Duty

It was an hour later. The hardest part turned out to be breaking the door down.

The Gadian had been using his own product. A haze of smoke almost hid the reptile amongst the tall, waxy plants in the room. It wasn’t illegal to grow Ambrosia – you needed a permit for more than a few plants, but it was the weakest drug you could grow. The danger was if you mixed it with something else, and the policeman found plenty of those things under the kitchen sink.

The Gadian didn’t have a permit, and could at least be reprimanded for that. No way to prove he was going hardcore. The policeman cuffed him and buzzed a drone over to let the poor guy spend an afternoon in a cell. Not that he wanted to stay. The apartment looked like it was turning into a trash heap.

Now they were walking through one of the multi-tier markets that Ashringa Apartments were famous for. The apartments were not one building, but a series of colossi dedicated to keeping as many souls in one place as possible. Some Libertarian idea, probably. It had monorails which the policeman never used. The markets were a menagerie that sold anything and everything, but mostly counterfeit clothes and souvenirs. His powered armor was in a mechanic's shop somewhere in here, although he never used the same one twice in a row.

A stench of grease, mechanical and fried, permeated the air. Piche's face crumpled more than usual.

“Smell is bad-bad,” the dog complained.

“It’s pretty nasty, yeah.”

He fished in his jeans pockets and hooked a few coins. A few dollars - not worth a lot in a place where currency changed more than fashion. He trooped to a stall manned by a tiny floating shark and bought a sandwich, a can of soda that tasted like syrup, and a chocolate bar. The candy went to Piche.

“Isn’t chocolate poisonous to you? No offense, but...”

“Piche has strong stomach,” replied the dog, mouth full.

Some things were mysteries.

He walked through the market, eating the sandwich. It had reasonable approximations of bacon and tomato in it. Around, above and below the catwalks came the calls and voices of thousands, tens of thousands of people. Buying, selling, bartering, singing. Compressed life.

Most people, he'd learnt, were well-meaning but stupid. Many crimes were often explained by the short phrase "I only wanted to." For example, I only wanted to stop him messing around. Or, I only wanted to see what it was like. People would do the stupidest, most hurtful things in good faith. The Gadian from earlier, for instance. Then you had the low level offenders, filled with a stupid hate that made animals of them. Easy to deal with, but hard to scrub out. You couldn’t change their minds with a crowbar and a planet to brace yourself against.

Then you had people who had woke up one morning, thought carefully about it, and decided that they wanted to hurt other people. He'd only met one person like that.

His watch beeped. He pressed a button and Officer Ramirez appeared. Ramirez was half-Spanish, half-Asian. He was an okay guy, maybe.

“Hey, Big C.” A blurt of static obscured the hologram for a moment. “Where you at?”

“Small time shit, man. Same as always.”

Ramirez didn’t grin this time. “We need you. Some stall owner's phoned in. Kid stole a bunch of food from his junk. We last pinged the car on Botticelli and we need someone to take it down."

"My suit's in the shop, buddy. I'll have to take a jet rig."

"Well, hurry up! Whoever's piloting that car is gonna break out of the cordon before long. You'll need to -"

"A fucking SBF, I know." The policeman pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll be there in five, dig?"

"You better, chingu." Ramirez' hologram snapped out of existance.

SBF. Suicide By Falling. Intercepting a vehicle by jumping from a tall building and using ancient jetpacks to try and land on top. No prizes for guessing where the name came from. It wouldn't be so bad if he had his armor - he might only break a few ribs.

"Sorry, Piche," he said to the dog. "I'll try and not die."

"Good luck." The alien scuttled off into the crowd.

The policeman, for the umpteenth time since starting his new job, began to run.

Ballroom

2:28 PM, 16/2/96, 16/29/96 AUC, Ashringa Apartments, Arkadia, Hub

The policeman was up before his radio alarm flicked on.Technically he didn't need the sleep, but he liked the rest, and his mom had insisted he sleep regularly when he was a kid. Old habits.

He padded to the kitchen in his boxers, humming along to the electroswing. The apartment was small enough to hear the music through the walls, and the music his neighbours were listening to. Or making, on occasion. A new couple had moved in upstairs.

He opened a cubpoard and tried to choose between cooking and not. He could taste the additives in the cereal, so that was out, but he didn't feel up to putting something more complicated than bacon together. Above his head, a Mangadorian tried to perform the ritual monthly mating cycle without upsetting the six-foot tall policeman downstairs. Genderless aliens were weird.

Fuck it, he'd eaten last night. He could go for another day or so on that.

He felt more up to it after a shower and putting some casual slacks and a t-shirt on, and decided to revert his decision and cook up some bacon. The radio had flicked to traffic reports - a crash that he knew Officer Ramirez was dealing with, some congestion on McQueen Street - nothing serious. Bacon was good. It held his attention. He considered leaving at that, but eggs didn't take long and his bread wasn't out of date and hey, bacon and egg sandwich. With coffee. Excellent.

Halfway through his meal, there was a knock on his door. Nobody interrupted his bacon sandwiches. He stomped over to the front door and flung it open.

An alien designed to be the most pitiable thing in the world looked up at him. It was three feet tall and resembled a cartoon dachshund in the middle of being slammed into a wall. He relaxed. Piche didn't technically live here. He was an informant who worked for the highest bidder, which, due to his lack of a home and preference for eating other people's refuse, meant basically anybody. The policeman was currently paying him twenty bucks to keep an eye on everything in his apartment block.

"Hey, Piche. What's up?"

Piche snuffled. "Hey, boss-boss. Got something for you. Is good-good."

The policeman blinked. "Uh, hold on a second then."

On the plate was the last of his bacon sandwich. Piche's species were scavengers - they ate what they could, but better meals were worth their weight in gold. He drained the last of his coffee, picked it up, went back to the door and tossed the remains into Piche's waiting maw.

"That good enough?"

Piche chewed slowly. "Very good-good. Boss-boss pays well, so Piche tells you. Gadian on the fifty-second floor, room 23, he growing Ambrosia. Could smell it when I went by his room. Stank bad."

The policeman sighed.  His powered armor was in the shop, he was off-duty and the Gadian would probably kick his ass, but he said "Okay then" anyway.

His parents had put a sense of heroic duty in him, for some reason. But he hoped the Gadian was out. Just in case.

Pursuit

3:45 AM, 15/2/96 AUC, Arkadia, Hub

"Stop, in the name of the Law!"

The wiry man did not stop in the name of the Law. With a laugh, he leapt, the rags of his shirt billowing behind him, and clattered onto the next rooftop along. He began to run without a look behind him, a devil in tailored clothing.

With a snarl, the policeman followed. The tiles bucked under his feet, and he almost didn't make the jump. Powered suits, he decided as he followed in a whirr of nano-motors, were not an advantage. How did anyone wear these? Not that, legally, he was allowed to wear it in the first place.

The criminal darted around a slab of air vents, losing himself in a cloud of steam from the street below. The policeman didn't make the jump blind, his visor flicking through spectrum in a rainbow. When he landed, almost within grasping distance of the captive, the asphalt erupted into lead slivers. He lost a second goading the suit into a sprint, a second that his target used to barrel his way into the markets.

Civilians parted like the red sea. Being hit by half a ton of metal would be good grounds for a lawsuit, if any of them recovered enough to make phonecalls and felt like taking on the Arkadian police. The policeman dashed through them, darting around obstacles - the thin man upturned a ramen cart, knocked over a stall of fake jeans, darted left and right like a minnow, and the policeman either leapt or barrelled through every one. But he wasn't gaining.

Suddenly, a darting motion took the chase down an alley, rich in the stench of piss and stale barbecue sauce. The policeman felt the shoulder pads of his armor scrape the walls, but the narrow aperture didn't matter. Ahead was a solid brick wall,  a complete dead end -

That filled with a white tear, a cut in space that was blinding to look at. The thin man leapt into it without hesitation.

"Fuck!"

The policeman slapped his hand on something on his belt. The worst part of a chase - if the crim had a leaper, the device now blinking at his waist would pull him back here after six minutes.  He had the only one in the department, and every time a suspect went dimension hopping was a chance for him to break or lose it.

He leapt, suit motors screaming -

forever it's forever in here much much longer and longer

A cliffside, topped with dead grass like a hopeless man's comb-over. A sea of pitch black and a sky of burnt copper. Another world.

As the policeman chased, dangerously close to the crumbling edge, he looked up and saw the bronze clouds rent by a myriad of colors and shapes, dragon-shapes, hissing and spitting as they writhed and breathed ultra-violet fire. A name came to his head - Tiamat? Some nursery rhyme he'd been told as a kid, maybe. Not important. Focus.

The dragon-shapes hurt to look at. He averted his gaze and chased the thin man, who was already diving into another white aperture. Feet pounded on grass dirt stone bone flesh forever and ever and ever and landed on rough stone tiles.

A dark hall stretched in front of him, full of statues of things with too many tentacles and eyes. In the flickering lamplight, he first saw the criminal bolt through a door, then the gathering of cultists in red robes between him and the exit. They had drawn various sigils on the floor in blood, and had tied a voluptuous young woman to an altar. She seemed as annoyed by the interruption as the cultists. Odd.

"Excuse me," began the lady on the altar, "do you mind?"

The policeman ignored the question, breaking back into a sprint and pushing through the gathering of cultists. He heard a shout of "How rude!" but didn't care. He wrenched the ancient wooden door open, saw a flash of ruined shirt and followed it. He was losing ground.

A labyrinth now, a maze of corridors and banners and tapestries depicting various nasty gods. Left, right, right again, left, over and over again. Down a flight of stone stairs, and through another rip of blankness into the forever oh yes its much longer than you think -

A swamp, black and thick and choking. He could feel the dimension anchor on his hip vibrating, getting ready to pull him back. Time was running out. He had seconds. Something gave way under his feet, and he realised he was slowly sinking into the murk.

So was the criminal, a few feet ahead. Seizing the chance, the policeman lurched forwards, his suit motors howling as it tried to combat the quagmire. One step, two step, sinking too fast and too heavy to stop himself, he reached out, grabbed -

backwards, backwards through the forever

And hit the ground in the alley, caked in mud from the chest down. The thin man was there too, trying to wrench free of his glove and out of his shirt. The other hand came up, crackling with electricity.

"Arnold Grengis," said the policeman, "you're under arrest!"

He slapped the man across the back of his neck. Arnold - for it was he - jerked like a hooked fish, then fell limp.

Sirens wailed, somewhere in the distance. People crowded around the entrance of the alleyway, watching. He stood, gasping for air, leaning against the brickwork, wrenching his helmet off. At the sight of his eyes, the crowd took a pace or two backwards.

God, he wanted a drink.

Royalty

There are two kinds of royalty.


The dwarves and the elves have never got on, ever. The dwarves thought of the elves as arrogant upstarts who stole the majesties and riches from the old Dvergarholms. The elves thought the dwarves were arrogant old men who squandered what they had on pointless ventures and effigies. In some ways, they were very alike.

The skeletons that descended upon the two outposts - one elf, one dwarf, eyeing each other over the Strang River - didn't think anything of either of the races. They came in droves, silent except for the clink of metal on bone. By the time the alarm was raised, it was much too late to respond.

The elves and dwarves, for all their differences, died very much the same.

When the horror had ended, the horde did not take gold, or weapons. They did not burn down flags, or destroy the outposts, or seize their new holdings. They piled up the corpses on a cart pulled by fleshless horses and vanished into the fog, as silent as they had come.

Two days later, the cartographers of Ardea noticed the Ivory Forest had expanded by half an inch westwards, across the entire border.

And thus did Ostaria, the Empire of Bone, expand.


Light swept into the room, and prince Tak-Sin stood back from the window to admire himself in the full-length mirror, the sunlight playing off his nude form.

Nice. Still as refined and delicate as ever. Long blue hair that went down to just above his hips. Toned legs, slim body, and a face that could pass for beauty in either gender. No wonder the Duke of Calra fell for him so quickly. Then again, Duke John Estwald, of the province of Calra, was a handsome young man who unfortunately was both inexperienced in ruling and suffering from an orientation that his stuffy old father didn't like. Thankfully, Tak-Sin was more than happy to accommodate both of those things.

What a lovely party. What a lovely dress he'd worn - although he couldn't seem to find it in the scattered items on the royal carpet. What nice food. What a fun evening.

What opportunity.

He could hear Morgan in his head, the eidolon lurking in a corner of space-time and begging for blood. He dismissed the spirit with a mental wave of his hand. There was plenty of time for that. No, John wasn't quite ready. His estate was rich, and had connections to the merchants of Belgrazia. Handsome young merchants who would be looking for financial aid, and who might be lonely on cold nights waiting for their ships to come in, and who might turn a blind eye if somebody close to them might want something special brought in on those ships.

Later, the merfolk would give the slient command, and poor Duke Estwald would be stabbed in his sleep by a madman, or take a nasty tumble and break his neck. But until then, there were still things to do. He could have a lot of fun with John. More parties to attend, official functions to laze around in looking for the inevitable replacement, more wine to drink and gold to spend, more lovely nights in.

Speaking of which...

Tak-Sin padded over to the four-poster at the far end of the room, climbing on and crawling on all fours over the sleeping form in the middle. He made sure to brush John's body with his own as he lay on top, and relished the flush of the young man's face as the young Duke awoke to see the results of last night.

"Good morning, dear," the merfolk whispered, and kissed him.

He really was very handsome. It would be a shame to kill him. Maybe he could enslave him instead.


There are two kinds of royalty. Those who wear an iron fist, and those who wear a velvet glove over the top of it.

What is to Come #2

LordVega opened SubChat Channel #GetYourAssesInHere @ 14:06 PM ET 25/04/2213
SnoopCatte420 entered the chat room.
MasterBaiter entered the chat room.
LordVega: ha ha real fucking funny ronny
LordVega: now change it back
MasterBaiter: aww, okay :(
MasterBaiter is now MasterRonald
SnoopCatte420: Lol XD
LordVega: shut up
LordVega: okay so that link up with the uss chicago went well, which is a fucking miracle considering the quality of the staff here
MasterRonald: Don't be so hard on yourself Mikey :P
LordVega: ronald i swear to god im gonna shove you through an airlock one day
MasterRonald: lol
SnoopCatte420: XD
LordVega: now before you asswipes go back to watching sports i need to get angeline in here so we can properly brief everyone
SnoopCatte420: aww man do we have to?
SnoopCatte420: she gives me the creeps
MasterRonald: me too :(
LordVega: well i wont but dont come crying to me when the assignment goes tits up because of it
MasterRonald: you really need to chill bro :s
LordVega: look, if we do this right we get big fat paychecks and maybe our names in a history book somewhere
LordVega: you can understand why im stressed right
SnoopCatte420: that's one way of putting it :3
SublimeGizmo entered the chat room.
LordVega: there you are
LordVega: you ready to recieve the assignment?
SublimeGizmo: Yes.
LordVega: good
LordVega: so anyway as you already know we have a big old container slatered in top secret and do not open stickers aboard our little station here
LordVega: in approximately three hours we will be orbiting porphyrion attatched to the uss chicago as part of a research thingy
LordVega: hate that fucking planet but orders is orders
MasterRonald: I kinda like it
MasterRonald: Everyone's very chill down there
LordVega: excuse me but i dont think the planet of the orcs is very fucking chill at all
LordVega: it is a hive of weird shit that dropped out of a comic book one day and i want no part in it
SublimeGizmo: I think Porphyrion is a nice name.
SnoopCatte420: really? :O
LordVega: thats nice angeline
LordVega: anyway you guys are gonna love our task today
LordVega: we're gonna science us up some magic

---

"Santos?"

"Yes?"

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere new."

What Is To Come #1

"Wakey wakey! Good morning, dear!"

The golem blinked. Its vision was filled with beard, a white explosion that took up most of a kindly, wrinkled old face topped with a pointy, dark blue hat.

"I expect you're wondering where you are." The old man stepped away, revealing himself to be a lot shorter than expected and dressed in a baggy robe in the same midnight colour as his hat. Behind him, a large window filtered sunlight into a cacophony of chairs, desks overloaded with parchments and brass tools, and strange glass constructions. In one corner stood a tall mirror, dirty with age and cracked a little in one corner. The golem looked at it.

"This is my study. I've brought you here - well, more sort of smuggled, really. You would have been scrapped if I hadn't. It's a shame, what they do to faulty golems. But you're safe now! Safe here."

A woman stared back from the mirror, her skin the burnt orange of pottery. She wore, or rather had modelled onto her body a wide-brimmed hat, a large dress with saddlebags moulded on, a head of curly hair and a peaceful expression on the carved face. Above the burning red eyes, on the forehead, were the words אמת in fine script. A small wicker basket hung over one arm.

The golem turned its eyes away from the mirror and back to the old man, who was still talking as he bustled around the room, picking up papers and books and putting them down elsewhere.

"Your shem is fine - they write it inside the golem on the clay now, can you believe that? So awkward. Hardly a way to give a golem a mind, is it? Oh, but you don't know anything about that. Let's start somewhere simple, shall we?"

The old man turned. His face was creased with a smile.

"I'm Jeremiah Swiftheart - but I just prefer Jeremy nowadays. What shall we call you?"

The burning eyes fell upon a small vase of flowers, lurking on the windowsill of the room. Something about them made sense, somehow. Pottery clinked as the golem moved over to the window, legs hidden by the wide dress, and an arm delicately plucked out one of the flowers. The golem turned it between its fingertips, staring.

Jeremy laughed.

"Of course! Rose. Rose it is, then!"

---

Snoop_Catte420 opened SubChat Room #Amazing Honks @ 13:26 PM ET 25/04/2213
MasterRonald entered the chat room
MasterRonald: uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
Snoop_Catte420: LoL XD
MasterRonald: christ why are we still on this dumbass space station
MasterRonald: was the world jelly at us or something
Snoop_Catte420: NASA overestimated america
MasterRonald: so bored
MasterRonald: erbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrb
Snoop_Catte420: chill dude we got an assignment in like three hours
Snoop_Catte420: hold your horses
MasterRonald: there are no horses on this station
MasterRonald: confirmed
Snoop_Catte420: confirmed!
MasterRonald: aeiou
Snoop_Catte420: wanna go do solar readings again
MasterRonald: no those are boring, let's watch some pro foosball instead
Snoop_Catte420: k lol
MasterRonald left the chat room
Snoop_Catte420 left the chat room
LordVegas entered the chat room
LordVegas: goddamn it you lazy fucks get off your ass we are linking to the USS Chicago in literally ten minutes
LordVegas: shit wait you're not here
LordVegas: figures
LordVegas left the chat room

Gay Merfolk Charms

Backstory: I made a bisexual, androgynous, arrogant yet also naive Merfolk prince, who summons a pirate captain Eidolon. Here's a few snippets from their adventures so far.

[23/11/2012 23:34:12] Jake Newton: "Ah, hmm... Barkeep! A bottle of your finest wine, if you please!"

You are not sure what gender the merfolk is. He... she... er, it's terrifyingly androgynous. The leather armor doesn't give any indication, and the long green hair doesn't help either.

"Yarr!"

You're pretty sure the pirate captain isn't human, though. It's the claws. And the bad body language. And the way he says "Yarr!" at everything.

---

[00:05:42 | Edited 00:05:47] Jake Newton: "Yarr!"

Morgan practically dashes forwards and begins scooping the gold into a bag. Tak-Sin doesn't look up.

"Excuse my eidolon. It has a mind of it's own. Remember the split, Morgan!"

"YAAARRRR"
[00:06:03] Jake Newton: Goddamn look at him go
[00:06:09] Jake Newton: loves that tresure he does

---

[00:19:35 | Edited 00:19:48] Saberwulf: "Please, take a seat. Feel feel to pour yourself a glass of whiskey from Fjellet, or take a cigar from Hermea.
[00:19:56] M_Sheep: Gadfly creakily lowers herself into a seat.
[00:20:47] Draco Starcloud: (Gotta make a note of it and buy tools.)
[00:20:53] The Bus: Niramour nods, pouring the whiskey for herself before sitting in the seat primly, hands onca again folded. For the moment she was content to let the others do most of the talking.
[00:21:57] Jake Newton: Tak-Sin delines both. Morgan takes the bottle. Asshole Eidolon.
[00:22:37] Jake Newton: This gets him a glare from Tak, and the Eidolon sadly returns the bottle.
[00:22:44] Jake Newton: "Yarr..."

---

[00:35:23 | Edited 00:35:34] Saberwulf: (Whoo knows! Them dark dragons) ""A noble goal. Til dine ambisjoner, kan du oppnå dem. Ah, I am glad you asked. I always seem to get caught up in conversation. Now, before I say my task, I must ask of you a promise."
[00:35:30] Jake Newton: Morgan looks uncomfortable in the rich surroundings. He's twitcher then a tengu in a jewellers.
[00:35:52] Jake Newton: "What kind of promise?"
[00:36:00] The Bus: "Oh?"
[00:36:21] Jake Newton: "Morgan, calm. Or I shall unsummon you."
[00:36:25] Jake Newton: Morgan quiets instantly.
[00:37:08] Draco Starcloud: "Another blood oath most likely. 'Never speak of this to anyone or I'll cut off your face.'"
[00:37:37] Jake Newton: "Oh, is that all? Merfolk preffered genital mutilation as a consquence for oath-breaking."
[00:37:51] Jake Newton: "The sharks usually come fast enough that they don't dwell on it for long."
[00:38:09] Jake Newton: The more elucidated of you may think "what an odious twat" at this point.
[00:38:45] The Bus: "The Ironclads follow a more simple order of cutting the tongue out, before removing the hands as well so the oathbreaker would bleed to death." Niramour says fondly.
[00:39:20 | Edited 00:39:55] M_Sheep: Unfortunately, Gadfly heard the word "Prince" fall out of his mouth earlier, and now all she can hear coming out of the merman's mouth is "money, money, money"

---

[01:04:35] Jake Newton: "I require a suit, if you please. Something to show off my physique~"

Morgan goes outside. Pirates hate suits.
[01:04:39] Saberwulf: He extends the offer to those also buying suits.
[01:04:56] The Bus: "....I am keeping my armor. Nevermind this." Niramour says in response, going outside with Morgan.
...
[01:05:14] Jake Newton: The eidolon desperately wishes Tak would cast unfetter, but it's not happening.
[01:05:27] Jake Newton: If there was a Guild of Eidolons, he'd complain.
[01:05:35] Jake Newton: "Yarr."
...
[01:05:55] The Bus: "Hail to you too."
[01:05:57] Draco Starcloud: (MANO A MANO.)
[01:06:19] Jake Newton: Morgan raises a hand in greeting. This is the point where you realise his hands are made of sharp coral.

"Yarr."
[01:06:32] Saberwulf: "One hundred gold for the suit, if you find it... Suiting! Haha!"
...
[01:07:14] Jake Newton: Tak-Sin gushes over his suit in Aqua, forking over the cash straight away. The suit doesn't stop this dude looking like a lady.
[01:07:27 | Edited 01:07:32] Jake Newton: "P̄hm mxng s̄eǹh̄̒!"
[01:07:46] The Bus: "Really, a suit? For what purpose? I would prefer to have anyone we encounter be intimidated by me rather than compliment my attire." Niremour says, watching the inside and glancing to the pirate.
[01:07:46] M_Sheep: Gadfly forks over the GP for her suit with a scowl.
[01:07:46] Godbot: Oratio hands over the gold and idly wonders if he makes that same joke every time.
[01:08:13 | Edited 01:09:10] Saberwulf: "You're quite welcome, everyone! I also have addiotnal options, say if you would like a hidden pocket or to dye your suit bright, disgustingly garish seafoam green."
[01:08:19] Jake Newton: Morgan struggles.

"...Oooohnleee theeee beeessst feeeerrr myyyyy maaaaastuuuuuuh."
[01:08:24 | Edited 01:08:45] Jake Newton: You wish he'd go back to yarrs.
[01:08:39] Jake Newton: That voice sounded like a swarm of bees being shoved through a meatgrinder.
[01:08:44] Saberwulf: Hahahaha
[01:08:48] The Bus: "...Master? Wait. That.... thing is male?"
[01:08:55] Jake Newton: "Yarr."
[01:09:11] The Bus: "Ah."
[01:09:19 | Edited 01:09:27] The Bus: "Do., er, all male merpeople look like that?"
[01:09:29] Jake Newton: "...Yeeeezzzzz."
[01:09:36] The Bus: "You poor, poor bastard."
[01:10:01] Jake Newton: "Yarr."

---

[02:04:10] Jake Newton: "...May I try my hand at talking to this man?"
[02:04:22] The Bus: "Indeed. Call if you need a hand broken."
[02:04:26] Godbot: "If you like, but he doesn't seem to know anything useful."
[02:04:26] Jake Newton: Morgan does that nose-bridge pinch thing.
[02:04:34] Draco Starcloud: "Troublesome. The scent FLIES away."
[02:04:36] The Bus: Niramour says this loud enough for the prisoner to hear before grinning at him.
[02:04:52 | Edited 02:05:07] M_Sheep: "I say have at i- it FLIES too?"
[02:04:56] M_Sheep: "How bothersome."
[02:05:25] Godbot: "The witnesses might've mentioned that it flew away."
[02:05:42] Draco Starcloud: "Indeed. My horse is an expert tracker and he cannot follow the scent; he just looks up into the air."
[02:05:57] The Bus: "Well, who would like to go interrogate witnesses? I do not think I would be the best choice."
[02:06:20] Godbot: "You seemed to be doing fine."
[02:06:22] Draco Starcloud: (THis is why Mr. Roboto needed a pterodactyl mount.)
[02:06:37] M_Sheep: Gadfly thinks a moment. "Let me see that flyer."
[02:06:48] Godbot: Oratio hands it over.
[02:06:50 | Edited 02:06:55] The Bus: "Of course, but I know the police will interfer if I begin snapping thumbs, and as it would be uncouth to slaughter them all....."
[02:07:04] The Bus: Niramour wistfully shrugs.
[02:07:32] Saberwulf: back
[02:07:38] Jake Newton: Tak-Sin walks over to the elf and -

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acQ6jLe3R8E)

jesus christ almighty is he - yeah, he is. He's being all innocent and eye-fluttery.

"Excuse me, sir? Do you know of anyone local who has knowledge about summoners? Any information you have would be most useful~"

(10+7=17 diplomacy)

Morgan looks like he wishes he was dead.
[02:07:58] Godbot: "Isn't /he/ a summoner?"
[02:08:04] Jake Newton: (shhhhh)
[02:08:09] Saberwulf: (Ahahaha holy fuck he's using his pretty gay charms on him)
[02:08:12] Jake Newton: (don't blow his cover)
[02:08:22] Jake Newton: (his incredibly pretty cover)
[02:08:37] Draco Starcloud: ( O_o )
[02:08:38] M_Sheep: (16 Knowledge history check on the store advertised on the flyer.)
[02:09:04] Godbot: (I could just roll knowledge local if you'd like)
[02:09:09] The Bus: "Yes, he is. As well as a host of other things."
[02:09:13] M_Sheep: (Feel free.)
[02:09:29] Godbot: (4+7)
[02:10:45] Saberwulf: The druid blushes. "I-i-i-... Why yes, I do. Actually, that flyer your friend shook from my pocket will help. The man who onws that store specializes in oddities. Floating rocks, talking swords, singinig books, giant magic holes in citites, magical travel and whatnot."

The druid gives all the info you need for this situtation, and ends up nothing more, anyway.
[02:11:15] M_Sheep: (The owner's totally David, isn't it?)
[02:11:18] Saberwulf: "It is over on Fleet Street, two two one. It has the head of a wulf on the sign."
[02:11:40] Saberwulf: (No! Why woudla place called Wolf Universal possibly be owned by David Arcturus Wulf?)
[02:11:47] Saberwulf: (That's just silly)
[02:11:55] Jake Newton: "Thank you~"

Tak-Sin turns and /struts/ back to the group. Unseen by the elf but visible to the rest of the party, the merfolk's face twists in disgust.

"Xarị khn n̂xy ǹā k̄hyak̄hæyng." (What a disgusting little man.)
[02:12:17] Jake Newton: Morgan sighs a piratey sigh.
[02:12:20] Jake Newton: "Yarrrr."
[02:12:36] M_Sheep: "Right. Now who wants the honor of carrying this bloody piece of wood?"