The Conclave - Tracer

The messenger sought you out without warning in the street one night. She was stripped of everything but a black satin ribbon that criss-crossed her body. These ribbons snaked over her breasts and between her legs, where there was a neat little bow. The knot practically begged to be untied. Her body shuddered as you loosed the elegant bow.

There was a sighing as satin slid on skin and her pale young body was bared before you and the metallic disk which had been tied to her body clanged on the ground.The messenger kept her hands at her sides, and closed her eyes. She pressed a piece of paper into your hand and marched away.

“You have been invited to a test of skill. Cone to the corner of Silk Road and the Boulevard of Squeals.”

It was signed "Hendy the Jackal", a somewhat famous elf assassin.

The building was modest from the outside. The door concealed a chamber hall with a few cowled figures which turn to Tracer as one.

"A novice sister has come to us."

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((Up to IGankMid. We arranged this in PM for a 1:1, but I can always add more difficulty.))

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(cléodine will participate too ^^)

((I'd prefer this to be a 1-on-1. I find I get to flex more writing muscles when it's limited to two writers. Sorry =( ))

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((Whoops, I mentioned Tracer in the first post, toward the end and in the title. Is there a GM shortage?))

Gdiddymax wrote:((Whoops, I mentioned Tracer in the first post, toward the end and in the title. Is there a GM shortage?))

((I know, just forgot Tracer wasn't your character. I will delete my previous emssages if possible to hep you proceed.))

((Nah, leave it, just waiting for Gank to Intro Tracer a bit.))

Tracer Trailbones, intrepid bounty hunter of unparalleled determination, waited outside the seediest of seedy bars for her mark.

Her target was Mad Minnie, the nuttiest woman this side of the peanut patch. No one could be sure what she’d do. One day she’d string a barmaid up by her britches for lack of rum, the next she’d pelt guards with oranges to “fight scurvy,” or if she felt like it, give the best burlesque routine in the city. Ever Tracer, with her unparalleled sense of smell and terrific tracking skills, had no idea where she’d find Mad Minnie.

The solution? Stake out the bars she hadn’t drained dry of rum. Tracer figured the woman was bound to pass her by sooner or later if she waited in the right spot. Sure enough, after an hour of waiting, Tracer’s trusty nose picked up the scent of rum-stained silk she’d found on Minnie’s discarded burlesque dress. Her target was close.

And then, just as quickly as it had come, the scent was gone. What was that all about?

She leaned forward and sniffed the air. There it was again. She sat back down on her barrel and it vanished. What on earth…

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. Teeth gritted, Tracer stood up and stared at the spot she’d been sitting on. There on the barrel was a note:

Gotcha bitch! XOXOXOXOXOXOLOLOLOLOL

Tracer flushed in anger at the slur. Being outwitted was one thing- with Tracer’s bad luck, that happened often enough that she was used to it. But Minnie had gone and brought her half-kobold heritage into it.

“This means war,” Tracer seethed. “Either that or… or she’s just calling me a bitch.” She sighed.

Suddenly, the scent of something very peculiar wafted over her. Satin mixed with sweat. Delicate perfume- one of the expensive kinds, the subtle variety of rose petals that only clung to bare skin…. and the sweet smell of something primal.

The irritation vanished from Tracer’s thoughts as a beautiful, all-but-naked woman stepped in front of her. The only scrap of clothing she had on was an impossibly well-done ribbon that wound from her neck down to her delicate mound.

“Uh… Hi?” Tracer gulped. “Are you here for the bar?”

The young woman gave her no response but a heavy, shuddering breath. The silken knot over her womanhood grew tight.

“This is a joke, right?” Tracer smiled and scratched the dog-ears atop her head. “Who put you up to this? Was it Alexis? She’s always been convinced I was… you know…”

The girl stepped closer, pressing herself against Tracer’s overalls.

“W-whoah,” Tracer tried to move backwards, but found herself trapped against a barrel. “That’s- ah-“

As she scrambled to find a way away from the woman (who was way too close for comfort), one of her fingers caught in the delicate silk ribbon. The entire ensemble fluttered to the ground. Tracer’s senses were overwhelmed with that very unmistakable scent of a young woman aroused.

“Ohhh girl...” Tracer closed her eyes and whimpered. This was not how she imagined her night going at all. She took a deep breath and nearly lost herself in the moment.

Then there was a piece of paper in her hand, and the girl was gone.

You have been invited to a test of skill. Cone to the corner of Silk Road and the Boulevard of Squeals.

-Hendy the Jackal

Tracer’s mouth dropped open in complete bafflement. She looked left. She looked right. It didn’t look like anyone was playing a prank on her. So… what had just happened?

_________________________________________________________

Once Tracer’s head (and nose) had cleared, she was able to think a little better about the situation. As an assassin of some notoriety, Hendy the Jackal had a fairly sizeable bounty on her head. But what interest did an assassin have with a bounty hunter? Was she trying to pick her off to protect herself? If so, then there were other, better targets to pick.

Tracer had no idea what to make of the note, but if there really was an Assassin interested in her, then she had to stand up and face it. Better to face things head-on than be stabbed in the back.

The building at the address on the note didn’t seem to be anything special. Tracer couldn’t pick up anything particularly noteworthy, smell-wise. A bunch of flowers. Exotic plants. Maybe a little too much perfume, but nothing nearly as bad as a few houses in the red candle district.

Tracer carefully made her way inside. A half-circle of hooded figures awaited her in an eerie chamber hall.

“A novice sister has come to us,” purred one.

“Uh, yeah. I got your note,” Tracer said sheepishly. She really didn’t know what to say. What did one say when confronted by a secret society, anyway?

She kept sniffing, desperately trying to pick out any familiar scents. Something. Anything to feel like she could make sense of this place.

The scents are cacophonous. The chamber reeks of stale incense and cruel hearts. The group smells like a dozen different places in and outside the city. You smell a brook you recognize about half-day’s ride from here on one of the smaller figures. One with a shock of blonde peeking out of her cowl smells like powders and perfumes.

The one that smells like the stream: “You have been selected, Tracer. Selected for the great honor of joining our Conclave of gentleladies of skill and talent.”

The tallest one, who smelled of cinnamon and silk, spoke next, smiling. “We have been watching you. You are a skilled hunter.”

The perfumed blonde finished this thought. “But are you skilled enough to be our sister? We need to test you. Should you succeed, however, you would count yourself among the most distinguished women in Enferia. You would be an Agent of the Conclave, beyond the reach of mortal laws or discomforts.”

“Should you fail or tell anyone about us, your fate will be terrible indeed. Our last failed novice delivered your invitation to you. Her humiliation was your first act for us.” The tall one seemed to be taking pleasure in this bizarre game.

“Now is your last chance to leave. We will bear you no ill will. Our only payment is secrecy.”

Tracer was still flabbergasted, but this time for a completely new reason. If secret societies were anything like she imagined them, then these women were used to wielding power behind the scenes, currying favors with each other in the halls of power outside the society’s walls. Their influence relied on subtlety, secrecy, and a delicate hand.

So how could they be so completely, utterly wrong?

Tracer had never been anything but loyal to the law. She believed wholeheartedly in the spirit of community and sense of trust it gave. From the moment she brought in her first thief, Tracer had lived day in and day out for nothing but enforcing the law. Why would she want to live outside it?

The women here were making a terrible mistake by bringing her here. She had no intention of joining them. In fact, the very idea of being above the law repulsed her. No one was above reproach, not even the Queen.

She closed her eyes for a moment, memorizing each scent she could. Each one got their own name: River, Spice, and Dandy. If it came down to it, she could try and track them down later.

One thing at a time, girl, she thought. I don’t care what terrible things they say they can do to me. I’ll endure. I always have.

A brief image of herself walking naked through the streets flashed through her head. Everything bared, everyone staring. Nothing to hide, not even her…

“Leave? Please. I never run from a challenge.” Tracer made a point of grinning. “Bring it.”

((A thousand apologies, I had to write the adventure with your initial input and it is going in some interesting directions.))

"Excellent." Dandy waved her hands in a rough gesture and in the dust of the chamber, an image took form. A woman in full plate is screaming benedictions as she charges a vampiric countess. Even from the image, she has a perfect facial symmetry, more like a statue than a woman. Her blade burns cuts through a column in the palace as the vimpire flits around, trying to strike at the knight.

"This is Lady Gwendolyn of the Garter. She is a traveling troublemaker of some unusual heritage.
A Nephil." explained the soft voice of River.

"Lady Gwendolyn needs a lesson in karma. She is undefeated by the forces of 'evil', which she seeks to destroy."  The knight incanted some prayer over her weapon and hot bright power spring from it, filling the room with a golden glow.  The vampiress' clothes began predictably melting.

Dandy continues: "We provide balance in the world, Tracer. Of course, our organization cannot stand pride, which the good Lady has in spades."

"Your fel undergarments are no match for the light of heaven, fiend!" Barked the knight.

Spice continued the justifying "This is a paying job, by the way, paid in Fel-Gold. While we do not do to what devils tell us to do, we are always willing to accept a paying customer, regardless of their plane of origin."

"She will be expecting an assassination attempt on her modesty. Our last novice...was barely fit to deliver your invitation, and tipped off Gwendolyn with her failure."

"Cease your blesphemies heretic! This will teach you manners!" The large knight had bent the vampire over her knee and was delivering the dead rear a world class spanking.

"This is a trial by fire. You will be given much less for your targets as a full agent, but we believe in giving our new sisters a fighting chance." Dandy finally finished before dispelling the illusion.

"Any questions?" asked River.

It was all Tracer could do to keep from rolling her eyes. None of what the women were telling her made any sense. Where did she begin?

First off, they apparently wanted her to go after a full-on Paladin, or at least someone with a real shiny sword. She didn’t know what a “Nephil” was, but it was pretty easy to guess that it was probably something holy or stuff. Not only that, If Tracer was supposed to “assassinate” Lady Gwendolyn’s modesty, she’d have to go through her plate armor, too.

Second, there was the whole problem of the gold. Spice said that the contract was Fel-gold. Tracer didn’t know what the Fel that was, but if it was anything like her twitching tail told her it was, it was no good. Spice could tell herself that they didn’t obey demons, but if she was taking their gold and following their orders, then yeah, she was totally obeying demons.

Wait...

“Yeah, actually. I got a question,” Tracer sniffed. “Can I do this for free? Like, not take any of that demon gold?”

The women were silent for a moment. River raised a hand to her hooded face, clearly suppressing a smile.

“Thought so,” Tracer said with a huff. “I was wondering why y’all- er, you all- picked me for this kind of thing. Lots of other people with, uh, better skills. It’s cause y- you all needed someone who didn’t get blown up by that shiny sword, right?

“Well, I figure if I take any of that gold, I’d be doing demon stuff. And that means I might get blown up too. So better safe than sorry?”

“You pass the first test,” said Dandy grudgingly. Tracer recognized the resigned tone of voice of someone who’d a lost bet.

“Sweet!” Tracer’s tail wagged despite herself. “One more question… what kinda churchy lady is she? Does she pray and stuff? Who’s she pray to?”

"Clever girl. The last one was not so clever." River seemed to be smiling. “We really need to find someone dumb to accept that mill stone.”

"Yes. She passed." Said Dandy through clenched teeth."Good dog." Said the perfumed illusionist under her breath as Spice pushed Dandy back.

The cinnamon woman actually answers you. "She prays to the sky goddess Nucia. An Eastern whelp of a spirit whose followers offer good deeds in prayer. They do not supplicate at temples, but travel, trying to change the world one act at a time. A rather futile idea, but we have no quarrel with the faith. In one of her...” Spice sighed. “...‘prayerventures’, she rendered the servant of our Client hogtied and naked in front of a village of Pinching Halflings.”

“Good dog.”

Oh, no she didn’t, thought Tracer. She tried and failed to keep the irritation from showing. Of course the perfumed illusionist meant it to be insulting praise, but Tracer didn’t care. It still stung.

She listened to her target’s habits and prayers. From the sounds of things, she couldn’t just stake out a church; wandering worshipper made that pretty tough. Still, she could try to track her down via scent…

“I think I can get her in a few days, if she’s close by or if we know the general direction she headed,” Tracer said. “Though it’d go quicker if you had anything I can track her with.”

Tracer could work with a lot of things. Criminals loved to hide their tracks, so she had to get creative at times. Nobody could hide their trail completely: everyone left footprints in the mud, both real and intangible.

Of course, the holy grail was if she could get ahold of some of their clothes. Fabric always kept the scent of its wearer.

((Feel free to set the scene for the encounter, unless you'd rather have me start.))