A good scene! Valeska--well, it says so, exactly in the title. :) Posted via her own request.

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* The Blushing Rosalia *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

    The Blushing Rosalia is a small, fairly nondescript tavern with the requisite two stories--rooms on the top floor, a common room with a fireplace, kitchen, and a couple of small meeting rooms on the ground floor. Neither food nor accommodation is particularly spectacular, but the food is better than what's being served out in the camp and the straw mattresses are better than uneven ground.

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 Boshter         A hobgoblin. In robes. What is the world coming to?   1m   17m

 Rowena          A simply dressed young dwarven woman                  0s   2m

 Jenner          Sailor Mage! Also not fragile.                        21s  12m

 Valeska         A strawberry-haired aristocrat wearing elegant gown a 57s  32m

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Myrrish Camp <MC>        

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Rowena dresses in a simple, black cowl beneath the mist and near-rain. Her face is pinched thin and pale, and the dwarven woman stands barefooted as a rider jogs up to deliver a bundle or three. "Thank you," she says, on automatic, and throwing an eye towards the fire, begins to lug the object towards what's become a permanent makeshift desk.

Valeska was at a table in the tavern, with others keeping a wide berth from it. She was working on something, tweaking with a screwdriver at something no doubt borderline immoral. She has several books laid on the table about a wide variety of subjects, from miniaturized motor construction, small mammal anatomy, and necromancy. Wait, what?

"Ridiculous," comes the soft mutterings from a corner of the Rosalia. Fire crackles in reflection from some broken piece of brass as Jenner sits at the opposite side of the table from Valeska, as close to insanity as anyone dares to be. "You cannot tell me that for days of fighting, *this* insignificant piece of junk is the only thing the soldiers could recover before the Bludguni swept back in over the airship!"   

Sharp eyes narrow as he twists the object in his hand, black glower given a darker edge thanks to the flames. "I'll bet this is Sandiel's fault. She's keeping all the best pieces for her infernal hell machines!"

Rowena stops where she is--the face goes paler, if possible, then flushes, and the dwarf puts down the canister before marching over towards Valeska. It has the markings of a speech--the black robe is straightened with firm hands, the mouth turns down at the edges, though the voice that comes out is quite pleasant. "Miss, I find myself wondering why there's a book on necromancy among your studies." The look darkens when she sees Jenner there. "Hell machines?" this time the voice is pleasant, and the voice verges on arch. The small hands are most definitely on the hips.

"It is dinner time already! Oh boy!" Boshter is very excited about this. That's why he's here, of course, and making his way inside. He's covered, absolutely -covered-, in grime. Dirt. Poor Rowena.

Valeska looked up from a bit more tweaking, blinking a bit over to Jenner's mutterings and Rowena's commentary. "Oh. I was just studying some samples recovered from recent battles." she says. "It makes me wonder, with all the advances our antagonists are making, why we aren't advancing nearly as quickly in necromantic fields?" she hums.

Jenner thrusts an eyebrow up as he glances from the warped and skewed piece of brass tubing in his hands. "Because we hvae morals?" he suggests with a bit of rancor, tossing the brass object to the side, letting it skitter off the hearthstones back under the table. "And yes-- hell machines! Because nothing else that woman lays hands on could possibly be good!" He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms with a very cross look. "She turned Darshan into a newt. Or a lizard. Or something!" He champs down on the end of his unlit pipe, glaring harder at the rafters. "I had to find out about it months afterwards!"

"Necromancy is a forbidden school," firmly, as if there can be no question. The word of rotes, the speeches given by many an old, crooked wizard to the young, yet uncrooked wizard, the old, balding priests (like Agril), to the younger ones, and this young woman repeats the words of her elders with confidence and thoroughness, caught is Rowena in that same world between the old and the twisted, and the young and learning. "It's forbidden for--well, I suppose exactly that reason," and looking just like that, and somewhat concerned, but relieved, she settles down at the table and folds her hands atop it. And, "Boshter, go take a bath."

"What? I do not need a bath! Everyone else is dirty too! "Boshter seems a little offneded that he's being singled out by Rowena. Indeed, he's hardlu the only grimy person hereabouts. He sits down at a table, though, where he's given a ten foot bubble of personal space based on Hoblyness rather than smell.

"Boshter, I am sure there are horrid, creepy-crawly things all over that shirt of yours," sniff. Rowena half-turns to frown at the poor monk, and her face draws down with the gesture, the fingers whiten with firmness. "It has to be very dangerous, being dirty like that. I--" the eyes narrow suddenly, and the face pales. She stares fixedly at the monk's shoulder. A gurgling sound ensues.

"Forbidden for magical practitioners due to from what I understand, religious reasons. But I fail to see that barring employment through technological means." Valeska says, tilting her head. "In any case, studying it could provide more effective countermeasures to the creatures Kinnevack fields against us." she adds, continuing to tweak at... something in a metal box.

"The countermeasures are simple," Jenner firmly replies, bringing his gaze down towards Valeska. He leans onto his elbows, steepling fingers even as he *definitely* ignores whatever it is Boshter has on him! "You *burn it*," he says, with a fierce, straightforward savagery. "You burn it to ash and scatter the ashes before blasting whereever it last sat into fine granulated powder." He leans back with a glitter, glancing towards Rowena for support. "And *then* you break out the salamic acid...!"

Boshter pauses. He looks completely unaware of the creepy-crawly that has just crawled up from bis back to his shoulder. It is a large centipede. It crawls along his shoulder cheerfully, slinking right along. "What is it?" He asks, confused. "You are all very strange!"

Rowena's hand crawls to her throat, and the eyes stand out like two marbles. For the moment, the mage and the artificer lie forgotten, as she looks in horror at the creature Boshter bears on his shoulder. "Get that off!" she shrieks, standing. "You don't know where it's been!" and she hurries over, barefoot, to brush it away.

Naturally, contact with Rowena's hand has it crawling up that instead.

"But that's so... wasteful." Valeska says to Jenner, frowning as she leans over to look at the mage, setting aside her screwdriver. "But what if one could hijack whatever means a reanimated automaton is controlled? It would be 200 percent as efficient as simply destroying the construct." she adds, before pulling another component to add to her project.

The mage snorts hotly in response, blithely reaching to take up the screwdriver, twirling like a wand. "What you call wasteful, I call being certain. There are magics enough to repair a shattered creature from fragments, and to return them to life. How less stressing then to simply bring it back into that half-alive mechanical state?" He punctuates his words with a jab of the tool before handing it idly towards the poor cleric. "You use the proper tools for the task, I say. Burn it down, and let the gods sort things out fairly!"   

"...or the mages, when they get to it," he adds, coughing under his breath.

Rowena flicks it away, with a swift twist of her wrist that's efficient in the way a mother's is efficient. And the worried glare that comes next goes with it. "You--oooh! Now you sit right down before something else happens to you!" And the poor Vardaman's hand is grabbed, and she tries to 'escort' him to the table and to a chair. Because, apparently, he is incapable of looking after himself. Poor Boshter. The one redeeming quality of the venture might be the worry evident for a fellow practitioner, from a situation commemorative of Don Quixote. "We were talking about necromancy," she adds, and then a small frown goes to Valeska, so she doesn't notice the tool but in the abstract. "And fires. Well! I like to think the pyres are getting a little more popular. The professor lent me a few of your acolytes," to Jenner.

"What are you talking about?!" Boshter gives Rowena, having completely failed to notice what's happened. he was busy ordering chicken from a waitress. "You are very strange today, sister! I hope you are okay!"

"Why, it is wasteful. Why remove one soldier from their ranks, when we could remove one, and add one to our own?" Valeska says, producing a little remote now from her box. She hums, playing with a knob or two to tweak the metal box, adjusting a looping brass antenna. "That's a good tool I think, especially since it could pay off well if it dispatches more of our own enemies for us, right?" she smiles to Jenner. "Now, all I need is a zombie or something to test this on..."

Jenner just twitches for a moment, muttering under his breath as he waves the tip of the screwdriver over his pipe. "I can see I'm not going to argue you out of this," he grumbles, the tip of the tool glowing for a moment before his pipe ignites with a faint crackle, a chuff of blue smoke. "But heavens help me if you think I'm going to help you find a zombie to practice on!"   

He casts a glance to Rowena and Boshter, blinking as he stares. "...they can't help you wash a troll," he states in mystification. "I thought you were going to use them to help create fires?" Half-a-world, half a conversation.

Karelin has arrived.

Sniff. "Well, you be more careful, that's all," firmly, to the poor monk. Poor monk. Because he might step in a hole, or do something horrid like twist his ankle...or let a centipede crawl about, with its vicious fangs. Rowena gives her finger a light twitch before turning back around and to the conversation. And this merits a concerned frown, as well. The four of them sit around a table piled with books, some on unusual subjects, and the last, a book the Vardaman keeps eyeing, on necromancy. Which seems to be the main discussion, aside from Boshter's appearance.

"Alright Mister Jenner, I won't bother you further on this." Valeska sighs, looking over. She rubs at her stomach, which growls on cue. "Perhaps I can find someone else to help me with that... but my, it is late. Is dinner being served yet?"

Karelin puts in through the door, dressed all in black -- hides the dirt, just a little. Think of it as camoflage, or something. He heads for the bar, a man on a mission.

Jenner crosses his arms, as though claiming some small victory. "Magus, if you please," he says, turning back to Valeska. "Or just Jenner. I didn't spend a decade in the Collegiate to be called "Mister"! It would be the same as calling..." He waves the screwdriver in the air, conveniently heated tip glowing an ominous color of orange. "...aye, nevermind. And wouldn't you know, I think they might have served it already?" He casts a curious glance around, blinking in surprise. "I was doing research, and I lost track of things about then..."

"They'd mentioned it," after another look at the book on necromancy. Rowena yanks her gaze away from it, and looks over. Licks her lips, and folds her hands together on the table again. "I'm not sure what it is, but it smells rather similar to last night. ...did they? I suppose I missed it, too." A reluctant look towards the cannister she'd been toting. "I was waiting for a shipment, and suppose I got carried away."

"Oh! I'm very sorry Magus Jenner." Valeska corrects. Yes, she knows the importance of scholarly titles! She quickly moves over to the bar, to inquire if she could get *something* to eat even though Dinner had been served. Yes, her work made time fly.

Jenner is beside himself. Two victories in debate over artificers in a single sitting! "Well... er, thank you, Lady Valeska." He leans back in his seat, blue smoke curving upward as he basks in his momentary triumph. "At least that is something our professions have in common..." He blinks as he glances back to Valeska's parting form, a twitch returning to the glower in his gaze.   

"The ability to leave a wizard hanging on his words," he grumbles, sighing heavily. He turns over towards Rowena, opening his mouth again before pausing. "...I'm afraid it's probably best not to ask," he adds quietly, with a surreptitious glance to the counter. "I've taken to counting the horses at stable, myself."

Karelin orders ale, then turns and looks out over the room. A nod towards Valeska. "Artificer. How are you?" He takes a meditative sip on his drink -- sweet, sweet alcohol.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Rowena says, standing and waving as the other woman gets up to depart. "Could you see if they have any stew left?" she asks her. "It really wasn't so bad the other day." She reseats herself, curiosity piqued. "I almost identified the meat in it, and that's better than most."

"You are still very strange," says Boshter, a finger pointed at Rowena. "I shall buy you an ale! That is, you like ale, right? I am told dwarves like lots of ale. One time in training they told us about how dwarves drank lots of ale and that made their livers softer targets! Is that true? Why would that be?" Boshter is confusedly considering the possibilities now.

Valeska was getting food when she turns her head a little. "Oh. Mister Karelin." she says with surprise. "I hardly recognized you for a moment. I am well, but I do prefer Artefactual Engineer, as that's a more accurate moniker for my profession." she says, before munching on some bread.

Karelin nods once, shrugging his shoulders. "This armour is only for light use." And it looks like a black coat? He considers, sipping ale, before turning back and ordering sausage. He considers. "You might prefer it, but you're probably going to get the other. Or I will just use Valeska, and you can introduce whatever title you choose."

"Preposterous!" Jenner replies bombastically, staring at Boshter for the first time. He cuts his answer to Rowena off to go into instructor mode, lecturing as pipesmoke swirls overhead. "Where ever did you learn something so outlandish?! Anyone and *everyone* who knows the bounadries of nature and the mysteries of the arcane that is the Dwarven form knows *very well* that ale does NOT make dwarven bodies softer!" He leans back in his seat, staring at the monk as he shakes his head.   

"Dwarven livers are reinforced with the stones they bake into their bread. It's why they have such hard heads and bones and the like-- all the rocks, grinding together."

Valeska munches more on her food. "Oh, it's alright Mister Karelin, you can call me whatever you feel most comfortable with." she says, then taking a drink out of some big cup offered to her. She makes a face at sipping the bitter beverage. Beeh!

"There's nothing wrong with ale," firmly, and ah, this, well this draws a smile. It draws together underneath the thin and tired cheeks, and Rowena sits up a little straighter in her seat, her black, simple outfit marking the outfit very plain. "In fact, yes, thank you, Boshter." To Jenner, "I've never heard of rocks and...livers, you'd said?"

Jenner nods evenly, lacing his fingers together in front of him. "Korbledaught's Theoreticum of Mineral Lacings," he quotes, grimacing as he stretches with a wince, a quiet sigh. "At least, that's all we have to go on so far at the school." He casts a quick glance to either side, leaning conspiratorially closer. "Personally, I think old Korble is slightly hard in the head... But unfortunately, he's senior on the Staff of Instructors. He dictates some of the books we must use. And naturally, one that he had a part in writing...."

Karelin smiles wryly. "A dangerous offer." He cracks his neck, wincing a little. "So, how much work would it be to expand the protections you installed?" Followed by: "What the hell -are- they talking about?"

Valeska winces at the ale, setting it down to go back to eating. Yes, the faster she got that flavor out, the better. She coughed a little. "Well, I trust you to.. use it responsibly, Mister Karelin." Valeska says. "Oh, the armor? Well, it would be more difficult to squeeze in a more powerful arcanofield bulwark into your suit without compromising other attributes of it. Though I'm currently working from the ground up right now on a more sophisticated form of protection." she adds with a sage nod. Then she looks back. "Oh, I don't know. I just know that Mis-- Magus Jenner wasn't very pleased with one of my new projects."

A nod of understanding, a misery shared. It could be any misery, but this one lies in academics, and the dwarven woman laces her hands together across't her knee. "They always do, don't they? It just adds to the cost--I think they'd realize they'd get more students if they eased up a little bit. Of course, my own learning was a little more untraditional..." Gossip. Commiseration. It has the opening of a story, an invitation to share. She looks to Valeska, and, "Well, it's a little untraditional, you know. It's something we have to be very careful about."

Karelin glances over towards Valeska. "Oh?" He looks at Rowena. "What's that?" He scratches at his scarred-up cheek, and grimaces a little. "I see. I'll consider that, then." He looks over. "What's your project?" Interested by armour, he perks up.

"Oh, you are interested in my new project?" Valeska beams a little more, turning back to face Rowena even as she continues, brandishing a remote. Her meal was forgotten. No wonder Valeska doesn't gain weight despite working at a desk, or floating chair half the time. "Can you help me find a zombie, Mister Karelin?"

Jenner nods quietly, for a moment silent as he inhales through the dark tobacco, the faint tingle of cherrywood drifting on the air. Slender fingers tap together as he entertains his own thoughts, considering. "You know," he says carefully, with a glance towards Valeska. "There is something to be said for entertaining different points of view. Different ways of teaching things." He steeples his fingers to his chin, eyes returning to the cleric with renewed interest. "I am currently tutouring a young lady who has yet to develop an interest in a specific course of life. I am curious as to what your instruction brought you... Where did you learn?"

"Necromancy." It comes across a trace sharply, it does, but this is a Vardaman, and the twitching of the fingers in the robes comes with it. Just a bit, and Rowena reaches down self-consciously to smooth it. "Well, something to do with necromancy. You realize it's very dangerous." A glance back towards Jenner, a little distracted now that The Device! is being waved about, "Yes, well. I learned from my elders. We were part of a rather small community."

Twin eyebrows shoot up as Jenner casts a quizzical eye. "Ahh," he adds after a second, lips twitching as he nods towards the artificer again. "It must make Alexandria something of a shock then," he replies, chuckling under his breath as he leans back once again. "I'm afraid I've always been a son of the cities. The oceans come as a close second-home, but the streets have ever been my playground."

"They are all crazy," says Boshter, turning his eye on Rowena as he says that to her in a quie t voice. "All of them. Wizards and... waht she is!" He is not quite sure what an 'artefactual engineer is', after all.

"Well...it was very small," Rowena admits, glancing downwards, seemingly distracted with her hands. "There were only a few of us, really," she looks up, and the look's warm, remembering--the stern lines soften for just an instant, and she looks down again. "I suppose it was a good childhood. What was it like growing up in the--oh," she brushes her hands together and looks embarrassed. Color touches the pale cheeks. "Well..."

"It's not that dangerous, Lady Rowena." Valeska says back, "Why, this uses purely passive means to entropically disrupt then bypass whatever is controlling an undead creature. Now I only need some field testing for more data before refining the design." she says in retort, waving The Device! around a little more. "No more dangerous than an ordinary overpressure boiler with a release valve."

Jenner smiles; it is a small thing, quiet with bemusement. "Interesting," is all he says, far expression fading after a moment's dance. "And anything else will have to wait until you're older." He casts his eyes back to the fire, kicking the brass object beneath the table with a sigh. "I suppose I should turn this thing over to Xander," he says, shaking his head. "Maybe he can more sense of it than I can. He specializes in detonating things, after all..."

"An--ooooh!" Rowena waggles her finger at the artefactual engineer. "You just be sure to be careful. If you're testing--well, I suppose it couldn't...I suppose I could help." And Jenner gets a glower at that. Perhaps also kicked underneath the table.

The mage emits a sound that could be a grunt or a chuckle-- only Arngrim might be able to translate! "Well then," he says, grinning with a wicked mirth. "I think it is time that I bowed out gracefully then. Some of us need our beauty sleep..." He slides Rowena a wink, stretching with a careful exagerration. "Even if it is a hopeless fantasy in my case!"

"Well," as Jenner gets up, and the hands twitch together. Perhaps such hands belong on hips, but the lips do press together, in a worried line. Rowena looks after him as he gets up to leave, and seems to have nothing to add to that, though the worried line forms above the brow, too. "Well, just see to it that you're careful." There! That makes it better.

Karelin glances over towards Valeska. "A zombie." He pauses. "Probably. Why?" He considers, listens. "To control?" He scowls. "How is this not the black artificer engaged in by Charn?"

A pause. Boshter looks at Karelin. He looks at Valeska. Then he looks confused. Even more. "Waaaait," he says.

"The what artificer engaged by who?" Valeska asks, head tilting. "I don't understand what you mean." she says, twiddling with the remote. "But yes, to control. For a period, I mean. Those things are so unsanitary I wouldn't want to keep one around." she frowns. "If only they could learn to make a clean one, then I could finally have a useful lab assistant."

The frown that comes down is thunderous, the hands fly to the (not child-bearing!) hips. Rowena-the-Vardaman looks ready to shriek like a madwoman.

Karelin's eyes go cold. "I'm sure they can. I've seen some things." He grunts. "Charn's necromantic artifice, powered by souls. Its vile shit."

"Er," says Boshter to Valeska, "That would not be okay! That is very bad!" He wags a finger at her.

"Oh! I wonder what sort of efficiency one could generate from that." Valeska considers. "I don't think all that much. I can't imagine a 'soul' having that much potential energy." she considers, before looking to the waggling Boshter with more wide-eyed confusion, a classic Valeska expression. "Bad? Why is that? I have yet to have anyone explain this to me satisfactorilly!"

Karelin's head tilts. "Apparently, quite a bit. However, I don't recommend exploring it, because I'd have to rip out you entrails and hang you with them. And, truly, I'd prefer not to do so."

The thundercloud eyes flash, and the dwarf grabs hold of her braid with a shaking fist. "You--" the words gurgle in the back of the throat. If someone had sprouted wings and launched themselves afire she couldn't be more surprised. Or speechless. Karelin says it, though, and she yanks the braid, taking in a breath that feels like it's the first she's had in weeks. "You will not operate that here. Necromancy is--you know it's what killed Haley." Try. To settle down. "We don't want it spreading for exactly reasons like that!"

Valeska has to interject. "Technically I believe Madame Lunatec was killed by assassins, then reanimated with necromantic techniques." she lifts a finger. "Of course, if proper research had been done and this threat of post-mortal combustion had been brought to light, I'm sure myself or many of my more accomplished colleagues could have worked on installing necroexplosive-inhibitors in public places all around Alexandria." she says. Then Valeska gives Karelin an expression. "Mister Karelin! I am shocked. You should know full well that human entrails have a very low stress capacity compared to proper metal-cored cable, or even common woven rope!"

Boshter puts a hand over his face. He just stares at Valeska, then he says, his tone taking on a more somber tone. "What are you doing, or even contemplating doing, is wrong. It is wrong because it causes agony to the souls of those whose remains are left behind. That is what the Vardamans holy book teaches, Valeska, and I saw it with my own eyes in my own city. The animated the dead. They paraded them around as a grotesque form of art." His goblinoid accent is thick, but his common is better than it would appear at times like this. "This is a boundary you must not cross over."

Rowena falls back to yanking her braid. Surely, one day she will go bald, but that day is not today, and with a slight frown she moves to stand a little over to the side. The look she gives isn't exactly friendly. "I happen to be looking into that death, you know." Poor Valeska. She's in a room with...alot of Vardamans!

Valeska leans back on the counter, hand to her chin as she thinks on how to reply to Boshter. "Well, I don't know about that. I mean, where does a soul rest in the body? In the brain? Well, in such a case, skeletal creatures surely don't have those. So... if you're concerned about the soul being trapped in the marrow, that's not that big of a problem. I can simply capture a zombie, surgically remove it's bone and replace the useless calcinite structure with a strong, sturdy reinforced steel." she snaps a finger, as if getting an idea. "Then, I'd be able to test my theories without offending Vardamarian sensibilities! You area genius, Mister Boshter!"

Karelin smiles thinly at Valeska. "Then I'd just have to braid them. I assure you that I haven't lost the sensibilities taught by the Bone Mountain." He sips his ale. "You're still desecrating an animated corpse."

"It causes them pain," says Boshter to Valeska, firmly. "Not just to them... but to those that knew them." He gives her a sad, big eyed expression. You wouldn't want to make them Hobgoblin cry. "..that makes little sense! The flesh and bone are the same! Animating the corpse is the problem! Why nto just make it all metal?"

"It's black artifice, is what it is. I don't know what they're teaching at those universities, but it isn't common sense! And ooooh! Boshter!" She whorls on him. "I'm sure there are chores for you to do." Right now, he's giving the artificer ideas. The priestess looks as though she wants to haul him out by his ear.

Karelin nods. "Making constructs seems like a better avenue. And they don't leave a mess."

"But why is that animating a corpse, if I have empyrically deduced that any soul rests in the bone-structure? I don't see how that's any different than using leather, or ivory or any other component that came originally from a living organism." Valeska says, then shifting a bit for Karelin. "Em, if it'd make you feel better, I could easilly have the bone fragments returned to the families, or to a temple of their choice. But of course a purely mechanical construct is superior, but they take so long to build..." she says. "And well, if their friends and family are hurt by recognizing the body..." she says to Boshter. "... we can take care of that. I can probably equip the test subject with a featureless iron mask or something similarly reassuring."

Karelin looks at Valeska. "Your deductions are not well supported." He smiles wryly. "Similarly reassuring. Ah, so you also plan to ram a spear up the corpse's arse and skin it, while you're in the business of being similarly reassuring?"

"You can't," says Boshter, firmly, "because you do not know much about the state of the soul! For all you know, in the realm of Vardama, a soul knows what is happening to its body, even if it no longe rresides theer! No, corpse bothering is bad!"

Of course. Rowena's face is just red by now, a little tomato propped up on her shoulders and ready to explode into pasta sauce. "I don't think she'll understand until she sees it, Boshter," firmly. "You know, artificers have gotten into alot of trouble over the years. You really should watch yourself, Valeska."

"That is why we should study it more then." Valeska says to Boshter. "Why, I've already heard anecdotes on what sorts of powers a soul can have, but I haven't seen quantifiable data." she says, then sighing a bit. "Why, if our adversaries are willing to use any and all means, I don't understand why we can't." she pouts a bit, before going back to munch on a bit of bread. She was still sorta hungry. "That's another thing. If they are so fond of using psychological terror, why can't we do the same?" she looks down a bit. "I mean, we could try and fly an airship over a few towns of theirs, and drop barrels of blasting powder, or sealed casks of deadly poisons."

Karelin smiles wryly. "Because they are generally more robust, and much of the populace are highly replacement slaves -- and the former Myrrish population. It would not work well." He sips his ale. "Perhaps you should pay more attention to the world around you; choices like yours have real, tangible effects."

"They certainly do!" Boshter nods in agreement with Karelin. "Besides," he tells Valska, "It is still very bad! And it would be very hard to tell the difference between us and them at that point! I lived in Blar! I would not want anything like that to be used again!"

"Oh. Of course, that would be a complication. We would not want to harm any of those people." Valeska nods. And then Valeska chuckles politely to Boshter. "Mister Boshter! I think you'd be fully able to tell the difference between us or them. You don't need to use rhetorical hyperbole." she then goes into thought on how to better solve this problem. If carpet-cloudkilling wasn't an option, and undead war machine proved to be bad PR... what could work?

"...how about blowing them up? Or sending a giant spider robot after them or something?" Boshter scratches his head.

"Actually," Karelin rasps, "it is not rhetorical hyperbole, given Bludgun's record. I'm sure your blind self-assurance serves you well competing with gnomes, but you'd do well to engage in more reflection before you speak."

"I think you misunderstand. It's rather easy to differentiate us from them. For one, the majority of us aren't eight feet tall." Valeska points out, looking about. "Though.. some exceptions really seem almost that way."

Karelin notes, "And given Bludgun's use of proxies, not a particularly useful distinction at times."

"... I wasn't meaning physically," says Boshter to Valeska. "I was meaning *morally*! It is very different! I have learnerd a lot by being around humans!"

Basil has arrived.

"There'd still be quantifiable differences there. For one, we'd be turning their weapons against them, instead of engaging in actual atrocities of our own design." Valeska cuts in. "So many of which I may add, are terribly inefficient. Really now, who makes a bomb out of a person?" she shakes her head. "Minimal fragmentation mass results in far fewer casualties than using a simple steel cylinder."

The four stand, or sit, around tables and chairs at the bar. The center of the evening seems to be a young, lady artificer, and the topic unconventional. Rowena stands to the side, yanking on her braid, face as red as a tomato in the two spots on her cheeks. The words just seem to make it worse. The red spots get brighter.

Karelin ditches the ale in favour of whiskey. "I think you might need some aversion training." He shakes his head. "I do not think your hairsplitting matters. Not truly."

"Not -enough- differences. Bad people make bombs out of people. The result is always terror. It is very bad, Valeska, and you will do no such thing! Or I will pick you up and dump you in the latrines!" Boshter nods his head up and down, earlier erudinteness having faded.

Basil enters the tavern, bumping past the crowd at the door as he walks for the bar. Suddenly, he tenses as he hears the hobgoblin Boshter raising his voice at Valeska.

Of course, Rowena looks approving at all this, and nods, slightly, like an old mother. "It's dangerous, Valeska. And it's the most sinful thing a person can do. They /did/ do something like what you're talking about, but it was some time ago, another era," and a sniff comes with it. One day, she'll go bald. "You notice we don't do it anymore, but the person we're fighting, does."

"So we can understand it." Valeska nods. "And make sure said bad things don't happen again through understanding." she taps her hand against THE DEVICE.

Karelin smiles wryly. "If you seemed intent on understanding, and not acting like an oversized gnome, it would be more convincing."

"You seem troubled," Rowena says, straightening, and frowning, still. The frown's settled there, like a natural part of her visage. "There's a priest you should speak with, I think. I'll speak with him tonight, miss Valeska. I'm sure he'll love to speak with you in the morning." She moves her hands, and they want to go to her hips. She settles them forcibly in front of her, clasped.

"Valeska, you are very strange! You should not do this sort of thing!" A finger is pointed at her. "You can learn about something without animating corpses yourself, you know! There is a lot already learned about it! But it doesn't stop some crazy person from unleashing horrible monstrosities because they wanted to 'learn something new' and 'understand'. The Garnaks wanted to undrstand things too. They are very bad.'

Karelin nods. "And in the end, they tried to raise a god and lost their temple for it."

Rowena goes OOC.