasimar allowed his weapon to fall to the ground with a sharp rattle.

”I will say this to you. I make no apologies for my beliefs, nor those of my brethren, but I can assure you I mean no ill to you and yours. Nor any decent person in all of Sigil. I will abide by your wishes and depart, master Macrae, if that is what you ask of me, though I had hoped we could put aside our differences and let things be otherwise.”

Hadrian removed the gloves tucked in behind his belt and began to put them on. His lapis-eyed gaze never left Ephram’s face, and his expression conveyed only sadness without any trace of malice or displeasure.

[Stix]

exile said:

“Don’t you know what this is, boy?” Ephram held out the alien stone delicately between thumb and forefinger, inviting the Aasimar’s gaze. “It’s fiat currency for an unparalleled experience. One so unique, or so inconceivable that the Society of Sensation could never match it with a price had we all the coins in the multiverse at our disposal. No, only our service can be rendered for such a treasure; and serve I shall. So long as this building stands, I am obliged on pain of deprivation of my senses to honor this contract in whatever capacity I am able.”

(Ah, I hadn't read this bit since this was first posted. I'm afraid this exchange leaves me stuck -- can you give me a better idea of what exactly Hadrian's master did that carries this much weight? Not even the factol herself has the power to punish a Sensate to this extent.)

[exile]

(No worries, although I was wondering where you were going with your last post. The details around Hadrian’s master have been left deliberately vague, and likewise are the experiences he granted to the Sensorium. I intentionally had the memories stored in the private Sensoriums specific to the faction so that Hadrian could not directly access them, although perhaps another PC (Nilou?) could. Both were intended as potential plot devices for you to work with, although I had envisioned the old man as sharing more than a faction with Hadrian. Initially I had thought he would bear the touch of Odin, but that is entirely at your discretion.

As for Ephram, the character I have in mind has a very flowery and blustery personality. He very well might have been exaggerating in reference to the claims he made; at this point its up to you. I had thought he would be a second tutor to Hadrian at the time I created him, but perhaps Castor [though far less fleshed out] would fill that role as well as he if not better? The punishment seemed very fitting considering the faction, although I had no basis for it in any published Planescape products. It was just some lateral thinking on my own part.

You might want to look back at some of the old posts in the Gatehouse to get a better notion of the relationship between master and pupil. Hope this helps,

Exile)
m

[Stix]

(So noted. Sadly, Nilou was the first of the disappearances that slowed the game to a halt; I don't think we'll be seeing her back -- or indeed, most of the PCs, at this rate.)

"You've done me no crime, but I have my standing to think of!" he says enthusiastically, voice bolstered by faction pride. "You and the Dead and the Sinkers share a bed, and I have my eye on a factor's seat!"

"Further, don't forget where your master lays his head each night. He's mad, boy."

[exile]

Hadrian offers a sad smile in reply. "Madness is subjective, Master Mcrae. By my estimation he sees clearer than most. I wish you luck with your aspirations to Factor, farewell."

With a final bow of his head, Hadrian gathers up his few possessions and makes to leave the opulent setting of the Festhall for home.

"Boy," Macrae calls after him. Turning back to face the dojo master, Hadrian catches a glint of the token as it sails back towards him through the air. Reflexively, he catches it and eyes the man curiously. "Think of something else. Perhaps something more material."

The aasimar nods, and departs without further exchange of words.