World of Warcraft®

(( This is an idea I had a few days ago, that I thought could bring some server-wide RP about.

You can participate as much, or not as much as you like. :-) ))


It had been superbly easy. That poor darling elf in Uldum, excavating different sites. Armaya watched him for a day. He had flown all over the place. He kept a small camp in Uldum where he stored numerous artifacts. It had been an easy kill really. A simple disposable of the body, and the removal of said artifacts had been the hardest part.

She whistled cheerfully as she worked, cursing each artifact with a powerful spell. One that would attach to the first person who touched said artifact. She had been very careful with placing them in their crates prior to working the magic. The curse was slightly simple, a life draining curse that would attach to said person, and drain away their life. She had tested it out on a few gnomes, prior, it had been a success. The effects seemed to be rather mixed. Some would die quick, others not so quick, and some would even go crazy before death. She had created it, so that hopefully no one would notice the curse until the effects began, and by that time it was slightly hard to remove it. It had to be transferred to something, and then that something destroyed, less someone else find it.

Each crate had been delivered over night to it's location. Some crates had only one relic in it, others had maybe 2 or 3. They were delivered to the following organizations, some names were attached so they would be sure to find their place. Some, she wasn't sure who led them at the time, but she had seen their tabards around, and knew they still existed.

Ishnu Por Ah, RedEarth
Da Doctas, Oskor, delivered to the Mulgore Camps.
AAMS
Homeland
Wardens of Ysera, Dernes
Grim Maw Clan, Abominus
Razortalons, Raoul


And she did not stop there, it would be racist to not deliver some to the Alliance as well, of course. She had to do a bit of digging and investigating to find out which organizations were worth contacting in this situation. But thankfully, a little night elf squealed, and she was able to obtain numerous bits of information that assisted her in sending these to the correct places.

Lluchduu Ocheliad, Imperon
Feathers of Iron
Pia Presidium, Gentyl
AAMS Alliance Branch
Pillar of Honor


She also sent a box to the pond near Thunder Bluff, the Valley of Honor in Orgrimmar, to the Apothecary in Undercity, to Murder Row in Silvermoon City. She sent a box to the Blue Recluse in Stormwind City, to the Commons in Ironforge, to the Temple of the Moon in Darnassus, and to the Vault of Lights in Exodar. These boxes had upwards of 5-7 relics each.

None of the boxes had any sign where they were sent from, and nothing outwardly placed them as irregular deliveries.


Now it was just time to sit back, and watch it all play out. Life was fun.

(( Just to clarify, this will not kill instantly, unless you wish it so. I was thinking it'd take weeks for someone to actually die from this. It's a slow curse, more so in making someone live in pain then outright kill instantly. :-) ))

Just my opinion of course, but I doubt this will appeal to very many people. Seems too much like God-modding

05/09/2011 12:22 PMPosted by Jaszmin

Just my opinion of course, but I doubt this will appeal to very many people. Seems too much like God-modding

((Although I see your point, she put a very clear "hey look, pick your own ending" possibility in the post.

She had created it, so that hopefully no one would notice the curse until the effects began, and by that time it was slightly hard to remove it. It had to be transferred to something, and then that something destroyed, less someone else find it.

It would just need the correct type of person to pick up a relic. Someone overly curious and not too cautious.))

(( yeah. I even said people can participate in this as much (or as little), as they want. They can have whatever effects they want happen to their characters, it's completely up to them. I'm not saying "Oh, you touched it? YOU ARE DEAD, bwahahaha." I listed what -could- happen, and in Maya's "testings" what happened the most (drained life over a long time). I even said it's removable (like most curses are.). I honestly don't see where the godmoding is taking place. ))

The Maggot Lord was insanely busy these days, skittering to and for, into the earth and under it, scuttling and wriggling as the mood takes him. His business affairs in the ever expanding Hello Maggy line of products is proceeding nicely, and he had to hire several gobbo-thing assistants to just go through the mail and sort things. Invariably, this lead to "lost" items, but his maggot riddled mind took that occurrence with a grain of sugar.

As one evening came upon him suddenly and without proper warning, a series of gratifying screec hing came from the foyer where the green creatures had set up their desks, followed by the thumps of bodies hitting the floor. Normally, this would not entail note in the Maggot Lord's perception of the world, skewed as it was by the hundreds of Maggots of Orocular Horror and Eye Bleeding Pain he utilized as eyes, but the ominous silence of the incessant chatter the little greenish walking meat-things usually made managed to penetrate his consciousness. He walked to the door of his lab and wrenched it open after disengaging the nu,merous failsafes that his guild had required he install.

"What isss thisss lack of noissse, yesss?", he screeched into the now silent room. No answer came from the corpses scattered about the office, their bodies bloated and ruptured like a dead gnome left too long in the larder. The Maggot Lord looked about, finally finding an empty crate, with packaging material strewn about it, and a dead gobbo clutching what looked like a small silver cylinder engraved with strange symbols and glowing slightly green.

"Hmm, yesss. We wonder who penetrated our sssecurity protocolsss thisss time, yesss. I thought the latessst RAS measssuresss would sssuffice, but it ssseemsss that I am wrong, yesss." He stooped over the dead gobbo, sniffing at the corpse, a line of drool distended from his tongue, a lone maggot clinging to it desperately. "Get in there and sssee what isss to be eaten, yesss!"

Dejectedly, the maggot donned a miner's helmet and pick, and dropped to the corpse, winnowing into his flesh. As this happened, Grim Maw guards came to investigate the scene, but Abominus shooed them away. "We will clean thisss, yesss. And pleassse put up another possster advertisssing our need for office workersss, yesss?" The guards nodded and hurriedly left.

The Maggot Lord's eyesockets were drawn to the cylinder. "What, in the name of The Black Breassstsss of Sssylvanusss, isss thisss we wonder, yesss?" He reached down to pick it up, but a warning churple from the Explorator Maggot caused a small swarm of Guardian Maggots to cover his claws just as he touched it. A glow covered then maggots, who shrieked in terror and pain and dove into the Maggot Lord's flesh. He shuddered and stepped back, convulsing as agony speared his body, following the trail of the maggots.

Collapsing to the floor, he feebly raised a hand towards the door, then blacked out.

Wallen hurried through the corridors of Undercity, heading for the Apothecary. As he passed one of the mailboxes he noticed an orc guard nosing around in a crate. For some reason Wally stopped and out of sheer curiosity asked the guard what was in the crate,

"Bunch of old junk, not sure where it came from, it looked suspicious so I opened it to make sure there was no secret research going on." The orc picked up an elegant but dusty bottle.

As soon as Wallen got close he felt his senses tingling with danger, in total fascination he watched the guard start to turn pale. "Uh...I don't think..." he began, but it was too late as the hapless guard fell unconcious to the floor. Wally looked around to see if anyone else saw him and quickly got close enough to examine the bottle, without touching it of course. The felguard stood near him with his usual snide comment. "You too will meet the same fate"

Wally laughed, "Not likely...you pick it up...I want to see what happens.." the felguard growled and did as he was commanded. The warlock watched closely to see if anything happened to the Felguard, but nothing did.

With a mumbled spell, Wally cast a decurse at the bottle and was satisfied it was safe. He placed the bottle in his pack and hurried away, the felguard mumbling behind him. As they went out of sight the poor orc guard breathed his last.

The troll courrier picked up his pace as he headed for what he presumed was the package's destination within Murder Row, glancing briefly over his shoulder. It had been a long journey from the Argent hub and the journey was nearing its end, but this last mile to the supposed recipient had a bad reputation, especially for visitors. All through the city the elves had looked on him as if he was tracking dirt in, or had come to steal things rather than make a simple delivery.

The courrier shuddered, adjusted the load on his shoulder, and thought to himself how glad he would be when this job was finished. With the gold from this run he catch a bat to the Undercity, pay for a Zeppelin ticket and be back in Orgrimmar after more months than he cared to count. He'd finally fix the leaky roof in his goblin-slum hut, take his girl somewhere nicer than the Wyvern's Tail for a change and pay off that loan shark goblin well before things had a chance to get ugly and still have enough left over to kick around for a few weeks before having to take another gig.

Lost in this reverie, our troll friend never saw his assailant, never felt the bite of the blade, and never finished his delivery. They found his body the next day hanging from a signpost in Murder Row, the words "Silvermoon for the Sin'Dorei" written in exquisite penmanship (and also troll blood) upon his face and limbs.

The box had broken in the attack. The Death Knight Kiloaeda had been surprised to find such a wealth of Tol'Vir trinkets among the box's contents. He quickly and carefully transferred them to an empty sack. He had examined the shattered remains of the box, but could not find anything on the bill of lading to identify whom had sent the box or to whom the box was to be delivered prior to its unscheduled reroute. This was fine because with nobody to expect the merchandise, there would be nobody to miss it. Just in case, Kiloaeda resolved to stash the trinkets in a secure location for a while and listen for a while to make certain nobody was asking questions about the crate or its contents. He needed somewhere safe, somewhere out of sight, somewhere that didn't tie back to him in case questions did arise. And the solution was clear.

The next morning, a goblin loaded a sack containing the contents of the box minus one trinket into the Nephilim guild vault, to be locked in the 'miscelaneous junk' section. The anonymous depositor had left a small stack of gold coins and a note indicating where the items were to be deposited and a post script saying that no record needed to be made of the deposit, or the extra 10 coins in the stack.

Kiloaeda hadn't previously seen a Tol'Vir artifact like the one he had kept for himself. He had dug in the area dozens of times and nobody knew an exact inventory of what anyone found. He could pass this one off as one of his own discoveries with ease if need be. He held the artifact up to the light to take a better look. He thought he could see a map within the swirling green cloudy surface, he peered closer and for a brief moment a pair of burning red eyes stared back at him, accompanied by a shrill noise heard only in his head and the shattering of the artifact into a haze of glowing green dust. Kiloaeda immediately put up an anti-magic shell, but had already inhaled the smallest portion of the dust. He sprang back from where he had been sitting, coughing and fanning at the air with a plated hand.

Something was wrong. The world around him felt half-melted, like wet ink on a page. He reached out and the air in front of him rippled as though he had touched a pool of water. As the ripples cleared, he found the streets of Silvermoon had been washed away and replaced with a jungle. It took a moment before he recognized it as Stranglethorn.

One week later in the underbelly of Dalaran, Kiloaeda faced off against one of the city's less reputable arcanists, a human with a pockmarked face and greasy straggly hair.  He had paid a hefty fee for the mage's time and didn't at all feel like he was getting his money's worth.

Kiloaeda glared at the mage.  "Can you fix this or not?"

The mage waved a hand. "Fix it?  No, but I can keep the spell going.  Just 5 more gold and 5 more per shot thereafter will keep you from getting dragged through the nether at random by this curse or whatever it is.  Got it from an artifact you say?  Tol'Vir, wasn't it?  I'm surprised you managed to make it here.  I've never seen anything like this.  No, I suspect it will take a year or more of research, with me giving you another shot of the stabilizing spell every three days or so.  I'll have to hire some research assistants and they'll have to acquire some test subjects, see if we can replicate what's happening to you on them and try some... drastic approaches to see if they're survivable before we come up with just the right thing.  All of this will take gold though.  You have gold, right?"

Kiloaeda's glare chilled another degree  "Some."

The mage smiled like a cat with a mouse.  "It will take more than 'some'. Look friend, you've become untethered from reality.  We don't keep you tied down, we let you zip around from place to place, you may think that's fun, but eventually" the mage interrupted himself with a loud clap. "And then you're lost for good, gods know where in the twisting nether.  Now I'm a good sort.  I get you're in a predicament.  I'm willing to help you out, but it's going to take time and money.  You give me 5000 to get started and we'll make that all-inclusive.  You get your treatments, I keep you hidden down here so the guards don't catch you and throw you out of the city for bringing some dangerous Tol'Vir curse into the city without a permit, and I'll hire us some research assistants and who knows?  Two years from now I might just give you a credit in the paper I'm going to write on this curse and its deconstructive process."

Kiloaeda wandered closer to the edge of the pipe the two were standing in. It had been shorn when Dalaran was moved from its original location and now looked out over the Crystalsong Forest from a long, long way up.  He could feel the effects of the treatment waning.  He appeared to consider this proposition for a moment before extending a hand to the mage.  The mage reached for it.  "You've made the right..."  His sentence was cut off as Kiloaeda tightened his grip on the Mage's arm.  An arcane torrent flared from the elf, overwhelming the mage's mind for a moment.  When his senses cleared, the mage found himself and the elf falling toward the forest below.

"I've considered your offer and I think I'll try one more resource before consulting one of your kind again."

The mage fumbled for a light feather in his belt pouch.  "You..." he began, but Kiloaeda waved a hand, and his voice cut off in a strangled gurgle.

"Please, I simply won't be persuaded.  Thank you for all you've done.  You've been extremely helpful."  He could feel the world melting away again.  The curse would kill him eventually if not cured, but for the moment it had some amusing advantages.  "But I simply must go now."  And in a blurring of the air, he vanished.

A world away on Draenor, Kiloaeda splashed down into the muck of Zangarmarsh.
A world away in Northrend, the mage landed with a splash of his own in Cyrstalsong.

She peered quietly at the box sitting in Undercity. Her guard senses tingled, she hit the box once with one of her axes, no sound. At least it didn't -seem- to be anything living... The Orcs simply stared at her, she stared back. "You know, this seems to be something you should be doing. Being a -guard- and all. Inspecting odd crap." The orc simply sneered at her and then turned his gaze away. She mumbled a few odd curses in Gutterspeak before slipping the top of the crate off.

There were quite a few pieces of artifacts. She gazed at them. "Some stupid adventurer just left his findings in the middle of the Undercity... Fantastic..." She was about to close the lid, when one of the artifacts grabbed her eye. It was a small, delicate silver cat statue, with jade eyes. It reminded her of the cat she had when she had been alive... What was it's name... Tibby! Tibby, that's it. She grabbed the statue, eyes opening wide as she felt the magic tingle against the bones in her hand. She slid the statue out, pocketing the trinket in a pouch before closing the crate. "Orc, think you can handle getting this delivered to an Archaelogist of some type within the City?" The orc merely shrugged, Cjarsa simply turned and walked away.... it was just a box of trinkets anyways... nothing that could harm anyone...

An odd box addressed to her? Sitting in front of the lodge with no markings or sense where it came from? Brother Mishkwaki commented there was another such box sitting by the pond on the rise below, unattended. It had no one specifically addressed to.

There was a very bad history of such boxes of unknown origin. The poisoned grains used most consistantly by the forces of the Scourge to name one such example.

"Tie a rope to them so you can drag them without touching them, set them on fire and dump them over the cliff. We'll have no dealing with these."

The little forsaken hummed to herself as Jakrot and Smudge the kitten ran along at her feet. They made their way into Dernes office and her humming came to a stop as her eyes took in the mountains of mail and paperwork.

“He really doesn’t pay me enough for this,” Evisena sighed and moved towards the table. Clapping her hands she called her voidwalker forward, “Thok, be a dear and move the packages to that corner.” She turned to the succubus, “And you, start sorting out the envelopes and stacking them by size. Keep careful note and set aside any with return addresses belonging to those..known..to the Warden family.”

She clapped her hands once more sending the demons scurrying about, “Make haste. We don’t want to be at this all day. You all have seen the state of the library!” She flounced out her skirts and settled into Dernes chair, trying to sit as proper as a young lady should despite looking like a child sitting in a giant’s chair, she drew forth the first envelope and rolled her eyes at the dating advertisements.

“I highly doubt our Mister Dernes needs help in that department, there is always some simpering Tauren hovering about him,” she picked up the next advertisement and cackled with glee, “Now this one, yes this we shall keep for him.” She set the pamphlet for “Proper dating etiquette: How to get past the first date “ aside.

A small knock distracted her attention and she turned to see a young orc standing in the doorway, with an imp chattering about most inappropriately. "I... excuse me... Miss...Ah! Lady Evisena." She spoke in a soft voice, shy but with a determination in her eyes.

Evisena smoothed her dress back in place as she turned to face the young warlock. "Miss Sanka ProudHorn I presume."

Sanka nodded, "Dernes said I could come visit..."

"He unfortunately is not in at the moment." She said dryly as she glanced at the pile of letters.

"Oh..." Her shoulders slumped visibly and she stared at her feet for a moment before looking up again, "...can I help you?" Barely the words out of her mouth that she became flustered, wringing her hands as she mumbled about always telling Dernes to work, and helping him when she could.

Evisena considered her a moment before nodding and motioning to an untouched pile of mail. "You can start with those."

Sanka smiled brightly and thanked her profusely as they all went back to work. Even the imp seemed to help, though his assistance was mostly in giving colorful commentaries on each item of mail picked up.

“My lady,” the voidwalker suddenly moved to Evisena's side and held out a small package at arm’s length, “Important.”

She took the package and eyed it critically, “But, Thok there is nothing about this screaming importance. It but has Dernes name on it.”

“I serve,” was the only response from the voidwalker as he went back to his task of shuffling boxes into the corner.

Evi unwrapped the package and folded the paper neatly before setting it aside. She took note of the box and made simple notes in her ledger describing the box and the paper it was wrapped in. A small snippet was taken of the writing on the paper and added it to her notebook. Next she opened the lid revealing the depth of the box. She frowned slightly, something was nagging at her, but unable to put a finger on it she reached for the small carved figurine.

“Now what could be of importance about this, Mister Dernes has tons of knickknacks from all his travels.”

But before she could even touch it, Sanka's imp jumped in her lap and snatched the box, chattering in an excited but angry tone before carrying the box to Sanka. "Mistress! Shiney! For you. For you!" He all but shoved the box into the young orc's hands.

Sanka frowned at that and apologized to Evisena briefly before peering into the box. She drew the object into her hand, feeling the silky texture of polished stone and trying to understand why the imp was so adamant she took it.

Just as Sanka drew it into her hand Beaureguard, the cursed floating skull, popped into existence with a shouted, “NO! Evi! No!”

Evisena turned, her eyes going wide with surprise, “my dearest Beau..”

And then she heard a soft cry and turned just in time to see Sanka slip into unconsciousness, the small figurine cradled in her lap as the imp cackled.

The Maggot Lord looked worse than usual, or Andelia thought he did -- it was hard to tell. The goblin bearers carrying his artifact also looked unhealthy, which was more revealing. She kept both herself and Courier Tohatsu well away from the litter.

"We can deliver it, Maggot Lord," she said politely. "But it's a rather unusual request. Please forgive me if I request an unusual payment in return?"

It really only took a moment or two of haggling. Andelia wasn't sure if the Maggot Lord were genuinely desperate or simply found her request humorous. Perhaps it was both. She left the Valley of Spirits with a floating platform, nudged along by animated brooms a safe distance from both couriers, already on her way to a meeting with Llejna of Da Doctas. The Maggot Lord left with a cargo of Explosive Sheep and a Temporary Courier Appointee tabard from the AAMS...

((Posted per Oskor's request: ))

Oskor squinted at the box, searching for a return address. When he failed to find one, he shook his head.

The last unmarked package he'd received had contained an orc's head, recently decapitated. The AAMS hadn't ever managed to come clean about who had sent it.

Now, a similar package, and so soon after the bombing. He didn't plan on taking any chances.

He grinned to himself. He knew just where to put it.

---

A few hours later, he returned to the temporary campus the Doctas had set up in Mulgore. Carefully wiping his boots in the grass, to prevent tracking tar behind him, he jotted a short note and pinned it to the board.

"All incoming mail should be labeled with a legible return address. Any unmarked or suspicious packages will be disposed of."

Arjah sat cross-legged on a wobbly table, chin in hand, one elbow planted on her knee. The soft lap of Lake Lordamere's waves against hard stone was the only sound that bothered her concentration; since having children she had learned to go to very out of the way places for real work. The ruined keep at Caer Darrow did just fine, so long as you knew how to shield yourself from the tainted energies the Scholomance used beneath it.


A small green bottle floated in the air a foot or so from Arjah's nose. It had taken a bit of digging to find it at the longhouse -- her Homeland was many things, but tidy was not one of them. The unopened box containing it had been buried beneath someone's cloak, two spare pillows, and what Arjah was fairly certain was a shipment of shiny boots (one gross) for the AAMS that had gone astray a few years back.


She resisted the urge to reach out and tap the bottle a few inches sideways into one of the pretty columns of sunlight that filtered through the broken roof. More than one ward hung unseen in the air around the hovering flask. Rearranging them would be more time and effort.


A single line of sweat ran down from Arjah's crown of braids as she stared, unmoving, watching the bottle turn in front of her yellow eyes. The curse was more complicated than Raoul had made it sound. But she had seen him take it apart one way, and Arjah had an instinct for obscure arcane puzzles.


Good magic, Arjah had assured her classes at both Da Doctas and Alterac University, was rarely dramatic. Unseen lines of force shifted and changed like a cat's cradle as she picked the strands of power woven into the bottle loose one by one. Nearly all of them were useless, in any diagnostic or curative sense. It was slow, boring work that was unlikely to end in anything more climactic than a headache and a better understanding of the strange curse.


Arjah liked understanding things. And she was always interested to see what new weapon a fellow craftsman had created with the natural powers of the world. As the sun began to set over Caer Darrow, the troll stayed where she was, seeing with more than just her golden eyes.


She had six children in her household. Being patient was nothing anymore.

"Ach! Wuts this then?!?! A greet 'uge honkin *HIC* box'o'mugs! An' not a one've thems filled! 'Tis a shame, 'tis, it'tis..poor wee mugs, not a bit of beer in them...."

Conklin had been in Ironforge not an hour yet, and was already drunker than he'd ever been in his life. The beer here, oh Spirits of Cup and Cask, THE BEER! And to think that they just left boxes of empty mugs laying around for anyone to use! EMPTIES no less!

"Och, mah poor wee ones, *urp* dinnae ye worry yer empty little heads, old Brother Conklin'll see to'it ye're taken to the right home, aye..."

The staggering dwarf grabbed up the whole case of mugs and wandering blearily to what he assumed was the nearest tavern. This tragedy would be, nay, MUST be tended to. Empty cups in Ironforge? the very thought of such abuse filled Conklin's stout heart with sorrow.

"Innkeeper1 I've got a 'ORIBLE CRISIS *HIC* 'ERE! Someone's left a whole box of these flagons out in the coomons, and they're EMPTY! Aye! 'Tis true! Dry as a Frostmane's heart they are! Ye'll not turn me away from me mission willya sirt? Here's good gold, fill these noble vessels with good stout Ironforge soul my friend, and quickly!"

And with that, the inebriated Dwarf pitched forward face first, into the pool of the mystics.....

*SPLASH*

Armaya had heard things, over the stone mostly. She knew Abominus had been affected, as well as someone from the Doctas. She had been slightly disappointed Abominus of all people had been affected. She actually did like the warrior, whether he was crazy or not. And she was sure he was. The Doctas person had gotten the attention of Raoul. That she had noted for later. She remembered the magus, remembered him well. If there had been any more afflictions, she did not know of them, as the stone had been silent lately about said artifacts.


She sat carefully atop a drake above Orgrimmar, watching the crowds dwindle as night crept upon the city. She pat her drake gently, whispered a soft word in Thalassian, and it took to the sky, the duo disappearing into the night.


[[ Please, do not take this as an end to this story. :-) I am enjoying reading people's posts and seeing the RP take place in game. ]]

Cjarsa had been recuperating at the Campus after Raoul had assisted in removing whatever the fel it was that had attached itself to her and basically drained her of all energy and almost had killed her. She felt much better now. It was time to go back to her duties and jobs, both at Campus and off.

She gently pet the small windrider cub that chirped to her. "I'll find him. I know. Shh. I'll get ahold of him sometime..."

It chirped again, Cjarsa sighed wistfully. "I do want to see him. I haven't seen him in weeks. I miss him!"

Again it chirped, bumping it's head into her leg. "Well darn it all Lily what am I supposed to do?!?! Go off on a romantic search for him? I'm sure he's with Row... or that other girlfriend... One of the two... 'less he found another one while I was gone.. or... maybe...." She stopped talking, her face scrunching up into a thoughtful look. The windrider stared up at her for a moment before biting her, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to pull her out of her day dream. "Hey! Stop that. Not nice, not at all. Less you were Ra. Ra can bite me." She giggled like a school girl, tugging her legs into her chest. "I'll go look for him later. I promise." The windrider cub simply chirped and ran off, leaving Cjarsa in her thoughts.

((Y'know, we'd briefly discussed this in Pia when it was first posted and then we never did anything..... so here goes!))

Cray stared at the box, long and hard.

It had, apparently, arrived some time ago -- judging by the layer of dust that covered it. And it had simply sat in the office, untouched, unnoticed, while the Pia Presidium dealt with their crisis of Faithe.

There was something wrong about the crate. A simple wooden crate should not be so foreboding. Cautiously, Cray stepped over to it, examining it more closely. There was a paper attached, addressing the package to Gentyl. It clearly had not gone through the AAMS or there was no way it would have simply been left here.

Cray knelt to lift up the paper, in case it contained any other clues. As he did the sense of foreboding heightened, he could sense the darkness from inside. It was overwhelming. He stumbled away.

"Who is trying to curse you now, Sepha?" Cray gasped, "And are there more of these?"

"Y'know, I'm beginnin' ta feel very slighted."

Arjah stared down at the table in front of her. A pair of items sat neatly side by side, both old and dusty and a little bit chipped or cracked. Tol'vir work, or something like it, but clearly not the best specimens.

"You got two a'dem. Homeland only got one, I tink, unless dere's more hidden in de mailroom dat I didn' see. Speakin' a'which, did you evah mislay a shipment a'boots?"

The elf next to her blinked once, her expression serene as ever, and shrugged very slightly.

"I expect it was one for each Branch Office, Madam Arjah," Andelia replied politely. "And I can certainly check our records regarding the boots. Is it an old tol'vir curse, do you think?"

"Nah." Arjah shook her head. "I took apart Homeland's. Didn' get as much as I'd hoped outta it, but someone made it recen' enough. Still got ta put ma head tagetha wit' Raoul an' see wha' he tinks." She pretended not to notice the faint flicker of amusement on Andelia's face; the girl wasn't nearly as reserved as she thought she was, sometimes. Arjah quite suspected her of having a harmless little crush on the Forsaken mage, or whatever pious elves had instead. "Ya staff been careful wit' dem?"

Andelia looked faintly wounded. "We have an entire vault for hazardous material storage, Madam Arjah," she said quietly. "You should see some of the things Lord Abominus tries to ship through us. But I'll leave them in your hands. We'll pursue our own inquiries. Deliveries that the AAMS can't track back one way or another would be...interesting to observe."

The elf's eyes glittered for a moment, and Arjah paused to admire an obsessive at work. She sometimes forgot how gods-be-damned insane the girl was under the polite veneer.

"Well," she said cheerfully, "carry on, den. I'll let ya know if I hear 'bout any more, eh?"

"Most certainly." Andelia inclined her head politely. "And, ah, do keep an eye on your Homeland? I do hear the occasional reports of, ah, erratic behavior, begging your pardon." She quailed slightly as Arjah glared, and spread her hands apologetically. "Much better, after all, ma'am, if it were a curse rather than, er, wild spirits, yes?"

Arjah let her hard look linger a moment longer. "Much," she agreed at last. "Though one hears interestin' tings 'bout de AAMS lately, too. So good ta have friends who can watch one anotha's organizations for dese tings."

The two women stared at each other for a long, hard moment. Then they both nodded politely, gathered their things, and went about their work, each one just a little more determined than before to unravel the mystery of the cursed artifacts...