[3.5] The Passing of Time

[Cardea]

Chapter Zero: Prologue
You Are In: IC
Here Is: OOC (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=245058)


{table=head]Player | Character | Race | Class
Daftendirekt | Kyralia (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=398390) | Wild Elf (Shadow Walker) | Scout 5, Fighter 2, Shadowlord 4
Imperial Psycho | Farin (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=398421) | Human | Hexblade 12
Jeff the Green | Davkhur (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=389419) | Illumian | Beguiler 1, Archivist 2, Mystic Theurge 9
Postmodernist | Tar'ir Nailos (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=398509) | Valenar Elf | Ranger 2, Warblade 2, Revenant Blade 5, Eternal Blade 2
Lateral | Ilana (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=398658) | Strongheart Halfling | Wizard 3, Druid 3, Arcane Hierophant 6
Leonardo | ??? | ??? | ???
[/table]

Kyralia


Aerenal is definitely what you would expect from it. Moving through the jungle, your troupe feels the jungle air, hot and humid, as well as its local bug life. The Challenging Changeling Challengers, three changelings whose act consists of hiding in the audience until half-way through the show, then revealing themselves for some cheap spectacle, are constantly shifting their form, trying to rid themselves of the many bites they start accruing. The shifting, however, does not stop their whining. You've learned to tune them out, and with this walk, you would've learned to now, if you hadn't already.

Your hands stay near your kukris, as you glance to either side of the small path your group travels on. You spot a few eyes looking at you, as well as the elven bodies that own them. Some are clearly dead, and some are very much alive. They do nothing but watch your group as you move on, and in return, you do nothing, so as not to raise attention from your group's escorts.

Eventually, you see a rather large clearing, where many other tents and shops and stalls are being set-up. As you step off the path, the air makes a drastic change. Cool and crisp, and you notice a bug that was near your skin disappear as well. You are led to a sizable patch of ground, with a sign that reads, in Elven: RESERVED FOR NIMBLEDON GOLDBOTTOM.

You hear the triplets shout something about food, and you realize: You haven't eaten since this morning on the boat ride to the island.

Farin


"Now sto' meh if youev 'erd this one befo!" Some drunk in the inn you're staying in shouts. Everyone's heard it before. He said it just a little bit ago. And no one stopped him then.

The festival actually starting tomorrow, any tourist here for it are held in Pylas Talaer, and The Dragon Below, are there tourists. So many people bustling about and shouting and drinking and making noise and making... other... noise... and from what you can tell, there are more coming. You came here hours ago, back when there were only fifty or so people crammed into this moderately sized Inn, and back then, it was getting crowded. But now? If it weren't for the fact that your sword radiated more magic than some of the more magically gifted, you'd be crammed too.

You finish nursing your drink as your meal comes in. You forgot you even ordered it. In any case, it tastes fine, and goes down easily. Its only starting to turn to night, and it looks like more people are coming in. Come morning, they'd be scattered. But until then...?

There better be something worth your time, on this Island.

Davkhur


"Now sto' meh if youev 'erd this one befo!" Some drunk in the inn you're staying in shouts. Everyone's heard it before. He said it fifteen minutes ago. And no one stopped him then. If you were on the same floor as him, it would annoy you more than it did.

You sit at a small table, on the second floor balcony of this Inn. When you arrived here yesterday, it was quiet. Almost serene. A jungle island, with the only people coming in only a dozen in number, all throughout the day. A knock at your door pulls you away from the letter in your hand. You've read it before, but you were intent on memorizing it. Going to the door, you open it, to have a young elf hand you a plate with your meal on it. It looks fine enough, and he leaves in a hurry. They did mention that they served meals here, you remember, thinking that you wouldn't have to go downstairs to eat. You sit back at your small table, and hold the letter open again, re-reading it:



"First off, I apologize for not telling you what precisely I needed from you when we met. I did not want to run the risk of someone overhearing. I wrote this in private, and no one but the two of us know what is inside this letter. I expect you will keep it this way.

Second, it is important that you keep this affair quiet. Neither of us want to ruin this job of yours. I'm sure you'll enjoy the money, just as I'm sure I will enjoy what you will bring me.

But more to the point: I had mentioned that I needed a rubbing of some of the Deadwalls underneath Kathuran. This is half-true. The entrance to get to the Deadwalls is in Kathuran. They are, actually, underneath Shae Cairdal. The entrance itself is located in the library in Kathuran, on its fourteenth floor. This should lead you to a gate, which should take you straight to the Deadwalls.

Now back to the half-truth of it. I need a complete rubbing. I need all the information on the wall. Any missing names will render this business deal null, and as such, you will receive no payment. I will also require you to acquire a Chamber Ring. They're held by quite a few of their dead. If you are clever, perhaps you will find where they make so many? In any case, I leave this matter to you.

Completion of this task will pay out the sum of: 20,000 GOLD.

If you are in anyway found, you do not need to worry about revealing who we are. We have given no information of ourselves for a reason.

- O"

You take a mental sigh, as you put the letter down. Night begins to fall, and with a full meal and a full tankard of wine, the task is before you.

Tar'ir


"Now sto' meh if youev 'erd this one befo!" Some drunk in the inn you're staying in shouts. Everyone's heard it before. He said it just a little bit ago. And no one stopped him then. At some point, you figure, its going to get him in bed with a nice young girl. If he could enunciate anymore, anyways.

You arrived her a few hours ago, and after putting your horse in the stables, settled down in the Inn. And when it got crowded, you did your best to join the revelry. You won two drinking contests earlier, and since then, no one has tried to beat you. Indeed, some have simply bought you drinks, which, to be frank, who would say no? You swap stories of the barracks with some guards from Sharn. You talk shop with some blacksmiths from Karrlakton. And you talk of hunts and wildlife with some hunters from Eldeen.

If it weren't for the real reason you were here, the night would have been perfect. But an image came an hour ago. Vivid. It showed you, stabbing at a dark figure, cutting something off from it. And in return, it yelled. Nothing you could comprehend. Nothing you could truly hear. All you heard was a loud, terrible moan. And in a moment you were back to where you were, now with more sweat than the humid jungle air gave you when you first arrived. You excuse yourself from company, and order food, holding your new drink in hand. It comes easy enough.

By the High King, someone here must help you. If not, then what are you to do?

Ilana


From the looks of people's faces, you'd think that people didn't know what a dragonhawk was. The stares and the gaping mouths were enough as it is, but having to fill out forms and proper permits for having such a creature on the island made them stare even longer. Your paperwork was only a page long. Name. Race. Age. Trade. That was it. But the paperwork for Garuda? Three pages. Lineage, name, age, plumage, talon size and it went on and on. There was a man earlier. Well-armed, even for an elf. Had a warhorse that looked twice as intimidating as Garuda, by your reckoning, but these officials of the island wouldn't have it.

Finishing up your paperwork, you continued forward. Pylas Talaer, the town you find yourself in, is crowded. So many people moving up and down the street, in and out of buildings, shouting and singing. It wasn't even time for the festival yet. And this was a few hours ago.

Its even worse now.

Managing to get a room in the only Inn in the town, you sit at your room's desk, looking over maps and books on the island. Ruins abound throughout the island, but as you figured, those areas were most likely restricted. And those were the ones above ground. Hell, you didn't even know if you were going to try: there hasn't been much demand in the field of Aerenal Studies, last you checked. But food arrives, most likely complementary, and as its smell drifts in your room, you give one look over the maps once again.

[Daftendirekt]

Letting out a long sigh and sweeping her hand through her fiery red hair, Kyralia sets down her pack in one of the wagons as the rest of the troupe pulls in behind them, taking a minute to rest after their long trek before unloading and setting up the show. After a glance down at her rumbling stomach, the elf decides to look around for a good inn, not wishing to go yet another day on trail rations; filling, but not terribly satisfying.

Certainly a strange breed of elf here on this island, she thinks to herself, musing back on the eyes she saw as they approached the clearing. Nothing at all like my people.

[Jeff the Green]

Davkhur groans at the drunk in the bar downstairs, sorely tempted to go put him to sleep. It'd be a mercy to his ears, the patrons downstairs, and the man's liver. Instead he settles for stuffing pillows along the crack at the bottom of the door.

He ponders the letter while he eats, rather than his usual habit of reading during mealtimes. Rubbings were easy, and considerably easier than pilfering stelai, if less fun. Hell, he'd once made a rubbing of a statue, added some of his own blood, and passed it off as the burial shroud of a king! And rings, well, they weren't exactly easy to steal, but he'd managed before.

It was the entrance and exit that worried him. Excited him too, if he was honest. One hundred miles below ground, probably no escape but back the way he came. That meant no screw ups. And that meant a lot of research before hand.

The worst part was the elves. They were unwholesomely devoted to their religion, even worse than the followers of the Silver Flame. He was going to have to get information from one of them, because divinations only went so far.

Eventually he reached the end of his meal and the end of where his cogitation could bring him. Considering the letter one last time, he tears it up, places the pieces in a goblet of wine, and swallows them.

Sticking wads of cotton in each ear, he settles down in bed with The Lord of Dust and the Willing Pontiff.

[Lateral]

Why did I come here during Jibana Dibasa, again? Ilana sighs and takes a bite of her food.

Meh. I can make better. She turns back to the maps.

[Postmodernist]

Tar'ir's hand shakes as the vision overwhelms him, a small puddle of ale sloshing onto the table. He cautiously looks around, searching for someone who appears like the dark figure in the images he saw. Who could it be, and why? he thought to himself. This place seemed too safe, the crowd too jovial; no one here could likely do him harm. Though he appeared unarmed, the swordsman was secure in the knowledge that Ang'fara, his massive Valenar double-scimitar, lay secreted in the magical folds of his cloak.

Mulling over his food, the warrior sat sullen, taking in the sights, sounds, and scents of the revelers. Jibana Dibasa, he thought, how preposterous. My Aereni cousins sit and contemplate their navels for eternity, and dedicate a full week to entertaining themselves. This is no way to honor one's forebears. He spooned a mouthful of food to himself, savoring the complex flavors. "At least these jungle elves cook decently," he muttered to no one in particular.

[Imperial Psycho]

Farin wolfs down his food quickly, focusing his full attention on the meal in front of him. The meal thus dealt with, Farin leans back in his seat, at least as much as he was able in the crowd. Reaching under the seat he withdraws a crumpled, dog-eared pile of notes from his bag.

The notes are covered in drawings, most of Marks of various sorts, but Farin ignores these. Instead he reaches into the pile and withdraws a cheap map. Then, looking up at the notes regularly, he begins to plan, marking possible routes and locations of interest. He didn't have much to go on, but Farin knew there was something here. He had a good feeling about this place.

[Cardea]

Kyralia


Looking around, you see a couple of elves walking around the site, talking to members of various groups. You pick them out over others, due to the markings on their skin: black and purple, forming shapes that you could only guess the significance of. Feathers, circles, eyes, claws. Most of it stylized. But soon one comes over to your group, and is soon taken over by the triplets, who begin badgering the woman with questions.

"Do you have fruit Of course they have fruit its an island well there was that one place that called itself an island and they didn't have fruit no they said they were an island of paradise well it wasn't that much of a paradise if they didn't have fruit you're not making this easier you're not making this easier shut up Syllaca you shut up I want to get some food!"

The woman smiles and lists of some of the dishes they're offering for free to some of the other residents. The triplets just ask for, and the woman can't help but smile at it, 'enough fruit to make Syllaca fatter than Tica the Boar'. She woman nods at their request, turning her attention to you. "Anything for you, Ishtayo?"

Davkhur


The meal is unique in flavor; something spicy and juicy at the same time. Probably had an abundance of fruit in it; nothing of no surprise, given their climate. The meat is tender, with a different flavor to it. The wine is nothing fancy, however. All in all, its a very good meal, the very smell of it causing an ache in your jaw as you try and eat more. At the end, the feeling subsides, as you devour the letter. You get up, taking a place on your bed, and begin to read. However, you find this incredibly hard.

As your arms don't move up as you lay down.

You begin to feel very aware of your body. Your breathing gets heavier, and your limbs feel heavier. Its slow, but eventually the feeling becomes heavy enough that you can't move them at all. If you can wiggle them, you can't tell. Your eyes begin to water, as your breathing gets ragged. You hear a knocking at your door, and you have some mental relief, as someone could possibly help you. But after a minute of this knocking, you begin to worry. Eventually, however, it stops, and your focus goes back on your unresponsive body.

Your eyelids become heavier, however, and before they close, the door to your room opens. In steps three Elves, one of whom looks at you directly, as the other two move to either side of your bed. This one, however, stands at the foot of your bed, holding a book and quill. He looks down at his book, scribbling something down, before looking back at you. You hear a voice in your head, and you can tell, you know, it belongs to this elf.

Davkhur. The risen Illumian. Age: 34 and 7. Is this information correct?

Ilana


You can pick apart the flavors. The Aerenal Elves have fruit unique to their land, but its so similar to the ones on the mainland, it only serves as an interesting quirk, but overall unimpressive. It probably impresses others, but with someone with your refined tastes you can pick apart th-

Thunk.

Your head comes down hard onto your desk. Harder than you would ever care for. You feel a sharp sting of pain on your forehead, followed by a warm sensation, and with your eyes so close to the desk, you can see a small stain spreading on your papers. It starts to spread onto your nose, and then continues onwards, slowly. As your attention on the mess on your papers subsides, and your attention switches to your body, you find its quite unresponsive. Your limbs become heavier and heavier, and soon you find you cannot move at all. As the feeling fades, you become aware of the knocking at your door. Or more, accurately, you become aware of the knocking at your door stopping.

You hear your door opening, and footsteps approaching. Slender, cold hands grab you by your frame, lifting you up. You can hear your chair moving against the floor, and you are put back down, this time turned around to face the door. You hear a voice to your right say a hurried "I apologize, miss." as a hand reaches to the back of your head, turning it towards an Elf. You become aware that three figures are in the room, all Elves. One on each side, and one near your bed. This one holds a book in front of her, scribbling something away with a quill. She sits at the foot of your bed, and looks at you. You hear her voice in your head, though its... not from her mouth.

We apologize for the rough handling. Ilana d'Ghallanda. University Researcher. Age 40. Your companion, Garuda, is with you as well. Is this information correct?

Tar'ir


The meal is unique in flavor; something spicy and juicy at the same time. Probably had an abundance of fruit in it; nothing of no surprise, given their climate. The meat is tender, with a different flavor to it. The wine is nothing fancy, however. All in all, its a very good meal, the very smell of it causing an ache in your jaw as you try and eat more. It proves a good distraction from the vision, up until your body feels like... pain. In an instant, it is gone, but the world feels wrong, somehow. Your limbs become unresponsive as your body goes limp, and you have just enough time to lay your head on the counter. You brush it off as too much to drink.

While you can't feel your limbs, you can feel two figures taking seat on either side of you. Your head facing the left, sees an Elven woman taking a seat. She looks at you, almost worringly, as she pats you on the back. You can read her lips as she mouths out "Sorry, ---------". You cannot make out the second word. You deduce its something they use quite often. From what you can see of her, you can tell she is trained, or at least, prepared, for combat. Two swords, on her wrist you can make out a small crossbow-like mechanism, and in quality looking leather armor.

She reaches over, grabbing hold of your shoulder, as you feel another hand grabbing your right one, lifting you up slightly. They position your arms so they support your frame on the bar, and, embarrassingly, they set up your goblet and wine glass, one atop the other, to support your head, to make you look at another Elf standing across from you over the bar. He is writing in a book, and after a moment or two of looking him over, you hear his voice in your head. You don't know how you know it is, only that it... it really is.

Tar'ir Nailos. Swordsman and Raider. Valenta Rider. Hero, or to some, Villain, of War. Age unverified. Irrelevant. Is this correct, Ishtayo?

Farin


Its slow, at first, but you find your notes slipping out of your fingers. You move to grab them, but find that your coordination fails you as well. More and more, your body becomes unresponsive, your limbs becoming heavier and heavier, until altogether your body stops moving under your own power. The mark on your back grows cold, however, and you find you can still at least wiggle your fingers when it does so. As nice as it is, however, your slight attempt to catch your papers landed you on the ground, much to the laughter of those around the Inn.

Luckily, you feel arms reaching under your own, lifting you back up to the bar, putting you back in your seat. However, the don't let go. They hold you upright, supporting your frame upwards. You feel a hand reach under your chin, raising your head and attention in front of you, facing an Elf. He writes in a book, glancing up at you occasionally, and after a few moments he holds it down, looking you in the eyes. A voice fills your head, and you know immediately, that it belongs to him.

Farin. Traveler. Kharnath in origin. Age 28. Is this correct?

[Daftendirekt]

Kyralia banters right along with the triplets, well used to the changeling trio's odd sense of humour. When the elven woman gets to her, she nods and speaks up.

"Yes, thank you. I'll have some of that honey-roasted pork and a bottle of your best wine. I'm famished!"" she says, her eyes lighting up at the thought of a real meal. Weeks on the road is tough on a girl's stomach. When the woman leaves to fill their orders, she jumps right back into the triplets' banter.

"Hey now! Tica's not fat, she's muscular. You guys should know that after seeing her lift those dwarves so many times!"

[Jeff the Green]

Ugh, seriously? Davkhur directs at the elf. I accept commissions, you know. If you want my services all you have to do is make an appointment. He sighs. Or, at least, instructs his muscles to sigh. It doesn't work.

Yes, your information is correct. Though I've never been called "the Risen Illumian" before. This isn't some prophesy, is it? Because I don't do prophesies. I mean, steal them, yes. Fulfill them, no.

It was a good thing he'd destroyed that note; that's not the sort of thing one wants to have on one's person when one is in this sort of situation.

[Lateral]

Ilana... is not happy, but she keeps her composure. Apparently, they haven't mentioned the... other things, so no need to enlighten them of that.

Yes, your information is correct. Now please, skip the formalities and just tell me what your intentions are. I see no need for either of us to prevaricate. As she's talking, Ilana communicates her emotions- angry, indignant, and worried, but not afraid or in immediate danger- to Garuda, and also indicates the desire for a response.

Knowledge checks. About the elf with telepathy, about what I've been drugged with, about who these guys might be.

Nature: [roll0]
Arcana (about the drug, if it happens to be a magical drug) [roll1]
Religion (possibly relevant for who they might be): [roll2]
History: [roll3]
Local: [roll4]
Psionics (possible for the telepathy): [roll5]

Also, might as well throw in a Sense Motive. [roll6]

[Imperial Psycho]

Farin attempts an approximation of a smirk. "Some..welcome you Elves give. Does every traveler get this treatment?"

After a pause, Farin speaks again. "..Yes. Yes. Your information is correct, though you could have just asked. " His tone is light, but he manages a glare at the elf speaking.

[Postmodernist]

Tar'ir looks at elf scribbling in his book, and rage overwhelms him. No, he thinks to himself, unconcerned whether or not the elf can hear his thoughts, I was neither hero nor villain. I was a nightmare to all. The warrior of Valenar channeled his fury, using it to push back against the force that had arrested his body. Once he could sense his will had overcome the paralysis, he sought an avenue of escape-upward.

Iron Heart Surge as a standard action to eliminate the effects of the paralytic poison. He will then attempt to Tumble past his enemies (his +17 should grant autosuccess but I'll [roll0] here anyway), hopping up on the bar and moving away from them. As a swift action, Tar'ir will employ Sudden Leap, attempting to Jump [roll1] from the bar to reach the second second floor of the inn, or at least a portion of the railing (or any equivalent thing he can gain purchase on to get a floor above his enemies) he can grasp to pull himself upward with.

Might as well go full swashbuckling in the first scene before the plot even starts, right?

[Cardea]

Kyralia


"We don't have much in the way of pigs I'm afraid, Ishtayo. But we do have some birds here that taste very similar. I'll see what I can fi-" The woman pauses mid-sentence, and takes on the look of someone trying to eavesdrop on a conversation. "I'm sorry, Ishtayo, but would you please come with me? Something has come up and I need to talk to you in private." And, upon hearing your stomach grumble once more. "We... can also provide you with your meal."

Davkhur


Consider this appointment made, then. No, it is not part of a prophecy. Least, one that directly relates to you. The term is how we distinguish you from others, nothing more. And we are severely aware of your very capable skills at theft. In fact, we have need of your skil-

There is a very abrupt stop in the thought stream, as the Elf looks up. Somewhere close, you can hear wood shattering, and swords being taken out of their sheaths, and so many steps. The Elf looks at the two beside you, and they leave the room quickly.

As I was saying, we have need of your skills. There is the possibility of unwanted guests on Aerenal during the festival, and we would ask that you... keep an eye out, and help out when needed. We can repay you in kind, but only if you keep it quiet and if you do so with secrecy. Hopefully, should you accept, you will have others helping you as well.

Ilana


Astute. As you wish. Simply put, you are a very capable scholar and mage. Someone who we would hire as a sort of... guard... for the festival. We can pay you in kind, in exchange for your service and secrec-

The thought stream stops suddenly, as a fourth Elf bursts through the floorboards. There is an instant, as it, he, breaks the floorboards, where you can see the visage of something... else. Something otherworldly. His eyes are gone, replacing by white orbs. His head is encased by a helmet, its shape that of a beast that you know to be extinct. The name escapes you, but you know the signs. That kind of thing was alive, and now it isn't.

The man only manages to get his torso all the way through, using his strength to push him the rest of the way up. He stands just a few feet from you, his balance slightly swaying, but his face showing his concentration. Through the doorway come two more elves, swords drawn, looking over at the man.

The scene only continues outward, as one of the elves from below jumps up after you, her movement moving in mid-air. Another elf appears, floating up through the hole. He looks at the elf who burst through, his face visibly angry.

Tar'ir


Those were times of War, Ishtayo, you ca-

The thought stream stops abruptly, as the Elf before you changes rapidly changes his expression, becoming one of surprise. Your can feel a rush of adrenaline, mania, supremacy, freedom. This feeling, this pure euphoria, fills you, and you can feel your body regain full control, as you spit out a hardened blue marble. Bracing your feet against the floor, you move up, your form accelerating faster than any normal man's would. Raising your arms in an 'x' above your body, you burst through the ceiling.

Your torso manages to fully clear the division of floors, and using your arms, you pull yourself up, hoisting yourself up onto the floor, finding yourself in someone else's room. You realize you were interrupting a very similar scene: There is a halfling in a chair, two elves beside her, and one sitting on a bed. One elf supports the halfling's head up. The door to the room bursts open, and in comes two more elves, brandishing longswords. They hold them aloft, however, making themselves far more open than any normal swordsman should.

Looking at down the hole, you see one of the elves coming up after you with sudden speed. You see her jump off from the bar, and then, with a smirk, you see her... step off the very air itself, jumping away from you. She lands across the room from you, blocking your way to a balcony. The elf that... thought at you, rises up from the hole you made, visibly angry.

We are trying to keep a low profile. You would best be served if you complied, Ishtayo.

Farin


Agreed. It is rather unbecoming. But no, not everyone gets this same treatment. Only certain guests on the island. But it isn't without reason. We're required to have a level of secrec-

The stream of thought stops suddenly. There is an audible crash to your left, and the elf in front of you turns. A few moments pass, and one of the people holding you up lets go, and is gone. The elf turns back to you, continuing.

... some level of secrecy. Thus the poison. You shouldn't be so upset, being so familiar with misfortune. Its actually why we're going over this entire hurdle. We need your familiarity with misfortune.

[Imperial Psycho]

"Ah-ha. You know more of me than you let on. " Farin stares at the face of the Elf questioning him, as if he had much choice. "Well, since you went to all this trouble, what is it you want of me?"

[Lateral]

Ilana "laughs" mentally. Who's this guy? Someone else you want as protection?

Well, in any case, I try to make it a policy not to make any business decisions while helpless. Ssvaklor venom, yes? Nice stuff. Potent. How'd you get ahold of it? I suppose, what with the war and all, it can't have been too- Ilana stops abruptly, and "frowns" mentally as she realizes that there's been no response from Garuda.

Where is Garuda, and what have you done to him? I will make no decision until both he and I are in contact and capable of movement. And, if I may, that elf over there doesn't look too happy, so I believe a token of goodwill may be helpful. For all of us.

[Postmodernist]

"Pardon me," Tar'ir sneers, "I must have the wrong room." He drops into a low stance, preparing to take advantage of the open positioning of the longsword wielders. Adrenaline courses through his body, but the ranger maintains a calm demeanor. Reaching into the extradimensional space of his cloak with his right hand, he extracts Ang'fara, his enormous double scimitar. He extends his senses outward, his nostrils filling with the scents of those around him from beneath his Raptor Mask: the sweat of the warriors, the animal scent of halfling, the delicate perfume of the elven woman. He had foolishly let his guard down, and they had ambushed him. He was getting sloppy in his old age.

"Trying to keep a low profile, eh?" Tar'ir spits. "I suppose just asking a fellow for a moment's discreet conversation might have been too much. Apologies for making such a scene, I get a bit 'jumpy' when I'm poisoned." The swordsman nods in the direction of the halfling, not taking his eyes off of his aggressors. "I suppose you're expecting his compliance as well. I demand to know what this is all about. Get your men to drop their weapons, or I swear by my horse and my blade I'll paint this room with their blood." The Valenar elf's stern tone brooked no argument.

[Daftendirekt]

A quizzical look on her face, Kyralia gets up and slowly follows the woman, her hands hovering near the hilts of her kukris as she moves.

[Jeff the Green]

"Repay in kind." Did they know what he was here for? Either way, he was not exactly in a position to refuse the job. Negotiate the terms, on the other hand...

Uh-huh, Davkhur says bluffly. See, generally I make my appointments earlier in the day. Also when I'm not paralyzed. Usually breaking my rules means I don't take your job.

I'll make an exception this time, since I am obviously unfamiliar with the customs of this island. I'll just have to make my rules more apparent to potential clients while I'm here. First you have to release me from this poison's effects; then we can talk about the job, the coworkers, and the consideration. You have my promise that I will neither run nor attack you. I swear on my name.

[Cardea]

Farin


Believe it or not, we simply need you on guard duty. Every festival, there is always ruffians or thieves, and we need people who don't look like us to help us keep an eye out for them. We can pay you for your services, and we can certainly pay for some of your expenses while on the island.

The voice in your head continues, its tone becoming friendlier, calmer.

Ilana


Yes, although he is doing something quite... new. Something he shouldn't be able to do. You are correct. Ssvaklor Venom does in fact produce the things you are feeling, right now.

The stream stops suddenly, when you ask your next question.

Your companion is fine. He is still on the roof of this building. And you will be in contact with him once we are done. We do try our best not to hurt our guests, and we do apologize about this treatment: Its the fastest way to get in touch with as many people as we need to reach out to. We are quite sorry with our treatment.

There is a moment in the middle of the last stream of thoughts, somewhere around the word 'treatment', that you would swear never happened. But in that moment, everyone else in the room disappeared for the briefest of time. They came back, sure enough, but you notice: The elves at the door are no longer there.

Tar'ir


Your sense of smell sharpens rapidly, and you take in the scent of your surroundings. You smell the perfume of the woman, this is true, and you can smell the elf who has followed you up through the hole you have just made. But you still smell the bar. You smell the wooden floor of the first floor. You smell the sweat and the slight blood drawn from a recent brawl. You smell ale and imported mead and so much wine. But your sense of smell does not smell this room, this you know. You cannot smell the halfling, or the elves holding her, or the elves who just barged in through the door. You do not smell the bed.

This is how we must do things. We are also currently figuring out how you have just done what you have just done. We are sorry. This was the fastest way to reach you. No one here will hurt you. Please calm yoursel-

Your view changes. No longer in an inn. No longer anywhere familiar. You find yourself sitting on an altar, staring up at the sky, as it changes rapidly from day to night faster than you can blink or breath. All around you, dark forms come to stand near the altar, though none look at you directly, as they stare at the night sky too. Eventually, one does look at you: it is the elven woman, as she holds out her hand to you. She says something, though her words are hard to hear. You take her hand, and for the briefest moment, you view changes again:

You see the bar counter, though from the position you are looking at it at, you know your head is lying on the hard wood. This lasts for a moment, before you find yourself back in the room with the elves and the halfling. Some of the elves are no longer there, the ones that remain is the woman in her stance, the halfling, the elf holding the halfling's head, the one sitting on the bed, and the one who floated upwards after you.

-lf. This is about employment, how we were hoping to get you to aid your distant kin in keeping our festival going fluidly. Keep things calm, keep things steady. Making sure that things didn't need to be stolen, and that fewer fights need break out. Your reputation already precedes you, and we were hoping that would be enough to cover half of what we'd ask of you.

Kyralia


You are led past a few more tents and attractions, people setting up shop or stages, people readying props or stalls. After walking past most of the grounds, the woman leads you up a smaller path into the forest. The pathway isn't exactly supposed to be there, as it is less of a planned path, but more of a 'we walked here a lot and well now here's a' path.

You are led to a stone building, which is nothing more but four stone columns and a pyramid-roof. Under it are a few tables and in the middle, from what you can guess, a well. At the tables there are people rushing about, talking hurriedly in a mixture of elven and something-else, talking about costs and spaces and dates. Despite the commotion, however, at one larger table, sit two dozen elves, all with their eyes closed. Most of them have calm expressions on their faces, save for four, who seem to be in some distress. One Elf stands between the four of them, and from their heads you can see a small connection of energy, linking them together. Every elf at this building, you observe, are fully-clothed in formal wear. Something you haven't seen in any other Aerenal-Elf that resided in the jungle since you got here.

The woman takes you a table close to these shut-eyed elves, to a man who is speaking with another, talking about hiring fees. He writes quickly on a sheet of paper before him, and from what you can see as you approach, its a mix of names and numbers, with notes next to each one. As you get closer, the man looks up at you and your guide, and stands up. "Ah! You are Kyralia Ishtayo, yes? Sorry for taking up your time like this, but complications arise when you makes plans, and this would be easier."

Davkhur


There is a beat after you finish thinking. Then the thought stream comes back.

Agreed. There is a halfling woman in the room next to yours. There is a human male with a rather large greatsword made of adamantine. There is another male down there, this one elven: he is five seats down from the man with the sword. Take them, and please come to this location as soon as you can. We are quite sorry for our treatment.

As the man says location, your mind flashes with an image: a map of the island, from a bird's eye view. There is a blue dot, which you know represents your location, and a red dot, which you know represents where you need to go.

Your eyes open, and immediately you realize you threw up a little bit onto your bedding. It doesn't smell, and it is mostly spit, but you realize the fumes from it sting your eyes. There is no one in the room but you, you realize.

[Daftendirekt]

"...Yes, I am Kyralia. How do you know that, and what do you want with me? I'm just a traveling acrobat, what could you possibly want with me?"

The fiery-haired elf speaks hesitantly, shooting bemused looks at all the strangeness going on around her. She could handle herself, but there were an awful lot of Aerenal elves compared to her, all by her lonesome, should things go awry.

[Jeff the Green]

See, disappearing like that doesn't make me trust you more, Davkhur tries to direct at the now vanished (invisible?) elf. Still, good faith and all, I'll do what you want. I'll take my precautions first, though.

Taking out a few tools—an eyelash fixed in lacquer, a piece of shredded armor, a holy symbol he stole from a priest of Dol Dorn—he works a few minor miracles before venturing unseen to the halfling's room.

He enters cautiously, lest the originator of the halfling's wound decide to turn on him as well. Placing a pillow gently under her head, he examines the halfling's head.

Casting mage armor, invisibility, misdirection (targeted at his nonmagical pants), and lore of the gods.

Knowledge checks (including LotG bonus):

Religion (any religious sect or subsect they remind me of?): [roll0]
Religion (prophesies related to Jibana Dibasa and/or this year): [roll1]
Nature (with what might I have been poisoned?) [roll2]
Arcana (ditto) [roll3]
Depending on the rolls I'll use LotG to either reroll one of them or make a Knowledge (geography) check untrained.

[Imperial Psycho]

"Hmm. Surely there must be more to it than that. Why all the secrecy? I'm inclined to help you, but I need to know what it is I'm getting into. This is clearly more than just guard duty. "

[Lateral]

Ah, so I was correct. Well, in that case, I believe our next topic of conversation should be on my freedom.

Oh, no, wait. I can handle that myself. With a sudden release of magical energy, Ilana suddenly finds herself able to move. She teleports out of the chair, and arrives next to the angry elf with the double scimitar.

"Now that that's taken care of, let's discuss this job of yours. I will be requiring compensation for this inconvenience, of course, as well as any and all relevant information. I don't take work unless I know my employer, gentlemen."

Swift action, activate her Heart of Water spell for a Freedom of Movement effect. Move action, spend one charge from her Boots of Swift Passage to teleport out of the elves' grasp and next to Tar'ir. Standard action, to ready an action to cast (invisible) Kelpstrand on all of the people besides Tar'ir, myself, and the least dangerous-looking elf (the one who was holding me).

I believe their plans are going a bit awry. :smallamused:

[Cardea]

Kyralia


"We had Mr. Goldbottom-" There are a few snickers when the man says your employer's name. He continues on, sliding a sheet of paper towards you. "Fill out information on all his performers. Same routine with everyone else. However, he noted that you are a tightrope walker, but also that you were adept at not being seen. We'd just like to hire out your skills during the festival. Some light law work. Keep people from stealing if you can, keeping any eye out for people who look like they want to start a fight. Its mostly surveillance, to be honest. People are here for a two or three days at the least, and despite being here for vacation, tensions rise without them wanting them to. Pay is good, risk is little."

Behind the man, one of the elves, one of the four that was connected to some others, opens his eyes. You can tell, with your years in the circus, that this man is exhausted both physically and mentally. He takes a towel someone hands him, and begins wiping sweat away from his forehead. Right after him, another one opens his eyes, and puts his head on the table.

Davhkur


You open the door, and find something troubling, though not as troubling as you originally thought. A halfling woman lies on the ground, unconscious. You approach, finding a wound that, after a moment's inspection, looks worse than it actually is. Looking around the room, you see many notes and books on a table similar to the one in your room, as well as an empty plate of food. You also note a rather... large... bird, looking through the balcony at you, reaching its head down from the roof. Placing a pillow under her head, you can hear her mutter a few words. "... correct... conversation should... care of... job... rele... vant... employer..." They come, slowly, and slurred. Her eyes open shortly after, and she looks up at you. All in all, she seems fine. Aside from the blood.

Farin


Whether it leads to more employment depends on your performance, if that is what you are referring to. However, this really is simply guard duty, at extreme. This happens every time we hold this festival. It lets us run the festival smoothly, puts more coin in your purse and allows us to have an indirect hand in settling disputes with outsiders. The need for secrecy lets us do this without alerting the public.

Ilana


You feel the magic just under your fingertips, wanting to be released, but without the ability to move your hands in the right manner, it stays there. The elf doesn't take notice, as far as you can tell. You can, however, tell something is moving your head, feeling through your hair. The something is gentle, and you can feel something soft pushing against your head.

The job is keeping an eye out for trouble. Keeping an eye out for people with grabbing hands. Those who look like they are willing or wanting to start a fight. Step in, if you can, but you'd be paid to make note of them. People are here for a few days at the least, and we like to know who seems most likely to cause trouble, or those who do at all.

We will indeed compensate you for this inconvenience, as well as provide you with the information you need. This is a rather unfortunate mishap, as this outcome should not have occurred. One of your coworkers is attending to you now, and he will take you, should you be willing, to your employer.

Your eyes open, and your senses come flooding back to you. There's a strange warmth near your forehead. Your body aches, but it seems alright. Immediately, you become aware of Garuda, who you can feel is looking in through your balcony window. You feel a bit sick, however, though you can tell its nothing serious.

Tar'ir


At once, the halfling, the elf holding the halfling, and the elf sitting on the bed disappear. Their forms first blurry, and then gone.

[Daftendirekt]

"...I suppose I could do that," the black-clad elf replies after a minute's thought. "As long as it doesn't interrupt the show's schedule, I'm in. Always nice to switch things up once in a while. Do I get to do this alone, or do I have to have a partner?"

[Imperial Psycho]

Farin seems unsure. "Truly? You would poison a man's food simply to recruit guardsmen? Odd. Still, I will accept your offer."

[Lateral]

"Uuuuugh... my head." Ilana groans for a second, then bolts upright and looks at the floor. "No hole, my spell's still in place, and I can feel Garuda now. They were never really here. Damn it."

"...Unless they're still here. Garuda?" Ilana speaks to Garuda for a moment, then turns to look in Davhkur's general direction- it's clear she can't actually see him. "Ah, hello. You must be the 'coworker' they mentioned. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to actually be able to see you, so please dispense with the invisibility and let's speak face to face."

Garuda has blindsense, and she can talk to me. Invisibility won't get you far.

[Jeff the Green]

"Ah, yes. I should have expected that," Davkhur says, glancing at the dragonhawk outside. He snaps his fingers and the air around him shivers before he appears. "That would make you a druid then. Interesting. Yes, I'm that coworker. One of them, at least."

Davkhur flops down on the halfling's bed and considers her. "Careful getting up so fast; lizardfolk sleep poison's a bitch. So who might you be, then?"

[Postmodernist]

Tar'ir blinks for moment, confounded as to how those in the room with him had sublimated into empty air. He sniffed deeply, hoping to catch the scent of someone, some clue as to where they might have absconded. Unease flooded him, his inability to catch the odor of the halfling or the room troubling him.

Half of what they'd ask me? What does that mean? All this trouble for glorified guard duty? These Aereni bastards are even more daft than I remember, he thought to himself, shaking his head. He returned Ang'fara into the folds of his cloak, where it was safely sheathed and concealed from prying eyes. Things were getting worse. His hallucinations seemed to be growing in intensity and frequency. He'd had at least two certain flashes- slashing at the shadowy figure and the dark altar with the elven woman- but nothing else was certain. His perspective had shifted so many times, and that elf was certainly some sort of mind mage, with his telepathic communication. There were so many possibilities: the poison, an illusion, psionic influence. I'm fine. I am in control of my faculties. I just need to clear my head, he told himself, though his fear remained.

Tar'ir steps cautiously out of the room, and looks around the inn, looking for the halfling or the elves he might have seen in the past few minutes, something to indicate that this wasn't all a hallucination. His eyes scour the floor, searching for the damage his leap had caused, hoping that memory had been true as well. He then heads toward his room, seeking to meditate for a while, and possibly read another chapter from Great Sieges of the Last War before retiring for the evening. Perhaps in the morning, he could trust himself again.

[Lateral]

"Ilana d'Ghallanda. Yes, I am a druid, as well as a researcher for the University of Wynarn and a world-class gourmet chef." Ilana puts her hand to her head, and comes up with blood. "Ah. The head wound was real, at least. So, who are you? Illumian, I'd say, judging from the symbols floating around your head. What are you doing so far from your cabal?"

[Jeff the Green]

Davkhur's face goes bleak for a moment, though it's disguised a bit by his face paint. He smiles broadly to cover the lapse and pops up to proffer his hand to Ilana.

"Name's Davkhur. Doesn't really translate. I guess you could say I'm here doing research as well, though that's probably true of every Illumian away from home." He steps fluidly to the door and opens it. "I don't suppose you have a map in your head too, do you? Don't know why they'd choose me to be a navigator. Anyway, the other two of us seem to be downstairs. More of the 'Rarrrgh I'll hit you with a sword' type than us, I gather. Useful people to have around."

If you want to make a roll to pick up that bleak face, Lateral, why not treat it as a Sense Motive versus my take 10 Bluff result of 9.

And, why yes, I'm channeling Mordin a bit.

[Lateral]

"Ah. Yes. I believe I've already met at least one. Hold on a moment, while I..." Ilana chats for a minute with Garuda in an incomprehensible, vaguely musical language before turning back to Davhkur. "Well, then, let's go."

There's something you aren't telling me, my friend, but I suppose it's none of my business anyhow. There's no way he gets to know about the Gatekeepers, that's for sure, so I can't really expect him to tell me everything.

My take ten beats your take ten. :smalltongue:

[Jeff the Green]

Ugh. I hate it when I can't understand what people are saying. Davkhur makes a mental note to find a spell that will allow him to eavesdrop on Ilana and her dragonhawk.

"So, like I was saying, our employers seem to have put a map in my head." he says as the two head downstairs. He tries someone harder this time to curb his spasticity. "Little blue dot for me, little red dot for where we're to go. I've got a little spell on me right now to try to figure out where the hells it is. What's the birdy's name?"

Clearly he isn't trying hard enough.

[Lateral]

"Garuda." Ilana and Garuda speak again for a moment, then: "He says hello. Also, that if you call him a 'birdy' again, he will eat you."

Ilana's clearly amused by this. "Any ideas as to where we might be headed?"

[Jeff the Green]

"Not exactly," he responds, "But it's near a river, and near where the main celebrations will be. If we could find a damned map I could point it out, but as it is I'm afraid I'll just have to guide us."

He glances across the common room as they reach the ground floor. "That would be them," he says quietly. "That human people are giving space because of that big black sword, and the elf five seats down."

[Cardea]

Kyralia


Behind the man, an elf walks to one of the closed-eyed elves, whispering something in his ear. He nods, though he doesn't move from his spot.

"Actually, it would coincide, somewhat. Pickpockets are common enough in festivals, as well as the circus. The two combined will no doubt attract more than anyone wants. The job, again, is mostly surveillance. You wouldn't need to stop your own performance, or the performance of others, to do it.

"As for partners or groups, that's up to you. We will have a few dozen of you helping out. We are currently talking to some of them now, though... a select few have caused some minor disturbances, but regardless, whether or not you work with them is ultimately up to you." He finishes, fishing out a slip of paper, as well as an inkpot and quill.

"If you would sign this, we can get you started. You are paid two thousand up front, and two thousand at the end of the festival, should all go well."

Behind the man, near the group cluster of closed-eyed elves, two more open their eyes, and the energy that was between the five of them disappears entirely.

Farin


Yes, but not as crude as you put it, but nonetheless, we thank you in advance. Three of your fellow coworkers will be with you in a moment, and the four of you will report in. The pay is two thousand up front, and two thousand at the end of the week, should all go well.

Your head is gently put down onto the bar counter, and a hand is put in front of your eyes, forcing them closed. You feel the hand move away, and when it does, you feel in total control of your body again, the numbness subsiding.

Tar'ir


Finally resting, the blood in your veins subsiding, you find a certain peace. Resuming the chapter you were on, detailing tactics used by Shifters, who gained a foothold of territory by burrowing.

Before this time, it was thought that all sub-species of Shifters were known. Indeed, the men and women who found out otherwise, were quite startled, to find the beastmen springing from the ground. We can help you with the visions. Though Shifters are thought of as a primitive race by more than a few, this show of tactics made troops very wary of moving through Shifter territory; the very ground beneath their feet having the very real, very unpleasant truth behind your visions is cautionary, and we would help you in removing them from your mind, Ishtayo.

Your eyes open, and you find yourself back in the first floor, your head on the counter.

Ilana


Garuda responds, his body language speaking volumes to you. Fell on floor. Didn't get up. Started bleeding. Tried to go into room. Broke wood. Back to roof. Watching. Don't do again.

As you head downstairs, you notice the elf that Davhkur points out, acknowledging him as the elf you saw burst through the floor.

Ilana and Davhkur


As the two of you descend the staircase, you spot only two patrons at the bar, both of whom wake at the same time.

[Daftendirekt]

Her eyebrows climbing all the way up her forehead, Kyralia stares back and forth between all of them. Six years' pay for a bit of surveillance work? What was this? What sort of people would pay such a sum for such a simple task? Glancing over at the strange group of previously glowing elves, Kyralia slowly takes the quill and hesitantly signs her name, almost expecting something horrible to happen as soon as she lifts the pen from the page. Letting out a small sigh, she looks up at the man and speaks.

"So, when do I start?"

[Lateral]

Don't worry. I'll make damn sure it doesn't happen again.

"Ah. I recognize that one." Ilana gestures toward Tar'ir. "Interesting. He was in my... meeting. I suppose it must have been some sort of communal dream, but how could they have done that?"

[Jeff the Green]

"Not sure," Davkhur replies. "I'll take a while to think about it and dig through my notes before I go to sleep. I mean, go to sleep for the night."

He strides up to the two warriors and greets them before sitting next to the elf. "Ho there, colleagues. You with the dragonmark, why don't you come over here so we aren't overheard."

When Farin joins them he continues. "Seems our employers visited you two as well. Lizardfolk sleep poison, lots of fun. Don't know why they decided to talk to us in our sleep rather than make an appointment, but that's elves for you. Never seem to have a real reason for the things the do. Anyway, I guess introductions are in order. I'm Davkhur, this is Ilana. She has a big ol' bird named Garuda." He turns around to look at the halfling. "How does he feel about Gary? Or Oodie?"

[Postmodernist]

Again? Tar'ir thinks. I can't decide if you're very persistent or I've completely gone daft. Fine. Help me with the visions. If you can make them stop, help me control them, I'll help you with your festival. Answer me two questions: what is it you want from me, and why do you keep calling me Ishtayo? The bladebearer looked around as best as he could, seeking to orient himself, though his head rested on the counter.

[Postmodernist]

Tar'ir pulls himself up off of the counter of the bar, glancing at those joining him. "Vedui' il'er," the ranger says, invoking the ancient elven greeting. "I am Tar'ir Nailos of the Valaes Tairn. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Davkhur. Forgive my directness, but what are those sigils that surround your head? They are most fascinating. Ilana, I apologize for failing to introduce myself at our last... encounter. Circumstances prevented me from adhering to the strictures of decorum. I am pleased to meet you under more felicitous conditions. What manner of bird is this 'Garuda?'" He bows politely to each in turn. "And you, sir, are? he asks of the human.

After introductions are made, the bladesman asks, "So what precisely is it we're to be doing here?"

[Lateral]

"Gary will get you annoyance, Oodie will get you eaten. I wouldn't recommend either." Ilana smiles and turns to face Tar'ir. "Hello. Nice to finally meet you in person. You'd be from Valenar, then? I've been there. Nice place, though everyone thought I was some Talentan hick. What are you doing so far from home?"

"...Forgive me, I'm being rude. Garuda is just outside, if you'd like to meet him- just be careful, he's three times your size and very touchy. Davhkur's an illumian- they're some kind of magic word-humans, from what I've read."

"Apparently, they want to hire us as keepers of the peace during Jibana Dibasa, but I assume they told you all that. I don't know any more then you, but if either of you has a map, they put the location in Davhkur's head."

[Jeff the Green]

Davkhur smiles impudently at Ilana. "Garuda it is, then.

"Ilana's mostly correct, I am an Illumian. We are the Word Made Flesh; essentially living books. In my case, a swashbucking adventure. The sigils define me: Urr, 'grace'; and Krau, 'magic.' In other words, I'm a sneaky bastard who can cast more spells than most people can count."

[Imperial Psycho]

Farin takes a moment to gather his belongings before rising slowly from the table. He looks over the gathered group with a wry smile, scratching idly at the mark that stretches across his neck and face. "You would be the 'others' the elf talked about then, I assume. " After the other introductions take place, Farin speaks up. "I suppose I should introduce myself too. I am Farin. From Karnath, originally, but I am a traveller of sorts. Now I guess I'm playing guardsman at a festival. Nice to meet you all. "

[Jeff the Green]

"Well then," Davkhur says, "why don't we each retire for the night. We can figure out exactly where we're going tomorrow morning. I'll consult my notes and see if I can come up with how our employers managed to contact us while we were unconscious. There are a couple spells that can cause specific dreams, but sleep poison doesn't actually put you to sleep. Lousy naming there. Plus it wouldn't work on you, Tar'ir."

[Cardea]

Kyralia


"Next time you perform, most likely." The man says with a smile, taking the slip of paper and handing it to an assistant. "One of our own will hand you an iron coin sometime between now and your next performance. That will be your means of communicating with us should you see something suspicious. Your payment will arrive sometime later tonight, and we thank you for cooperation, Ishtayo. And with that, we are done, for now. Unless you have any further questions, Pirna will guide you back to your tent. It is getting late, and I imagine you will want to trance soon." He finishes, motioning towards the woman who walked you here.

Everyone Else


The nights events coming to a close, you four head to your respective rooms. The night goes on, and eventually the sounds from the first floor die down, until either you become used to them or they stop entirely. You cannot tell, as you run through your night cycle, whether it be sleep, or a close relative.

Davhkur
With magic embracing your mind, you go through knowledge you have both read and encountered, as well as knowledge you could've and could never have encountered. You recall texts about the Aerenal Elves, and how the combination of their innate sleeplessness states and the embrace of Undeath forged their minds anew, looking for new ways to give their bodies the same nourishing factor as one who was both alive and non-elf. What they came to, you recall, was rather crude: Several Aerenal Elves were taught how to bend and warp certain magic, allowing the spell Dream to affect the Undead. Through that, they were able to fill the target's mind with a Dream of sleeping. Once exposed to this strain of magic, both the target and the caster knew the following:


How to make the Undead both Dream and Sleep
How to make any Elf both Dream and Sleep


You also recall, however, that the book you read this from never existed. You can recall, somehow, moving among the crypts of Aerenal, watching these magics first hand as they were cast countless life cycles ago. You recall these Mages inscribing the secret to using this strain of the Dream spell, carving the words into the Wall of Knowledge, its obsidian face inscribed once symbol at a time. You recall being seen, and slain, and buried far beneath the surface of the world, so far, and you can recall countless hours of breathing in the damp air, before your supply ran out. You remember dying, hundreds of years ago, an unnamed Illumian Thief.

Everyone
Post what you will about going to sleep/trance, and/or post what you will about waking up in the morning.

[Jeff the Green]

Davkhur gasps for air as he remembers dying—entirely more viscerally than he would like, and this time unaffected by soporifics. Sweat beads on his scalp and trickles down to his eyebrows, leaving streaks of paint. Never, ever, ever, combining those two spells again. That was worse than mixing dreamlily and absentia!

Well, okay, no, not worse than that. Certainly worse than Irian's tears and spider dust though.

He mops the sweat from his brow and washes the paint off his body before stripping and crawling into bed. Noticing the still-acrid smell of the vomited poison, he tosses his pillow across the room and replaces it with his cloak before falling swiftly into a deep sleep.
_____________________

The next morning seemed to come immediately for Davkhur; his supply of dreams seemingly exhausted by the evening's adventure, his mind had nothing to mark time with.

He leaves his bed slowly but fluidly. As always, his first act is to meditate, clearing his mind and allowing the mystical sentences making up his body to readjust after using them for magical effect the previous day. Then he withdraws his spellshard from his pack, carefully pronouncing the three passwords that allow him to do so unharmed. He spends a considerable amount of time—an hour, in fact—retrieving the information stored within before stowing it again and heading downstairs for breakfast.

[Daftendirekt]

The fiery-haired elf bows herself out, her silky black pants swishing as she walks quickly back to the traveling show. She murmurs a distracted thank-you to her guide before disappearing into her wagon; she unbuckles her belt with its kukris and tosses it into a corner before flopping down onto her back on her bunk, staring at the ceiling.

This is an issue, she thinks to herself. I like to keep things simple. Simple is good. And this just became not-simple. She scrubs her hands down her face and then through her hair, mussing it up, as she ponders just what to do or think and how to do it. Unable to come to any conclusion, she enters her trance and muses upon her waking dreams, hoping that they may bring her some clarity.

[Cardea]

Kyralia


Your thoughts continue through the entirety of your trance, forming the peaceful incoherency of trance. It guides you through your dreamless state, giving you the respite from the world you so willingly welcome. Your muscles loosen up, your mind less of a burden. Its not a true sleep, for you can feel your mind just a few steps away, and the inner walls of Goldbottom's summoned extradimensional apartment not too far away. You feel someone enter your room, at one point, and leave something weighty and solidly square. You might have heard a voice mention 'Payment, sleep eternal, Ishtayo', but its hard to say. What might be twenty minutes or ten hours later, you feel someone clink a small thing on the box. What might be two minutes or an eternity later, you hear three sets of hands knocking on the door to your small space.

Kyralia 'wakes' up before everyone else, unless they want to wake up before 7am.

[Daftendirekt]

Upon coming up out of her trance, Kyralia at first pays no heed to package that had appeared by her doorway. Instead, she performs her morning ritual as normal, doing a set of stretches and stances for a good 10 minutes; over the years she has found that it helps her get focused as well as limber up for all the acrobatics she will inevitably be doing. As she goes to finally retrieve the package, a rapping on her door interrupts her thoughts. She picks up the box, sets it on her table, and goes to open the door to her wagon.

[Imperial Psycho]

Farin nods amiably the others before retiring to his room. There, he cleans his equipment, sharpens his weapon, and gives his notes one last look. Finally satisfied, he collapses back into his bed, quickly asleep.

Upon waking, the ritual repeats, each item in his possession being carefully and methodically cleaned. Considerably less attention is paid to cleaning his body, and Farin quickly packs his possessions and slings his backpack across his shoulder, wandering downstairs in search of breakfast.

[Lateral]

Ilana flops down on her bed, and is out like a light in minutes. With a job like hers, it's a useful skill to be able to go to sleep quickly.

In the morning, she spends an hour in silence, letting her mind drift upon the natural world and meditating upon the dangers of the planes as is Gatekeeper tradition. Afterwards, she spends another hour preparing her magic from her spellshard, then goes to check on Garuda, meet with the others, and maybe get some chow.

[Postmodernist]

Tar'ir leaves his trance feeling refreshed, glad to have spent a night without being haunted by strange memories and eager to focus on the coming task. Perhaps I simply need a new mission, he thought to himself as he began his morning katas. A standard routine of practice-drawing the blade, adopting various stances, stiking- follows for several minutes. A few breathing exercises, push-ups, crunches, pull-ups, and handstands conclude the routine. Finally, he sits cross-legged with Ang'Fara across his lap and meditates on the blade. While he manages to achieve the clarity he has grown accustomed to since pursuing the Diamond Mind, as he rises and sheaths his weapon a flash from last night's false memories enters his mind and momentarily disturbs him.

The Valenar warlord descends the stairs, inspecting the inn for signs of last night's imagined struggle. He then makes his way to the common room, seeking to sample some more fine Aereni cuisine.

[Cardea]

Kyralia


Opening the door, you find yourself assaulted by three voices, each one similar to the next, but different enough to make them distinguishable from the next. "Kyralia Kyralia did you have a nice time with the pretty lady well of course she did the lady was nice I meant did she go knot tying of course she didn't she's not into women who told you that Yorgr told me well he's stupid and got rejected by so many women he shut up Kyralia Goldbottom told us to tell you taht breakfast is ready!" Even this early in the morning, the triplets are abundant with energy.

Looking past them, you can see the morning. Through the jungle canopy, sunlight shines through, the slivers of light more than enough to illuminate the grounds. You see a little bit a head, a large table, filled with food. Meats, cheeses, fruits, breads and those who are consuming it. You recognize this as the kind of thing that Goldbottom would summon. But it must not be, considering everyone present is happily eating away, and stowing much of it away for later consumption. Even Goldbottom himself.

Past them, you can see the rest of those who will man the festival. Some you even recognize from past encounters on the road. Toy merchants, fire spinners, artisan tents. All is relatively quiet, in anticipation of the horde of people who are expected to come.

Everyone Else


The first floor of the Inn is eerily calm. There aren't too many patrons here, and those that are here are quietly talking among themselves. The dwarf who kept repeating the same tale from last night can be seen at a table closer to the middle of the room; several of his friends smiling and laughing, much to his apparent misery. The four of you grab a table closer to the entrance, a slight breeze airing out the stuffy room. A woman comes along, and asks you what you want.

Over the course of breakfast, people come and go, but throughout the meal, its relatively quiet.

[Jeff the Green]

"Ah, something light for me, thank you," Davkhur requests from the server.

After they have ordered, he leans in conspiratorially to his companions. "I think I came up with an idea of how they did it. Communicated with us, I mean. I cast a couple spells before bed last night—never doing those at the same time again, by the way—and had a sort of vision. Turns out the dead ones on this island got tired of not being able to sleep. Oh, I say, that was a good pun. Anyway, they figured out a way to make not only the undead and deathless sleep, but also let elves sleep and dream. I'm pretty sure that's what they did to us, and then it's just a matter of the right spell. Still, that means they're pretty powerful and probably well connected. I'm starting to get prickly feelings about this. Though that could be the after-effects of the spells. Ugh."

[Daftendirekt]

Waving away the triplets with a few words assuring them that she'd be out momentarily, Kyralia closes the door and sits down on her bunk, staring at the package that had been left for her. Surely it was left by those strange local elves of the previous day. Only one way to find out, she thinks as she opens the package.

[Lateral]

Ilana denies the offer of food.

"Interesting. Well, I suppose that it doesn't really matter, but that would seem to indicate that our employers are or have connections to the deathless. Connections like that could come in handy, one would think."