Quest Manipulation (Minerva Agatha Zipporah)

[Arcane]

Day 90, Summer of 512 AV Early Evening A hooded figure scurried about the streets of Zeltiva, in his gnarled hands a badly scrawled map. "Troublesome, troublesome, troublesome," He muttered as he walked, the cowled shape moving silently in a bid to find a specific cottage. He continued muttering to himself, and to observant onlookers it might seem as if he was in an argument with himself, or that he simply liked to think aloud. Finally finding the house he sought, he tried raising his body to its full level, succeeding for several moments before hunching again with a whooping cough. He mumbled some more, as if to scold himself, and feebly raised whitened knuckles to knock at the door. The house of up-and-coming Animator, Miss Zipporah, Trident Champion of Zeltiva. Oh yes, she had quite the reputation in these parts.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Minerva sat at her table, scattered drawings and schematic laying haphazardly all over the place. She was wearing Eyes, her Automated Vision Enhancing Apparatus, strapped around her forehead on a leather belt worn like a headband. The wooden frame in the front held her spectacles over her eyes, the other six multi-socketed little arms fanning out from her forehead like wooden spider's legs. Two held glass magnification lenses, leveled before her eyes to magnify what she was working on; two had little wooden clips on the end, one holding a sheet of paper lined with columns of numbers, the other holding her quill to keep it out of the way; the last two ended in little round holes, one with the handle of a miniature gadgeteering screwdriver threaded through it, the other a pair of tweezers. Handy was sitting on the table, holding up a book for her. She was supposed to be working on the designs for Seven's telescope. But even with Eyes's lenses, she couldn't even see the pages before her. Her gaze was distant. Unfocused. She was sitting still as a rock, and had been for the last hour. Just staring. Her mind was blank. She felt empty. Lost. Alone. The knock at the door jarred her, the sudden sound shattering the agonizing silence. She turned, vaguely wondering who could be there. She held her arm out to Handy, and he obediently put down the book and strapped his leather tail around her wrist, the second wooden hand hanging right next to her own. Her flesh hand drew a dagger, the other pulling Grippy from his holster. She got up and walked to the door, opening it to peer outside. She looked right past the stranger as if he weren't even there, glancing down the street to the left, then the right. There was nobody important out here. Lacking any familiar sights, she finally looked up at the stranger. The spectacles adjusted their position on her nose automatically, the two magnifying lenses aligning each other over her right eye, shifting their position back and forth to seek focus. She peered at the stranger, not remotely trying to conceal either the dagger or Grippy in her hands, though keeping them lowered nonthreateningly. Not at all patient enough to deal with a stranger today, she snapped in a voice that was dulled of all emotion, "Wotcher, Guv?"

[Arcane]

The door opened, and the hooded man found himself staring at a fatigued young woman, her face devoid of emotions. Or perhaps, dulled by too much emotion. Either way, he made a mental note regarding her condition, muttering to himself more before he silently hushed himself. "Ahh... Miss Zipporah, yes? Your efforts in rebuilding Zeltiva have not gone unnoticed, and your expertise in Animation and various Construction-related skills is rather famous around these parts," He began, before breaking into a wheezing cough as he tried to regain his composure. "There is... something urgent that we require your expertise in, so would you kindly come with me? I guarantee that you'll be well rewarded for your participation."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock's eyes narrowed, and Eyes adjusted his lenses once more, as she studied the man. He knew her name. Far too many people seemed to know her name lately. She blamed stampy guy, for putting her real name on her government paperwork for her statue. Now her name was getting spread around the city, and for some reason, it seemed like a LOT of people knew who she was. It was starting to give her some paranoia regarding her privacy... Which was just one more thing to add to the weight on her heart and the sickness in her stomach over the last week... She focused on his chest when he started coughing, jumping to her own conclusions about what he wanted her to build. "Ya need some new lungs, Guv?" she asked. She idly wondered where she'd stuck her unfinished blueprints for the leather-bellows lungs she was designing for Monty. "'Ave ta measure yer chest up good... an' getcha ta blow inna leather bag ta check lung capacity..." She'd probably need a cadaver to experiment on before she could make the final product. Plenty of those available at the infirmary lately, though, what with the recent outbreaks of disease. She focused on his eyes again at the mention of 'reward.' She certainly needed the money... though after the troubles she'd had this week, the physical soreness she was in, she wasn't ready to jump out the door without details. There was a bruise on her chin from where Andre'd struck her, along with a bite mark, and some.... less obvious soreness between her legs that made her not want to go for a walk just then. "'Ow much reward?" she asked him dully. She didn't ask his name, because frankly, she didn't care who he was. He was either a client, an experiment, or if things went badly, spare parts. Only one of those three things needed a name, and she hadn't decided which he was yet...

[Arcane]

"L-Lungs?" The man sputtered, and his face blanked out for a moment as he considered Minerva's proposition. It did not take long for him to begin a whooping laugh, though it degenerated into yet another wheezing cough, and the result was one quite sinister cackle that completely misrepresented his intention. "No, Miss Zipporah. Not lungs, but something of your expertise definitely. We are rewarding, on a superficial front, a hundred gold-rimmed mizas for your assistance. Of course, there might be possibilities of greater rewards later on should we be pleased with your performance, but take this as a good guide for now. What say you?" As he said that, he withdrew a small pouch from his cloak, throwing it in the air and catching it to let her hear the clinking sounds from within, as well as to deduce the heaviness of the pouch from the sound of the impact with his palm. Keeping it again, he raised a brow as he gazed at the woman expectantly.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

At the words 'one hundred gold-rimmed mizas,' Tock's eyebrow rose. She couldn't certainly use the money. She'd been trying to save up enough to afford to build herself a proper workshop. One with her own furnace and forge. Plus a decent workbench, so she wasn't always working on her little table. And she could use a lathe, and a full set of molds, a decent tool rack, more tools, and... "Deal, mate," she said, her eyes, and Eyes' lenses, following the motion of the pouch as he tossed it. She tapped a finger against Eyes' side, and he raised the lenses and spectacles away, folding the little wooden arms up against Tock's forehead. She sheathed her dagger, holstered Grippy, and stepped back inside to grab her backpack and slip a few more tools into her belt and the loops on her vest. "Gimme an idea wotcher needs?" she asked the man over her shoulder. "Gots ta make sure I dun leave nothin' be'ind what might be sommat I need fer the job, aye?" She didn't know if she should bring Naily and Choppy along, or Diggy for that matter. It all depended on what type of job it was. Though she made sure to bring all of her hand tools no matter what; she never went anywhere without those. Once she had everything she needed (including anything the man might suggest was crucial), she stepped out and locked the door, then told the man, "Lead the way, Guv. Talk while we walk, aye? I think fast. If'n ya 'splain the job 'fore we git 'ere, mebbe what as I can figger out some stuff onna way, aye?"

[Arcane]

"What do we need?" The man muttered as his face twitched, mumbling once more to himself as he sought to recall important words from his memories. Brightening up, he added, "Oh right. Yes. Animation, I believe. Just bring whatever you require to perform this... Animation of yours." When Tock was done gathering whatever she wanted to bring along, he would then begin leading her out of the streets, though his shambling form was slower than the student and would require quite some patience on her part during the walk. For the most part of the journey he was silent, though his mouth continued moving silently as if he was humming to himself to pass the time. The hooded man lead Tock straight into the alleys, crossing the winding stretches of places in Zeltiva that housed the sickly and the poor, finally ending up in a portion in East Street. Beckoning the woman into a seedy and run-down looking establishment, he brushed past the few participants in there who did not even bother looking up when he entered. It was a gambling den of sorts that also had rooms to rent, and he took out his keys as he headed for the stairs. However, instead of heading up to where the rooms were usually situated he went down, taking out a key as he unlocked the the large wooden door. A musty smell of dust and grime hit Tock further (even more so than the general lack of hygiene in the area) when they entered. The basement was lit up vaguely with a candle or two here and there, flickering gently when they were hit by the wind that resulted from the opening of the door. Turning back to close and lock the door, he gestured for Tock to follow him as he brought her to the end of the basement, where a sickly and skeletal looking man lay on the bed, coughing further. "Is... she here?" The bedridden figure croaked, the voice hardly more than a whisper.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

She arched an eyebrow when he said it was an Animation job. He wanted her to make a golem? That could mean just about anything, depending on the type of construct in question. She made sure to gather all her portable tools, along with some chalk and one of the Glyphing books she had on loan from the library. Most of what she needed for an Animation was all in her mind and in her soul. Leaving behind the Automatons she couldn't easily carry, she followed the old man with Eyes strapped to her head, Grippy on her hip, Handy on her wrist, and Boxy tucked safely in the bottom of her backpack. She grew a bit impatient with how slow the old man moved, thinking maybe she should have strapped him into her magic crutches. She was about to ask him for some more details about this project he wanted her for, when she realized they'd stumbled into East Street. Now, Tock wasn't the least bit apprehensive about walking down East Street. Compared to the streets of Sunberth, she found the so-called street toughs here downright laughable. No one would dare try to pick her pocket. It was fairly well known what had happened to the last thief who'd crossed her path. And a pickpocket would have to run pretty fast to outrun Grippy's reach. Which was not to mention how the contraptions she wore tended to just make anyone who saw her cross to the other side of the street. This little bout of fame she was experiencing (which she was convinced was both useless and temporary, since people would soon have better things to talk about than her and her creations) not only made strange people like this old man somehow know her name, but it also sometimes made people clear a path when she came down the street. Though the fact that she sometimes had a walking axe following her might have had something to do with it... So she didn't pay much attention as they entered the gambling establishment, except for idly looking around and trying to remember if this was the one where she'd roughed up the owner. She followed into the basement without the least bit of nervousness, planting her hands on her hips and looking around. It wasn't until her eyes fell on the dying figure before her that she felt the first twisting in her stomach. Mommy loves you... Don't be afraid... She almost lost her lunch right there. The brief distraction granted by the old man was lost, as she found herself remembering Mikey's poor, frail little face... and then the other, false face part of his spirit had worn. ...before she chopped it to pieces and burned it in the woods... A full day hadn't even passed. The loss was too fresh. With a growl she turned on the old man and grabbed him by his shirt collar, yanking him in close and glaring at him with madness in her eyes. "What the petch ya want, old man?" she asked, her lips trembling, tears welling in her eyes. "Can't bloody save 'is bloke, so dun even ask!!" Her hands were shaking as she remembered her last attempt. The flickering spirit as Mikey faded away. The bloody corpses of the Svefra family she'd killed. She felt like she was about to throw up just at the possibility that this old man had brought her here in some attempt to reanimate the dead back into the living... She had tried that one already. Tried, and failed miserably.

[Arcane]

As Tock shook her employer, the hood fell, and the girl found herself looking into the alarmed eyes of a frail, pale man. He might have been in his late forties, but the general haggardness of his features and the unnaturally weary wrinkles about his visage made him look much older than that. As if in a weak attempt to push the girl off, he raised a trembling hand to ward the gadgeteer away. A single finger touched her above the elbow, and Tock gasped as if struck by a random spark of electricity. As more fingers wrapped around her upper arm, she felt her strength and life draining away forcefully, as if there was a pressure vacuum yanking her very soul from her body. Her grip weakened, the man cleared his throat as he used one hand to replace his hood, trying to recover his dignity as he gently pushed the Trident Champion away from him and released his soft grip. When he let go, Tock would feel life returning to her, though she would not be in the best shape. "Let us not resort to meaningless violence, shall we, Miss Zipporah?" He whispered, his voice courteous but dangerous like poisoned honey. "Me and my associate... are on the verge of... something important." "You do know of the current epidemic in Zeltiva, yes? We are not the... healthiest of people, and my associate was affected much more than me. Now, I cannot afford to let him go, for his expertise is much needed if we hope to complete this." Staring at Tock intently, he dropped his voice even further such that the bedridden figure would not be able to hear, "I know enough of Animation to know this: you can transfer souls can't you? I don't care how you do it, but I need you to transfer his soul - his consciousness - away from his dying body to something. Anything as long as his consciousness remains functional and accessible. I don't care if he dies in the process, just do what I want. Can you do that?" As he spoke he raised a single finger to his lips, his eyes glinting maliciously as if daring Tock to reveal his plans to his comrade.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock staggered back away from the man's touch, not understanding what was going on. She immediately knew magic was at work, since nothing mundane could explain this sensation. But whatever it was, she hadn't heard of it before. She didn't know what to do, or how to stop it. She stepped back and leaned against the wall, feeling drained. She glared at the man and one hand strayed to the dagger on her belt, though she was hesitant to draw it without better understanding what was going on here. She nearly stalked out of the room, right then and there. In her mind the magical assault had been completely unjustified. She was supposed to be here to do a job for this man! And it wasn't as if she had actually hurt him... Okay, she'd been thinking about hurting him. But that was hardly the same thing. She turned her gaze to the dying man. Briefly she wondered if what ailed him was the same thing that had taken Mikey from her. She was no doctor, but the symptoms certainly looked the same. Her heart clenched in her chest and she had to fight back tears. A cold burning glare was turned back on her 'employer,' and she hissed, "I can't take 'is soul. Dun know 'ow..." She had tried to do that exact thing with Mikey, but it hadn't worked. And while she could continue her research, it wasn't likely this man would live long enough for her to figure it out. "Best what I can does is copy 'is memories," she said in a harsh whisper, her eyes drifting to the ground. "Save a piece o' 'im. But it ain't does ya much good 'less..." she trailed off for a moment, remembering the poor, broken puppet of a boy she'd turned Mikey into, "...'less what 'e's copied inta can talk. It'd 'ave ta been a person..." She didn't yet know how to make a Golem that could talk. She had theories, but duplicating vocal chords was extremely advanced work. The only practical solution she could think of was Animating a dead body, and giving it the ability to talk. She'd failed to do that with Mikey. She had taught him some language, but when she was sculpting the new Astral Body into the corpse, she hadn't given it the ability to move more than its basic limbs. Though she realized now that she could, in theory, get the vocal chords working again, as long as she went about it the right way. She stepped a bit closer, staring the man down, her voice dangerously low. "Ya ain't git yer friend back," she hissed. "Ya git a broken toy, wit' some o' 'is memories. Maybe 'e can talk, but it been more like a parrot, mimickin' the sounds, spewin' 'is memories out through cold lips. Ain't gonna be 'im, bloke..." She didn't know if this man could understand that. She hadn't understood it, until her failed attempt with Mikey.