Suspension [IC]

[3SecondCultist]

The volley of boomerangs whistles towards you. As they hurdle through the thick jungle air, they cast long shadows on the ground below. The brush around you echoes with the cries of the drow war party, as you spot the various dark skinned humanoids in the undergrowth. But you find that you have more pressing concerns than the elves moving in, as the blades finally make contact...


* * * * * * * * * * *
1 MONTH EARLIER
* * * * * * * * * * *
The host - a shy half-elven girl - leads you to a second floor room, partially open to the floor below and with an excellent view of the stage. The sounds of a lute carry above the faint sounds of the performance. A number of chairs are arranged closest to the balcony’s edge, and a low table against the back wall of the room is laden with fruits and pastries. A middle-aged human with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard stands near the chairs, apparently enjoying the music. He turns as the door opens, gesturing to the table. “Please, help yourselves. As most of you know, my name is Rickard Valborn. We have some business to discuss, which I believe is always more pleasant on a full stomach.”

Once you have found somewhere comfortable to sit or stand, Valborn extends his arms out as if to gesture to the performance below and the space within which you find yourselves. “I am what you might call an academic, currently affiliated with the Morgrave University that has taken this great city as its home. I have recently discovered hints and rumors of an ancient site dating back to the age of the so-called Age of Demons, before even the giants roamed the surface of Eberron. I would like to employ you to investigate this location, and to retrieve a relic I believe to be interred there. I will warn you now, the task is not without a degree of danger, which is why I require the services of individuals such as yourselves,” The academic continues, walking over to the table and picking up an apple. He bites into it with enthusiastic energy before continuing.

“Now, the primary reason this will be such a perilous journey is because of the location of this particular site. It is not strictly speaking in Khorvaire: indeed, what I am asking of you is nothing other than braving the heart of the Xen’drik wilderness. I understand some of you have in fact traveled there before.” He proceeds to flash a knowing smile to several of you. “I would like to procure your services for a period of at least six weeks. You will have free choice of any treasure found at the site with the exception of the relic I seek, for which you will be rewarded in full. I can offer you each a base fee of 750 gold pieces per week, as well as full travel expenses, and I will pay half up front.” As if on queue, the host appears from the shadows near the door where she has been standing. She produces a tray with five bags of deep red linen, and you can hear the faint clinking of opulence within.

[MandibleBones]

Arcady, a tall, dark-haired human favoring red clothes, is wearing an outfit more suitable to the play going on below than exploring the ruins of Xen'drik. A signet ring is visible on his finger, and though he carries a strange, wire-laden clawed glove at his belt — almost in the manner of a wallet — he does not appear to be armed.

"You'll pay our letters of mark as part of expenses, I assume?" he asks, only at the last moment phrasing it as a question instead of a statement. "Oh, and I'll need a description of the relic and its supposed purpose before I agree to take the job. I'll sign a non-disclosure if you're worried about it, but..." he trails off, shakes his head, and picks back up. "Not bringing a thing back to Khorvaire if I don't know what it does." And what you want it for, he thinks, but does not say. "Not after Cyre, anyway."

Arcady sighs. And not after the Harrowcrowns, either. His hand goes, unconsciously, to the odd gauntlet at his belt, which he strokes lightly. He tilts his head, listening to the performance.

"That's not half bad. What is that, revival of mid-Galifar drama? New book, period costumes," he smiles lightly, nowhere near his eyes, "Far better performed, at least. You must be proud."

Spells prepared tonight:

0: Resistance (Ab), Detect Magic x2, Repair Minor Damage x2

1: Protection from Evil (Ab), Benign Transposition, Cause Fear x2, Feather Fall, Ray of Enfeeblement

2: Protection from Arrows (Ab), Web, Alter Self, Dimension Leap

3: Dispel Magic (Ab), Fly, Greater Mage Armor, Wind Wall

[TheAntiplanar]

As soon as she's found her seat, Astari finds herself examining the performance alongside the red-clothed man. She adjusts the navy cloak around her shoulders so as to ensure optimal comfort. It also offers her the mobility to quickly get up and defend herself should the need arise. Beneath the wool, the links of mithral glitter under the faint lights above. The kalashtar is almost completely ignoring the music accompanying the play, focusing instead on the movements of those on stage. In a matter of moments, she almost lost herself in the visceral feel of it all. But as interesting as watching the bodies of Morgrave's finest was, Astari knows that she is here for another purpose. She brushes a strand of deep red hair out of her eyes as she turns to Valborn.

"That is certainly an amenable price you're offering there professor... is it professor? But this man makes a good point about the nature of whatever artifact it is we're bringing back: I don't know how comfortable I am with unleashing an unknown piece of technology on a place like Khorvaire. I'm also concerned about this 'danger' you just mentioned now. As new as I may be to Sharn, I've heard some of the horror stories about Xen'drik. Do you have any idea about what kind of obstacles we would be facing on your behalf?" Astari watches the man carefully, waiting to gauge any sort of reaction or visible response. Ever since leaving the company of her own kin, she finds that she is doing this more frequently: the contractions of the facial muscles and dilating of the pupils were the most minuscule of movements, but anyone with the right skill-set could monitor them.

And yet... when she looked in the mirror sometimes, her own features seemed frozen in place.

Untrained Sense Motive check: [roll0]

[Lateral]

Even with his wings retracted, Sarkan towers over the rest of the audience. He stands, arms folded, in the untiring and ever-vigilant way that only a warforged can. His appearance is very unusual- his plating has been shaped into scales and appears pale blue and red, and his head is elongated, with a wide mouth full of metal teeth and far more expressive features than those of your average warforged. As he turns his head over to Valborn, he narrows his eyes and begins to speak.

"Agreed. While I confess that this proposal is intriguing, without a proper knowledge of this 'relic' and what threat it might pose to us or to anyone else I'm afraid I cannot accept." Sarkan unfolds his arms and moves in towards the rest of them, mildly unsettling some of the other members of the audience.

"And, ah, introductions may be in order. My name is Sarkan, former lecturer in draconic arts at the University of Wynarn."

[MandibleBones]

"Arcady ir'S—" and he sighs, clearly ill at ease. "Arcady d'Cannith. Wynarn, huh? I guess I never had your class. When did you leave?"

[Lateral]

Sarkan chuckles softly. "Last month. I didn't particularly appreciate the way one of the professors spoke to me, and he didn't particularly appreciate dying in a duel with one of his lecturers. Or possibly just dying in general. I'm sure having your skin burned off is quite painful."

"And I was only there for a year and a half, so that isn't much of a surprise."

[MandibleBones]

"Yeah, that was well after my time. Can't blame him, I guess: dying's rather painful; I'd probably be offended too." Arcady chuckles, and it's not a terribly nice sound, but he's not mocking the dragonforged.

His mind flashes with the image of a terrified warforged scout, and Arcady stops laughing abruptly. "Right. Not terribly funny." And he turns to watch the show again, the smile gone.

A moment passes, all awkward, before he speaks again. He doesn't look at Sarkan.

"Some people don't know when they're out of line." It's the closest he's come in a while to acknowledgement of anti-warforged prejudice in postwar Galifar. He doesn't want to think about it. It's not the most disgusting thing he's seen, but it doesn't make it right, either.

[TheAntiplanar]

Astari watches the interactions of the man named Arcady and the warforged who called himself Sarkan in the best silence she can muster. The chuckling seemed easy enough to emulate, but the dull half-silence that followed it was profoundly strange to her. They're not looking at each other... what does that mean? She says nothing at first, willing to let the pause gather and grow in the shadows of the balcony. Her brows furrow slightly, but in the pretense of trying to ignore what was going on Astari pulls her morningstar from her belt and begins to polish the head of the weapon. Best to seem unobtrusive in situations like these, right?

"My name is Astari Whitefeather, by the way. I'm very pleased to meet you - you'd be surprised how rude some of the locals are around here."

[3SecondCultist]

Valborn refuses to comment at first, obviously waiting to see if anyone else has any questions before clearing his throat and continuing. The ghost of a smile steals across his face at the three of you who have already introduced yourselves. "In order, I suppose. What we're likely to find in Xen'drik, while no doubt ancient, might likely be little more than tablets or slates with cryptic writings, perhaps a piece of lost art or two. As for what I'm looking for, suffice it to say for now that it isn't dangerous. It's really more of a tool, and I'm not even sure if it exists. I'll tell you more when we get to Stormreach." Setting down his apple, he waves at the host to come forward. She obeys wordlessly, handing each of you a pouch to do with what you like. The weight settles in your lap comfortably.

"And you're right, the dangers in the heartland are bound to be many. Both wildlife and primitive tribes make the jungles of the interior their home, and both are expected to be hostile upon our arrival. Take extra caution around the giants and drow, for they are as strong as they are cunning."

[MandibleBones]

Arcady looks a the gold in his pocket, more than he's held in one sitting since he left Aundair. He does not sit easy, but the truth be told, he made up his mind long before coming.

"I'm in," he says. "But if you're wrong on the danger this item poses..." He doesn't finish. Making a promise would be more rash, at this juncture, than he wants to be. Than he needs to be.

"On that other subject on which we spoke, observing him will be fine. I don't want to do anything precipitous until I know for sure what he's up to."

[Lateral]

Sarkan flashes a toothy grin. "Sign me up, then. Gods know I haven't really travelled since the end of the war, and I do sometimes long for some real action."

[TheLonelyScribe]

Wolo is a fairly short half-elf, with a handsome bearded face. He's wearing a very baggy cloak, and seems to be rather uncomfortable in it. He seems to be watching the play with interest.

He steps forward towards Valborn, his reserved demeanour resolving into a beaming smile. If we're doing introductions, then I'm Wolo Armnan of House Lyrandar. And as for this artifact, well, I've travelled on missions I haven't known much about before, and I'm sure I'll do it again. I guess you summoned me here because you needed a captain? Well, give me a ship and a crew and I can get you there easily. .

Wolo smiles charmingly, but he's no idiot. He knows the only possible reason for Valborn to hide the purpose of their mission is because he's worried they wouldn't agree if they knew now. The adventure appeals, but he's willing to refuse to carry anything he thinks might be dangerous. The other people the professor employed seem to be rather shifty characters. He regards Arcady, a Cannith heir and, by extension, hated aristocrat, with a degree ,of suspicion. The only person here he would actually like to work with is that interestingly foreign Kalashtar.

[TheAntiplanar]

Tossing the pouch of gold into one of the extra-dimensional pockets of her bag, Astari puts on a calculated smile. It's just some more shiny metal. If this man thinks he can buy me with these bits, he is very mistaken. While she had decided before she even arrived at the University what her decision would be, a man who had the right answers to all the questions did not strike her as trustworthy. And then there was the matter of how he even knew of her existence...

"Count me in on this venture as well, Rickard Valborn. I cannot help but notice that when you referred to Stormreach just now, you said 'we'. Does that mean you intend to come with us?" If Valborn was indeed accompanying them, was it a sign of good faith on his part? Or was the man just keeping a closer eye on his investment? Either way, the job itself was too tempting to pass up. Ever since she had left Adar, Astari has found herself desperate for something, anything to keep the visions away. A long term adventure like this might just be medicine she needed.

[3SecondCultist]

"Very astute, my dear. I am in fact traveling with you, but only as far as the city of Stormreach. From there, you will need to find your own way to the site. And as for you, Mr. d'Lyrandar, I thank you for your offer but the airship we are chartered on already has a captain. You may have heard of him before, he goes by the name of Alastair d'Lyrandar? He captains an elemental galleon known as the Golden Dragon, currently docked at Lyrandar Tower. If I have your full support, then we leave tonight."

The professor sits for a moment. He watches the closing acts of the play out of the corner of his eye, but you can tell that there is no passion in his gaze. His attention is focused on something else just now. The only response to Arcady's last words are a curt nod, as he seems to be waiting on the last member of the party to weigh in on the offer he has presented.

[RFLS]

Up until now, a tall, dark half-elf had been standing off to one side. His silence and clothing might have marked him as a servant, but his stance, for anyone who looked, was quick to disabuse observers of that notion. Telarin stepped forward out of the shadows.

"I am.... willing to join you on this expedition. The...payment is more than adequate"

His speech is broken, pausing as though he is not quite used to speaking, and his eyes, black as ink, never seem to focus on any one person.

"I must ask, though, out of...ruinous curiosity, you might say: what sort of ruins are we visiting? What...ancient catacombs will be violated? Hs, hs"

Telarin makes a noise, a brief exhalation of air through his thin nostrils, that can just barely be interpreted as laughing, as though amused by his own question.

[3SecondCultist]

It is clear that Valborn is weighing the benefits and consequences of telling you exactly where it is you will be going, but whatever internal conflict exists within the man seems to abate.

"Once we get to Stormreach, you will need to travel south. Deep in the jungle, there is an ancient giant fortress known as Tharkgun Dhak. Some scholars thought that it was built at the end of the Age of Giants to protect the dwindling empire at the time. That would make it a 40,000 year old ruin, but I think it is actually a good deal older than that. My theory is that that Tharkgun Dhak was built to protect something else, something hidden at the end of the Age of Demons. But enough of this for now! We will learn nothing more by watching theater, no matter how captivating it might be." His fruit finished, Valborn tosses it aside before getting up. With a minute flick of his hand, he dismisses the host to attend to the other patrons, and she disappears as unobtrusively as she first appeared.

His coat gathered around his frame, Valborn stands next to what appears to be a back exit. Although weathered by age somewhat, you can tell that he used to be quite handsome. He cracks a small grin, his face lighting up for the first time with a sense of excitement.

"Well, shall we proceed? Lyrandar Tower awaits us."

[MandibleBones]

"Certainly. If I might have a moment or two, I'll meet you outside."

Arcady picks up his haversack from the cloak check, tipping the attendant a silver piece, and makes his way to the nearest restroom to the exit.

A few minutes later, an almost entirely different man emerges, wearing simple traveling clothes and a heavy cloak fastened by a dingy, winged broach. His haversack is slung across his back, heavy leather bracers cover his forearms, and his hair is intentionally mussed. The only things that reveal him as Arcady d'Cannith are the strange gauntlet -- now on his right hand, in lieu of the signet ring -- and the smirk on his face.

If security does not kick him out, it is only because his clothes, however common, are almost fastidiously clean... and he's heading for the exit anyway.

"Waiting on you now," he tells the rest of the group as he walks out toward Lyrander tower.

If it's alright, I'm going to have spent my last 5 gp on a spell component pouch -- it slipped my mind during pre-game. It should fit nicely in the haversack. Will update equipment and cash when I get back to a home computer.

[TheAntiplanar]

Tharkgun Dhak... the words echo in Astari's mind, as she commits the name to memory. An ancient ruin, from before even the dreaded Quori came to this plane. Who knew what kind of treasures awaited them beyond the edges of the map? She feels a tremor of excitement travel up her spine at the prospect of the journey to come - or was it dread? It was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

"Let us be off without apology." Her expression, demure. Her voice, quiet. But for the first time since leaving her home in Shal'Quor, Astari is looking forward to something. It is a good feeling.

[Lateral]

Sarkan nods wordlessly and heads to the door.

[RFLS]

Telarin nods in agreement, stepping back into the shadows. He waits as the group leaves, and, when the last person has left, he slips quietly out behind them, and heads in a different direction.

[TheLonelyScribe]

Still suspicious, due to the conditions of his father's death and the vague nature of the task ahead of him, Wolo proceeds cautiously, trying to keep as much of the group as possible in sight - especially Valborn.

[3SecondCultist]

Arcady, Astari, Sarkan, Wolo: The door leads you up a stairwell and down a dimly lit corridor before coming to a large pair of double doors that look identical to the ones that brought you here. Through the stone, plaster, and wood, you can still hear the thundering applause as the play reaches its inevitable conclusion. Valborn pays it no heed, moving quickly to unbolt the portal. As he does so, you catch sight of a board next to the door, describing the various events and the like to have entertained Morgrave University in the recent past. On the list is the 'Red Sorrow', a dramatic saga of growing popularity, of which you saw most of the ending. There was also a lecture tour by a famous thunder guide named Katrina Thrush, as well as a demonstration of some form of new necromantic demonstration on warforged by one Narvos Eldridge, presumably a wizard or artificer of some sort.

"Come quickly! They're waiting for us at the sky docks, and I told Alastair that we wouldn't be late." With a certain pomp, Valborn throws the double doors open - to reveal the blinding skyline of the City of Towers. From the spire, you can see the rest of the University District and the many other towers that dominate the Upper Wards of Sharn. The stars are almost veiled by the sea of light that is the most populated city in Eberron. Stepping out onto the balcony, the academic ushers you towards the edge where an opulent looking skycoach is waiting.

[MandibleBones]

Arcady waits for the others to board before taking the seat as close to the door as possible. It's not that I don't like heights, it's just that if I fall, I want to not be in this deathtrap when I do, he thinks.

[Lateral]

Sarkan enters first, smiling smugly. "You may have your fears of flying, but I have none. I believe the reason should be obvious." With this, he unfurls his enormous pair of wings and walks off onto the ship.

[TheAntiplanar]

Staring at the lights, Astari finds herself panicking. There's just so many of them. How can they all live in such proximity? The thought of all the souls, the minds spilling over into a sort of oblivion, it nearly makes her break out in a sweat. This was not the first time this anxiety had overtaken her since Adar, either. Just take a deep breath. The first step is always the hardest...

The thud as her boot lands on the floor of the skycoach is decidedly anticlimactic. There is something to be said for making every moment dramatic, but sometimes the first step is as easy as putting one foot in front of the other and willing yourself forward. She sits next to Sarkan, allowing herself to occupy his negative space without getting too close.

"So, tell us about this Golden Dragon."

[3SecondCultist]

Arcady, Astari, Sarkan, Wolo: As soon as the half-elf and the artificer enter the skycoach, Valborn gives the all clear signal and the transport lifts off with a sudden jolt. If he has noticed the absence of Telarin since you left his private box, he has given no sign. Once in flight, the ride is considerably more smooth. Those of you seated at the windows look out and see the spires of the Upper Central Plateau of the city looming ever closer: in particular, the Highest Towers district that so many call 'the heart of Sharn'. It has been nearly an hour since the sun set, but you can still see traces of orange-gold on the skyline, melding into the deep, endless blue of the evening.

"The Golden Dragon is one of the finest airships of its generation, a passenger ship of true class. It is so large that it requires multiple bound elementals working in unison just to keep it flying straight. I've booked all of us passage already, and cleared the payments with the captain personally: Wolo, I believe you two know each other? He mentioned you by name." The robed man leans over, pointing out the window at the superstructure that looms directly ahead.

Lyrandar Tower. One of the tallest buildings in the metropolis and by far the best known, you can see the traffic on the airship docks from here. There must be dozens of skycoaches coming and going from the various levels of the tower, although you can only see three actual ships. The first two are unremarkable, but the sight of the Golden Dragon is hard to miss. As Valborn described, the housings for not one but two elemental rings surround the giant vessel – one blazing and crackling with flame, the other dormant and dark. The ship herself looks to be about two hundred feet long and over sixty feet across at her thickest. The Sovereign Host alone knows what kinds of artifice hold such an enormous craft aloft. Soarwood tinged with gold and carved in scale and talon motifs make up her body. Her front bow is rendered into an enormous dragon’s head with fanged mouth gaping wide. As the skycoach approaches the upper levels of the tower, you can see an assortment of individuals at the ready for your arrival.

"Ah, I believe this will be the captain now, but we must first pass the security checks. House Lyrandar can be so cautious sometimes."

[TheLonelyScribe]

Wolo pulls out a brooch from his haversack. It is in the shape of a Lyrandar airship, and the elemental ring is made out of a continual flame that casts light into the dim carriage interior.

This ought to be sufficient for me, anyway. And perhaps you are talking about my cousin, Alanera? Actually, yes, you mentioned him by his Common name - Alastair. Yes, I'd heard he'd got his hands on this old beast...

Wolo looks at the magnificent ship, an almost reverent expression on his face. The presence of Lyrandar officials has calmed him down, and he starts actually looking forward to the adventure in store.

[3SecondCultist]

Arcady, Astari, Sarkan, Wolo: "Alanera, you say? I'm afraid I am somewhat out of my depth when it comes to Elvish. I've always wanted to learn, though. Maybe you could teach me some?" Tipping the driver of the skycoach as he sets down on one of the balconies outside the docking port, Valborn indicates for the four of you to get out of the vehicle. In doing so, you find yourselves at the heart of Lyrandar power in Sharn.

The airship docking port is a single room that occupies the entire top floor of Lyrandar Tower. The walls of this massive chamber are thirty feet high, and the domed ceiling rises to dizzying heights above you. Four lifts located in the center of the room allow easy access to the docking port from the levels below. Two massive, 20-foot-high doors pierce each of the four walls of the tower, all of which are open to the docking balconies that ring the spire. It is on this grand platform that you find yourselves now. Within the confines of the chamber, there are dozens if not hundreds of passengers waiting in line for the next airship to take them. They are matched by what you presume are the Lyrandar guards: half-elven figures in austere grey cloth and bearing goggles. You catch the sight of armor beneath some of the robes they carry. At each airship gate, there is a team of at least four scanning passengers for threats, and although you didn't take the conventional way up, it would appear you must suffer the same indignity. The guards are polite but firm about their scan, letting Wolo through upon noting his brooch and verifying his identity. Once all of you are through the checkpoint, you are greeted by a trio of figures. The first you immediately recognize as Telarin, who somehow beat you here. The second is a tall half-elf. His long coat is lined with pale fur, the collar turned up against the wind. Several days worth of facial hair seem to give him a rugged look, and his gaze is somewhere between amused and determined. Given the familiar greeting offered by Valborn, you would assume that this is the aforementioned captain, Alastair d'Lyrandar.

The last person on the docks is very much unlike the two others, emerging from the shadows behind one of the lighthouse towers only after the skycoach touches the wood of the balcony. The body of a great lion ends in the serene face of an elven woman, observing all of you dispassionately. Orange stripes mark her deep-black fur, and when she moves they ripple like flames. The great falcon wings extending from her shoulders are pure black, but folded away for now. The features of the sphinx's face, despite being recognizably elven, have a sort of feline look, and her hair is the same black and orange as her coat. She wears a few jeweled chains of platinum and gold around her neck and forelimbs, and a silver diadem rests on her brow. The House Lyrandar workers give her a wide berth, clearly afraid of offending their illustrious guest. When she speaks, the air itself stops to listen.

"The wheel has spun anew. You will walk through storm and earth and fire before the end can become the beginning. Two is one, but one is not yet two: remember this. Beware the unbroken circle, and the darkness that lurks within."

[TheLonelyScribe]

Wolo is astonished to be in the presence of such a mighty creature. His mother instilled in him a great respect for the magic that creatures such as this wield.

Knowledge (arcana) to remember Sphinx qualities: [roll0]

Knowledge (local) to recognise her as Flamewind: [roll1]

[MandibleBones]

Arcady regards the mighty airship, not even bothering to act unimpressed. I want one, he things, which quickly turns into But smaller, faster, and painted bright red. Discarding it as immediately impractical, he reminds himself of his priorities.

"Right," he mutters. "Xen'drik first, then the Mournland, then awesome airship and triumphant return."

He endures the security scan with amusement, producing proper ID and his signet ring when required.

"Given where we're going, this must be a scan to make sure we are carrying weapons," he says, knowing the guards will just ignore his banter.

When the sphinx talks, he actually shuts up and listens, head tilted in contemplation. After a moment, he shakes it.

"I have not the slightest idea what that means," he admits frankly, then switches to Draconic that sounds like he learned it from reading old scrolls. <"But my lady Flamewind, thank you for the advice regardless. I'm sure it will make sense - probably at the last possible moment, and we'll all be properly grateful later.">

Lastly, he addresses Alastair, in Elven with a distinctly Wynarn University accent. <"Captain. Nice ship. Mind if we board?">

[roll0] Knowledge: Arcana, same deal.
[roll1] Knowledge: Nobility and Royalty for recognition (will edit "But milady" to read "But my lady Flamewind," if successful.

[TheLonelyScribe]

Wolo nods to his cousin, but turns and speaks in Draconic to the sphinx, hoping to honour it and respect its heritage as on par with the mighty dragons.

<"It is a great prophecy you have given us, and I shall commit it to memory. Tell me, will you be accompanying us on our venture?">

[TheAntiplanar]

Astari cannot help but gape slightly at the view of the Dragon. It wasn't that she hadn't ever seen wonders before: the myriad dreams of mortals in Dal'Quor was filled beyond compare with such figments. But the opulence of the thing, the weight occupied by such a vessel actually existing in front of her. Apparently the various realities of Sharn had yet to hit her in the short time in the great city.

The security procedures, on the other hand, she is quite used to. Astari remembers the mental evaluations at Shalquar, the psions at the hidden gates delving into your mind for any hidden intent. It wasn't always a comfortable process, having a stranger probe the fabric of your very being. Compared to all of that, these checkpoints were little more than mild irritations. "Please, take your time," she says gently. Her tone is grave, but inwardly Astari giggles. She had learned long ago that these guard types tended to take their jobs far too seriously.

Any mirth the kalashtar might have been feeling died quickly, however: the strange sphinx has seen to that. The words that echo from her mouth resound a truth that she feels deep within, as if she already knew the prophecy and was just now remembering it. They rippled out in her mind, the unbroken circle and all the rest. There is a moment, beyond time, where sound connects with thought and true connections are made at last. But it is in a place without ambiguity, a country that Astari could not reach even if she had the powers of all the great dragons of Argonnessen at her disposal. The clarity begins to fade, bringing her back down to a lesser normality. Just focus, remember your training. Your name is Astari Whitefeather, you are in the city of Sharn, and you are a free spirit. Freedom in time: it is her truth, and she holds to the thought. The sphinx's prophecy, whatever it was, could be interpreted later. For now, they had an airship to catch.

"Alastair d'Lyrandar. I am thankful for offering us passage on your vessel. It... is like nothing I have ever seen before." Astari is straight-faced, waiting to see how the captain would react to the presence of adventurers and the sphinx. It would be a useful gauge of character.

[3SecondCultist]

Firewind does not acknowledge having heard anything since her sonorous tones sounded amongst the winds - or at least, she gives no sign of having done so besides a minuscule tilt of her head to the left. Wolo's question and Arcady's gratitude both go unanswered, and the sphinx opens her wings and soars off of the platform without a second glance. Her great shadowy wings catch the light from the beacons of Lyrandar Tower, almost as if they're absorbing the substance rather than reflecting it. Several of the airship docking staff cry out in surprise at the unscheduled exit of the sphinx, but no one dares set off in pursuit.

"Well, that was a good deal stranger than I'm used to, and trust me when I say that I'm used to a quite a bit." The captain steps forward, flashing a grin that shows off his largely unattractive yellow teeth. As he walks, his longcoat swishes to the side, revealing a sword strapped to his hip. The edge is curved slightly, and the guard and blade are both thicker than the average longsword. Scratching his patchy attempt at a beard, the half-elf regards you with an unreadable expression. "You're more than welcome upon my ship, I'm glad she strikes you with something. My house sure has put a lot of... Wolo? Is that really you?" Striding forward, Alastair d'Lyrandar reaches out to wrap the beguiler into a massive hug. His laugh is booming, and surprisingly deep for a member of his race.

"What are you doing in a crew like this, little cousin? And what about that great bird, eh? Just a load of cryptic garbage, if you ask me: pay her no heed! Come on, let's get you all settled in." The captain waves all five of you towards the gangplank of the Dragon, ushering you on board. Brass railings wrought into twisted dragons swallowing each other’s tails surround the area above deck. The open air space offers a splendid view of swirling clouds and a dizzying tapestry of dancing stars. Two other faces are present to greet you as you come aboard, all of whom Alastair seems intent on introducing. The first person is another half-elf, also carrying a Lyrandar sigil, but her build is a good deal more slight than her superior's. Auburn hair is tied up in a bun behind her head, and a pair of sleek leather boots extend up to the bottoms of her thighs. "This is my lieutenant, Mazzia d'Lyrandar. If you have any questions about the running of the ship when I'm not around, she's the one to ask. And this great beast is Velgram Linntorn, but everyone here just calls him Vel." Alastair points to a towering half-orc currently dropping off several heavy looking crates from a loading crane. He smiles and waves in your direction vapidly. There don't appear to be any other passengers than you five and Valborn, so as you come up onto the main deck, the captain gives the all clear to the staff on the platform below.

"Time to cast off! Next stop: Stormreach."

[TheLonelyScribe]

Wolo is unpleasantly surprised by the hug, and wriggles a bit before giving in. 'Good to see you, Alastair' he says, smiling.

As he speaks about Flamewind, Wolo says 'Yes, the great Flamewind. You never did have much respect for the secrets of magic, did you cousin?'. What he thinks is You dismisses what you are too stupid to understand, great oaf.

Wolo introduces himself to the miniscule crew, and then looks around. He notices the lack of other people, and asks 'What have you done with your other passengers, Alastair? This seems much too fine a ship to be wasted on a cargo haul.'

If Alastair's answer pleases him, he starts chatting with crew members and trying to get himself acquainted with them. It's always a good idea to have good connections in the crew, even when you're not the captain. Diplomacy check to improve relationships: [roll0]

[MandibleBones]

Arcady smiles as he looks around the Dragon.

At last, he thinks, A proper thaumatechnologic marvel. Too bad we didn't develop these before the Lyrander. He nods briefly at the crew, deciding not to antagonize them this early in the voyage, though he does begin to think of them as Captain Swash of the Good Ship Buckle, Actually Competent Lyrander, and the Wall, respectively. There does seem to be one crew member missing...

"Where's the Galley?" he asks Captain Swash of the Good Ship Buckle. "I need to learn how to cook. Can't be that hard."

As the Dragon leaves port, he stares off into the distance, where Cannith Tower glows at this time of night with lights unlikely to originate on Eberron.

Soon, he thinks. Soon I will return, and the truth will out.

[TheAntiplanar]

This is freedom personified, Astari thinks to herself with a growing smile. In such a magnificent craft, one could go wherever they wanted. For the past few weeks, what she has wanted hasn't extended anywhere beyond Sharn, and being away from the madness of Sarlona. But now... perhaps it really was time for a different kind of venture. She thanks the captain coolly, maintaining the demeanor of mixed distance and courtesy that had become her custom. As excited as she was, Astari didn't really know anyone on board. There was no telling what could happen on the journey to come.

"You want to learn cooking skills? That... might be fun, actually. I think I'll tag along." It isn't phrased as a question. Her curiosity about the as of yet unknown crew members of the Dragon was overshadowed by that of her new adventuring party. She certainly didn't quite trust Valborn yet, and she wasn't about to let a crafty artificer just slip out of sight. She laughs inwardly at the notion of anyone on her team being a Rierdran spy, but everyone had their secrets. It would be best for everyone if those secrets weren't dangerous, right?

[MandibleBones]

"That's the plan," Arcady says, smirking. "That way I have no one to blame but myself when the food tastes like something the Demon Wastes excreted out."

[RFLS]

Telarin stands on the deck, watching the sky as the ship begins moving. All around him is the bustle of the crew, in which he remains still as a statue. After a time, he breaks his reverie, and chuckles under his breath "The Golden Dragon, hs hs"

Looking around, he spots Astari and Arcady heading for the galley, and follows, hustling a little to catch up.

"You...know, we could always...spice the food up, so to speak, with some magic. No need for...demon waste as food." He's apparently completely missed that the Demon Wastes are not actually a reference to demonic excrement.

[Lateral]

"Ah, but where is the fun in that?" Sarkan laughs, a sound to which your ears are unaccustomed, coming as it does from one of the oft-humorless warforged. "I would join you, but alas, not needing to eat is a double-edged blade. I think that I shall remain on the deck- there simply hasn't been a chance for me to stretch my wings in months." With this, he walks off, jumps into the air, and begins to glide around the ship.

Sorry for spotty posting. It'll probably be that way until my last final on Friday.

[3SecondCultist]

Valborn steps up to Wolo with a tight smile. "That would be my doing." He seems to be watching with the rest of you as the great towers of Sharn begin to recede and the Golden Dragon ascends into the night sky. The second great elemental ring is alight, the flames wreathing its diameter spitting out at the air as if in bitterness. "I thought it would be best if we were undisturbed on the voyage." Walking over to the edge of the railing, the academic takes one last deep breath of home.

Meanwhile, the crew has been setting around to setting up the voyage to come. Mazzia is at the helm up on the quarterdeck, with the half-orc standing behind her. His stare seems to linger on the figure of the half-elven lieutenant a while, but it doesn't amount to anything. Alastair seems to trust the two of them to make all of the flight checks and steer the ship out of the harbor by themselves, as he beckons you all to his side. "Well Kovane's got the kitchen squared away just now, but she'll be awake to start preparing breakfast in a couple of hours. I can give you a quick tour of the Dragon though, if you'll all just follow me."

Alastair walks around the main deck with a sort of controlled swagger, as he leads you towards the stern of the ship. You pass the elevated quarterdeck where the other members of the crew are standing, and move on to the back platform. The wooden stairs up to the top are steep, but manageable. "This is the observation deck. We use this area to study star charts and do some high altitude navigation should the need arise, but it's also open to you if you're into the view." Indeed, this seems to be the highest point of the upper deck levels, and the expanse of the glittering city below and the distant stars above creates a strangely beautiful mirror effect. You also get a good idea of the shape of the ship, the weight of such an immense craft all the way from the tip of the main deck to the soarwood planks beneath your feet. There is something else up here, however. A trio of what look like harpoon guns have been attached on this deck, their imposing shapes throwing the real purpose of this deck into question. "Ah yes, the harpoons! In her warship days, the Golden Dragon was the terror of the skies, but unfortunately that age has come to an end. We've retrofitted these beauties to shoot down any aerial creatures that come our way. Just load one of these bolts, pull the lever back and release! Dinner is served." Alastair pats his sword with a toothy grin, doing a quick round of the deck before starting to head back down the stairs. "Is there any place in particular you would like to look, or should I just show you to your rooms? I promise you'll meet the rest of the crew tomorrow, but half of them are sleeping at the moment."

[RFLS]

Eyeing the harpoons distastefully, Telarin tears his gaze away from them briefly and addresses the captain. "My...room, please. When do...we rise?"

[Lateral]

A shadow flits across Sarkan's face at the mention of the war, but it is quickly gone and replaced with his usual good-natured smile. "Thank you, but I think I would prefer to stay on deck."

[MandibleBones]

"Rooms are fine. When's breakfast? If I didn't need the full eight hours, I'd offer to help, but I suppose there's always lunch." Arcady decides not to give Kovane a nickname until he's found out if she's a field-rations cook or a collector-of-astonishingly-varied-sharp-objects type of cook.

[TheAntiplanar]

Astari does her very best to ignore the reformed weapons on the deck, staring out instead at the clouds. It might be nice to stay out here for just a bit longer... but I expect I'll be needing all my sleep. Glancing once more at the moons and the stars, she moves to follow the captain down to the main deck.

"Yes, maybe sleep would be a better idea for those that need it." What Astari leaves unsaid is that unlike the others, her nights are either empty or plagued by visions of Dal Quor.

[3SecondCultist]

Arcady, Astari, Telarin, Wolo: Leaving your warforged companion with words of caution regarding the winds at this altitude and saying goodnight to Valborn as he heads towards what you presume is a separate suite near the bow, Alastair leads you all towards a set of spiral stairs descending down to the lower deck. As you pass the elevated quarterdeck for the second time, he waves to his lieutenant and Velgram without looking in their direction. Only the half-orc waves back.

Although the stairs do seem to join three levels rather than two, the captain stops at the middle level. The chamber that you initially emerge into on this deck is filled with ornately carved tables and chairs of burnished mahogany that gleam in the low light of the everburning lanterns. Curtains of striking velvet drape from arches above, and fine tapestries adorn the walls. The room seems to exist in the negative space offered by another chamber, this one bolted and locked. Towards the bow, the walls are shaped inward, and you can see a shadowed alcove of what looks to be a bar beyond. Behind you extends a series of corridors that you would guess lead to the stern of the Dragon.

"Last stop for tonight, this is the reception hall. It's the primary social gathering spot on the ship, and it's where all of the meals will be taking place. The crew breaks fast just before the seventh hour tomorrow, but the kitchen will be open from six until nine, once in the morning and once again in the evening. The House of Chance up there is run by our resident trickster Kalibar Jenks, but he happens to be asleep at the moment as well. If you're into games of skill and fortune, I invite you to sit down with him have a glass of the finest liquor when the establishment is open." Satisfied with the somewhat ramshackle quality of his tour so far, Alastair saunters down towards the narrower corridors that take up most of this middle deck. Multiple series of doors dot the smooth planks, like rocks in a dark stream: fourteen in all, running along either side of the ship.
"And here we have the staterooms. I must ask that you not go into the crew mess or the crew quarters back here unless explicitly invited by a crew member, but you may each choose a room to yourselves: it's all been paid for by Mr. Valborn. I can give you each a key for your room, and if you need to get into anywhere else like the vault downstairs, just ask me or Mazzia. We've both got copies of the master key."

[RFLS]

Telarin nods at Alastair's words, and, without any further conversation, shuts himself in his room. After a few seconds, you hear the lock slide into place in the frame.

[TheAntiplanar]

"I'll take a room at the stern, please." Tucked away at the back felt safer somehow, as if it were beneath attention or concern. Astari liked it that way. There was no telling when the visions would return, but when they did she had to be ready. Waking up the crew and her new companions with strange noises in the night wasn't endearing herself to anybody, and any lack of confidence could get her expelled from the mission. For some reason, that thought bothered her.

She takes the key for one of the furthest rooms before saying goodnight to everyone assembled in the reception hall. Once she gets to her little cabin, the kalashtar hangs up her handy haversack on one of the shelves, reaching in to get a light snack before doing her evening exercises and heading to bed. The wooden floor would do fine, although any sudden movements might throw off her balance somewhat. Oh well, it's been some time before I was challenged anyway. Not that this job won't pose any challenges. Astari had the distinct feeling that they were all in for plenty of those in the near future.

[MandibleBones]

Arcady takes whatever cabin is nearest, knowing eight solid hours of sleep is more important than creature comforts. After he locks the door behind him, he resolves to see if he can find inks and the like on board tomorrow, and take the time to scribe a scroll... and then he is asleep, dreaming of free flight.

[3SecondCultist]

* * * * * * * * * * *
8 Hours Later
* * * * * * * * * * *

You wake to the gentle swaying of the Dragon on the breeze. Looking out the porthole, your vision is captured by the blue of the sky above and the whitecaps on the waves below. Several wispy clouds pass by lazily, and if you look closely, there seems to be the hazy silhouette of what might be a dragon on the morning horizon.

Once you leave your respective bunks, you can hear the faint din of breakfast in the reception hall. A quick glance down the hallway reveals several unfamiliar figures seated around two of the tables, as well as the massive frame of the ship's bosun. The first of them, a halfling in very fine (if garish) clothing, lounges while throwing a pair of dice up in the air. He shouts at a woman across the bar in a thick leather apron, who rolls her eyes, walks over and throws down a fresh plate of steaming food. The cook then moves along to sit next to a dwarf, a taciturn looking fellow. He is busy fiddling with a small piece of machinery in his soot-stained hands, although you are too far away to make it out clearly. Finally, you catch sight of an elf seated slightly away from the rest of the crew members. His back is unusually straight, and his eyes are closed: he doesn't even seem to have noticed that any food has arrived. None of the five sailors has yet to recognize your presence, and you notice that neither Alastair or Mazzia are present.

[Lateral]

Sarkan enters the reception hall from the deck, but simply leans on the far wall, watching the mess.

Using magic insight. If none of the auras are at least Strong, take 10 on all, otherwise use these Spellcraft checks if relevant:

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]
[roll5]
[roll6]
[roll7]
[roll8]
[roll9]

Tell me if any more are needed. Let's call those in order from nearest to farthest away from Sarkan.

[TheLonelyScribe]

I go and get some food, and then sit down with the Dwarf and the Cook.

'Hello, I'm Wolo' *offers handshakes, firm and confident if accepted* 'What do you two do aboard this glorious vessel?'

[TheAntiplanar]

Another dawn, another adventure. Astari smiles in the half dark of her room, a small and tender thing just for her. Her sleep had been quiet and undisturbed, and for that she thanked whatever powers would hear her. The kalashtar girl gets up, yawning widely before beginning her morning stretches. The next few minutes pass in silence, her sleeping mind slowly eroding before the light of day streaming through the porthole. There was something comforting about the blue outside - was it the neutrality of it all? Regardless, Astari lets the cool essence of the beyond wash over her as she finishes her exercises.

She is pleasantly surprised to find that there are people in the reception hall. Not that she trusted anyone she saw in particular, but in a way, it was just as pleasant as staring at the sky and the waves. No matter what happened to them, the crew of the Dragon had each other and the open airways to look forward to. It was something that Astari finds she envies, in a way. She lets herself get caught up in the social mechanics currently going on, following Wolo's lead and sitting herself down beside the elf who looked suspiciously like he was meditating. She doesn't say anything to him, allowing her presence to speak for her.

[RFLS]

Telarin walks into the mess hall, scanning the room quickly before sitting near the silent elf. He makes no real acknowledgement of anyone's presence other than a quick nod or two, and downs his breakfast quickly, apparently enjoying the sausage and eggs while toying with a piece of toast. He also gulps his coffee down like it's going out of style, without adding a thing to it.

[MandibleBones]

Arcady enters the galley, later than the rest but before dinner ends. He carries his haversack with him and wears the same clothes as the day before — still very simple, still very clean.

"Something smells filling," he says, glancing at breakfast. Edible would be too backhanded, and I don't know if 'good' will every be appropriate for working food, but filling... I can do filling, he thinks. "Kovane, I hear we have you to thank for this?" he adds, addressing the apron-beclad cook before filling his plate.

Sorry! I thought I'd posted this on Friday and was only a little late! Had a convention this weekend; it's all over now.

Spells prepared today:

Spells prepared tonight:

0: Resistance (Ab), Detect Magic, Repair Minor Damage, Prestidigitation x2 (1)

1: Protection from Evil (Ab), Benign Transposition, Cause Fear x2, Feather Fall, Ray of Enfeeblement

2: Protection from Arrows (Ab), Web, Alter Self, Dimension Leap

3: Dispel Magic (Ab), Fly x2, Greater Mage Armor

[3SecondCultist]

"You do indeed, hon, and you can call me Jaeden. I've been preparing this feast for you all morning! The eggs are special, all the way from the Seawall Mountains on the Darguun. I've got a cousin who gets these special." The woman turns to wink at Wolo as she shakes his hand, although the flirtation doesn't seem to extend beyond that. She nods across the table to the dwarf, who grudgingly sets down the gadget to stare at you through thick spectacles. His face is set in stone, but you don't get the sense he is being purposely rude. The tones of his voice are a strangely melodic grinding of gears. "My name is Manten Dramgrin, and Mr. Dramgrin will do fine. My job on the Dragon is to take care of any mechanical problems that may arise, making sure the elementals are bound and that we stay aloft." The dwarf then promptly returns to whatever device that so thoroughly fascinated him just moments ago, your entry all but forgotten.

The elf remains quiet, and he doesn't seem to register the proximity of either Telarin or Astari. His breath is measured almost to the point of perfection - even the aroma of the newly arrived food hasn't stirred him from his deep slumber. "Oh, I wouldn't bother Zan if I were you. Knowing him, he's likely off on another moon somewhere." The speaker, the richly dressed halfling, leans across his table while grinning at the stoicism that the robed elf is displaying. He puts the dice back in his pocket, reaching instead for a fork to shovel some of the protein scramble onto his plate. After a stern look from Jaeden, he puts some of his ludicrous portion back into the pot for others to take. The halfling speaks between bites. "The name's Jenks, Kalibar Jenks. I run the House of Chance, up at the bow there. If you ever get bored of this lot on your journey, just come down for a spin or two! I'll be opening in an hour or so, and apparently you're the only passengers this round. I certainly wouldn't mind the company." Although you get the sense that this fellow is friendly enough, the scales behind his eyes are plain to the meanest intelligence.

[RFLS]

Telarin stares at the halfling for a long moment, seemingly undecided on how to react to such a person. After a full thirty seconds of staring, unblinking, he lets out another of his chuckles accompanied by a mirthless smile.

"Hs, hs. Greetings, Kalibar. I'll be glad to join you, though I must tell you...I don't like being cheated. Hs, hs."

[RFLS]

So, go ahead and ignore this if it doesn't sit well with you, but I'd like to make a Diplomacy roll to have that come off as good-natured ribbing rather than a direct accusation.

Diplomacy: [roll0]

[MandibleBones]

Arcady laughs, letting a little bit of his guard down. "Jaeden, again, thanks for the breakfast. The eggs are excellent." He decides to keep stalling on the nickname as long as the food keeps coming. The dwarf and the halfling, on the other hand...

"Doubt you'll need any help, Chief, but if you want another set of hands..." he trails off, waving his in demonstration. Might be antagonizing him, but on the other hand, I don't enjoy swimming.

"As for your casino, Big Blind, I'll come join you just for the inevitably-stimulating conversation. Depending on the game, one of us doesn't want the other gambling. Either I know percentages too well or I know percentages too well, you know? And we're stuck on the same ship too long for me not to care."

[TheAntiplanar]

Astari scolds herself lightly, remembering her own interior journeys and how much she hated being disturbed. But then why meditate out here, where there is bound to be the most noise? She didn't quite understand the decision that Zan had made here, but she couldn't account for the tastes of others. Speaking of taste... she stands up, heading over to gather a modest plate of breakfast after thanking Jaeden for the meal. It wouldn't do to not store up on the valuable nutrients for the day. Astari remembers her master Ay'Kuar, and his daily lessons, with a smile too brief for words.

"What kind of games do you play in the House of Chance, Kalibar? I would be interested in seeing how such exercises might unfold." Her natural curiosity is tempered by a caution of the halfling: Telarin probably wasn't far off in mentioning cheating. It might just be better to watch the others play later rather than participate herself, to hold on to the cash that Valborn had given them. Where was he, anyhow? Given the affable exterior he had presented last night, she is somewhat surprised not to see him down below this morning. He might still be in his cabin, or outside on the deck somewhere. I suppose I need fresh air anyhow, right? After a couple of minutes of polite silence, the kalashtar heads up the stairs to the main deck.

[Lateral]

Sarkan smiles and walks over to the rest of the group. "Games of chance? I would participate, but I am quite partial to the clothes on my back, and I would prefer not to gamble them away."

He has one hell of a poker face, though. :smalltongue:

[RFLS]

"I, however, do...not suffer the same inhibitions. You could say I'm...used to it. Hs, hs." Telarin is apparently unaware of the acute awkwardness this statement induces.

[3SecondCultist]

Arcady, Sarkan, Telarin, Wolo: There is indeed a pause after Telarin's comment, but Kalibar does little but laugh it off as he polishes off a second portion. "Well, those of you who are interested, drop by later today. I'll be in my bunk." He smiles one last time as he thanks Jaeden once more and heads off back towards the bunks, whistling all the way. "I'm so sorry about him, that one has absolutely no manners on him." The ship's cook offers you a sincere expression, although it is a relatively quiet one. "We took him on the last time we were in Sharn, nearly six months ago. Jenks has made quite a profit for himself - and for the captain - but he can be a real pain to live with sometimes. Velgram seems to be eating just as much or more than the halfling was, but he smiles ruefully as well. Bits of food fall out of his mouth onto the plate, the table, and the floor indiscriminately. Mortified, the half-orc rushes to clean up his own mess. Manten only raises an eyebrow, finishing his breakfast silently as he walks around the reception hall, and through the doors of a darkened side room. You manage to catch a glimpse of various pipes, and a faint mist or steam lingers as the ship's engineer closes the portal swiftly behind him.

"Well, there is just no accounting for one's crewmates sometimes, isn't there? I believe the captain has given you all more or less free reign of the ship, other than the bridge, the laboratory on the upper deck, the elemental chamber down here, and the cargo bay is off limits without an escort. If you'd like, I can take you down there after cleaning up?" Jaeden does indeed seem unconditionally happy to have new faces to show around, although the cook seems to be having an equally busy day.

Astari: As you open the hatch up to the main deck, you are buffeted by gusts of wind, cold and sharp to the bone. The sky is mostly clear all around you, although there are a few wispy clouds wearing the shapes of terrestrial things. The quarterdeck is empty, but through the heavy glass windows of the bridge, you catch sight of several blurred figures moving about. Something else manages to grab your attention, though: a lone figure standing at the bow, staring out into the beyond. Draped in a fine grey cloak, Valborn stands as still as a figurehead. "In three day's time, we should be landing in Stormreach. You know, I've never been to Xen'drik before. I wonder what's out there?"

[TheLonelyScribe]

"I'd be fascinated to see the cargo. Tell me, what are you carrying? My last trip to Stormreach was mainly furniture and building materials, but I hear that the adventurous folk down there request all sorts of things."

[MandibleBones]

"An escort sounds lovely," Arcady says, sounding cheerful for the first time in a long while. "Oh, and apparently there's cargo to see, too."

[TheAntiplanar]

"The chance at fortune maybe? Fame?" Astari speaks in reserved tones - she still didn't know Valborn's endgame - but she does talk on subjects that the professor might likely be after. Admittedly, it is a bit desperate, and there is no need to tip her hand right away. Men like him were always after something greater, to rise from obscurity to tower above all the rest. The great monoliths of the forest would fall to be replaced by a new generation, and the cycle would begin afresh, afresh. Time and freedom came in those moments between, to decide what kind of tree you wanted to grow up to be. She decides the smile behind her eyes is enough.

"What do you know about Stormreach, professor?" Put him on the defensive, force him to answer the question if he knew the answer or acknowledge his ignorance if he did not. He had tried to do the same thing to her just moments ago, had he not?

[3SecondCultist]

Arcady, Sarkan, Telarin, Wolo: "Oh, they don't let me in on those kinds of things. House Lyrandar business, I suppose," Jaeden says quickly. Once breakfast has been cleaned up, the ship's cook hangs up her apron, snapping her fingers. You hear the clattering of claws on wood, as a somewhat small black dog scampers across the planking. It sits on its hind legs with a patient, almost mournful expression as it follows its master around. The black laborador is introduced as Zephyr, the unofficial mascot of the vessel. Velgram seems rather non-chalant about you being given a guided tour, and so Jaeden (followed by her dog) leads the four of you down the stairs and into the belly of the ship.

A massive chamber takes up the entirety of the lower deck, nearly half of which is filled with several stacks of wooden crates bearing the stamp of the Brelish crown. The corner of the bay is occupied by a cell of three thick metal walls, barred by a locked door of solid steel. A faint aura of abjuration emanates from the smooth surfaces, even to those without magical capabilities for sensing it. "That would be the vault of the vessel. It was originally designed as a brig for prisoners of war you see, but now we just use it to store valuables." The cook-turned-tour guide hasn't lost her enthusiasm since you left the reception hall, and if anything her excitement increases as you progress further into the bay.

The rest of the lower deck is dominated by what appear to be smaller aircraft, docked in sets of five along the port and starboard walls of the vaguely rectangular chamber. Each craft is lined up with a large hatch in the curved hull, the miniature soarwood designs clearly meant to emulate that of the Dragon itself. "Welcome to the skiff bay! Each of these beauties can hold up to four passengers, and can be rented for 150 gp per day with the captain's permission. They can go just about anywhere within 50 miles of their dock - standard short range, I'm told - and their top speed matches that of the Dragon. What do you think?" Jaeden seems eager to show off the craft, and you also notice a pair of ladders extending up into the ceiling and towards the upper decks.

Astari: Valborn pauses, clearly thinking through his response. When he does look at you, it is clear that he knows exactly what type of game you've chosen to play. "Stormreach on its own means very little to me, I'm afraid. Although some of the denizens of Xen'Drik are interesting from an anthropological standpoint, there is little more to that town than the means to an end: finding what it is we're looking for. On the other hand," he concedes, "I will be spending some time there while you complete the task assigned to you, so I had best learn to enjoy the customs." The older man speaks in equal tones of confidence and distaste, although judging by the conspiratorial nature of his response, he doesn't seem to extend those feelings towards either you or your comrades.

[RFLS]

Telarin walks forward to admire the skiffs, trailing his long fingers over their hulls.

"These are...beautiful! How do...they work? Is it elemental binding like the...hs, hs, the Dragon, or is it something else? Perhaps...something new?"

[MandibleBones]

Arcady looks lovingly at the skiffs. "Can anyone pilot them, or does it need to be a Lyrander?" he asks. Don't worry, baby, daddy's here now, he thinks, barely resisting the temptation to run his hands over the nearest skiff.

[roll0] Knowledge Arcana, to see if I can figure out how to drive one of these things.

[Lateral]

Sarkan remains against the deck wall, but he looks appreciatively at the skiffs. "They're beautiful. How do they work?"

[3SecondCultist]

* * * * * * * * * * *
72 Hours Later
* * * * * * * * * * *
The clouds over the Thunder Sea paint a dark portrait of the southern skies around the Dragon, doing their best to live up to their namesake. You can already feel the first gusts of the tropical storm as it stirs across the deck, parting hair and caressing skin. It will not stay gentle for long. Up on the quarterdeck, you can see Alastair at the helm, both elemental rings roaring under the nimble fingers of the Lyrandar captain. He shouts down at Mazzia to secure lifelines for anyone wishing to stay above-decks, the lieutenant moving quickly to the base of the first elemental ring where the rope is kept. She does her absolute best to keep the coming storm out of her features - it doesn't work. "Looks like we're in for some trouble, you'll need to belt yourselves down so you don't get swept overboard! It's a long fall down to Shargon's Teeth."

The approaching squall seems to spell the end of what would otherwise have been a quiet and uneventful voyage. The crew have been more than amiable for the most part, Jaeden and Captain Alastair especially doing their utmost to make you feel welcome aboard the Golden Dragon. Jenks' various games in his House of Chance have ended more or less in confusion, although it has become fairly clear that he can hardly qualify as a master of games - those of you who have bothered to play with him have earned at least 200 gold pieces over the course of the past few days. While Dramgrin, Linntorm and Mazzia have more or less left you to your own devices, another surprisingly accommodating crew member has been Zan. Near the back of the ship is situated the Cloud's Passage, a studio the elf has set up for relaxation, meditation and exercise. It is a space open to all, although the doors have now been closed. They all stand on the deck with you now, staring at the moving banks of storm-clouds - the lieutenant, the towering ship's bosun, the taciturn engineer, the ship's cook with her dog, the shifty halfling, and the still distant elf. There is one last person up on deck with you as well. Valborn's eyes track the darkness with a stony expression.

[Lateral]

Sarkan looks up at the stormy sky, watching intently for anything unusual.

Spot check: [roll0]

[RFLS]

Telarin, too, keeps his eyes peeled, albeit rather less successfully than his sharp-eyed companions.

Spot: [roll0]

[TheLonelyScribe]

Wolo summons magic to his fingertips as they approach the storm.

Wolo readies an action to use Wind's Favour as soon as the storm becomes threatening.

[3SecondCultist]

After making sure each of you is tied to the ship, Mazzia moves towards the quarterdeck to stand near the captain. Several of the crew members - Jaeden, Dramgrin, Zan, and Jenks - have all gone belowdecks, leaving you with only the two half-elves and the half-orc bosun. Valborn also remains, his fine robes buffeted by the gusts that precede the oncoming storm. It all begins with the noise: small at first, a low wailing and the crack of thunder, but it grows in strength until you are hit by a nearly solid wall of wind which is almost immediately followed by the first raindrops. Both elemental rings of the Dragon remain alight, the flames expanding to the very edge of their engineered confines as they feast on the moving air. You can feel the airship turn slightly as Alastair touches the wheel, adjusting course to minimize wind resistance and increase speed through elevated oxygen levels. His own lifeline attaching him to the helm, the captain shouts down to everyone left on the main deck. "Hold on to something! It's going to get a bit rough for the next little while. Nobody ever said storms were gentle mistresses."

[RFLS]

Telarin faces into the storm, a faint smile playing over his thin lips. This looked like it could be exciting....

When the crew is completely occupied, Telarin undoes his rope, and wanders towards the bow of the boat.

[TheLonelyScribe]

Wolo tries to gauge the risk of the storm, feeling the power of his Dragonmark coursing through him.

Profession (sailor) check to determine if the storm poses any significant risk: [roll0]
If the storm seems dangerous, Wolo uses Wind's Favour to calm the winds to 'strong wind' and guides the the ship through the storm (this effect lasts for an hour).

[MandibleBones]

Seeing the storm approaching, even Arcady's caustic wit is silenced: the only sound he makes are the arcane words to shield him from the elements. It's cold enough in the sky; within a storm doesn't bear thinking about, especially if Arcady ends up flying - or falling, with or without style.

His eyes flicker from the less-flight-capable members of the group, to the life rings along the side, and he braces himself against a gunwale, holding on for... well, not dear life, for that would imply fear, but certainly a healthy level of "Oh My Sweet Sovereigns, There's a Storm And We're Going To Fly Through It."

Note: If possible, I would like to have scribed two scrolls of fly over the past 72 hours.

Spells Prepared:

0: Resistance (Ab), Detect Magic, Repair Minor Damage, Prestidigitation x2 (1)

1: Endure Elements (Ab) (1), Benign Transposition, Cause Fear, Feather Fall x2, Ray of Enfeeblement

2: Protection from Arrows (Ab), Web, Alter Self, Dimension Leap

3: Dispel Magic (Ab), Fly x2, Greater Mage Armor

[Lateral]

Sarkan curls up his wings and waits the storm out.

...I've got nothing. So, we're just missing the Antiplanar. Doesn't somebody know him in real life?

[RFLS]

Telarin:

Telarin peers into the storm, a worried expression playing about his otherwise stoic face. He looks, and looks again. Slowly, never taking his eyes off the oncoming storm, he walks over to the captain. A buzz and a hiss have entered his voice as he becomes, for the first time, worried.

"Captain...I am...unsure azz to what izz...normal for ssuch a storm, but...should there be elementalzz at the front of the sstorm? They sseem to be...playing."

Alastair peers forward, straining his eyes. There's a brief look of consternation, and then they widen in horror.

"All hands on deck! Elemental swarm, dead ahead!"

[MandibleBones]

"Oh, blast me," Arcady groans. A simple storm would be bad enough. Rogue elementals... he recalls the Incident With The Fire Elemental In The Workshop, and the scars on his forearms itch underneath his bracers.

As the storm approaches, he looks for a clearer spot toward the front. No fall I make will be fatal, he thinks. Then Aracady peers down at the water far below and grimaces. Though the swim might be...

After a moment to gauge the speed of the oncoming elementsals, he clenches rare and expensive dragonscales in one hand.

"Defendere totalis!" he mutters, and shimmering force surrounds him.

Greater Mage Armor, CL 6.