Of course, I check in with everyone across the telepathic link: “Hello all, are we ready for this grand venture?”
Linda starts, “Yes; I'm set up in my ship, routing through to a personal com unit I can hand off for them to contact whoever they like once I've secured a meeting.”
Stephanie confirms, “Same here. We're all set up and online.”
“Ocean went swimming, but yes, we're good to go as well,” Star reports.
“I still have another week, sadly,” Euler adds,”I have a longer trip, and I don't have the Rustbucket's souped up engines. Still… you have enough for the demonstration.”
“Thank you all,” I smile, not that they can see, “I'll plan on playing face personally…please coordinate with each other and book appointments for me; I’ll use the network to travel when it's time.”
Everyone confirms, and I let them get back to what they were doing. Nice… I disconnect and get a few buffs ready to use: Divine Insight, Ears of the City, and Surge of Fortune. The Insight bonus from the spells heavily overlaps with constant buffs I have running, but Divine Insight will still push my new normal of a forty-five point diplomacy modifier up to fifty-two, and Surge of Fortune will let me automatically “roll” a twenty. For reference, getting a very tough creature who is actively trying to kill me to calm down would work out to just a DC of fifty five: This shouldn't be that hard. Ears of the City, of course, I use to figure out the W’s for the approach: Who, When, Where, How, and What (in this case, what they'll want to give me what I want).
The answer to “Who?” is amusing to me. The person I need to contact? My best choice for getting an interview with the movers and shakers? A secretary named Missavuine. She was only barely able to complete the ritual to become a necrovite, and apparently hasn't really grown since Eox fell… but she's been serving the ruling body of Eox, the Eternal Convocation, since then… and handling all of their scheduling, as well as that of the various department heads… which means if she puts me on the schedule… I'm in, and can speak directly to anyone I want… in this case, not the Convocation itself, but the “Secretary of Communications.”
“When” is also odd; despite the substantial pay that comes from being the secretary of this planet's rulers, she moonlights… for enjoyment. The other boss knows full well she's not in it for the money, and really, he can't safely fire her if she messes up. The best time to approach her is when she's at her other job, because that's when she's most relaxed.
“Where” and “How” are of course set by the when in this case. I'll need to approach her while she's working; I’ll be able to book her for a private session, she goes by the handle 602214076. Apparently, Avagadro's Constant is considered memorable and clever for these people. The name of the place isn't any better: 898755179; that's from the Coulomb constant. This place is just full of eggheads. And for whatever reason, this business doesn't seem to have an online presence, which is beyond strange, but whatever.
As for what she wants? She's vain. I just need to improve her beauty. Plenty of spells for that, plus Patricia's side effect; that one's trivial.
I get the address from an online directory, check the time… yes, she's on shift… and head over. There's no windows when I arrive, just a pale skinned bouncer with dark veins across his face standing in front of the numbered door; he has two pistols at his belt, and a heavier weapon slung on his back. He has some decent armor, and is wearing a painclaw (nasty little thing, basically a gauntlet with claws and a poison reservoir). I wonder what he has in there, given that most of the population is undead? No matter… I don't plan to take a hit, or even give him reason to take a swing.
Not that I couldn't take him, mind.
There's a line at the door; a couple androids, but mostly undead men of assorted races in various states of decay. I get in line, watch as the bouncer scans IDs, and lets people in. I present mine when I get there, pay the cover charge, and he lets me in without any hassle. Inside… ah, another strip club. And it's… yeah, I'm really not into the dead look. I mean, the dancers are freshly undead, but… wait…
Okay, so… the dancer currently on stage has obvious knife wounds in her gut below her big bouncing bust… but they’re fake. The knife wounds, too. She's under the effects of an Alter Corpse spell; it can't do major things like restore lost limbs or obscure identity, but it can change the apparent cause of death, time of death, and conditions since… I suppose that makes it very valuable here, as it can reverse decay. I wonder how they'd take to Gentle Repose… no matter, I'm here on business.
I look around for a bar to ask questions… and don't see one. What's a strip club without booze? Ah, right. Most people here are undead; they can't enjoy alcohol, so there's no point… but apparently, they still have other desires. And there are private rooms, so there's going to be… there. A little kiosk in the corner. I make my way over… ugh. Yes, this is used to sign up for private sessions… and there is no shortage of advertisements for the girls, but… eew. But I want to search… 602214076… there we go. Not even a line. Pay my fee, head to the indicated room, close the curtains… and a few minutes later, there she is.
Now, I know she's one of the original necrovites, and thus is thousands of years old, predating the Gap… but she looks like she died minutes ago, with no obvious wounds on her undead flesh. It's just magic; I can tell she recently reset the decay with a spell… and she's still dead, movement notwithstanding… and she's using polymorphic magic as well, which I can see right through. So it's QUITE easy for me to meet her eyes, although the black soul is disconcerting, the undead in the audience are largely blue, while the dancers were pink… “Thank you, madam secretary, for joining me.”
That throws her off her game, and she stumbles in her pink harem outfit, “You’re… NOT here for the Law of Attraction, then?”
Ah, so that’s why they used Coulomb’s constant, “No, Ms. Missavuine. You are quite beautiful, and are doing a skillful job of covering your wounds… but it’s quite possible to do better; if you’ll allow me?” I do the “question face” thing with my eyes slightly wider and my head tilted down just slightly as I reach out my hand.
She nods, and I finish reaching over, using the Daywalker spell from Pathfinder: It’s a fifth level necromancy spell for clerics, wizards, and sorcerers, that turns an undead creature into a very close semblance of the living being they once were, complete with blood, respiration, and a pulse. They’re still undead, and it’s possible to see past the trickery, but it’s quite convincing for most. Very quickly, she’s breathing mostly-normally.
I hear retching in my head, “Please don’t do that again,” Stephanie complains, “She tastes just AWFUL.” And I notice her soul didn’t change color… huh. Undead are immune to that effect? Good to know. And no promises, Stephanie.
She looks herself over, “Okay, this is… definitely better.” She looks at her hand, “I have the glow of blood running through my skin, I’m breathing automatically and…” she feels her wrist, “oh, wow, I even have a pulse. Seriously!?”
I chuckle, “You’ll even bleed if someone cuts you, although you’re still undead, and don’t actually need the blood. If it’s not too much trouble, I do have a small favor to ask….”
“Done. What do you need? Just tell me I get to KEEP this…” she’s not even looking at me, she’s busy pulling her chest out of her skimpy clothes and pinching and squeezing herself while she gazes on in awe.
“By default it lasts twenty-four hours or until either of us takes a moment to turn it off, but I can make it last at least until you need to replace this body... maybe longer, depending on exactly how your phylactery works,” I’m even telling her something true; I’ve already made it last forever or until canceled, but she doesn’t need to know that.
That snaps her out of her self examination, and she leaves her chest hanging out as she looks me straight in the eye, “ANYTHING. What do you want?” She pauses, “and why the old word for an electroencephalon? Clearly you know I’m an immortal necrovite… bone sage, in the old tongue.”
Yeah, she’s hooked, “It’s… very similar to something I encountered in the past,” in game, anyway; a lich, and a phylactery houses the abomination’s life force to revive it into undeath whenever slain… ah, that’s probably why she tastes bad and has a black soul: Her soul isn’t actually here, just a blob of negative energy keeping her corpse moving… but that’s beside the point, “I’ve got some new communications technology to rent out; near-instant data transfer to and from established points, including at interstellar distances, much faster than the Drift beacon relays, and want a meeting with the Secretary of Communications to get him to rent access… I’d also like your recommendation, of course.”
She actually laughs, “Done; I’ll clear his schedule for nine,” she goes back to examining herself, shucking her panties, moaning a bit as she tugs on her lower lips and continues talking, “If you can do what you say, he’ll rent. He’ll BUY if he can. That’s a stupidly valuable tool…” she sticks a finger in herself, and shudders, whispering “I thought I’d never feel that again…” and speaks to me in a normal volume, “and you can apparently do what you say, in spades… as for the address… got a datapad or com?”
I unlock and hand her a personal com - not one I actually use, mind - and she types a few things in, “There. I’ll clear his schedule so your new calendar entry is properly valid,” she shakes her head, “With that, you could have just called…” she trails off as she starts fingering herself in earnest with one hand as she caresses her newly soft and perky chest with the other.
Which, ironically, is probably her job here, “What can I say? I don’t like phone trees or waiting on hold. Thank you, and do enjoy the gift.”
She only moans in response, and I shake my head as I head out the door, leaving this awful place behind me.
Of course, I check in with everyone across the telepathic link: “Hello all, are we ready for this grand venture?”
Linda starts, “Yes; I'm set up in my ship, routing through to a personal com unit I can hand off for them to contact whoever they like once I've secured a meeting.”
Stephanie confirms, “Same here. We're all set up and online.”
“Ocean went swimming, but yes, we're good to go as well,” Star reports.
“I still have another week, sadly,” Euler adds,”I have a longer trip, and I don't have the Rustbucket's souped up engines. Still… you have enough for the demonstration.”
“Thank you all,” I smile, not that they can see, “I'll plan on playing face personally…please coordinate with each other and book appointments for me; I’ll use the network to travel when it's time.”
Everyone confirms, and I let them get back to what they were doing. Nice… I disconnect and get a few buffs ready to use: Divine Insight, Ears of the City, and Surge of Fortune. The Insight bonus from the spells heavily overlaps with constant buffs I have running, but Divine Insight will still push my new normal of a forty-five point diplomacy modifier up to fifty-two, and Surge of Fortune will let me automatically “roll” a twenty. For reference, getting a very tough creature who is actively trying to kill me to calm down would work out to just a DC of fifty five: This shouldn't be that hard. Ears of the City, of course, I use to figure out the W’s for the approach: Who, When, Where, How, and What (in this case, what they'll want to give me what I want).
The answer to “Who?” is amusing to me. The person I need to contact? My best choice for getting an interview with the movers and shakers? A secretary named Missavuine. She was only barely able to complete the ritual to become a necrovite, and apparently hasn't really grown since Eox fell… but she's been serving the ruling body of Eox, the Eternal Convocation, since then… and handling all of their scheduling, as well as that of the various department heads… which means if she puts me on the schedule… I'm in, and can speak directly to anyone I want… in this case, not the Convocation itself, but the “Secretary of Communications.”
“When” is also odd; despite the substantial pay that comes from being the secretary of this planet's rulers, she moonlights… for enjoyment. The other boss knows full well she's not in it for the money, and really, he can't safely fire her if she messes up. The best time to approach her is when she's at her other job, because that's when she's most relaxed.
“Where” and “How” are of course set by the when in this case. I'll need to approach her while she's working; I’ll be able to book her for a private session, she goes by the handle 602214076. Apparently, Avagadro's Constant is considered memorable and clever for these people. The name of the place isn't any better: 898755179; that's from the Coulomb constant. This place is just full of eggheads. And for whatever reason, this business doesn't seem to have an online presence, which is beyond strange, but whatever.
As for what she wants? She's vain. I just need to improve her beauty. Plenty of spells for that, plus Patricia's side effect; that one's trivial.
I get the address from an online directory, check the time… yes, she's on shift… and head over. There's no windows when I arrive, just a pale skinned bouncer with dark veins across his face standing in front of the numbered door; he has two pistols at his belt, and a heavier weapon slung on his back. He has some decent armor, and is wearing a painclaw (nasty little thing, basically a gauntlet with claws and a poison reservoir). I wonder what he has in there, given that most of the population is undead? No matter… I don't plan to take a hit, or even give him reason to take a swing.
Not that I couldn't take him, mind.
There's a line at the door; a couple androids, but mostly undead men of assorted races in various states of decay. I get in line, watch as the bouncer scans IDs, and lets people in. I present mine when I get there, pay the cover charge, and he lets me in without any hassle. Inside… ah, another strip club. And it's… yeah, I'm really not into the dead look. I mean, the dancers are freshly undead, but… wait…
Okay, so… the dancer currently on stage has obvious knife wounds in her gut below her big bouncing bust… but they’re fake. The knife wounds, too. She's under the effects of an Alter Corpse spell; it can't do major things like restore lost limbs or obscure identity, but it can change the apparent cause of death, time of death, and conditions since… I suppose that makes it very valuable here, as it can reverse decay. I wonder how they'd take to Gentle Repose… no matter, I'm here on business.
I look around for a bar to ask questions… and don't see one. What's a strip club without booze? Ah, right. Most people here are undead; they can't enjoy alcohol, so there's no point… but apparently, they still have other desires. And there are private rooms, so there's going to be… there. A little kiosk in the corner. I make my way over… ugh. Yes, this is used to sign up for private sessions… and there is no shortage of advertisements for the girls, but… eew. But I want to search… 602214076… there we go. Not even a line. Pay my fee, head to the indicated room, close the curtains… and a few minutes later, there she is.
Now, I know she's one of the original necrovites, and thus is thousands of years old, predating the Gap… but she looks like she died minutes ago, with no obvious wounds on her undead flesh. It's just magic; I can tell she recently reset the decay with a spell… and she's still dead, movement notwithstanding… and she's using polymorphic magic as well, which I can see right through. So it's QUITE easy for me to meet her eyes, although the black soul is disconcerting, the undead in the audience are largely blue, while the dancers were pink… “Thank you, madam secretary, for joining me.”
That throws her off her game, and she stumbles in her pink harem outfit, “You’re… NOT here for the Law of Attraction, then?”
Ah, so that’s why they used Coulomb’s constant, “No, Ms. Missavuine. You are quite beautiful, and are doing a skillful job of covering your wounds… but it’s quite possible to do better; if you’ll allow me?” I do the “question face” thing with my eyes slightly wider and my head tilted down just slightly as I reach out my hand.
She nods, and I finish reaching over, using the Daywalker spell from Pathfinder: It’s a fifth level necromancy spell for clerics, wizards, and sorcerers, that turns an undead creature into a very close semblance of the living being they once were, complete with blood, respiration, and a pulse. They’re still undead, and it’s possible to see past the trickery, but it’s quite convincing for most. Very quickly, she’s breathing mostly-normally.
I hear retching in my head, “Please don’t do that again,” Stephanie complains, “She tastes just AWFUL.” And I notice her soul didn’t change color… huh. Undead are immune to that effect? Good to know. And no promises, Stephanie.
She looks herself over, “Okay, this is… definitely better.” She looks at her hand, “I have the glow of blood running through my skin, I’m breathing automatically and…” she feels her wrist, “oh, wow, I even have a pulse. Seriously!?”
I chuckle, “You’ll even bleed if someone cuts you, although you’re still undead, and don’t actually need the blood. If it’s not too much trouble, I do have a small favor to ask….”
“Done. What do you need? Just tell me I get to KEEP this…” she’s not even looking at me, she’s busy pulling her chest out of her skimpy clothes and pinching and squeezing herself while she gazes on in awe.
“By default it lasts twenty-four hours or until either of us takes a moment to turn it off, but I can make it last at least until you need to replace this body... maybe longer, depending on exactly how your phylactery works,” I’m even telling her something true; I’ve already made it last forever or until canceled, but she doesn’t need to know that.
That snaps her out of her self examination, and she leaves her chest hanging out as she looks me straight in the eye, “ANYTHING. What do you want?” She pauses, “and why the old word for an electroencephalon? Clearly you know I’m an immortal necrovite… bone sage, in the old tongue.”
Yeah, she’s hooked, “It’s… very similar to something I encountered in the past,” in game, anyway; a lich, and a phylactery houses the abomination’s life force to revive it into undeath whenever slain… ah, that’s probably why she tastes bad and has a black soul: Her soul isn’t actually here, just a blob of negative energy keeping her corpse moving… but that’s beside the point, “I’ve got some new communications technology to rent out; near-instant data transfer to and from established points, including at interstellar distances, much faster than the Drift beacon relays, and want a meeting with the Secretary of Communications to get him to rent access… I’d also like your recommendation, of course.”
She actually laughs, “Done; I’ll clear his schedule for nine,” she goes back to examining herself, shucking her panties, moaning a bit as she tugs on her lower lips and continues talking, “If you can do what you say, he’ll rent. He’ll BUY if he can. That’s a stupidly valuable tool…” she sticks a finger in herself, and shudders, whispering “I thought I’d never feel that again…” and speaks to me in a normal volume, “and you can apparently do what you say, in spades… as for the address… got a datapad or com?”
I unlock and hand her a personal com - not one I actually use, mind - and she types a few things in, “There. I’ll clear his schedule so your new calendar entry is properly valid,” she shakes her head, “With that, you could have just called…” she trails off as she starts fingering herself in earnest with one hand as she caresses her newly soft and perky chest with the other.
Which, ironically, is probably her job here, “What can I say? I don’t like phone trees or waiting on hold. Thank you, and do enjoy the gift.”
She only moans in response, and I shake my head as I head out the door, leaving this awful place behind me.
