Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-7262318-20170128213721/@comment-5543592-20170128233325

Nightingale reappeared in the basement below the shack shortly after the group had gone. He’d listened to their complaints, extrapolations, and theories on what was going on.

He learned a few things himself.

G.O was an alias of Goriyn Mortis. He hadn’t known that earlier.

And someone named Bliz. It was easier to work when you had names.

He moved through the dark corridors of the cells, cape trailing along the backs of his ankles, feeling more at home here than most would be comfortable knowing.

He stopped before the ice wall, which some group members theorized was Stalhrim. Nightingale doubted it. Stalhrim was regular ice that had been enchanted. This was something else. And judging by Hafnir’s tone, he’d known what.

He reached a hand out from the inside of his enveloping cape and ran his bare thumb over the ice. Cold to the touch.

He frowned inside his mask and let the arm drop. Perhaps it was Stalhrim. This would be a new way of creating it. He wished they’d left the amulet behind, he could’ve analyzed it further.

Nightingale went back into the main room of the cells, where the mercenaries had first entered, and crouched, cape fanning out around him. The blood splattered on the floor didn’t faze him, nor did the smell. It wasn’t that the Nightingale had seen worse violence this is, it was just that he had the stomach for this kind of work.

He scraped up various sample of the blood in alchemical vials using a small knife. Readings from the scraps of Dalacon’s notes said that there was a unique chemical used to create the creatures the mercenaries, and Nightingale himself, knew about.

Tucking away his findings, he rose and pushed his cape behind his shoulders, so that it wouldn’t get in his way as he walked, and left by stairwell.