westwhere | the channeling

the channeling

THE CHANNELING

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WEALTH WHISPERS

Assignment: the Merchant fears that Matthias, alleged father of the undead Brotherhood, might be the ‘merchant’ who was due to receive dark water-infused grains by sea from the Hand. Chasing information, the Merchant routes party members towards the docks-side underworld district of Tibras, in the outskirts of Ephes. The Hand keeps grain warehouses nearby.

In Tibras, short and decayed houses are like parasitic growths toppling each other, plaster peels falling into rivulets of bloodshed. Tension thrives. Petrified, natives overwhelmingly number beggars, pleasure workers, crude bounty hunters and thieves, who look to cut throats or purse strings. Occasional bodies drift by the docks.

■ Just outside of Tibras is the abode of the merchants’ syndicate — a ring of warehouses, private clubs and houses of currency. Merchants here are protected via steep fees and travel freely. Inside the syndicate house, doorways are barred by inextinguishable living fire — which you can cross unharmed, if you rearrange the runes marked N, W, S, E on a nearby wall in a cardinal-point formation. You can also pretend to be a servant, a merchant or quality inspector to get to the Hand warehouses. Ask a clue.

Alternatively, the Merchant forewarns that a notable guest will join the syndicate for three nights: Captain Maximilian Hawk of the Dawn’s Reach Trade Company, which deals in magical artefacts. Hold him at knifepoint, seduce him, do your worst for knowledge!

■ By the entrance to Tibras is the shop of Apollonius, noted collector of supernatural artefacts and information broker. Crafty and sly, he will cooperate, in exchange for a pair of ‘eyes’ from the ghost Tykhe, who haunts the nearby anonymous burial grounds. Come midnight, Tykhe’s spirit — whose sight was gouged — appears and picks out and bewitches a pair of marbles, buttons or stones to act as her ‘eyes.’ With them in hand, she searches the graveyard for her dead sister, Cassandra. You can steal the orbs, or she’ll give them freely, if you escort her from tomb to tomb to reunite with the mute ghost of Cassandra. Return to Apollonius.

■ Deeper within Tibras is a gambling nest of sailors who were cursed by a scorned sea witch to assume the appearance of sea creatures. Led by the giant octopus Crassus, they charge protection fees from commercial merchant ships and even intimidate pirates, gleaning information from sailors and recovering drowned bodies. This illustrious group adores games of chance — as long as you can cover your losses.

You can decide or RNG how many tries it takes for your character to win — submit a finished thread to get a question! The higher the stakes, the better the information.

— a scantly informed junior goldfish throws dice. Lose, and you must share a highly embarrassing secret.

— a moderately informed catfish, offering Baccarat. Lose, and he steals your good luck for 24 hours.

— a composed, well-informed whale plays roulette. Lose, and you must share one of your most precious memories.

— a highly-knowledgeable shark, Aurelius Longus, plays a mean hand of poker. Lose, and he asks blood or a pledge to save his life one day.

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THE FLOORS

Senate leader Caius Justus exits his seclusion, ending weeks of prayer to convey the message of Ephes’ divine patron, the Chained God of chaos. And he says in a public speech:

Friends, Ephesians, countrymen…

”Friends, Ephesians, countrymen, lend me your ears. I come to speak for the Chained Father, not to praise him. The victory men reap lives after them; but cowardice is often buried with their bones. So let it be with Ephes. The noble Senate tells you, the Chained Father wishes only Ephes’ destruction. If it were so, it is a grievous fault, and grievously has the Father answered for it. Here, under leave of Messalina and the Senate – for Messalina is an honourable speaker; so they are all, all honourable speakers – come I to speak of the Chained Father’s wishes. He was my maker, faithful and just to us: but Messalina says, turn away from him. And Messalina is an honourable speaker. He has brought many territories under the heel of Ephes. In his name did the Hand rise: did this in the Chained Father seem unworthy? When now you weep asking empire, the Chained Father answers: tells you to be made of sterner stuff. Yet Messalina says the Father is unworthy. And Messalina is an honourable speaker. You all did see that I withdrew to his temple, where he spoke to me: Ephes, seize your path alone — was that unworthy? Yet Messalina says to turn away from him. And sure, Messalina is an honourable speak. I speak not to disprove what Messalina spoke, but here I am to speak what I do know: you are all children of Chaos, not without cause. What cause withholds you, then, to use the Hand yourselves? O, ambition! You have fled to brutish citadels. And men have lost their courage. Bear with me: my heart is in the temple, there with the Chained God, and I must pause and beg the Senate to vote against Messalina, til it comes back to me. ”

Returning to public life, Caius Justus advises the Senate to refuse Messalina’s proposal, but defers to a vote. Citing recent civil unrest, he imposes citadel-wide 10 p.m. curfews, bans congregations of more than eight people in the streets and sends the Hand to confiscate any visible weapons and to quiet or pre-empt unrest. Hand members — forced to present in large numbers — appear erratic, prone to violent outbursts and to taking out their anger on civilians. Hand leader Narula is excessively smug.

Newscasters are careful with their words, speeches decrying Messalina abound, and senators are‘escorted’ by Hand delegations, also for their protection. Caius Justus announces he will run again for Senate leadership — to begrudged murmurs among Senators, given his previous pledge to retire.

Assignment: lure Senators toward the position that the party supports. After Caius Justus’ return:

■ 51 Senators back Caius Justus to refuse Messalina’s proposal.

■ Maximus Faustus convinces 53 Senators to accept Messalina’s proposal

■ Caelius Silvanus persuades 47 Senators to vote to postpone a decision on Messalina’s proposal for another season.

Following the party’s previous interventions, Senators are open to considering Messalina’s cause. Many are skittish, fearing their careers or lives will end with disobeying Caius Justus. Optionally, party members previously assigned a political role might receive threats from Caius Justus’ supporters.

■ Persuade, bribe, threaten or blackmail a minor Senator to switch votes. Perhaps you can offer coin or rally supporters in the marketplace for their next election, or heal their donkey or get rid of that pesky boy mooning after their daughter. Or maybe prove their corruption streak, or place a polite knife at their throats. Hold the whole Senate floor hostage, if you want, of blockade Senators from entering the Senate on voting day!

■ Ask for a RNGed Senator if you want or submit threads of swaying votes. A final tally will be taken on 19 November

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INCENSE

Priests of the Chained God whisper that the god shows signs of awakening to trigger an apocalypse. Chained and warded twelve times to prevent the end of the world, the Chained God allegedly rests in the Halls of the Sleeper, in the underground belly of his main temple in Ephes. Above ground, the temple is silent, rife with milling priests, hummed prayers and cloying hallucinogenic incense that encourages lethargy. Access is unrestricted, but monitored.

To progress downstairs, you may need to convince guards that you are one of the groups of ferociously devout pilgrim worshippers, or a priest. Below, you feel overcome by creeping, paralysing dread.

■ You are haunted by sinister, saccharine voices murmuring intrusive thoughts only you hear, diminishing your worth and paranoically asking if your companion means you harm. You are more irritable and prone to violence.

■ The halls increasingly resemble narrow subterranean corridors with limited and overheated air reserves. You reach locked stone gates, covered in loose chains and crudely carved with the inscription, the Sleeper awakes. Instructions state the Chained God demands sacrifice and proof of chaos.

■ To enter the Sleeper’s Hall, instructions say, you must commit an act of betrayal, by: drawing your companion’s blood and smearing it over the inscription (lean into the corruption!), which prevents them from entering the halls with you; or chaining them to the door with the gate shackles, condemning them to watch as you enter; or pushing your companion away, verbally eviscerating or attacking them until they flee. With player approval, your character could get a sense of what theirs is emotionally or physically vulnerable to, then exploit it. Acts of betrayal cannot be faked.

■ The Sleeper’s Hall is narrow, nearly spherical and lit by thin rivers of flowing magma that cross cracked floors. Amid swelter, you hear the periodic gulps and quakes of stone trembling around you. The supernaturally sensitive feel the presence of great, if constrained power.

■ The black water previously associated with the undead also gushes from rifts in the ground. It has a cold, sinister aura.

■ Search the room for clues — and leave urgently, before corruption consumes you.

■ Towards the middle of the room is a large, nebulously shaped creature, fully fettered and covered in magical wards, chains and blood-painted runes. Anyone in the Chained God’s presence may feel overcome by emotional or physical agony, claustrophobia and bloodlust — but the divinity only speaks with the RNG winner.

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NOTES:

■ Some players have asked about potentially ~~stabbing~~ ousting Caius Justus and Narula in a coup — everyone can plot and participate in that, and a plotting post will go up on 16 November.

■ NPC inbox, if you need anyone!

■ QUESTIONS

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( A kid who is once more captivated by his stick, now using it as if a baton to try — and fail — to part the puddle's waters. Imagine, only, if he had a little boat. )

Uh-huh. Hurts him a lot. He has to... ( Is he whispering for horror, secrecy or glee? It's hard to tell. ) Cut them off himself. And he grows new ones for himself after. But they're not the same. They're like... uhhhh. Like...

( He waves the stick around for a moment, seemingly inspired. ) Like wooden legs! But not wood... ummmm... still. It hurts a lot to cut his real ones off. I hope he keeps having to. ( Muttered: ) My father died. And my friend knew. But he wouldn't tell me. So I hope he has to cut every last limb off. Every single one. I hope it hurts.

No. I. I can. Thank you. [She went into this knowing the penalty for losing, it wouldn't be right or fair to push the penalty onto someone else.

She takes a breath, fingertips tapping awkwardly against the edge of the table, trying to think of a precious memory that wouldn't be too terribly embarrassing to relate. The whale's expectant stare isn't helping. Something she's willing to share with a perfect stranger, and also with Lan Wangji...]

When I was. Young. A child. I. I was out in the forest, later than I was meant to be, and I fell and injured my leg. I was certain my parents would be angry with me, so I limped home and tried to clean it up. The injury. By myself. But my dad found me, and he cleaned my leg and bandaged it and promised not to tell my mother, so she wouldn't get angry and forbid me running about in the woods. [It's mundane, and there really isn't any more to it than that, but perhaps it's all the more precious for being mundane. And certainly all the more precious for how much she misses her mum and dad.]

( A little boat with only a puddle to play in. The puddle might not be enough. )

( America's eyes brighten to that. )

Wouldn't that weaken him? If you keep fracturing yourself over and over again. Even the duplicates that grow wouldn't be the same power.

( This was a chance, wasn't it? They just had to figure out how to hide the other things. Or kill them - she would prefer the easiest route, here. )

And there's no way we could kill the cut offs? How do we keep them captured? Like anything? Tie them down? We don't need anything special?

No, I. I have a letter.

[She holds up the letter with Narula's signature. It's a decent enough forgery, albeit not entirely foolproof.

Which, of course, has nothing to do with the fact that yes, she is nervous, and even she can tell that she rather looks it.]

[A frown crosses Elayne's face, only briefly, both at the tone her companion takes and the fact that there are whispers surrounding her that only she can hear.

She keeps walking.

They were so thrilled by your power, weren't they? They'll put the great serpent ring on your finger and then put you on the throne.

She doesn't allow her face to show any emotions, forcing herself to remain calm. Any reaction could be a giveaway; they're nearly through the entrance, but there are still priests and guards watching, people who might try to follow or stop them, who might recognize that they are not what they are pretending to be. All that matters in this moment is getting to where they're going, and she's not going to jeopardize that by doing anything foolish in response to the voices.

An Aes Sedai on the Lion Throne? You think your people will accept that? Even your mother has enemies. How can you trust anyone?

She glances at Wen Qing as they pass into the hallways leading downwards. Elayne hardly knows her at all, but that's no reason to assume she's an enemy.]

Shouldn't be much further to go. [At least here they're away from the prying eyes of the priests.]

[Elayne would have made at least an effort to talk her way past the guard before attacking him, but what's done is done. Given the urgency of the situation, there's less sense in being upset about what's happened than in worrying about what happens next. She can - and probably will - be upset about it later.

Quickly, she moves to take charge; it's what she's been raised to do, after all. She had a plan, an unexpected wrench has been thrown in, so now she must act to regain control of the situation. It doesn't even occur to her to do anything else.

The guard is unconscious - this stranger can certainly throw a punch. She doesn't recognize Nynaeve. Of course, she's heard the Aes Sedai buzzing with excitement over such a powerful channeler, heard Egwene's laments of losing herself in her friend's shadow, but she's never seen the woman herself.

Elayne grabs at the guard's shoulders, staggering under the weight.]

Help me move him. We can't have another guard stumbling across him.

[Elayne is ready with an excuse as to why she can't deviate from her path and this woman should seek another servant, but she turns to look before she speaks. And she's quite grateful that she did.

She manages to keep her expression under control, even as relief - even excitement - at seeing a familiar face washes over her.]

Of course, madam. [Subservience doesn't come easily or naturally to her, and the delay between her words and her curtsy is just long enough to betray how unpractised she is.] If you'll follow me.

[She begins to lead Moraine away from the guard, looking for a spot where they can speak in private.]

( He's never had the patience for binding. He's borne up under it, regardless; no choice behind the action, and when chosen, especially. Now he waits, and it is the turning of his intellect and curiosity toward anything but Lan Zhan's kiss at his knee, the fluttering of moth-like butterfly, his own fingers twitching, calling upon a finger flick seal of qi that sends his barrier breaking streaks of beautiful, twinkling red dashing forward. Not toward the room swallowing his husband, but oh he listens, he listens for anything so failing to think it might consume, listens as his eyes watch red surround the not-quite white, the cascade of them flying about the room, twitching the bound presence and its oppositioned twin into gurgles of awareness.

Nothing much more.

Nothing much won.

Everything, however, sliding toward the cliff's edge of loss. A battle waged, and he tugs at his bindings, tugs harder, bleeds without the consideration of the pain that accompanies it. Methodical, and oh, when he manages it, one freed hand, he lets his own lacerations drip down to fingertips, begins writing out his own escape in the sort of qi that sends the world around them thrumming with hunger, the paranoia reaching higher notes, dipping lower. Mine.

The second shackle falls, but the barrier he senses, the opposition of his self to whatever room continues to lurk behind him lessens not at all. One stronger bewitching, and this mockery of binding that he methodically breaks through, even as he starts to hum. Starts to whistle. Considers, idly, if he might sing. )

( The rounds flow like that, what, to the final declaration of cards, if neither of them folded first. When Wei Wuxian reveals his card, his hand isn't terrible — that's about the extent of it that might be said, but little more. He pouts in that moment, reaching for the shotglass and his own knife to meet the price; he doesn't even blink at whatever Jacob's hand is, nor the shark-man's, only aware that his ran lowest, like his luck enjoys dipping down deep. )

Another round!

( He says, cheerful seeming, measuring out his blood with a quiet gaze and the binding of his black ribbons around his wrists again after, a return to his usual robes, away from the form favoured in this place. )

Or whatever these are called, that's the fun of it, isn't it?

( Their card shark makes an approximation of a chuckle, the sound too breathy, before turning eyes on Jacob. If it had been a win or loss, regardless, he still asks: )

You want in?

"I'm sure you do," he says in turn, this time more easily amused, turning his face toward her. "Wanting to admit it has little to do with knowing, love."

Like so many things in his experience, and so many more that he avoids to stay away from the troubles that inevitably followed. His gaze trails back to the front, watching the last few supplicants before them. The one who'd just spoken with the guardians of this place weeps, turned away; the ones to step in after shudder as leaves in an autumn gale.

"Faith is what you make of it." What you don't make of it, too. "Faith in self, or faith in people making strange decisions, or faith in inns having some sort of stew ready for the serving. Worship doesn't need faith. It just needs motivation."

The worship of bodies and lovers, the worship of concepts above all else: the adoration of power. He grimaces as the feel of this place buffets at his lacking defenses, and he wish he were not so aware of his own magic-leaking nature, wondering belatedly if appetites below may find it appealing.

Surely not?

They always are.

( She grimaces, fingers twitching toward the end of her heavily braided hair. )

Before this world? No. Not as such.

( More practical realities, more physical horrors, Fades and the like were real enough. Ghosts didn't need to be. Had no place until this one, and here, they simply won't stop. Just... sad, most of them. The ones like this especially.

Nynaeve shakes her head, then shakes it again, to answer the question even while she stalks forward, a woman familiar with the hunt and considering its merits. )

Not yet. If she's here. Her eyes... that man should choke on his request, hasn't she suffered enough?

( Eyeless and seeking, endless night after night. Nynaeve can empathise with the unending need to find, to track down, to protect. Failing that, to at least try. )

( She's truly tired of dealing with ghosts, but the more practical one is about them, the more likely one gets done with their nonsense sooner. It's not always true: they're worse in some places than others, but the bodied dead have been the most troublesome, and also, no one's currently drugged and chasing down snake gods.

There's a scale of what level of ridiculous she's finding before her now, and it's acceptable. )

She doesn't leave the grounds. How fast can you run?

( There, the quirked eyebrows, the dry curl to her voice. If they can outrun her, she can't gut them. Simple, right? )

Or we can start by talking with her like sensible people.

( And adapt, however that then proceeds. There's no... blade, that she can hold to this. The One Power, the True Source, that which she's unhappily accepting has some relationship to herself, that might help, but in no way does she know the wielding of it, and so she discounts it entirely. Better to rely on what she does know, and if this young man helps, isn't that enough? Sensible steps taken in an insensible world.

Nynaeve doesn't have the stones, and leaves them with him, but she does take steps toward the ephemeral shape of the dead woman, calling out: )

Tykhe. Girl, what are you looking for out here like this?

( Sensible if she'd been living, only sensible now because the ghost startles and spins, losing aspects of herself that reform when her sightless face points more or less their way. She shimmers, moonlight on wind-touched water, and solidifies a touch. She doesn't breathe, and that more than anything sits as a sad weight in Nynaeve's stomach.

Still, the ghost responds, voice like winds curling through pipes, the rustling of leaves in autumn. )

A way. To see. My sister.

( Not a broken sentence: three individual driving needs. )

( she does not stop herself from grimacing: no, there's no joy in her heart to see moiraine, just as there's a stop before the anger that would have been full in force months ago. a little stop, but a stop nonetheless. how could you leave them, she doesn't say, because there's no choice in their abduction to this world of walking dead.

how could you play so careless with their lives is not, however, something she need refrain from asking. if she thought she'd get an answer, she'd bite it out now. )

Do we. ( a ghost with stones for eyes now, and how strange, because in no way are they held to the holes in her face. the ghost simply holds them in hand, and lifts them, soft glow around the rock misleadingly gentle in the night. ) You entertain the whims of the dead now?

( not that she fails to take steps, nodding briskly to the ghost like this were normal (and here it has been, but she doesn't like it, has no need to), practically next to the ghost who murmurs her needs, my sister, my sister, i must find her. )

Her name, Tykhe?

( the long pause, as if the words had no meaning, and the sigh that follows, aching: )

Cassandra.

( And so secure in the lack of knowledge of each other, Nynaeve also does little more than slant Elayne a narrow eyed look. )

We'll need to get the door open, first.

( Yet she doesn't stop herself from helping balance the deadweight of the guard, nor does she feel anything like regret about it, not really. Nynaeve carries regrets enough, but not for fools and bullies, and the guard was as much one as the other.

It's more a quirk of the odd building styles and their layout that makes this covered alleyway into the hallway it seems, but it also affords them a touch more time, as the door at the guard's back resists first simple attempts to open; Nynaeve grunts, taking on more of the guard's weight, jerking her head to the handle. )

Two hands, and a firm twist. No lock on this side, but it may be worth letting him through first.

( In case it's trapped. She doesn't seem pleased with her statement, more grimly determined, but she's seen enough here to know that granting them a little more time to act can save lives, and not only their own. Quite probably the guard's too. )

[ Spying, breaking and entering, stealthy games to break into places to gain knowledge: those are not Wen Qing's forte. But she did it once, in service to a much less noble cause. And Wen Qing is capable and— dare she say it— restless. [ read: bored ] There is knowledge needed, a mystery to solve.

And so, the night finds her sneaking around the merchant's syndicate, her footsteps quiet as she seeks a way into one of the houses. Distasteful work, subterfuge; there was a lack of subtlety to her discoveries in Cloud Recesses. But the ability to move silently quickly was learned at her uncle's knee, and it comes to great advantage here. She blends in, cloak pulled over her head, and manages to sneak inside with little concern. A breath of relief, exhaled a little too sharply, and she hears a rustle down the hall. Quickly jerking back into a shadowed corner, she encounters the last thing she expects: a warm body.

She jumps and gasps and doesn't fall backward but only because she grips Nami's arm, stumbling forward and nearly stepping on her toes. ]

Honestly, she prefers him when he's a big furry wolf and not talking to her about gags and fun with gags, and all that. She is going to focus on the task at hand: enter the temple, figure out the mysteries of the Chained God before not knowing threatens to undo them all.

"That's very profound," she murmurs under her breath, not letting her gaze drift towards him. She is trying to appear contrite and penitent, a pilgrim making her way inside a temple over here. Not a cynic, muttering under her breath and all.

The guardians come into view and clear their throats, guiding them both to direct their attention to the chained gates behind them. Prove you are worthy of entering. The Chained God demands sacrifice, and proof of chaos.

And since she and Licyn have reached the front of the line together, she looks to him now, a little flicker of panic crossing her eyes at the thought of sacrifice. Hermione Granger is not killing people for knowledge.

[She has full trust that her spell will keep them hidden enough from any guards below, but she still stands a good few steps away from the edge of the rooftop, because the truth is that she detests being up here. What if she falls? What if she slips and falls and can't Apparate herself to a solid surface immediately?

And then there's Jacob, moving easily along the tiles and fetching a rope from atop a crane, her eyebrows raising. Convenient.

She takes a step closer to the edge and reaches for him, with a mutter under her breath of:] I could've unlocked the door but okay.

[Clearly he knows what he's doing. She sucks in a breath, braces herself, and holds onto his shoulders.] Alright, let's - lets go.

[She stops in her stealthy creeping when he asks that question, her expression one akin to a gaping fish. Stunned by the logic, and by her own lack of it. There has been a bit too much improvising in her life recently, it seems.] Ah - yes. True.

[She points in the direction two of her motes disappeared in, and clears her throat.] We should change course, then? I can - I could Stun people, if we're discovered?

[She notices the pin first and foremost, and the fact that she doesn't know who this woman is. It is starting to become more common to meet new travellers while already immersed in fighting, or sleuthing. This will be the first time in a gambling den, however.

At least it isn't wizard's chess.] Oh - yes, that would make more sense. [She - the unknown lady - is trying to figure out how to cheat! Hermione sticks one hand inside her pocket to feel for her wand (it could be relatively easy, maybe, to spell the roulette to land on the right number, if it's going to miss by one - tops two). Just in case.

They do need information.]

Losers share a memory - wait, is this meant to be a memory you forget for losing, or are we talking about shared custody?

[She looks down at a perfectly respectable tunic and palla, and looks up at Natasha with a flash of confusion.] What's wrong with what I'm wearing?

A new match?

( he's never been one to be against a good fight but — )

With who? The goldfish? You wanna fight the goldfish? Or someone else? Because maybe we should just go have a drink.

[ Jacob has no fear of being seen- if he has to fight guards, he will do, but he'd rather she wasn't in the middle of it, just in case. After all, he doesn't know if she can fight, or how she can fight, with this "magic" as an unknown, he can't predict how it might go.

Which is another reason he doesn't want to go through the doors. Sure she can unlock doors, but then they have the patrols to deal with who are based around the doors, and he doesn't want to deal with that.

Just like she doesn't like to be on the roof. He can tell, even though she's really putting a brave face on it. But there's a stiffness to her limbs and a way her gaze goes to the edge of the roof, as if she's at risk of falling over it by standing still. But she's not spent most of her life up on rooftops. Apart from the whole witch aspect of her life, she's probably quite normal. Or maybe that is normal where she is from.

Either way, he tries not to make her worry more about the fact they're on a roof.]

That's the spirit. You're safe.

[He'll make sure of that. Once she's holding on, and he has an arm around her, he lets them slowly descend the ten or so feet down to the platform and then gestures to get against the wall by the opening in the wall meant for the barrels and bundles to pass through.]

Should be a pretty clear route through to the office, and hopefully that's where the evidence you need will be.

Me, no. With my luck, I'd lose everything I have.

( and he doesn't have that much to begin with so he's just going to keep his distance. )

I think I'd like to walk out of here with my shirt and everything else intact.

Who am I going to pillow talk with?

( is that maybe giving too much way about his personal life? perhaps. does he care? no. )

I sleep alone. I don't want to talk to myself.

[A quick glance confirms that there's no one else around to notice their escapades, or none that Elayne can see, anyway. Thank the Light for that, at least; the last thing she needs is someone running off to fetch more guards.

She shifts her weight, trying to balance the guard while also freeing up a hand to help with the door. Why did he have to be so large? Another quick glance over her shoulder, just to confirm that nobody is watching, and she closes her eyes for a moment in concentration. It's not too great a risk - she hasn't encountered anyone here who knows what channeling is, let alone who can see weaves. And this is just a simple weave, to help her balance the weight of the guard so she can place a hand on the door handle.]

On the count of three, we'll open it. I'll go through first. [It would hardly be right to shove a helpless, unconscious man through a potentially trapped doorway just because he was rude to her.]

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the channeling

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this is great!

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bravely running away

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\o/

i want to break free (wealth whispers)

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