Gypsy Camp
Just across the Milk Run Bridge from Stonebarrow, this flat, clear area has been set aside for travelers and merchants. Two freshwater wells are on site, along with a large map of the area and some bathroom facilities next to the swamp (where nobody will notice the smell). Currently, the area is temporary home to the Shadows Walk gypsy tribe. There colorful wagons are more or less centered on a central bonfire pit, and various lines run between the tops of the wagons to dry clothes or hang blankets to create larger private areas. The smell of various types of cooking keeps the odor of the swamp at bay.

Zhu Ye Qing, Witchdoctor and Professor of the Higher Institute of Sorcery and the Supernatural has found Sylvania to be a mixed experience. On the one hand, it is full of spirits both natural and conjured and in dire need of his services. On the second hand it is about as far from civilization as he has thus far been – even worse than Rephidim. On the third hand, the sky is usually overcast, sparing him the need to carry an umbrella in addition to his shade hat. On the fourth hand, there are hardly any other Nagai around, which means he doesn't have to go through all the formal rigmarole of dealing with them. On the fifth hand, the countryside is crawling with hedge wizards, witches and shamans that are generally very protective of their turf. On the final hand… well, that remains to be seen.

The trip from the capital of Justininople to the backwoods community of Stonebarrow has so far involved traveling by train and boat. For the last leg of the trip, Qing finds himself in the back of a rickety wagon with at least one off center wheel, pulled by a cross-eyed flatulent Rughrat and driven by a diminutive Skeek whose only form of communication seems to be a series of slightly different quacking noises. All this just to confirm that the town really does have the remains of a recently defeated Necromancer or if they're trying to hoax the College out of a reward.

The witchdoctor lies coiled a little uncomfortably in the wagon, each pair of arms folded except for the bottom pair, which brace against the wagon's sides. With all the bobbing and jostling, he's unable to sleep, so simply takes in the scenery around him with at least some interest. Sylvania's varied entropic 'landscape' has been far more interesting than the magically barren sky islands, and the lack of overpowering light and people to speak with has left Qing in a merely neutral mood rather than his all-too-common irritability. He merely ignores the driver and his beast of burden rather than grousing, keeping his crimson eyes on the road ahead.

"Quack," Ducky (the driver) says, and reins in Pretzel as they enter the gypsy camp. The children and blind corners tend to confuse the Rughrat more than usual, and Ducky doesn't want any unfortunate or smelly incidents.

The witchdoctor glances at the Skeek, and gets the idea. Pallid coils unroll and spill over the edge of the wagon while a pair of arms gather up some bags marked with the Collegia crest. He offers Ducky a handful of coins without really paying attention to him, surveying the camp and looking for a likely place to get oriented.

The arrival of such an unusual creature on the back of Ducky's wagon brings a myriad of eyes peering around wagons, over laundry lines, and through slates in badly worked wagon shutters. "Ey, Ducks," a Skreek comments from where he's leaning against one of the wagons, "Dat t'ing for de doc's experiments?" The Skreek is probably either a teenager, or in his very early twenties and is dressed in world-worn clothing, wrapped here and there in brightly colored scarves and bandannas. "Shouldn' it be in a cage?"

"Quack," Ducky replies, shaking his head vigorously and making throat-cutting gestures with his hand. "Quack quack, hissssss!"

Qing draws himself up as he reaches the ground, his mantle unfurling as his coils are allowed to spread out. He shoulders some of his baggage and gives the Skreek a frosty look over the tops of his glasses. "Mind your tongue, peasant. I'm here on Collegia business at the behest of one of your elders. Who's in charge here?"

"Peasan'? Vell, look vho all high an mighty," the Skreek says and rolls his eyes. "If vou hadn' notice', vou be in our camp an dat make vou de outsider. Vou migh' vant to min' vour tongue, no? Vhat sort o' business voul' de College haf out here? I no see vhy de town voul' call on vou. How do I know vou aren' jus tryin' to get close to de town vitches or somt'ing an kill em?"

Ducky just covers his face with his hands and sighs. For his part, Pretzel starts to nibble on a nearby wagon wheel, thinking it to be a pair of squashes.

The witchdoctor waves a hand dismissively. "If you don't know what my business is, then my business is not with you." He glides toward the map by the well to study it, peering across the bridge as he does so.

The quacking Skeek waves to the Skreek, making strange gestures and finally pointing at Djivan, then hugging himself and making kissy faces.

While Djivan is giving Ducky a rather puzzled and annoyed look, an unusual 'presence' seems creep in behind Qing. It's only noticeable because with it comes the familiar and tingling pressure of some form of spirit magic. "Djivan, go tell de others to put de crossbows away," floats a quiet and melodic voice from that presence somewhere behind Qing. "Master Zhu Ye Qing is no' here to harm de town, I do no' t'ink."

After nearly jumping, Ducky realizes who is speaking, and settles down. He clucks to Pretzel, and tugs on the reins to get the Rughrat moving again towards the bridge. It only takes four tries before the beast stops banging into the posts and manages to get across.

The mage pauses in mid-slither, turning his head away from the map and over his own back in that peculiar way of Naga to find the speaker. He tilts slightly as if listening to some far away sound, though the voice came from behind him.

Standing behind the Naga is a figure robed in tattered and faded back and gray fabric. By the size and shape, it's likely whomever this is is a female, though much more than that cannot be determined. A hood is drawn up, concealing her face and only two slitlike eyes can be seen glinting beneath it now and then (a Khatta, perhaps?). Her hand is curled around a well-worn traveling staff and in the tip is mounted a small, clear, crystal. From where Qing is, he can feel the curl and flow of some sort of magical spells bound to this woman. It has a tint of familiarity; the origin definitely of spirit, and at the same time parts seem alien and crafted in an unusual way. "I am no' mistaken, am I?" she asks in that melodic voice. "I am Madame Natasha, and dis tribe is my family."

Qing studies the woman for a few moments, letting his hands fold together again. He inclines his head slightly to acknowledge the Madame, and hisses, "You are correct. I am summoned by one Olivia Weaver, on claim of bounty against rogue necromantic magicks forbidden by the council."

The Skreek, Djivan, stops in mid-step when he hears the name 'Olivia Weaver'. "Now vai' jus' a minute, if vou t'ink," he starts to say, but is immediately cut off by Natasha raising her hand. "Djivan, I vill deal wit' dis. Do no vorry, no harm vill come to Olivia," she says simply and in a rather firm tone of finality. The robed woman motions with her staff towards a far wagon. "Please, come wit me," she tells the Naga. "I vish to speak wit vou before vou see Olivia."

The pale serpent looks to be given pause for a moment, but soon nods, and pours himself along with the gypsy, his trio of blue wisps trailing after him. "As you wish," he murmurs, falling into 'step'. "You are matriarch for this tribe, Madame Natasha?"

"I am," Natasha answers without looking over at the Naga. When she reaches the far wagon, she opens the door and steps inside. The inside is dark, right up until the woman mutters something softly under her breath and two crystals mounted on the walls flare to life, bathing the insides in a pale blue light; wisplights. She slides the usual guest chair aside for the Naga, then heads to the far side of the table to her chair. She settles down and motions to the now clear section of floor. "Please, make vourself comfortable," she says.

Madame Natasha's Wagon
Dark. Very, very dark. The Khatta seems to prefer to keep the lights low in her somber wagon. The walls are draped in black fabric with arcane silvery symbols. In the center of the wagon sits a round table that's about enough to seat three people around it. In the center of the table rests a crystal ball. A few feet behind the table hangs another sheet of dark fabric, presumably for keeping her bedding and personal items away from prying eyes.

Qing gathers himself in the offered spot, curling neatly on the floor, folds of white cloth piling over his body. In the enclosed space of the wagon, the acrid scent clinging to him – acids and ashes, dust and crypts – builds in the air, but he seems long since used to it. "You practice a form of the craft as well."

"Mm. I do. I am de seer and guardian of dis tribe. It is my duty to protect dem against de malevolent magicks vhich roam dese lands," Natasha says with a short nod. Her black form blending into the drawn curtain behind her, only the silvery patterns that snake across it help define her form. "Vou specialize in dealing vith de dead. De presence clings to vou," she states in a factual way; no tone of judgment. "Vas your trip vithout incident?"

Qing bobs his head, letting his smoked glasses down his nose a little to see better in the dimly lit home of his host. "My duties to the Empire deal-… dealt extensively with death. I work with all forms of spirit, however." The reptile tips back a little, musing on his journey. "It was largely uneventful, but not uninteresting. Sylvania teems with forgotten names and wandering shades."

"Ah, but do not let vour fascination let vour guards down. There are dangers here vou von't see anyvhere else; the shadows do haf fangs," Natasha notes and sets her elbows on the table, her fingertips press together and she peers over the tops of them. "I haf had dealings vith de College before," the woman says, "an not all haf been pleasant. But, dat is not vhat I am vanting to speak vit vou about. Vhat surprises me is dat de College voul' send vou out dis far. If it is not too much of a question, vhat is your official position wit dem?"

The witchdoctor reaches up to pass a bony hand through one of the wisps circling his head. "Rest assured, Madame. Though I've not been to this particular corner, I have visited Sylvania before. I am no journeyman." He lets his hand drop, and flicks his forked tongue at the mention of the Collegia. "Yes… many find dealing with Caroban to be unpleasant," he says, matter-of-factly. "But they are all that is left of the classically trained schools. I am an official and instructor, and work in Caroban's interests."

"Many haf found dealin' vit de Caroban to cause death," Natasha says matter-of-factly. "Dere vas a time vhen dey sent vitchunters here to exterminate de vitches and users of magic. Some towns still remember dat. So, jus' bear dat in min' if vou are greeted vit' suspicion. But, thankfully dat is not vhy vou are here. Vou are here to deal vit de issue of de necromancer Valicross' death. How much do vou know of him?"

Qing rolls his shoulders in a multi-layered shrug. "The Collegia Esoterica might have, at the height of its power. Even I will admit that Caroban no longer wields the influence the combined might of the Colleges did, Rephidim's crown jewel in particular. The wars thinned our numbers quite a bit, Madame. Though Caroban frowns upon undisciplined use of magic, they must acknowledge that an era has passed. I do not have to misplace my loyalty to say that we are relics of a bygone age. Still, we hold to the principles and deal with greater threats. It is worth our while to pay bounties for such as this Valicross, if he is indeed what we seek. I know little of him except for what Weaver said in her petition. The council deemed it valid enough to send me, and I do not question it. Can you tell me of him?"

"Ves, I can," Natasha says with a short nod. She draws in a long breath and leans back in her chair, the slits of her eyes disappearing behind her eyelids. "As de stories go, in the height of his power, Valicross ruled a town to de south of here named Schadel. He fashioned himself an army of de dead. At some point he probably considered himself de possible successor to de Necromancer Kings of old. Den some'ing happened. De tales are scattered, but some great battle erupted in dat town and his army vas shattered. Him, vell, he vas believed dead. He became jus' another bedtime story t' scare de children," she explains.

The Naga mage listens carefully, flicking his tongue thoughtfully. "Legions of the dead have served his kind before… the ritual they use must be maintained. When they die, their army falls as well. How long ago was this?"

"De stories put it around twenty years ago," Natasha answers and her eyes reappear from beneath the hood. "He didn' die, though. Injured, perhaps, but he didn't die. He pulled back into de shadows, vaiting. Vaiting for de time he could return to power. Vaiting for de time he coul' complete de ritual of de Lich."

Qing's angular face creases as his jaw tightens a little. "Mm. Tempted by immortality. But he was stopped? I am here to confirm his death. His permanent death."

"Vell, he never completed de ritual. He came close, though. He vas sacrificing those vot power in de arts over time. Using dere spirit force to boost de ritual each time. He only needed one more vhen he reached dis town," Natasha answers and then looks down at her hands. After a moment of silence, she says, "An he chose to use me for dat. He tried t'turn de town against us, to make us suspect in crimes against de people. To have us destroyed an cast out. But … dey saw though it. Some of de townsfolk, Olivia Weaver, Amelia Blacktail, and Morgan and Isolde Nightshade allied to protect us. Olivia had de vorst of it vhen he finally revealed 'imself. He tried to use her to uncover vhere ve vere being kept safe. Instea' she tried to lure him into a trap crafted by Isolde and Morgan."

Natasha continues, "It vas a horrible battle through a storm created by 'im an his small group of de dead. In de end, it took de combined skills of all of us to stop him. He vas confronted out on de town dam. De final act of a powerful ritual vas cast, an all magic, all spirit, vas stripped from dat place. Vhile he vas vulnerable, Amelia Blacktail slew him. His remains were sealed away by de vitches."

"I see… " says the Rokuga, frowning. He strokes his chin, musing over the story. "Then for all your people may rightly be suspicious of the Collegia, it was right to send for me. It will be more than my verifying claim to the bounty, I think. Spirits have a way of lingering, and the way of the Lich is unpredictable… "

"Ves. It voul' be good to close dis nightmare forever," Natasha says, then draws in a breath. "I am sorry I brough' de nightmare to dis town. I am sorry dat Miss Weaver had to face him. He voul' visit her in her dreams; threaten an taunt her. She been through a lot, I coul' no do her justice in trying to explain. It may be useful t' speak with her t' learn more about what she saw of him an de exten' of his abilities, den de vitches to claim de sealed corpse. Hopefully not'ing of him still lingers in de swamps."

Qing nods curtly, and slides his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "If anything does, I shall see to it myself that any echo remaining is quieted."

There's a knock at the door behind the Naga, then the ears, followed by glowing eyes of an Eee, appear when the door opens slightly. "Madame Natasha?" she says, "Vou tol' me to tell vou vhen Bravil vas transported for de ritual, I … " The Eee stops and stares at Qing, noticing that Natasha has a guest.

"Thank vou, Liliana," Natasha says and for the briefest moment, sounds annoyed. "I vill attend as soon as I can. Please let Morgan know he vill be needed soon."

The pallid mage turns his head slightly to include Liliana in his field of vision, ruby eye meeting ruby eye. "Out of professional curiosity, may I ask what ritual you are performing, Madame?" he hisses softly.

In the low light, Qing can make out the black-furred face of an Eee. Of course, the complex pattern-dyework of red lines make her even more distinctive. The Eee's head quickly disappears behind the closing door. "My friend Bravil is dying," Natasha answers quietly. "And I do not know vhy. Somet'ing happened in de spirit realm a week ago an it affected him. He be somehow trapped in his nightmares; they are somehow attacking his very spirit. Bravil is … an unusual man. I no sure I can explain him fully. I am going to try an blend some manipulations of auras and de energies of spirit to try and see into his mind an vhat is haunting him. It is no going to be easy. De local vitch, Morgan, vill be assisting me."

Qing ponders this for a scant few moments. "I am going to be in this region for some time. As a gesture of good faith, I offer you my services in assistance. It won't impact my assignment here."

Natasha sits quietly and her eyes vanish behind her eyelids again. "I … vill consider vour offer. There is much to still do before I can begin and possibly one more clue to get. Ve foun' some old documents in Bravil's vagon vhile tryin' to uncover some of his past. Ve now know he vas once a soldier of Chronotopia. Dere were some old letters he had. Olivia took dem to get translated by someone vho can speak Bosch. Dey may help explain vhat to expect to see," she says.

"Very well, Madame. You will know where to find me." The witchdoctor lifts himself up slightly from the mass of coils he's settled in. "Do you have other questions?"

Those slitted feline eyes watch Qing with quiet intensity. "Many I vould like to ask, but cannot," she finally says. She eases herself out of her chair, then nods her head politely. "I vill ask one of de tribe to escort vou to de local inn. De townsfolk vill probably be afraid of vou. Please, forgive them. Dey are kind and mean vell in dere own vay and in time vill no fear you."

The Rokuga takes in a deep breath, and lets it out evenly. "Yes… I will try to be patient. Be sure your Djivan minds his manners as well. I will await word, and in the meantime see this Olivia Weaver concerning the letters and so forth."

"Djivan … he can be frustrating, but he haf a good heart. Vou should know he is dating Miss Weaver, so he may be a bit … protective," Natasha notes and walks to the doorway. She opens it and the outside light floods back into the room. For the briefest moment, Natasha's face is visible under the hood, before she turns away from the light. She's looked to be an older (probably later forties), black-furred Khatta. The Naga gets a strange feeling of deja-vu, but perhaps it's just the feeling of spirit magic coming from this woman causing it. "Good day to you, Master Zhu Ye Qing," she says, then steps outside, presumably to find the escort.

That peculiar feeling of familiarity tugs at Qing. A little younger than he himself… could he have met her in years past? The witchdoctor dismisses the thought for the time being. "Good day, Madame." He draws his mantle in around him as his host departs, using the quiet moment to digest what he's learned and await his escort. "No wonder the Collegia didn't send a journeyman."