• Location • The Office of the Citizen's Committee

[Felicia Stark]

Arch 719, 1st Trial of Ashan

The soles of her feet felt aflame, and her once small and light bag suddenly seemed to be filled with stones. Every step up to the wooden doors was akin to climbing a mountain as fatigue sucked the last vestiges of strength away from her. It should have been a simple thing, or so the guards at the Great Parhn Gate had told her. A direct route he had said, simple, easy... Yet now here she was, nearly 5 breaks later, barely standing upon the threshold of her destination. Were it not for the season Felicia was certain she would be sweating, and now her shoes would be sorely in need of repair. With a shake of her head, Felicia opened the door and stepped across the threshold, a soft sigh of relief escaping her lips.

It was a nice space, simple yet direct in its purpose. A few chairs and tables, some pots, and of course three clearly marked doors which left little to no question as to where she was to go next. For a short time, her cool blue eyes lingered on the door marked "housing" before she forcefully tore them away and made toward the one labeled "employment". Housing would come in its own time, but for now, she knew there was a more pressing need. Taking several slow, deep breaths Felicia adjusted her clothing slightly and passed a hand uselessly over her hair. Then crossing the final few steps to the door she knocked lightly, opening the door a crack to peer inside. It seemed another was already there, speaking with a well-dressed gentleman who looked up and met her eyes with a smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Felicia said quietly, feeling a faint flush of color touching her cheeks as she quickly shut the door and pressed her back against it. Closing her eyes and resting a hand on her chest Felicia took another breath, wondering if she had missed a sign or a bell to announce her. She had little time to wonder this, however, as within the trill the door opened once more and Felicia quickly shuffled aside to allow another man to pass her, one wearing a fine coat and hat who passed not even a glance her way.

"Miss?" The deep voice from inside the office broke Felicia's gaze from the leaving man's back as she turned to peer back inside. The older man was now standing, still smiling as he beckoned her over with an upraised hand, "How can I help you?"

"I..." Felicia began, hesitating for some reason, but another wave from the man as he ushered her inside loosened the slight knot of tension that had unknowingly begun growing in her chest. "I am new to Etzos, and I am looking for work."

"Ah, yes that is what I am here for." His politeness was like a balm to her aching muscles and weary legs, and Felicia graciously accepted the chair as it was offered to her. "My name is Peter Mead, the Employment Coordinator." He said this as he moved some papers about on his desk, "Give me an idea of what sort of employment you are looking for, and what skills you may have. I will see what I can do from there."

Felicia reflexively returned his smile this time and paused several trills as she tried to find an answer to his questions. In truth, she had not put much thought into WHAT she wanted to do. She had become so focused on getting employment she had not considered what that employment might be. Her brow furred slightly as she thought, and she absently played with a loose thread in her shirt.

"Well... I have experience in household chores..." She began slowly, struggling to sift through the tangle of thoughts that muddled up her head, "I worked as a waitress at a tavern for a short time, but for most of two years I was an assistant to a mortician. Mostly helping to prepare the bodies for burial, and working with the deceased's family..." There was a note of hesitation in her voice at this point, unsure how Mead might react. Often people seemed put off, or uncomfortable, with the thought of working with the dead. To Felicia however, it had never been an issue. Yet still... This was a new city, and there were other possibilities.

"I can use a knife reasonably well, and I am comfortable with sickness and death." A slight wince as she thought about the wording, but pressed on anyway, "If possible though I would like to help the living. If there are any apprenticeships opening in any areas of healing I think I would like to work there."

How stupid, the girl who plays with corpses wants to heal the living.

Firming her expression Felicia looked at Mead, "Do you know if there are any positions like that available?"

[Maltruism]

Felicia Stark(employment)

► Show Spoiler

The Coordinator sat in thought as his client listed her interests and experience. Each newly proposed element of her employment background brought a slight shift in his pose as options sprang to mind. For the first several, however, his poses did not particularly reflect anything resembling eagerness. He knew of a dispatch service that hired maids to work in the homes of the rich, but some ugly stories had been circling, suggesting something all too close to sex-slave status.

And of course, most of the taverns in town were more likely to hire such girls as would willingly partake of such activities for an extra handful of gold nel. But although there was something a bit different about this client, it did not have the...flavor of sex-for-hire.

As soon as she mentioned having done work for a mortician, Mead sensed not only that this was the odd sense he got from her, but also a certainty that he could get her a position at Sfelte's Mortuary. He was about to mention this possibility when the client reversed herself and expressed her interest in healing instead.

"Well, the Prime Sanitarium is always looking for new hire. Especially with this "Still" epidemic still spreading about. Are you familiar with The Still, miss? I'm afraid I'm really not the one to get any detailed information from.I only know it's a sort of petrifying infection stemming from some magically corrupted statue made of infected stone. Until you learn more, I would avoid both the Museum and any loose stones in the street right in front of it. Most likely such potentially infectious stones have been removed by now, though."

He shook his head, "I'm sorry, I'm getting off-track here. The infection has led to a considerable increase in amputations, so if you're truly not bothered by such things, I'm certain they would welcome you. And if working with bodies is an interest as well, there would probably be a need for someone to transport those who can't be saved to the mortuary. Not everyone likes to ride in a cart with a bunch of cadavers."

The poorly veiled grimace on his face suggested he would number himself among those who would pass on such a task. He tore the top sheet off a pad of forms and scribbled in his signature below a rough map, upon which he marked where the Mortuary was with a small "X", as well as one marking the location of the Museum.

He handed the page across the table to her, "You won't need a map to the Prime Sanitarium. It's right here in this tower. Just show this to Dr. Aderell, and I'm sure he will get you started right away."

[Felicia Stark]

"The Still...?" Felicia began softly, but cut off what questions bubbled to her mind as she did not wish to interrupt the man as he attempted to enlighten her. It seemed an odd thing, an infection that would petrify a person. For some reason, Felicia could not picture that that would be like at all. Still, he had said the Prime Sanitarium was always hiring, and that brought a small amount of relief to the girl who truly had wondered if it was possible for her at all.

"Thank you." Felicia said as she accepted the paper, marveling at the fine handwriting that was there. There was a short pause during with Felicia simply stared at the paper, but soon she glanced upwards as if remembering where she was, "I will do whatever I can to help. If I can use my skills with corpses as well then I will be most grateful." Was that the right thing to say? For some odd reason it felt a bit off to her, yet how else could she phrase that slight bit of excitement that came when he mentioned amputations.

Gently she folded the paper and slipt it into a pocket in her cloak, standing slowly to leave, "I would like to speak with Dr. Aderell now if that would be possible." She paused once more as a light coloring flushed her neck and cheeks as she glanced toward the door, "Could you... perhaps show me the most direct route to the Prime Sanitarium? I am afraid the newness of the city has had an effect on my sense of direction..." her words trailed off as she remembered the hike that brought her the supposedly short distance from the gate to here. Felicia had no desire to repeat that fiasco.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

57 Ymiden, 719

Llyr entered past the doors. His hand lingered as he held one of them open. The leather of his glove crinkled against the wood, then he let go. It swung quietly shut behind him. He glanced around the empty room. He wondered if the offices weren’t usually busy at the earliest light of dawn or if it had more to do with the current war efforts.

The tall biqaj, in his natural-born form, had dressed in simple design, but luxury quality, attire. Pale reds and charcoal grays with modest silver embellishments lined along an Etzori fashioned outfit. He’d had it tailored specifically to his silhouette and it covered every bit of skin that might dare to show; from his polished boots, all the way to the high collar tightly fastened around his neck – except for his visage. He'd combed his bangs down to hide the scarred mark on the center of his forehead behind the mess of fair blond.

He glanced between the three marked doors, took a small breath, then strode forward.

A moment’s pause, then he lightly rapped his knuckles against the door marked Guidance.

He waited…

...after a bit, he knocked again, slightly louder.

This time, and when he was about to try one of the other doors, he heard a muffled response to open the door himself. Llyr entered the Guidance office, and glanced around at the... mess.

Llyr softly shut the door behind him, then set a hand over his chest and shook his head at the disorder of the place. He supposed the elderly man who moved about the office had gotten overwhelmed with work due to the siege, or something of that nature. The biqaj ignored an impulse to start cleaning up the office, and focused on why he'd visited.

The older man was talking already, a lot, and he could only assume it was… yes, the assumption was confirmed when Marlin Tagley introduced himself. Of course, Llyr had delicately asked around before he’d arrived to the Office of the Citizen’s Committee. He wanted to make sure he was headed to a decent location for his inquiry. While he wasn't completely certain, he felt assured enough to speak with Tagley.

Fixing the cuff of his glove, his momentary surprise at the state of the office turned into vague disinterest at the sheepish grin and implied apology… or explanation, or excuse, however one wished to look at it. He waited, then forced a thin smile when the older man finally asked what he needed help with.

“I’m afraid I’m uncertain whether such a matter is under your purview or not, Mister Tagley, so I apologize if I waste your time. Things are rather chaotic right now, I’m sure that is obvious,” he took a small breath and stepped farther into the room. His gaze flicked to the various stacks of papers again. He gradually took off his gloves in a glide of leather over pale skin to reveal that he had a few rings adorned. His attention returned to the older gentleman. “I was meant to arrive much sooner, and if it were not for the southern forces and everything else, I would have.”

“It has taken me nearly eighty trials at sea, enduring a pirate’s ransom, and too many trials navigating the anarchy of your land’s decimated countryside, to arrive here. Perhaps Ambassador Jorsie made the journey and gave word ahead of my visit?” His accent had thickened, the lull and lilt of the blended southern dialect of Quacia and the rural jungles of the far away continent. He held out his left hand. There were multiple rings made from bone, from metal, and shell, but on the wedding digit, a gold and ruby signet ring of the noble Ryn House. “My name is Lord Venora, from the city of Quacia. I traveled here at the specific request of Lord Vuda, and as such, despite the unrest's turbulence that forces me to your office, I wish to meet with him as soon as possible.”

The blond withdrew his hand from view and casually slapped his gloves against the golden-scarred palm. “As for what you can help me with... I would like for you to inform me if you are capable of managing this affair on my behalf, and if not, who can?”

[Maltruism]

Llyr(Guidance)

► Show Spoiler

Was the current visitor not of capable competence in observance, he might not have known that it was Mr.Tagley to whom he was speaking. In fairness, the old fellow was taking only understandable precautions against the various maladies waiting to ride the wafts of air into the as-yet-uninfected lungs of those less wary than he.

Nor was it only concern for his own health which brought layers of masks, cloths and filters to every orifice one was likely to have brought to mind. He'd been sick, deathly sick for a term best defined in weeks, and had only recently felt the need to work the kinks from his aged spine. He wanted neither a relapse of his own, nor the responsibility of dragging some other poor sap into the sickbed.

But he had finally gotten his voice back to its usual tone and clarity, and was of a mind to indulge it, though the mask may have made this detail less obvious. There was also the fact that his absence had given rise to the stacks of work awaiting his attendance, and the visitor may have only seen the top of head for the first few moments.

The stated 'chaos' having been acknowledged, Tagley listened patiently to his guest's lead-in to what would hopefully become pertinent some time soon. Just about the time that his tired old eyes widened in interest at the drop of the name 'Jorsie', and even more so at the follow-up 'Venora', they sagged in discouragement at the culminating 'Vuda'.

He sighed a warning of bad news to come, "Alas, it is my misfortune to be the one to tell you, young sir, that our esteemed Lord Vuda has made himself scarce these last many trials. He may well have found his end on one of the many funeral pyres purging the streets of infected remains. There was no time for keeping records of who were stacked on which. Nor did anyone feel inclined to risk their life digging through them for identifications. I'm sure you can understand."

He grimaced with the realization that this was not the usual conversational fare one provided to a visiting aristocrat, He cleared his throat of a disturbingly sizeable obstruction and continued, "I'm afraid I was given no protocols to observe regarding the accommodations he may have promised. He was already gone for several trials when I returned from my own sick house. Still, yours is a name that commands response. If you could perhaps give me some details of what your previous correspondence involved, I could venture a guess as to who might be best suited to treat with you."

[Woe]

67th of Ymiden 719


Woe travelled through the plague-ridden streets, some mounds of victims heaped three times as tall as he was, burning in the wind and adding to the miasma of the fallen state of Etzos. He held a cloth to his face much of the walk through these districts. It occurred to him once or twice that perhaps it was a mistake to have come here. But he was here now, and had to make do, at least until he was in shape to move onto greener pastures.

He looked at the doors ahead of him, and after reading the text, opted for the one on the right. He'd need some sort of employment, he presumed, if he was to live here whether temporarily or on a more permanent basis. Although he couldn't imagine opting to the latter.

He put his kit down outside the door, and checked his weapons with whoever handled that, if they did.

Finally, after a while of waiting, he was ushered in to meet with Peter Mead.

Hello, name's Woe." Woe nodded toward him as he took a seat opposite. He removed his wide-brimmed hat from his head as he addressed the older man.

"Er... Well I used to be a jailer in Rynmere. Specializing in advanced interrogation, and some guard duty. Maybe something along those lines?" Woe shrugged, "May need brushing up on my fighting skills."

He waited a moment or two for the gentleman to look over his list, and answer him.

[Maltruism]

Woe (employment)

► Show Spoiler

A look of mild astonishment crossed the coordinator's face as the client said his piece. He waved a palm to the gentleman in a manner suggesting him to wait, as he hurriedly flipped through the pages of his referral lists. His look was cursory at best. It was clearly just a formality. He was shaking his head "no" at each new page before scanning even half its content.

Dropping the ledger on his desk, he turned his attention fully to the visitor, "Well, uh...mister? Woe?" The pause at whether this was a first or last name did not take more than a trill, "Never mind, it does not matter. I am frankly surprised that a man with that particular skill set even got all the way here before being intercepted by press gangs for the army. You are surely aware of the mobilization going on in preparation to the invasion of the city that inflicted this dreadful pandemic upon us."

Concern suddenly soured his upbeat expression, "You're not feeling ill are you? If you are newly arrived, you should probably check into the infirmary. We believe the worst of Lisirra's diseases have run their course, but with that monster, you can never be sure. Why we had a perfectly healthy seeming waitress suddenly bloat up and pop, screaming, into a bloody swarm of devouring insects that attacked everyone in the inn."

He shook his head at the memory of the harsh imposition of martial law, which resulted in the barring and chaining of the doors and the incineration of the building and all within, just to be sure. It was assumed that whatever larval egg sac had been implanted in the poor woman's body, was undoubtedly carried by some of the insects erupting from her burst body. It could not risk being spread.

Mead shook off the grisly memory of the flames and the screams...and the smell...without mentioning them, and pasted the smile back on his face. "That, of course,wasn't a disease exactly, but any precautionary measures are a good idea right now. SO..." he clapped his hands, "You sound like someone the army could definitely use on this mission. There are sure to be captives needing their tongues loosened. Tours of duty are not being held to future obligation, but any military citations you might receive in the process will do you well as recommendations for private work once this is over."

His head was nodding vigorously as he finished up his encouragement. "To be honest, I'm not really sure I can find you anything until this is over. Too much is at stake. If you didn't already have a job, and didn't lose your boss or co-workers in the attack, You'd really have to be in food prep, construction or medicine to be able to just walk out there and get a job in anything but the army."

He was already moving toward the door, "And it's dead-easy. Just ask any soldier out past the Great Gate to direct you to an enrollment officer." He looked around the empty lobby and leaned in close, his voice dropping into a regretful sigh, "The point is, if one is currently unemployed, and they don't take up some supportive effort, it....gets around. And most folks will remember someone that was unwilling to do their part for justice. I'm sorry, but that's how it is right now. I really must strongly recommend getting in on the invasion now, if you plan to stay on afterwards."

[Lavana Tharn]

Sometimes life changes in unexpected ways, her time in Scalvoris was an endearing endeavor to scrape whatever dignity had remained and make a stand only to be swept aside a failure time and time again. She was always put against the odds and they never were in her favor, friends worse then enemies and enemies with magic her tenacity steel and sarcasm could only go so far and do so much.

She had given up on Raskalarn and those within her inner circle, there had been a time when she wore her mother’s disapproval like a badge of honor to feel as though she had been fortunate enough to have been at the very least evaluated as something even if just a failure.

Looking back on it she wanted to justify her hurt, but really the only thing she had done was drink poison and expect the other person to die. Toxic, her whole family was corrosive aunts and uncles it was all the same shit with the same agendas.

It behooved her, to step off of that wretched island. But she made her choice and thus Etzos was her new home, and her first choice was to become part of the guard.

Her old cloak Amaris had gifted her was gone, the tabard of the hounds was gone. The only consistency in her life was steel, and it was properly polished to a chrome sheen. In one hand her claymore she affectionately named Sarcasm was clasped in its radiant metal scabbard while her left hand cupped her full helm at the hip artistically the face plate depicted a valkyrie with a tear drop and it too glistened when kissed by sunlight; the shadows cast gave the masks eye slits a sinister aura devoid of emotion. The tapestry of her white cloak veiled most of the plate, but the glean from her gauntlets and exposed personal affects made a disorienting display when caught in its cast reflection of the suns gaze.

Lavana was gone; reinvented.
Klaudia Khastel is what would take its place.


Klaudia had reinvented herself, for so long she had harbored resentment for Qylios but now she begrudgingly liked the immortal, aside from steel it’s all she had left as her Mark was wrapped around her left arm glowing rhythmically as it pulsed from intense to dull with its feigning hum of latent untapped energy.

The city of Etzos felt grim as she stepped into the office of the citizens committee, it seemed like a good tactic to take her skill set as a warrior and then apply as a soldier. No one would have to know the Imperial Princess Lavana Tharn; Valtharns Twin Sister and Raskalarns Greatest Failure, and she could find her own path here. Assert her dominance, clasp the reigns of command and lay waste to the enemies of this city and it’s glory.

Peter Mead extended his hand and Klaudia nodded in appreciation of the gesture as she could not reciprocate with full hands. She was certain he’d understand.

”I’m pleased to make your acquaintance I apologize but my hands are full, my name is La... “ The mortalborn shook her head with an heir of disbelief at her almost blunder, before attempting to quickly clean up the mess. ”Apologies, I must still be worn from my travels I haven’t a head for names apparently I’d almost forgotten mine, Klaudia Khastel” She attempted humor to discretely hide her indiscretion
”I came looking for an employment opportunity to join the rank and file of the Etzori military, I hailed from Rynmere and set out in search of adventure.”she smiled courteously but could not hide the devilry beneath the facade ”I found plenty of it and my skill with the claymore let me continue my journey. Tilting her head to avert her gaze to emphasize the hostility she knew many harbored against the immortals as she responded firm and self assured. ”If your wondering why yes I am marked by the immortal of leadership, light and bonds her name is Qyilous have you ever heard of her? ”

[Woe]

34th of Saun 720


As he entered the housing office to the right, he felt a rush of atavistic shock hit his mind. He'd been through this before, this same building only a year to the day. Well, perhaps more than that, but it was close enough. As bidden by the woman behind the desk, he shut the door behind him, and then took a seat at the desk, smoothing his cloak beneath him as he did so.

He was not dressed the part of a wandering vagrant, for all the fact that there were twigs and dirt still stuck in the fibers of his clothing. Woe wore a padded silk surcoat, colored charcoal gray with trims of darker colors. Beneath the surcoat, a simple, black wool shirt, brown leather trousers tucked into shin boots. Around his shoulders, a mantle of gray magpie feathers which was worn over a cloak of light, black velvet. The dark colors helped conceal the otherwise obvious mutation of swirling shadows that formed when the light hit his pale skin. Shadows that delineated his competence with Umbral Hone.

His eyes lightened as she introduced herself as Kelleen Mora, then nodded politely. "I'm Woe Morandi. I was hoping to purchase a permanent residence in Etzos."

She fetched a large book from her lower desk drawer. The arcane spark inside his soul bristled as he looked at the woman. She seemed very business-like, distant. The less she showed of emotion, the more the etheric parasite in him wished to explore her tangle with abandon, poke and prod and figure out what lay beneath the surface. Yet, Woe was the one in charge of his spark, at least for the moment. He silenced its attempts to hijack his decision-making here. The woman was only here to help him with housing. Nothing else.

When at last she retrieved the book and began refreshing her quill, he continued, "I'm here on business from elsewhere. Yet I plan on making Etzos a frequent place I visit. I want a permanent house, if for no other reason than to feel at home when I'm staying here.

He gave her a thin, humorless smile at that, "I trust there's something available that will suit me."

[Maltruism]

WOE (housing)

► Show Spoiler

The Housing Coordinator looked up with an expression that suggested that the very concept of disinterest had found a home upon her face. Her opening remarks followed suit, with a twinge of emotion only showing up as she stated her own name.

However, this detached attitude warmed considerably as her customer's name registered. "Ah yes, I recall Mr. Mead next door mentioning an interrogator by that name some time back. I hear you went off to serve our city against Lisirra. You have the thanks of every surviving citizen, I assure you. What exactly are you looking for?"

A smile crinkled her features that was as genuine as it was rare. It seemed almost as if she had to make some actual effort to smooth her face back to normal, the muscles serving to generate smiles being so far out of practice.

Woe explained his need as Miss Mora nodded. "Of course, there are numerable options available. I don't know how it strikes you to occupy a fine unit that is at a cut rate due to it being a home where the entire family perished from plague. I can tell you though, that finding a home where at least one citizen did NOT die of such a thing is going to be difficult."

A bit of a grimace crossed her face as she leaned forward with lowered voice, "The fact is, the higher the number of deaths in a home, the cheaper they are for reoccupation."

That being said, she sat back, stiffening in businesslike fashion. "So, if you are going to have periods of absence, it just makes sense you should have a home in a more secure area. Burglars will take swift note of such things in poorer areas where there is less guard presence. I have a number of options within the Commercial sector, and even one or two in the Citadel, but those will be double or triple the usual cost."

Opting for something less than multiples of the usual expense, an agreement was reached on a fine unit several rows within the Commercial Circle. A family of only three had died there, so it was not as inclined to be unsettling as some of the other options. There was no indication of ghostly presences noted thus far.

Nonetheless Miss Mora mentioned that many new dwellers found it advisable to leave some of the portraits and furnishings as they were, and not to replace everything. It had been found that a complete wipe of the prior dwellers' belongings occasionally triggered a backlash.

LAVANA (Klaudia Khastel) (employment)

► Show Spoiler

Coordinator Mead did an excellent job of covering his notice of his current customer's gaffe in stating her name. He made a subtle mark in his log noting that some degree of investigation might be in order. This would only be if this person, now identifying herself as 'Klaudia Khastel' tended to be around frequently anywhere trouble might pop up in the future.

He was not a zealot though. He knew that times of war, as well as times of occupation by a suspect Immortal, both currently in play in Etzos, could create numerous reasons for a honorable person to find it necessary to conceal their name. But the possibility that it was for an insidious reason could not be immediately discounted either.

He naturally showed no sign of having noted anything odd, chuckling along with her explanation of a mind weary of traveling. Her request for an endorsement of military admission gave him some relief of his initial concerns, for there was no doubt that both the army and the Black Guard would conduct investigations on any new recruits. But as desperate as they currently were for numbers, Mead still left the mark in his log, figuring the check might not be as thorough as usual.

It was not until the woman openly stated her marked condition that he relaxed. Here surely was the cause for her name change! The fact of her open acknowledgement brushed his concerns aside immediately. And Qylios was one Immortal not so heavily berated as most others. It was well known there were others in the military that possessed such a mark.

"Yes I DO know of Qylios, Miss Khastel. And while I am glad to see you openly claim it, I would strongly advise that you only do so if asked. There is a policy of keeping such practices private, and it might hinder your standing in the ranks if you are seen to...let's say..."Boast" of it? Other than that, I see nothing to hinder your acceptance."

He looked her up and down as he said this, his look of approval being nothing beyond an estimate of her soldierly capability. Her armor wore like a part of her, but it was another issue needing some arrangement. "I would also suggest you go next door and see Mr. Tagley. He may be able to give a waiver of uniform policy. I can see that you are quite comfortable in what you are wearing, but newcomers to either the guard or the army are generally required to wear such gear as aligns with their colors."

He looked divided in his judgement, "I can well understand that the military needs the ability to immediately tell their own from the enemy, But at the same time, it makes no sense to block a soldier from wearing gear that they are already accustomed to, in order to "break in" something new. Mr. Tagley can probably encourage a compromise. They may settle for just having you paint it black."