Highlander: Convocation

The Gentleman looked over the assortment of envelopes spread out on the desk before him. Almost identical, except each held a different address in flowing script. The addresses would send the envelopes all of the world to a select, and rather extraordinary, group of individuals. The gentleman had taken great pains in research and investigation to ensure each individual was intrigued enough to respond. He hated to be disappointed, each of his target audience was selected for their unique aptitudes.

Picking up a small silver bell, the gentleman rang it sharply summoning a few servants into the room. He motioned to the envelopes with a wave of his hand, all the indication he needed to give that they were ready for distribution.

The gentleman turned to the large window at the back of the room, the only source of light currently at use. A few slow steps took him before it where he could gaze out on the plaza below. No doubt some of the more adventurous of his guests would arrive shortly, perhaps the more reckless of the group. Perhaps they would be the more dedicated to the summons of his invitations. In any case, things were now irrevocably in motion. Soon the largest, and perhaps most bloody, convocation in Immortal history would occur in this remote village. Until the Gathering itself occurred, and this was perhaps the most fortuitous way ahead to that distant goal.

Samantha "Sam" Curtis


The bell over the door jingled, heralding a visitor to her shop. Sam set down the Tiffany lamp she'd just finished rewiring, a lovely piece that she was tempted to keep for herself. Then again, if she kept every momento... Well, the warehouse she had over in Jersey was already filled to the brim.

"Be right there!"

Parting the beaded curtains that hung in the doorway to her workroom, she looked around for the customer. Sam hadn't heard the bell a second time, yet no one was there. Stranger things had been known to happen, she chuckled to herself as she headed toward the back again.

That's when it caught her eye. An envelope. Slightly battered yet none the worse for the wear, it was propped against the antique cash register on the counter.

"Jim?" The portly old mailman usually stuck around for a cup of coffee while on his route, but this time he hadn't even said hello. Maybe it was a sub, Sam shrugged as she picked up the letter.

Forward. Forward. Forward. No post mark. No date. She couldn't help wondering how long it had been travelling to make its way here. "So open it already. Sheesh!"

The contents were interesting: An invitation to a scavenger hunt. Someone obviously knew she was a packrat, but in Bolivia? Sam shrugged and looked at the second page. A map -- directions to her destination, no doubt. The last is what caught her eye though. A photograph of a sword.

A Schiavona by the look of it. It had been a while. They were once used by the Dalmatian Slavs who made up the Doge's guard. Good for both cut and thrust.

Sam ran her fingers over the photo before setting it down and picking up the letter once again. How could she resist? Then again, maybe she wasn't supposed to.


The earliest flight Sam could get to La Paz was a day later (with a connecting), but she used that time to her advantage. She'd phoned the cop shop to let them know she'd be out of town and picked up some things she might need while she was off playing Butch Cassidy and Sundance -- or was that Etta Place?

A few stores and more than a few hundred bucks later, Sam had her supplies along with a new backpack and bedroll. She already had a great pair of boots that would do her -- she knew better than to head out in new ones. Clothes, too. As for things she couldn't travel with... well, she'd worry about those when she got where she was going. Anything could be had there -- if you knew where to look. And she did.

And so her journey began...

Aidan

The morning sun rose to break in on the lean figure of a man standing quite tall and quite still. The new morning sun glinted off the skin of his torso while a faint breeze rifled his hakima pants. He stood there a moment, breathing deep, his eyes closed. He took a slight step forward, keeping his balance rested on the balls of his feet. The samarai sword flashed out of it's sheath in a blur of moverment, cutting through a small silken cord. A small iron ring, which until a second ago had been suspended by the silken cord, began to drop. The sword circled tightly, reversed, then stabbed forward. The ring clattered around the blade for a second before being whipped off the blase into a small pail of sand a few feet away. The process was repeated with a second ring, then a third. A final, sweeping cut neatly severed a melon in half that was standing about five and a half feet off the ground on a wooden post. The figure released the breath he had been holding. He resheathed the sword and opened his eyes, blinking as he faced the sun. He picked up half the melon and dipped his fingers in to pull away some of the juicy interior and plop it in his mouth. He stode towards the railing a few feet away and looked out over the skyline.

Singapore. Crossroads of five cultures, three continents, and every shipping lane for thousands of miles. Aidan stood on the patio of his penthous in one of the massive skyscrapers overlooking the Straits of Molacca. There was never a time when that narrow strip of water was not crowded with cargo freighters pouring goods, and money, through the tiny island nation.

Aidan turned and headed back inside his spacious apartments, depoisting the kata sword on it's stand and the hakima pants on the floor. He was headed towards the shower when a pair of small feet padded their way into the living area. Li, his maid (or server, or cook, or personal secretary, or any other of a hundred titles), shuffled her way into the room bearing a small package. Li was one of those confused descendants of the Chinese/Indian/South Asian/etc. inhabitants of Singapore. Aidan wasn't sure what that made her aside from exotic and attractive, but didn't care either. If she noticed or concerned herself with his nakedness, it didn't show.

"Sir," she said in a clear voice, "A package has just arrived, sir. I took the liberty." She stepped forward and handed the brown envelope to him. He accpeted it with a nod.

"Just tea this morning Li," he said as he turned and resumed his course for the shower. "Thank you."

His hands tore through the envelope, while he tried to remember who he knew in Bolivia at the moment and why he should care if they were sending him packages. The map was uninteresting, the picture of the sword so-so, the third picture stopped time itself. Or more accurately, sent it spinning back thousands of years. It was a photo showing two-sides of an Ancient (phah!) Greek shield. The face was simple, decorated by a single letter. The old Greek lambda . The interior was carved with several drawings, crude depictions of what looked like a the fanciful telling of same ancient tale.

Aidan keyed the intercom to the kitchen. "Li," he said in a low voice, "I'm leaving on the next flight to La Paz."

He did.

Claudio

The battle in the city was almost over, and so was this life. Claudio had been working with some of the mercs for almost fifteen years. Time to have an untimely death. He fired his rifle at one of the last two enemy troops. His turban flew off as a spray of blood erupted from the unfortunate’s head. Claudio was keenly aware of the other enemy behind a concrete barrier, but he pretended he hadn’t.

Claudio stood and walked out into the street. One of his teammates yelled at him to get down, but it was too late. He fell to barrage of gunfire. One shot got him in the head, another in the shoulder, and a third right in the lung. Claudio went down and his would-be killer was riddled with bullets. When his pulse was checked, he was negative for life signs. His team members swept the area. After a few minutes, Claudio got back up and walked away. His former team would think that some bastard had made off with the corpse for some sick reason when they got back.

Claudio had taken the liberty of having his will leave everything to his next identity. He knew where he would set up shop this time.

Claudio stood in the streets of this town, with a heavy duster on to cover the broadsword and shield strapped to his back. He wondered when all the fun would begin.

Meaghan DeValera

As she stood on a windswept street in Chicago in the dead of night, Meaghan reflected upon what had just happened:
She hadn't meant to do it, of course, but there had been little choice in the matter.

After half a century of living amongst the mortals, she had almost begun to pretend that The Game didn't exist...that she could live a normal life after all this time.

This had all changed about 6 months ago when she encountered her most recent 3 Immortals: Darius Slade, Harmony Williams and Raimondo Falcone.

She knew that there was a crime-wave in the city -according to local rumour on the streets it was being committed by people who could not be killed- and she and her mentor Valerie D'Estaing had resolved to stop it.

Darius had been easy to find...hardly the subtle type, Meaghan had taken his head in an old disused car junk yard where his mortal gang hung out.

Harmony was altogether a different prospect: now a respected lawyer and running for mayoral office, she was supplying inside information to the gangs about where to strike and also provided massive amounts of money to the criminals for advanced weapons. As a result, Harmony had been able to surround herself with toadies and security systems, yet these did not stop Valerie killing her in a car park as she tried to meet with more underworld connections to continue her campaign.

Before she met him tonight, Raimondo had been a Champion Spanish Swordsman, one of the best that the 15th century could produce...and he had lost none of his skill in the intervening years.
Yet, somehow, Meaghan had bested him and now here she stood, having only just recovered from the lightning of his Quickening.
'A rather ignominious end to a very skilled opponent', she thought and wondered whether she would meet her own end in such run-down surroundings. The thought chilled her marrow as she didn't want to consider that her life would end at all.

Making her way back to the antiques shop, Meaghan discovered an envelope in the letterbox which hadn't been there when she left for the night.
Knowing that it was way past all of the normal post delivery times, she very cautiously scouted the area for signs of an ambush, but -seeing none- she opened the letter carefully, smelling it for signs of poisons. There didn't seem to be any, so she read.
Meaghan didn't even know where La Paz was, but invitation sounded intriguing and she went inside the house to book her tickets online, hoping that it was just another long, fruitless (or fruitful) tale of antiquities, rather than an invitation to meet others of her kind.

This sounded more like something Valerie would be interested in and Meaghan thought about ringing her, but it was late and her flight wouldn't be for quite a while, so there was penty of time to inform her mentor.

Meaghan usually had a travel bag packed just in case she neded to skip town, so she proceeded to make sure everything she would need was there. As she finished assembling her kit, her eyes alighted upon a long case which was always filled with clay...resigning herself that she would always be who
-and what- she was, she brought it over from it's resting place and checked the contents, just as she had done on many thousands of nights before tonight.

Sam Curtis

Sam had opted for cargo pants and a tee to travel in. The heavy jacket slung over her arm got her a few strange looks in New York, but she knew that the climate in Bolivia was not hot and balmy the way everyone thought, and it would come in more than handy.

She felt the pressure in her chest as soon as she deplaned, but knew that her body would acclimate in a day or so. Thank somebody she'd quit smoking.

She was almost there!

The transfer to Sucre took under an hour and the taxi she'd commissioned for the three hour ride to Potosi was waiting. Of course the $50 she'd offered had nothing to do with that, Sam thought, rolling her eyes -- the normal rate was about $18 and she'd dangled the offer of a substantial tip as well.

The roads were hellish and littered with potholes, but she managed to grab a catnap despite the bouncing and jouncing. Right now it was easier to sleep than try to breathe.

"We're here, lady. Hostal Colonial, yes?"

She opened her eyes and looked out through the taxi's window at what was considered to be the best hotel in Potosi. It was far from luxurious, but it had heat -- a definite plus -- and was the only one with bathtubs. Actually, she'd chosen it for it's proximity to the main square.

Sam squared up with the driver after he helped carry her things into the main lobby. There was a certain 'quaintness' in its faded, musty carpets and the antiquated furnishings that appealed to her. The lights were dim and lent an ethereal atmosphere to what was a mere vestige of glory days gone to seed.

The desk clerk took her information and payment in advance -- just in case she decided to opt for better accommodations in a local village or something, Sam thought wryly. He didn't seem over-pleased that his nephew had made himself scarce, but plastered a smile on his face as he struggled to carry her bags up the two flights to her room. The lift, he said was broken.

She grinned and tipped him, listening as he finished his pitch for his cousin's shop... and his uncle's restaurant. Oh, and did he mention that he had a nephew on his wife's side that had a taxi? She thanked him for all of his 'help', locking the door behind him as she gently nudged him out.

She didn't unpack right away, instead opening the French windows to look down onto the brick courtyard below. She remembered how it once was... and couldn't help wondering what she was doing here again after such a long time.

Logan groaned slightly as his eyes popped open, reality flooding back into focus as he blinked several times. Unfortunately with reality coming back his headache came back too, and he groaned as he felt his body scream out in protest, his skull feeling like it had just been smashed with a steel-plated battering ram. He groaned in protest as he tried to close his eyes and fall back into sleep but the sound of scuffling feet brought him back to consciousness, alert, his hand darting for the old cutlass that hung by his side.

He visibly calmed when he saw it was just James, the kid he had hired to help him out around the shop, but that raised its own set of questions. What the hell was James doing in his house? He was about to shout the question at the teen when he blinked again, realizing he wasn’t at home but had awakened in his shop. Bloody hell he thought to himself as he looked at the two empty bottles of homemade rum. What demon had possessed him last night? Then he shook his head, remembering that this wasn’t exactly the first time he’d woken up drunk in his shop. Hell it wasn’t even the first time this week.

Things had gotten rough for the immortal lately. He’d tried to drop out of The Game but had quickly discovered that you didn’t get to make that choice, not when there were other power hungry immortals out there. But worst of all was the weather. For the past three weeks the little village he lived in had been hit with torrential rain and high force winds, causing everyone to stay inside and all the cruise ships to avoid the quaint spot. No cruise ships meant no tourists. No tourists meant many fewer scuba divers. Fewer scuba divers meant a sharp decline in the amount of money Left-eye could pull in from his shop. Less money from his shop meant less money for him to pay for rent and food. All of which led to him drinking heavily and waking up in places he didn’t remember being.

He took a deep breath and rested his hands in his head, trying to will the pain to go away. Maybe some other immortal would come along and chop his head off… it couldn’t hurt anymore than this bloody headache. He sighed and looked up, his eyebrows narrowing in curiosity as he watched James’ mouth move. It took him a minute to realize there were words coming from the young man’s mouth and he tried to catch them, but they flew right by. “What was that?” He asked groggily. “I said that I tried to call to see if we were going to be open today, but you didn’t answer so I figured I’d just come down and check…” He could tell the young man was hoping he wouldn’t have to work today, but Logan would have none of it. “Of course wes open!” He said, slurring his words. “We’res always opens!” He shouted louder than he needed to as he went to find himself some water. “Oh yeah, and this letter was under the door for you sir.” James said as he handed the faded envelope to Logan. Left-eye took one look at the envelope, noting that there was something strange about it before tearing it open. He read through the letter in drunken confusion not really understanding anything until his eyes caught the third page. His eyebrows then tried to climb off his forehead as he stared at the picture. He took one look at James and then back to the letter. “Go home son, we’re closed… I’ll call you when I decide to open up again.” And with that he headed out of the store and back to his home.

Less than an hour later he was on a prop plane for the first leg of his flight to Bolivia. Most of the rest of his money had gone into buying the ticket… He just hoped the payoff was worth it.

Claudio strode up to the hotel. He was glad he had managed to find one with a bath. He had been used to combat situations in which bathing was not an option, but when he could get one, it was nice to have.

In some situations, blending in is advantageous, but this was not one of them. Claudio figured that whoever had sent the letter should be able to pick him out of a crowd, so he wore the most practical cloths he owned: his combat gear. Claudio didn’t look like he belonged in the hotel. It wasn’t fancy by any means, but he would have looked more in place in a barracks. Claudio wore a white sleeveless undershirt with his dog-tags hanging above his heart. His shirt was tucked into a pair of cammo fatigues, which were tucked into his black combat boots. His short blonde hair was covered with a cammo bandanna. He wore a duster to conceal the broadsword and shield strapped to his back. Most people would have had trouble concealing suck items in any cloths, but Claudio had strapped them lower onto his back so that the arch of his shoulders would help, plus he had had much practice in concealing it. The entire outfit was topped off with a gun holster strapped on each leg, complete with black pistols and his combat knife strapped to his belt. Claudio was an intimidating sight.

As soon as he entered the Hotel Colonial, he felt the presence of another immortal. He looked around a bit and then saw her climbing the stairs. He followed at a distance and watched her go into her room and dismiss the bell-hop. Claudio didn’t really know how he felt about the game. It was good that it encouraged other immortals to hone their skill with the blade because it gave him the occasional opponent worth fighting. Unfortunately, he was rarely able to keep a sparring partner because he hardly ever met another immortal that wanted anything other than his head.

Claudio was hopping that this woman would have answers as to who their mysterious letter-sender was. He knocked on the door, hoping that this woman wouldn’t want a fight, for once, he just wanted to talk.

Alice had spent many decade honing her skills.
After more earopeans came to america she found a way into one of the settlements and soon back to earope and found serveral excellant teaches, most human but they were good with swords and fighting.

When the orient opened up she studied with a shaolin master to learn both bare handed combat and sword work.

By the end of this training she had earned her sword and well as the 'tattoes' which were rather faded now but not beyond regonition by those who studied ancient art, which was her 'day job' these days.

She obviously kept in top form as an immortal.

she arrived home and found mail already on the table. That ment that her current lover was already home. He found out about her immortality by accident, as usual.

She was about to turn a way from the table when he told her that to look at the top one.

She picked it up it had an odd post mark. She laughed thinking it was just some advertiser who found really cheap labor. But she opened in any way.

There was a picture of a sword and what any one else would have thought nothing more then an odd shaped pot. She knew the design, if she ever forgot she just had to look at her arms.

She knew that piece of stone ware.

She read through the letter and knew she would be on her way within a couple of days.

She knew how to get around the customs and her favorite sword would be waiting for her in a reputable antigue store.

He asked her what was up. She replied, "its time for me to go out of the country. Some thing I have to do."

He looked around her and saw the photos, "why are you interested in some old pot."

Alice slipped out of her jacket. And showed him her arms. He looked closer at both and a look of comprehension came over him he nodded. "do we have a day or 2 before you go?"

She nodded and he piked her up and carried her to there bed.

The morning sun washed down over his face, and Aidan basked in its pleasant and welcome warmth. The tang of sea water filled his nostrils as he inhaled deeply, throwing the scarlet cloak off of him...

Aidan's eyes popped fully open and the warm sun, saltwater air, and scarlet cloak popped back into the vacancy of the dream world. He reminded himself that one did not doze in the company of strangers in the third world, especially not while riding along a stubby dirt road miles from anywhere in the desolate mountain passes high in the Bolivian Andes. That was a good way to get your throat cut and get dumped down some no-named ravine. Not that he really worried about having his throat cut or about being tossed down some ravine. But it was a long walk to anywhere, and Aidan would've hated having his sword stolen from him. He resettled his overcoat on his shoulders, pushed his fedora a little further down over his eyes, and rolled his neck to stretch. It didn't look like any of of his fellow passengers had noticed him dropping off, but you could never be really certain. He pushed the dream back into his memory, down to the place thousands of miles from where he was, at a time thousands of years ago.

Aidan checked his watch and figured they'd be arriving at their destination in about an hour or so. These roads weren't really constant, and thus never really reliable.

*****

Aidan shook the dust off his boots as he watched the truck that had ferried him up here rattle off away and out of the plaza. He took in the four corners and found the place fairly typical. Hotel. (Memories.) Cantina. Church. City Hall (of a sorts). A few townspeople walking around here and there, seeing to their daily business. He nodded, satisfied for the moment that the place was what it seemed to be.

Aidan adjusted his overcoat, pushed his fedora back out of his eyes, then hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. He stepped out and over through the doors into the hotel, walking through its "lobby" towards its "register desk." The sleepy-eyed "concierge" barely noted his arrival. It hadn't been a hotel orginally, it had once been a house. A very fine house owned by a rich gentleman who had enjoyed his vacation in the mountains of South America.

"Una cuarto por favor," Aidan began, hoping his Spanish would be recognized and understood up here in the boondocks. "Lo mejor."

"No es posible senor," the man intoned. "Esta occupado."

"[Very well, whatever is off the ground floor, has a bed and a bath, and a door that locks will be fine.]"

"[Yes, we have.]" The manager tossed a key to some kid who was drifting around. The kid beckoned for Aidan to follow, then took off up some near-by stairs. He didn't even bother to ask to Aidan's bag.

Aidan trudged up the flight after him, wondering where the nearest kitchen could be found. As Aidan exited onto the landing on the top floor, the awareness of other Immortals tinged in through his skull. The man's fingers went inside his jacket to the hilt of the broadsword hanging there. There was no nearby movement, nor was it eerily quiet either, nothing seemed out of place. Aidan resigned himself to the idea however it was wasn't interested in him at the moment. Although the other Immortal undoubtedly knew he was about. Aidan padded down the hall to where the young boy had opened the door to what was now his room. Aidan hadn't expected to run into other Immortals so soon, and for a man who had prayed and sacrificed to the Goddess Fortune, it wasn't a good omen at the moment.

Logan muttered loudly as he stood up, feeling the stiffness in his legs slowly work itself out as he trudged towards the town. He was in a foul mood now and the three mile trek up to the town wouldn't improve things any.

Logan was perhaps the worst immortal that had ever existed and he would be the first to admit it. While others spent their time honing their sword skills, aquiring wealth and hording status in modern society Logan had been drinking his way from the 18th century to the 21st. He was handy enough with the cutlass he carried under his long trenchcoat, but he was in no way a master. He'd ran into immortals who were far more skilled than he was with a blade, but had survived because he was a nasty fighter. Where others fought with honor and grace he used every dirty trick in the book to survive.

He'd never gotten wealthy, just clawing his way through three centuries of life, never even reaching middle class status. He'd gone through almost thirty years of grinding poverty. It had taken nearly all his money left to get into La Paz airport, where he found out it would cost him even more for the twelve hour train ride into the small village. And there was no way Logan could afford that. So, as he'd done so many times before, he set out to hobo travel his way to the small town.

He hit the ground with a roll, his legs buckling as he fell down the short incline, coming to a rest at the bottom of the hill. He trudged back up the hill, grabbing his possessions he'd tossed out before hand and starting off towards the town in the distance.

Alice

After 2 days of getting ready, whch included over nighting her best sword to a musuem in Bolvia and haveing lots of sex. She was on her way.

Upon arrive thing has gone smoothly and she was now headed her the "village" mentioned in the letter.

She looked a little odd in her trench, but nothing else hide her katona as well. She knew to expect immortals about so she was not so foolish as to be unarmed.

She senced no one on the train ride but there had been moment in the train station. But it was a public place and noone had came forward, so she did not worry about it. She fought and took heads when she had to but prefered to leave other immortals alone.

Now that the train ride was over she still had a couple of days of hicking to do before she got to her destination.

Sam Curtis

There was a crackle of sorts in the air that made the short hairs on the back of Sam's neck raise to attention, but before she had a chance to consider exactly what it was, she heard a low, insistent knock. Opening the door, she peered around its edge to find a tall, blond... Immortal... standing there. He was, she realized as she invited him in, probably not the only one.

"Sam Curtis," she said by way of introduction, not bothering to hide the fact that she wasn't in the mood for company despite the fact that her curiosity was piqued. Sam really had wanted a long soak in the tub after her trip from Sucre, but that could wait now.

"Claudio Von Durgas," came his equally succinct reply. "I was wondering... "

"What I'm doing here?" He nodded and she shrugged, adding noncommittally. "I'd venture we're here for similar reasons since both of us seem to have retained possession of our... heads."

Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, Sam took a deep breath and looked around. "I need to get out of here. How bout the Café Museo San Marcos? It's been eons since I've had llama and they serve it with a lemon and mint butter sauce that's to die for. Just let me rinse my face and brush my hair and I'll be all set. Besides, I can't wait to compare notes."

It didn't take her long to get ready, though she stood in the doorway of the bathroom watching him for a moment or two before she cleared her throat to let him know she was. "All set," Sam said brightly as she lifted her pack and slipped it over her shoulder. Her passport and cash -- as well as the map and some other things of import only to her -- were in it and she was certainly not leaving it behind for some curious maid to slip her hand into. Some things were best not left to temptation.

Café huh? Claudio shrugged “Sounds good.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to try llama, but he had eaten stranger things. He watched with half-covered interest as she walked into her bathroom. She was cute, but she was immortal, which meant that she was also dangerous.

While Sam was getting ready, Claudio took a look around the room. He didn’t touch anything, they all had their secrets, he just glanced around a bit. He took some interest in the window and the courtyard below.

Sam returned and grabbed her bag. They set off out of the hotel together. Claudio hadn’t really intended to spend the afternoon with this woman, all he wanted was some information, but he had to admit the dinner invitation sounded pleasant enough. Well, since they would be eating together tonight, there was no need to rush into the serious stuff. He smiled at her as they reached the street. “So, what do you do to pass the centuries?”

Meaghan

Having ensured that her items were in their containers, Meaghan rang Valerie.
As usual, it went straight to answerphone, so she left a message detailing what the letter had said, where she would be staying and tht she would be phoning every day to say what was going on and if she needed any help.

With the message left, Meaghan reflected upon what was to come:
It had been a while since she'd been way from her mentor, but it felt good to be stretching her legs and to be on to new adventures, knowing that she would always have the warmth of the shop, Valerie and her many local friends to return to at the end of her excursion.

She hoped that she wouldn't have to resort to the contents of her cases, but -unlike the Immortal Cimoli, an unarmed casualty of the mid-90's- she believed that it is always better to be safe than sorry.

Collecting her items, she taxi'd to the airport and approached customs.
Although it was late at night, the officers behind the desks were particularly attentive this evening - 'maybe this is the time when they catch their most criminals?' she ruminated.
Experience told her that her jewellery, small change and keys were the only things that she personally carried which would set off the metal detectors. However, she knew that her two long cases - one containing clay and the other a 1969 Straatocaster- would attract attention and she was duly waved over to the inspection desk by a young man in a customs uniform.
"Can I ask what is in the cases, ma'am m?" he asked, probably as he had done so a hundred times already that week.
"Certainly, sir." she replied. "I'm carrying a case of clay and a guitar."
"I understand the case for the guitar, but that case is bit onstenatious just to be carrying mud around, isn't it?" he enquired.
Meaghan could tell that his interest was piqued, but -fortunately- not his supsicions...yet...so she still had to choose her words carefully:
Handing over her credentials for the London Society, Meaghan answered truthfully, with just the right amount of artistic disdain:
"I'm a potter by my calling and the 'mud' -as you called it- is very rare clay from my family's mine..."
Seeing the ignorant look on the man's face, she continued..."It is rare because the geysers in the mud-pools only erupt once every twenty years..but if you search hard enough after an eruption, you can find particular combinations of elements which have been brought up from the earth and these make ideal raw material for my work...would you like to see?" she asked easily, turning the case around towards him, flipping open the catches and revealing the large slab of 4 inch clay within the metal case.

As the young man poked and prodded the clay, Meaghan turned her attention to the other case...flipping this open too, it revealed an original pristine 1969 Candy Apple Red and white Fender Stratocaster, which took his breath away...and every time she opened the case, it still brought a smile to her face, too.
Seeing the look of awe upon his face at such a beautiful instrument, Meaghan continued: "I got told that it's an original and that Buddy Guy once played it, but I think it's nice to have around sometimes..."
"I think I've only ever played it twice..no, three...times since I got it. I think it's just magnificent, don't you?" she asked, seeing the young man nodding in dumbfounded admiration.

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I need to catch my flight...will that be all, officer?" Meaghan enquired, smiling as the man nodded and waved her through the barriers to the waiting airplane.

She stowed her clay-case within the hold and kept the gutar close as she knew that baggage-handlers could be quite clumsy these, days.
Recalling the aircrews of the early flying boats, she pondered 'Not like those ones...now THOSE people were refined and knew to take care of things...'
The flight was relatively short and she soon found herself stepping into the bright sunlight of a La Paz airport morning.
From searches on the internet, Meaghan knew that (although most people expected a hot climate and year-round sunshine) Bolivia was not so forgiving. Therefore, the clothes she changed into in the shop were sturdy yet light, waterproof and largely windproof, too.
Along with her two cases, Meaghan's backpack was also filled with what she liked to refer to as her 'survivalist pack' containing: a small stove, enough dehydrated meals and drinks for a week, a bedroll and a one-person tent, alongside other camping paraphernalia...although the invitation had been to meet at Hostal Colonia, this was unknown territory and she preferred to have the option open to stay wherever she chose, rather than where she was told to go to.

Knowing that there was still a way to go, but some time to kill, she resolved to take in the sights of this new country, so she went to the market for a few hours browsing the local wares and trying to soak up a little of the style and culture of the place first.
Her Spanish and Portuguese were pretty good, but she managed to notice subtle nuances in people's dialect here and she soon found that she could incorporate this into her own speech.
Thinking back, she wasn't sure whether or not Bolivia was the country where 'Che' had been murdered by the Americans; recalling her time with him, she realised -ruefully- that this was just 'Yet another debt to be repaid.'
Pushing these memories behind her along with many others she had collected over the years, Meaghan continued through the marketplace, looking for signs or directions to get to the Hostal and her eyes alighted upon a YMCA Information Booth.
Although she already had directions, she didn't want to trust in the guidance of a complete strangers for her bearings...

Sam Curtis

"Antiques," Sam replied as they walked to the restaurant on Calle La Paz. "I have a modest storefront where I have been erm... thinning my collection. The neighborhood is small and artsy, so one oddball doesn't seem to stick out from the others." She laughed. "We're here."

Claudio held the door as she passed through. "The Café Museo was once a refinery," she said as they entered the bright, airy restaurant. "The stone walls are the originals, too." Thinking that maybe no one cared about stuff like this besides herself, Sam told the waiter that they needed a table for four.

"Four?" he asked with a puzzled look on his face.

Her eyes scanned the faces of diners before settling on one of the refurbished refinery machines that were scattered throughout the room. "Yes, three" she repeated to the waiter. "Please." Turning to Claudio, she shrugged. "Where there are two of us, there certainly will be more. It's so gauche dragging chairs from other tables for unexpected guests."

They were seated in front of one of the immense windows that fronted the building, giving them full view of the street outside. At least, Sam thought, no one would be sneaking up on them. She had really gotten rusty, she realized. And out of touch. She hadn't even brought a...

"Are you going to try the llama?" she asked him, refusing the proffered water and ordering a glass of white wine instead. Sam needed to relax but she also needed to know what the hell was going on.

As Claudio sat down he couldn’t help but admire the way Sam thought ahead, but he didn’t like the idea of other immortals joining them. One could never tell how aggressive they would be when they first met each other. Sam brought him out of his musings with her questions. “I don’t think I’ve ever had llama. What the hell, it’s not like it’s gonna kill me, right?”

They chatted as they waited for the waiter. “Antiques dealer sounds like a good gig. I’m a professional soldier. I figure that there is always someone at war with someone else, and I can’t really die so I definitely have an advantage over anyone else in my field. I have to admit, though, staying in the same place for more than a few months sounds appealing, especially when that place isn’t a combat zone.”

Logan sensed it almost the moment he set foot into the town an hour after having jumped from the cargo section of the train. Other immortals. It didn’t strike him as a huge surprise; he’d imagined that if he’d been invited to whatever this scavenger hunt thing, others of his kind would have to be present. Still it was always a bit disturbing, for he hated being in close proximity to so many others. He had a general rule he lived by: Don’t be around lots of people who want to chop off your head and harness your power. It was a rule that had served him well before.

Still his curiosity got the best of him and before he knew it he was wandering the streets of the small town searching for the source of the feeling. He had sensed it slightly before on the train, there must be quite a few people gathered in such an innocuous place for this scavenger hunt. Everyone had their own thing to gain from it he figured as he turned left down a small street, sensing the source of his unease coming from that direction. He found himself outside a small little place; Café Museo something or other. He took a deep breath, praying he wasn’t walking to his death and entered.

He quickly located the other immortals in the room and his mouth turned up with a small mirthful smile as he looked at them. One looked like he had stepped straight out of an action movie, sitting all nonchalant in the small café while brimming with enough weaponry to arm a sizeable guerrilla group. The other looked like a fairly normal enough sort, though he knew looks were quite deceiving when it came to immortals. Still they were sitting together and no one was trying to chop off anyone’s head, and Logan’s stomach growled, reminding him just how much a nice meal would be appreciated at the moment.

The host looked as if he were going to intercept, maybe even toss Logan back out onto the street, but he just strode by the man, faking confidence as he crossed the restaurant towards the two who were seated. “Julia! Timothy! It’s so good to see you again!” He said loudly as he settled down, dropping his sack of goods beside his chair. “I’m so glad you were both able to make it today!” He said, watching as the host threw him a disgusted look but turned back to his business. He smiled slightly and leaned back in his chair. “So what’s good here?”

Meaghan

[OOC: Time-frame = About 2 hours before people started meeting at the hotel]

After an hour or so's browsing, even a shopoholic like Meaghan had to admit that she'd soaked up enough of the local culture.
Looking around the crowded market place, she spied a travel bureau and after a quick inspection, her heart slightly sank as she saw that Sucre was an hour away and then it would be at least another three hours-plus to Posito...assuming that the local transport was in good enough working order to get her there in one piece, that is.

As she rested on a nearby bench for the next taxi, the memories came flooding back to her...October 1967, a tiny village called La Higuera...an image of a slender, incredibly brave, young man; defiant even unto the last...
Meaghan almost collapsed with her head in her hands as the recollections flooded through her.
After such a long time alive, she'd ended up believing that -one day- it was supposed to get easier to forget them, yet -here in this country- he'd come back stronger than before.

Buying a local travel guide and map, she plotted a couple of likely journeys from Potosi and realised that the place she wanted was not far from Santa Cruz. 'Perhaps a few hours away, dependent upon the terrain and transport.' she mused, hoping that she would be ready when the time came to see him again...

Getting her mind back on track for Potosi, Meaghan finally collected her things and went to a nearby mobile 'Hamburger TOBY' to get a large burger to keep her hunger at bay...The meat was filling and laden with carb's, but it was enough to occupy her for a few minutes.

Realising that there wasn't much chance of reliable transport to Potosi -and reasoning that she could get there much faster on her own anyway- Meaghan found a motorcycle hire-shop and quickly engaged the owner in conversation.
She discovered that she still had a little to learn about the local 'Camba' dialect and hired a tough-looking 2-stroke off-road scrambler-type motorcycle for a full month. The rental was probably more than the bike was worth, so she wasn't surprised when the owner was happy to throw in a cycle maintenance kit and some bike straps for her cases. She was soon on her way, using her map as a guide; although the roads were tough, she knew that she'd make good time on her (purportedly) new wheels.
Taking in the sights of the beautiful countryside and lost in her remembrances, before she knew it Meaghan was two-thirds of the way to Potosi...

Alice

Alice knew she was still a few hours of hiking away from her destination. but she had no qualms, well not about hiking. Her back pack with what she needed and her katna at her side.

How many immortals would be coming was another, that was a question that raised some concerns for her.

After all anyone with any expsoure to the game knew that large groups of imortals end with at least some dead before it was through.

Aidan combed his long hair with extra effort (that wasn't right, was it?) and groomed and trimmed his beard (that wasn't right either, it had been ages since he had a beard). The king had ordered, well suggested it in his way, that everyone look their best today. This was to be their finest day, so naturally they should look their finest as well. And they had an auidience as well. The enemy was up on the cliffs watching as they went about their morning grooming. Cleaning hair and faces, tending to weapons, polishing armor and shields. Today was to be the best day. Aidan reached over...

He awoke with a start, not remembering drifting off into the short nap. Aidan rolled out of bed and rose to his feet. He changed his shirt and took a quick glance in the mirror to make sure he was presentable. Aidan tucked his broadsword under his coat and quietly slipped out of the room. His stomach was telling him it was time to get something to eat.

He walked around til he found a place that seemed adequate. As he neared the cafe Aidan got that old familiar feeling, and took a quick look around. There were a few possiblities in the crowd, but no one seemed to be paying him any particular attention. Aidan stepped into the cafe, where the feeling grew even stronger, and seperate. There were three in here, and he quickly spotted them. Two males and one female. The first male appeared Germanic, and with a measured glance Aidan realized he was someone that wanted everyone else to know he was a fighting man. The second male was... possibly English, and was missing an eye. Aidan didn't know either of them. The female was someone Aidan was familiar enough with. He wasn't sure if it had been too long, or not long enough.

"Hello Sam," he said under his breath, his lips barely moving.

He was deciding on the protocol of the situation. They would obviously have felt him enter the restaurant, in a moment they would probably pick him out of the crowd as well. It would be polite to at least say 'hello,' and would be a step in the right direction to avoiding any unwanted confrontations. With a small resigned sigh, Aidan began to pick his way slowly over to their table. Giving them time to see him, and assume he was not an immeadite threat.

Sam Curtis

The air was fairly crackling around her, and Sam was getting just a tad annoyed with it all. First there had been Claudio and the way he'd suddenly appeared at her door without her realizing -- they still hadn't exchanged more than trivial pleasantries. The gods only knew what was up with this whole thing. Or maybe the gods had nothing to do with any of it, she thought as a tall man who was obviously one of them came striding toward their table setting the short hairs on the back of her neck on end.

"Hey, Claudio... " Sam said without taking her eyes off the latest arrival. "Get a load of... "

"Julia! Timothy!"

He slid into the chair smooth as butter on bread, or an oil slick on... Sam barely heard him ask what was on the menu, her gaze had already drifted past him to another.

"Hello, Sam."

Talk about a small world. Looking up into steel blue eyes that she well knew could be as cold as the North Sea from where he hailed and in the next moment as warm as the Mediterranean, Sam tilted her head and grinned. "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine... Slainte, Aiden. Please, sit. And you... " She nodded toward the man who was grinning as he looked from face to face. "Don't mind if you do."

"My, my... This is getting kind of cozy, isn't it? We were just about to order. I don't think they serve humble pie, though I figure someone should be eating a platter full right now. I thought you were... "

"Dead?"

"Something like that. We'll eat first, but I have a gazillion questions. Yeah, I'm still Turkey Nada revisited, but I think you'll agree that something big is going on around here." Turning toward the other who had just approached, she extended her hand toward an empty chair. "Please do. We may be strangers for a moment, but I think we have more in common than any of us had expected. My name is Sam. Claudio and Aiden," she indicated the others with a nod of her head. "And you are?"

Claudio

Claudio lifted an eyebrow as the slippery little man slid into an empty chair at their table. He grinned at the fake names he came up with off the top of his head. This immortal was a slick one. Then the hairs on his neck stood up again. He looked up to see another man approaching. Where the one-eyed guy didn’t seem to know anyone, Sam and this gentleman appeared to have some sort of history. Claudio gave a nod of his head when Sam introduced him as Aiden, then he looked over to the other man, waiting for his introduction with some interest.

Logan watched the interplay between the woman and the new comer with amusement. Something he'd noted about most of the other immortals throughout the years was how much they loved to make everything overly dramatic, their conversations and interactions appearing to be more and more theatrical every time he had the misfortune of running into one. It was as if they planned these conversations in advance. He just shrugged slightly as he pretended to bury his head in the menu, still watching the whole play with interest, his free hand hanging down to his cutlass.

He nodded in greeting to each of them as Sam took turns introducing them. Logan took a moment to size each of them up again, wondering if perhaps it wouldn’t be a better idea to beat a hasty exit. Being around anyone who could gain power from chopping off his head tended to make him uncomfortable. Still this seemed a peaceful enough group, even if there was a bit of tension between the woman and the newcomer. “Logan, Logan Wellingsworth. People call me Left-eye…” He said smiling. “So scavenger hunt eh? Think whoever is organizing this is on the up and up?”

Alice meets ???

Alice knew she could easily enter town and eat there but she hated wasting food and in this area of the world the resaurtant often feed stuff that would gag a maggot.

So Alice was starting afire to grill her freshly trapped rabbit and she had gathered some barries so she was set.

Then she felt 'it' and knew that another was around. She stood her hand on the hilt of her katona. Waiting to see who is was.