nexus_crossings | (no subject)

One of the Nexus' many features is, surprising no one, a portal. It's a portal with a black center and for the longest time, it's pulsated with swirling fingers of white light. It's fairly nondescript as portals go, and while the air around it tingles, any attempts to go through the portal simply lead… well, to the back side of the portal.

Today, it hums.

Today a wave of not-quite purple washes through the swirling arms, and the hole opens up to a library.

A library with a tiefling inside it, who pokes his head through, looks around for a moment, then withdraws.

A few minutes, then an hour passes as the portal goes dormant once more, no sign of the tiefling or his library visible through the center. Time ticks by, minutes and hours passing by before finally, the portal sparks once more.

This time, when it opens, the center of the portal is reinforced by a golden metal frame, and the tiefling comes through with a satchel laden with books and scrolls, dragging a table full of mechanical and alchemical contractions behind him. There's a giddiness to his movement and he grunts and curses the table where he wants it, even when he has to frantically rescue some of the instruments from falling. Then, once everything is settled exactly how he likes it, the real fun begins.

At least for the tiefling.

He spends a few moments recording readings from the array of instruments and meters, muttering excitedly to himself before plopping on the ground and digging through his satchel. Amidst the scrolls and books, he finds one of the many pamphlets explaining the Nexus and its rules. Regarding it with narrowed eyes, he pulls out an hourglass and sets it aside, returning his focus to his research.

The hourglass is flipped three times before the tiefling looks up from his work, tail swishing on the ground behind him, and he poses his questions.

"Has anyone here determined what happens if you don't ask a question? How long can you go without asking a question before something happens? Why is a question required? How poignant must the question be to be considered acceptable? Is a simple "How are you?" enough, or must it be philosophically intriguing?"

There's a pause in the tiefling's barrage as he scrunches his nose, scowling deeply at nothing. Then he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and relaxes, adding on his final question. "I suppose I might as well ask if anyone has seen a man named Lorroakan, by any chance? Human, red hair, thinks very highly of himself, and has a temper that Devil's would envy."

((Hello, I am new. I know it's been quiet but nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? So here I am. Venturing.))

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Barcus watches from a safe distance for a few minutes as the tiefling bustles in, drops instruments everywhere, collects himself, and begins researching. He's privately rather charmed; it's the kind of thing he would have done himself if he were A) unoccupied back home and B) a little more confident in his ability to defend himself physically. Because of course you want to learn everything you can about a new phenomenon, a portal to a whole new world. He's already taken note of dozens of materials that are rare to nonexistent back home, things he can absolutely find uses for.

It actually takes him a little while before he realizes he recognizes this tiefling. Tav, the Last Light Inn, Baldur's Gate, Ramazith Tower. Barcus took little note of him until after the battle with the Netherbrain, because he had tunnel vision that was focused on Wulbren, but he's had occasion to learn a little more about him since.

Interesting that they should both find their way here, but at least the gnome can approach him without anticipating hostility.

"Well, the first and only question I've answered here was a wordless hissing noise while the asker pointed at a shop window. It seems to have counted, so I don't think poignancy matters."

"Lorroakan?" He gives him a quizzical look. "Last I heard, Lorroakan--" Wait. It's possible they're from different timelines, isn't it? Maybe the less he says, the better. "You're Rolan, aren't you? Are you...still his apprentice?"

((not quite ready to drop Dammon in here yet but in the meantime these two are nerds of a feather so I'm sure they'll have fun))

"No," Rolan replies rather abruptly, his expression dark for a moment before he reins himself in.

"No," he repeats with much less force, shaking his head and taking his time to examine the Deep Gnome before him. Like Barcus, he recognize the other from the Last Light Inn, and he recalls the slight commotion he and the other Deep Gnomes caused prior to the Nightsong taking to the sky. "I was simply asking to see if he'd ever actually used the portal, or if it was like every other device in his collection."

"It's a bit too soon to call it, but I do not think the odds are in his favor," Rolan drawls, rolling his eyes with a scoff.

"Anyway, I don't believe we've been formally introduced." Rolan offers his hand with a polite smile that boarders on smug, not bothering to stand up from where he's seated. They're already eye-level as it is. "You're one of Tav's associates, are you not? I believe I've heard the name Wulbren used in your presence, but not, I suspect, in reference to yourself."

"And thank you," he hastily adds, ready to jot down a note as soon as the handshake is over. "For answering my question. Have you been here long?"

((Absolutely understandable. This is entirely a "do it now, or I will sit here until I forget to do anything at all" sort of thing. Besides, you are not wrong about Barcus and Rolan nerding out together))

Yikes. Ask a stupid question? But it wasn't meant as impertinent, and the tiefling seems to soften after the first knee-jerk response. Barcus relaxes a little, a sympathetic quirk in his eyebrows. "Well, that's good. I wasn't sure whether I ought to tell you he's dead, last I heard." And good riddance, based on what Barcus has heard, as well, but he'll keep his opinion to himself for now.

"I wouldn't know if he had contacts here; honestly, I've barely spoken to anyone. But for the record, if you happen to see an animated skeleton with large green gems for eyes about? He's harmless and rather sweet, don't hurt him."

The gnome accepts the handshake; Barcus has the calluses of a mechanic and tinkerer on his hand, and his grip is strong for a small man. He nods slightly, then winces at 'Wulbren'. A loaded topic, to say the least. "Yes, well. Wulbren was the leader of the Ironhand Gnomes, but I have that honor now. My name is Barcus. Barcus Wroot."

"I first visited a few weeks ago," he answers, letting go to allow the man to take his notes. "But my free time is limited. I haven't visited often."

Rolan's lips quirk in amusement as Barcus delivers the news that Lorroakan was dead. It's a bit strange to think there might be circumstances in which he didn't know, given his own hand in the man's undoing, but the pamphlet had mentioned the possibility of fluctuating timelines. A part of him wonders if he would have been less receptive to such news if things hadn't turned out the way they had; who would he be if Tav had turned over the Nightsong? Who would he be if he hadn't stayed and instead left the grove to its fate?

"While it may be old news to me, I'm still glad it remains true," he offers Barcus with a wry smile, rolling his eyes as he adds, "He was not a good man."

To say the least.

As Barcus continues to speak, Rolan does his best to recall what he knows of the Ironhand Gnomes and their entire situation. While he knows that as the master of Ramazith's Tower, he'll need to keep up with local politics, such things have never been his strong point, and with the state the tower is in, he's even more distracted than he normally would be.

"Given that Tav likes you, I'm sure the Ironhands will be in good hands from now on," Rolan settles on, mentally noting Barcus' grip and how similar it was to Dammon's; it could be worthwhile to introduce them, one day. "As much as it pains me to admit, they're a good judge of character and they have a habit of bringing out the best in people, myself included."

"Tell me, how have you been getting in?" Rolan asks, gesturing behind him at the portal he came through. "This was inert - and quite buried behind books - when I found it. I presume that means there's at least one other portal in Baldur's Gate?"

"So I've heard," he says, and Barcus' nature is a little more pacifist than some. He can't entirely celebrate the man's death, but he's not sorry for it, either. He got what he had coming to him, by most accounts.

"And I understand his successor is making a good job of it, though we haven't met before." He offers a small, but friendly, smile.

"Tav is both a good judge of character and a bit of a loose cannon," he laughs. "But thank you. I think I'm managing well enough. Between the Ironhands and the remnants of the Church of Gond, we're putting together a guild with the intention of rebuilding the infrastructure of the entire city." An ambitious project, but a timely one.

"Magic isn't my forte, friend," he says. "I don't know a portal from a hole in the ground, which is what I was in when I found this place. The caverns in Rivington where the Ironhands were hiding out before the battle are largely unmapped, and I wanted to see if there were links to the sewer system or the undercity. Best to know these things, in case of more incursions."

He shrugs. "I haven't finished mapping them, but I have added 'interplanar gateway' to my notes. Small wonder, really, with all the wild magic around our world."

It's hard not to preen - just a little - at the compliment, even if logically Rolan knew the bar set by Lorroakan was so low, it might as well be in Hell. All he had to do was not treat people as objects, and he'd be sailing above the bar with flying colors.

"I appreciate your kind words," Rolan replies with a bow of his head. "I've opened what rooms I can for public housing until things have settled, but I'm afraid there's not much more that I can do until the tower is completely secured. There's still so much wild magic making parts of it dangerous for even me to traverse..."

He shakes his head with a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't think Lorroakan put a day's worth of effort into maintenance for the entire time he occupied it."

"But enough of that- If I can lend you my aid in anyway, you need only to ask," Rolan offers, his tail flicking absently at his side. He's almost excited at the prospect of working on something outside of his tower. As grateful as he is to have it and all its resources, cleaning up someone else's mess is frustrating work, and it'd be nice to have a project with tangible results. "And if you don't mind, I'd like a copy of that map when you're finished with it. I'd like to mark down all the entrances to the Nexus that we can find and see if we could use them for the transportation of goods. And-"

He pauses to make a note to himself, tail flicking with much more excitement as the possibilities begin to ravel out in his mind. "I ought to write to Gale in Waterdeep. If we could connect our two cities, imagine how many students could attend school at Blackstaff while living here in Baldur's Gate. Not to mention the amount of commerce Sorcerous Sundries will receive from visiting wizards..."