The Legend of the Mana Tree (D&D 3.5, In-Character)

[Ziegander]

The Legend of the Mana Tree

Out-of-Character (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=313311)

It has been said that long ago, Oarda was little more than a mottled stone sphere hurtling through the stars, dead, and without purpose. But from that dead, doldrum eternity, a single tree grew out of Oarda's rocky carapace; it grew, and grew, and continued to grow until its vastness rivaled the size of the rest of Oarda combined. Its bark was the color of flame, orange, slashed with ribbons of red and yellow. Its leaves were the color of ocean waters, blue and green and sometimes dark violet. After millions of years of growing, the tree finally flowered: glorious blossoms of pure, radiant light in colors innumerable, and once these petals were scattered to the planar winds, the tree bore golden fruits and seeded. Thus, the Mana Tree provided Oarda with life. For from these seeds sprang the first age of Oarda, the Age of Wonders, in which were born plants and animals of all sizes and shapes and also the great Terrestrial Guardians, whose powers rival those of the greatest of gods.

In the second age were these gods born, the Age of Immortals, in which wars ravaged Oarda and much of the power of the Mana Tree was stolen. Marvels were destroyed, magic power taken by the weak from the strong until little remained in the world. Eventually, having humbled or sealed the Terrestrial Guardians, even the gods departed from Oarda. At the end of the second age, the first men were born, imperfect creatures, full of flaws and frailty, gifted with but little power, but possessed of all the cunning and ambitions of the gods that came before them. One of these mortals sought godhood himself, and with black magicks bound the souls of the dead and made himself strong with blood and darkness. He attempted to slay the Mana Tree, and take its power for his own. The results were not what he hoped for. Supposedly he failed, but in the Age of Mortals there is no such thing as a Mana Tree. Regardless, between all the myths, it is agreed upon that Uthor, the Barrowlord, was destroyed utterly.

As the stars begin to fall on a world less legendary, bringing impossible devastation, ruinous growth, and rampant mutation, murmurings begin to spread that these are no stars at all, but seeds. Seeds of the Mana Tree, long since scattered to the planar winds, now returning to reclaim the lands of Oarda from their mortal usurpers.


T'aella Ne'cota (Urksang)
White blades of grass rise sickly from grey, ashen earth along the outskirts of a near-dry, lichen-covered bog. The gnarled roots of dying mangroves are strangled by wickedly barbed vines. Very little clings to life in the bog, but along its edge, a scaled creature, near the size of a man, works to gather mud into a wheelbarrow. Across the stretch of the horizon, others are seen working on sinkholes of their own.

The pounding of the hooves of seven questriers sounds across the swamp flats as Cidolfas Dullahan and his men at arms crest a black hill. Some of the nearer lizardfolk take notice, shouting and pointing to their fellows in a tongue the Heir of Blackblade does not understand. Cidolfas is a lithe man of medium height, nearly thirty years of age, with severe eyebrows, piercing silver eyes, and strands of white in his dark brown hair. He is armored in boiled black leather and wears a magnificent black cloak and gloves and boots. On his belt, at his left, he wears the Blackblade itself, rumored to have played its part in the attempted slaying of the Mana Tree all those thousands of years ago.

"You speak some scalyfang, don't you?" he calls to the beautiful, pale woman at his right, "Tell me we can communicate with these creatures."

"Yes, brother, at least I hope so," she replies playfully, "I think I know enough anyway to tell them we are friends."

"Well, then, men, let's keep moving. They aren't wraiths at least. Let us welcome them to our desolate corner of the world."

The seven ride onward, and make contact with a group of frightened lizardfolk militiamen, spears raised, ready to strike. Though the men on horse remain unafraid, they still make all possible effort to appear non-hostile. After some tense negotiation which takes considerably longer than Cidolfas is comfortable with, they are led on into the heart of what appears to be the beginnings of a true lizardfolk outpost, manned also by orcs, goblins, and all manner of ugly man-creatures. Into the heart of what he would come to know as the town of one T'aella Ne'cota.

As his bewilderment subsides, Cidolfas says at last, "Assure them that we mean no harm. Tell them that I would speak with their chieftess."


Gratia Falsum (Paranga)
As the noon hour rises upon Gilasmiru, Imperial Capital of Romjibuya, the heart of the Seshar Zhi empire, the great Horn of Ho-Raa sounds over a quieter rumble of bronze gongs and a soft cascade of zither strings and gold bells. It is time for all members of the Imperial Court to pray. It is also known to the smallfolk as the Hour of Blood, for it is during this time, that the Samurai who police Gilasmiru are left masterless and in their desperate fury leave justice to the gods. Criminals and those suspected as criminals are often butchered in the streets without trial or indefinitely detained to be questioned and tortured. And the bloodshed has only gotten worse in recent times.

In the Watershed district, a small town on the outskirts of Gilasmiru, a place where cheap wares from trade galleons are unloaded for a quick coin, the law is kept less by the Samurai, whose honor becomes more twisted each day, but more so by the cartel. Here the killings are starting to diminish, but rival gangs do not make it easy.

A child in rags runs through the streets heading toward a cartel headquarters, a wild grin on his dirty face, something stolen, glittering gold in the high sun, tucked between his crossed arms. He seeks his employer, Gratia Falsum to bring her news from the ships and bears her mark burned on the back of his left hand that he may be recognized.


Sjach Gix (Riddle)
Deep in the tunnels of Riddle, beneath the windblown plains of the Lunatic Lord, legions of darkling creatures skitter around in the dark. Orcs and goblins, grimlocks and underfolk, and even some duergar lurking about. Great shrouds of darkmantles, giant spiders and centipedes, the occasional cluster of ankhegs, and even the rare roper. But perhaps most prolific in these tunnels are the industrious kobolds, carving their living from the rock. These kobolds dwell in nearly the only settlements down in the deeps and control some interesting territory. Though they have the sense to avoid some of the most dangerous dungeons within, the kobolds have discovered many relics of the Immortal Age that they have no understanding either of how to use or from what they were crafted.

With the return of Sjach Gix, a certain kobold on a meteoric rise in Riddle with a reputation as a "hero reborn," he and his following have begun to delve a bit more boldly. They have discovered a new vein of iron ore, but one laced with the barest glimmers of a silver substance confirmed as mithril. The "hero" himself directs a group of miners when he hears the shouting of kobolds and humans echoing down into the mine from somewhere above. To his ears, the humans do not sound like a band of the Lunatic Lord's marauders. Too few, and too disorganized. And if he is not mistaken, too green.


Delaney "Greatheart" Bell (Bryngann)
The natural world is unhinged. Perhaps the townspeople of Llewelyn haven't yet noticed it, but the earth shakes beneath the feet of Allsidh, the fey woman who has taken up residence in "Home," the residence of Greatheart and his ecclectic band of plants, animals, and oddities. She leans upon a giant beech tree, running her hands along the smooth bark, and looks with worry upon the mouth of the underground cavern. The lake beneath the earth is poison she is sure, but her Greatheart is sure that there is some value to be found there. It is unhealthy for the land... shouldn't they attempt to cleanse it rather than study it? Suddenly she is brought to her knees by a sudden, gripping nausea.

"Hnngh... what?" Allsidh manages, bringing a hand to her mouth just as she is racked with tremors. "Oh no."

She vomits into the grass below, a bright-green, acidic liquid that immediately wilts and yellows the grass.

"The seed..."

Allsidh reaches out telepathically to the trees, deep into the Conwy Vale, but for her effort, she gets little more than a flash of images. Disturbing images. The trees are mad with grief and rage. Fire, and blasts of dirt and rock; over and over, from different points of view, this is all she sees at first. Then she watches plants lash out with unnatural growth at humans and shifters roaming the Vale. She is frightened as she senses these vines and roots and leaves strangle and crush other living things. As fast as the images come, they change, and after another second she is watching animals mutate into monsters. Some are like the ones Greatheart has taken in, but others... others horrify her. Gigantic creatures with rippling muscle, stretched, torn skin, and deformed skeletal structures. A roar comes from deep within the Vale and suddenly she sees eye to mind's eye with something that burned with hatred. She stumbles and falls, her vision shaken violently away, then she rolls, stands to her feet again, and, hacking up acid spittle, rushes into the cave.

"Greatheart! GREATHEART!"

[Amoren]

Gix's eyes wander over the plans sprawled before him as the various kobold miners scurried to and fro, adorned in the thick, tough leather that protected them as they worked, while their hands clutched the various tools – pick axes mostly – that they used to toil the earth. Around him with the map stood three of the senior kobold miners that came with the strange reptile's colony, the ones who could spare the time and weren't currently sleeping to look over the plan's with their leader. For the most part, Sjach Gix had little to improve upon – he was humble enough to acknowledge that in aspects of mining the kobolds around him knew more than he on such matters – both from the technical and practical aspects – and his respect for their expertise ensured that they knew they were appreciated at his side. Still, there was use for him here – all the people of his tribe contributed to its success, even their leader, and he had been keen to begin finding uses for the sturdy, light weight metal they were now mining to improve upon their processes with the help of Ankin's alchemical and crafting knowledge.

However, as the echoes from the upper tunnels reach his ears, his wings flicker with unease and his darkness attuned gaze glances back, up the gradual sloped tunnel and back towards the main area that served as the tribe's common's, and from there where the major entrance left to the network of catacombs and tunnels which crossed underneath the surface of Riddle lay. With a worried frown, he turned back towards his compatriots, who had also fallen silent with the unexpected sound. “Seeva,” he addressed one of the three he had been working with, “Go to Ankin's workshop and rouse the old man from what he's doing – tell him to meet me at the entry way.” The old kobold was perhaps his closest friend, and while age may not have dulled his strength or constitution, it had taken its toll on his friend's eyes and ears.

“Deekin, Griten,” he addressed next as he turned from the improvised table they had gathered around, already moving for the entrance as he called back, “Get the rest of the miners to find a safe point to stop and prepare to join the militia if need be.” He didn't even glance back to look if the three were moving, trusting them to do as they were told. Instead, he hurried through the tunnels, slipping past a few of the miners that lay between him and the source of the disturbance. A bronze-scaled and clawed hand resting on the weighted hilt of his dagger in case it needed to be drawn if this was an attack.

[EdroGrimshell]

Before long, a lizardfolk approaches the group, and speaks perfect common, "we are quite comfortable with the common tongue in this settlement. T'aella is currently indisposed tending to one of our hunters that had a run in with an alligator," the lizardfolk says as a large half-orc carrying a green falchion that doesn't seem to be made of metal and a very twitchy kobold comes in, "G'urk, take charge of their horses, Twitch, take them to the infirmary and let T'aella know we have company."

The half-orc grunts, "if you were taller it'd have more impact, Argus, and you forgot to tell them your name."

"GotchaGotcha, followmehumans," the kobold says so quickly the words string together into a single word. It's hard to tell, but her voice implies she's female.

"Ah, I'm used to people knowing my name already, I'm Argus Brik, sole thunderhead lizardfolk of this community," Argus says, "I will also need to ask you to leave your weapons, we will make sure they're cared for and returned once you leave."

G'urk Searin
Male Desert Half-Orc Warrior 1; CR ½; Medium Humanoid (Orc); HD 1d8+3; hp 11; Init +0; Spd 30 ft.; AC 12 (10 +0 dex, +2 leather armor), touch 10, flat-footed 12; Base Atk +1; Grp +3; Atk +3 melee (2d4+2/18-20/x2; Falchion); SA; SQ; AL NG; SV Fort +5, Ref +0, Will +1; Str 14, Dex 10, Con 17, Int 11, Wis 12, Cha 8

Skills and Feats: Climb +5 (4 ranks +2 Str), Handle Animal -1 (0 ranks -1 Cha), Intimidate +2 (4 ranks -1 Cha), Jump +4 (2 ranks +2 Str), Ride +0 (0 ranks +0 Dex), Swim +4 (2 ranks +2 Str); Power Attack.
Nerra "Twitch" Pokke
Female Kobold Expert 1; CR ½; Medium Humanoid (Orc); HD 1d6+1; hp 7; Init +2; Spd 30 ft.; AC 14 (10 +2 dex, +2 leather armor), touch 12, flat-footed 12; Base Atk +0; Grp -1; Atk +0 melee (1d3-1/x2; Claw), -5 melee (1d4-1/x2; Bite), +3 Ranged (1d8/19-20/x2; 80ft; Light Crossbow); SA; SQ Slight Build; AL CG; SV Fort +1, Ref +2, Will +1; Str 8, Dex 15, Con 12, Int 15, Wis 8, Cha 10

Skills and Feats: Appraise +4 (2 ranks, +2 Int), Craft (Trapmaking) +11 (4 ranks, +2 Int, +2 racial, +3 Skill Focus), Craft (Alchemy) +5 (3 ranks, +2 Int), Disable Device +4 (2 ranks, +2 Int), Hide +10 (0 ranks, +2 Dex, +4 size, +4 slight build), Listen +1 (2 ranks, -1 Wis), Move Silently +4 (2 ranks, +2 Dex), Open Lock +3 (1 ranks, +2 Dex), Profession (Miner) +4 (3 ranks, -1 Wis, +2 racial), Search +6 (3 ranks, +2 Int), Spot +3 (4 ranks, -1 Wis); Skill Focus (Craft [Trapmaking]).

[Tim Proctor]

Twenty miles south of the watershed district in a rocky cove barren of outside light due to the high craggy coastline cliffs, they marched slowly back and forth through makeshift pseudo streets that imitated the watershed district. It was a deadman's rouse close enough, but far enough away, the lights of a city where no city existed. Most captains would think the navigator had been drinking and put them slightly off course and they had reached their destination sooner than they expected, a dream that cost many of them. They continued to march simulating carts through city streets while lanterns in trees or posts simulated buildings, while one man sat high in a tree with a large bullseye lantern making the lighthouse seem much farther than the coast really was. The crashing of wood and screaming of men echoed as the crew realized that they just hit rocks where they thought would be open sea.

Gratia had heard of deadman's rouses before, and never put much faith in them, but her father always said that people were always more likely to believe in something they wanted to be true. It seemed that after weeks or months at sea that they wanted to be on dry land, unfortunately, this was not the land they wanted. With a loud crash and the screams of men the ship rammed into the shallow rocks, scrambling to shore, some were drawn like moths to the fire others were cut down by thugs hiding in the nearby brush. She played her harp like a seasinger luring the men with the tune to the shore, they walked like zombies to the magic eager for the reprieve. There they sat next to her fires not saying a word completely fascinated by her charm, until she finished her song. Then one spoke 'have we died', and she responded 'not yet, you still live.'

They were oblivious to what had happened behind them, not all of the sailors where entranced by simple magic and her thugs dealt with them on the beach. Those that became enthralled came to her, but that would be their demise also, unarmed, unaware, and incapable of forming a defense they were shortly slaughtered by her thugs that had setup a trap. They killed all but the navigator, the first mate, and the diplomat. She knew better than to kill the navigator and first mate because they would know enough to tell her what was going on, but not enough that they would resist under torture, the Captain would resist and it was just a bloody mess at that point.

The diplomat she was given strict instructions with a golden coin with a jolly roger in it (the dread boss of Piracy) to put the diplomat on a carriage and ship him inland to a town called Chou Zhou which was a lumbering community a few days inland. The diplomat was from Riddle and other than that she did not ask the diplomat any questions because one slip of the tongue would be a slit of the throat. The navigator and first mate however would talk and the information about what one boss was doing was worth gold and favors from the others.

***
The next morning she woke late to the song of bird song on her balcony, it was not the beautiful song of chirping that she was used to in the city, the sea birds had a foul cawing sound to them. The croak from her Raven did not make things any more appreciative, it was a foul sounding bird, but one that spoke common and was nearly as intelligent as her bodyguard John.

She stood up wearing her night shift, and opened the double doors letting the full sunlight in through the covered windows and began playing her harp. She was glad that her employees had managed to put it back in her room, she was upset that she hadn't notice them put a hard in her room while she was sleeping. She strummed the strings playing a song, singing a song of the song bird, connected to the birds she would get information from them, but today there was none, none other than the normal. Birds were highly unreliable they recognized people, but not what they said, and new people were strange to them, even with asking she only got one answer and it was about how much the birds loved the old lady at the docks that fed them bread. Gratia thought that she may have to kill her if she kept being an issue.

She realized that she had slept in farther than she meant to, but not enough that John or her advisers thought important to wake her, the dangerous area where they thought they were smart enough to make decisions on their own. It was the time of day that her father used to call, the sleeping, when a person became so comfortable that they would sleep and someone would ensure they never woke. She had an early meeting with a representative of the jade banks over a number of accounts related to the port, it seems she inherited more than just a operations, she got its debt too.

****

The small man (gnome) was as short in stature as he was in social grace, he was foul mouthed, demanding, and arrogant. Any one of those was enough from Gratia to know what she wanted to do, and she found the perfect excuse. A grip of Samurai were drinking at the docks all day waiting for a diplomat to arrive. The ship seemed to be late but for voyages that took extended periods of time a few hours wasn't much. Gratia waited patiently until the gongs sounded, in the watershed district the gongs were louder than the horn, and the Samurai waited for any action. John a quiet brute of a man quickly grabbed the banker and tossed his from the third story window out onto the craggy rocks below, instantly killing him.

The samurai jumped to their feet, drew their swords and ran to investigate. Gratia looked outside and gave a scream of horror at the body, at least feigned horror. She rushed down the stairs to the Samurai and pleaded with them to help her save the man. She cried that she was trying to show him that you can see the Tower of the Horn was from the office and he must have leaned too far out. With a great show, and some magic, it did not take so much to convince them. With a dozen Samurai all convinced of her merit and too arrogant to admit they were drinking they would back her story and the bankers would send another, she would have the money by that time.

Something strange happened a young boy ran up to her, the thugs stopped the child but upon seeing a brand on his hand let him pass. The cartel did not use brands on children except the untouchables, those who were the messengers of the nine. To harm a messenger would be the death of everyone you loved, not something many dared to test. Whatever it was, it was a message of great importance.

Note: hope the minor alterations are okay.

[Dimers]

"My love?"

As the little nymph stumbles in -- tripping over her own feet, in this shape she is not yet used to wearing -- Del is moved by the urgency in her voice and quickly stands from his communion with the underdwellers. The chipmunks and mice and most of the bats scatter in surprise, though the badger Grieir waits with more presence of mind.

"Greatheart -- I saw -- I can't --" Allsidh shakes as she looks into his eyes, dimly glowing in the darkness.

"Love, you're too upset to say what you want. I've never seen you shaken this way. -- and Oldbones says you smell of bile? Yes. Take slowness as a blessing." Del speaks over the fey's disjointed words, taking control of the conversation for the good of all. My role, condensed from general to specific, he thinks wryly. "Breathe. Don't get hiccups -- they're too silly for this moment."

Mercurially, Allsidh takes on a more somber facet, changing her appearance and her mood both. Where a little woman had been a moment before, there is now an aspen sapling, trembling slightly as it talks and looking odd in the dark tunnel. The sapling announces to Del and the remainder of his assembly, "I saw disaster. Blasts and flames in the Vale! Our natural world trying to crush and rip and maul the Civilized and even each other. Much hate and fear, no love. I think one of them saw me seeing. I don't know how. And all this is connected to the Seed?" The sapling gives a final shudder and falls silent.

A long moment passes without words, though two bats fly up the tunnel toward daylight and open air. Del keeps a hand on the trunk of the sapling while he tries to process this change -- usually Allsidh has prophesied only where to find another lost soul in need of help.

Finally, Del shakes his head and says, "If there is aught we can do to calm the land and the creatures, well, we will need to be THERE and not HERE. Will you stay here, my heart --" Del squeezes the shoulder-which-was-an-aspen-trunk in his hand, calming the impressionable Allsidh before she can spiral down again. "Stay, and direct those who would speak with me, so they know where to go. The hawk who speaks to the Green Knight -- if any know where he is, I would like to have him along. I will tread the Middle Path toward the Vale. Oldbones! ..." The aging dog rises and shakes as if throwing off water, then follows the young master. Calling out to those who follow him, Greatheart exits the tunnel and makes ready to walk west.

[Ziegander]

Sjach Gix (Riddle)
As Sjach made his way toward the tunnels' entrance, he might have been made proud by the sight he saw. The tunnel opened into a grand hall, used by Gix and his fellows as a welcoming place to feast and meet with guests of other tribes, and within, the kobold leader found a group of four human adventurers getting more than they bargained for on what was surely a thrill-seeking, treasure hunt. Kobold wives and children and simplefolk hurled rocks and kitchenware at the unwary trespassers who could do little but cower in their desperation to fend off the attacks. There was a tall, dark man in a black-and-grey cloak, shielding himself with mailed hands, a huge, fat one with a heavy, two-handed axe, a lithe, nimble young woman in leather defending herself with a rapier, and the fourth, an athletic-looking man with a longsword and a longbow, dressed in noble's garb, looking indignant.


T'aella Ne'cota (Urksang)
The woman, Cidolfas' sister, Ciel, looks to her brother, anxiety or anticipation playing in her eyes, it is difficult to tell. She is a stunning beauty, with wavy blonde hair, and a nearly incandescent, porcelain complexion. Garbed also in black leathers with a black, lace bodice, her black skirt of leather and silk strips, trails to the ground just til it drapes over her sandalled feet. Her blue-black eyes are ever-shrouded in mystery and mirth, concealing her motives.

"You will be forgiven your ignorance this one time only, lizard," a man-at-arms to Cidolfas' left sneers, "You are speaking to the Heir of Blackblade, and lord of Bittersteel."

Cidolfas quickly interrupts, "I hope you will also forgive my man's rudeness, if only this once. He is not paid, after all, for his way with words. Argus Brik, you are well-met. Girk and Twitch too. I am Cidolfas Dullahan, and yes, the lord of Bittersteel. You will have the weapons of my men. Now, with those pleasantries observed, I must warn you that I will not be relieved of the Blackblade. It is the sigil of my house and the physical manifestation of my right to rule. If you would ask it of me again you would be better served to declare war."


Gratia Falsum (Paranga)
The boy knelt to the ground, and raised his hand above his head, "Hail, Mistress Falsum," he said with an amused, almost mocking reverence, "I have brought you a gift."

The guards before Gratia stayed their weapons, allowing the boy to stand, and he drew a straight, golden rod from the loose sleeve of his tunic about twelve inches long.

"It's a drive shaft! Well, half of one anyway. I took it off some cart from Islandholm. They won't be going anywhere soon!" the boy laughed, "It's not gold. It's something better, and there's lots of the stuff!"

The alterations are fine. At first I wasn't sure what to do with them, but I think I've come up with something satisfactory.


Greatheart (Bryngann)
I should have mentioned it to you earlier, but the Green Knight of the Conwy Vale will have had the opposite reaction to you to the one you've given in your backstory. At first he would have been friendly and helped you out, but as soon as you begun harboring what in his mind are aberrations (and maybe even by D&D standards) he withdrew his support for you. He is not openly hostile, and he has no problem speaking to you and relaying information between the two of you, but he shouldn't be considered an ally.
From his quaint Home nearer the eastern shore of Bryngann, the eastern edge of the Conwy Vale was a days' journey for Greatheart and his companion, the dog Oldbones. Even as he leaves the security of his makeshift dwelling, he notes a large flock of birds making haste in the skies over the woods. As he makes progress across the eastern Bryngann savannah, he is struck by the realization that something awful must be happening. A stampede of sorts is crashing through the high grasses, composed of all sorts of animals, from squirrels and rabbits to elk and even lions. The birds above project a cacophony of fear. Soon, it becomes impossible for the young Druid to avoid the fearful animals.

Make a survival check.
Make a Reflex save.

[Tim Proctor]

Crap, was all that Gratia could think. Gifts in her industry were as dangerous as insulting a Samurai's honor. She knew better than to ask the child anything, asking too many or the wrong questions was a quick way to wake up with the fishes. She doubted the one who sent the child would have told him anything important in any event.

Gratia walked back inside the port-master's building back to her office holding the rod, she summoned her consigliere (John followed her). Those three were some of her most trusted and vile loyalists. They were brilliant legal representation and knew a great deal about a great many things, however they hate a taste for sadism that only the cartel would allow. When one of them would find someone that upset them, the other two would lure that person then bind, torture and kill them. Two brothers and their sister, a deadly tri-factor of intellect and cunning. Gratia wasn't worried much about them because if anyone suspected them of attacking her they would find everyone they ever liked was dead, and in a gruesome manner, besides they were loyal to her, even above her father.

There the five of them studied the rod, drawing on the knowledge of the port-master and anyone else trusted who could lend a possible answer.


[roll0]Knowledge (local), 11 from Gratia, +2 from Peter, Paul, Mary and John, and +2 int bonus from Paul. Looking to know specifically if they have knowledge of it being a fuel rod of some type for either an airship or vehicle of some type.

[roll1]Hours spent asking people.
[roll2]Gather Information, 15 from Gratia, +2 from Peter, Paul, Mary and John, and +2 wis bonus from Peter. Looking to know if anyone else knows what it is, who sent it to her, why they sent it, etc.

Please let me know if they are any other rolls that you want.

[EdroGrimshell]

Argus bows, "that is quite alright, we are used to it from humans, I am glad to see that there are some that do not prosecute based on appearance alone. T'aella is much the same," he replies, "you may keep a hold of your blade, as long as it remains sheathed, no suspicion will fall on you or your men."

Twitch says something in draconic at high speed, getting Argus to blink, "that's a good point, will you be staying in the area for an extended period? If so we can set rooms up for you and your men."

[Amoren]

A small smile spread across his lips at the sight, although it came tinged with a hint of disappointment that the four humans, however unmatched, managed to get their way to the grand hall, past the entry way where the warren-guard were supposed to be standing watch – he'd have to investigate the matter after everything was said and done with. For now, his eyes quickly glanced across the sight of the closest kobolds to the four humans, 4 members of the warren-guard who were on duty at that time, one of which was their leader the kobold Zykrix. The four had already formed a shield line between the much larger humans and the rest of the kobolds who had gathered around to defend their home, ensuring that they would be spared if any of them had the bright idea to try and charge at the ones responsible for pelting them with whatever they could come. For now, they seemed to have settled into an uneasy stare off, not wanting to approach a group of larger, likely stronger humans without the advantage of numbers to flank them all.

“Zykrix,” he called out in kobold to draw his marshal's attention, “Pull your men back a step to give them some space.” The high pitched yips and other reptilian noises might have gone unrecognized by the four intruders, but Zykrix immediately responded, signalling his men to move back a few paces and create distance between them and the humans while their short swords remained at the ready.

“Everyone else, stop for the moment,” he commanded to the kobold citizenry who had been harassing the intruders, drawing curious stares to their leader before the rubbish and utensils being chucked drew to a close. “Get to either somewhere safe or find the slings from the armory, do NOT use them until either they attack or I tell you too.” And with that, the 'mob' that had come to defend scattered, some retreating to the further corners of the warren to get away from the intruders as they were told, others rushing off to where a few of the other warren-guard had roused themselves to join their brothers, and a smaller few yet letting curious get the better of them and thus lingered closer than Sjach Gix was comfortable with, but not to close for him to chew them out for disobeying.

With those affairs settled, he then turned his attention towards the four in front of him, sizing up the humans with a keen stare, moving from one, to the other, then the other, until finally his gaze came to rest across the one dressed in noble garb. To them, Gix might have been a sight truly unexpected. His copper scales shown lustrously in whatever light the four had brought with them to illuminate the underground, particularly catching on the same-brilliant scaled wings which clutched around his shoulders at rest. His garb, sporting rich dyes of dark turquoise to match the unusual color of his eyes, particularly drew emphasis to him over the dull, muted colors of steel and leather which most of the assembled 'vermin' had garbed themselves in. Finally, however, as he came to stand behind the line of warren-guard, now grown to six heavily armored kobolds, he spoke – his tooth and scaled snout managing a surprisingly well vocalized common, aside for a distinctly kobold-accent.

“You four are intruding into my home, humans,” he began, keeping his eyes particularly on the one in noble garb, assuming the man was their leader. “You're fortunate that my brothers and sisters have not skewered you through with their spears yet, and if you make any mistakes right now, you will be. I want to know who you are, and why you have intruded into my home, and I recommend you speak quickly before my den-mates lose patience with your presence.”


Sense Motive: [roll0]
Bluff: [roll1]

[Dimers]

Greatheart (Bryngann)

Accustomed to working with foreknowledge both wide and specific, Greatheart is unready for the unanticipated rush of animals (and other creatures -- was that a treeman sapling? out here in the open?). He tries to avoid the stampeding, but finally must choose between protecting the smaller followers behind him and protecting himself. It is gratifying but not at all surprising to the Awakened and the little spirits when Del uses his own body to block a charging creature from striking one he calls friend.

[Ziegander]

Gratia Falsum (Paranga)
The what was easy enough, at least in part. The who and the why? Those were much more difficult to determine. The rod was indeed part of an axle taken from some very expensive carriage. What it was made from, however, was a mystery. Gratia's information brokers had never seen the metal's like before.

It took the better part of five hours for Gratia to uncover any more about the object. She did a little asking around herself about current events and curiosities coming in from the ports, but thieves and birds did most of the asking for her. She learned a great deal of things, actually, but little about the rod and who might have sent it or for what purpose.

Rumors were hot and traveling fast that the Conwy Vale had been overrun by monsters in the wake of the fallen star and that the Green Knight had abandoned Pabrygg Keep. Another star is to fall on Ashakti, the great capital city of the Bronze Kings, the wisemen say.

The traders from Fren Slairea have come in force with much pomp and circumstance, looking rich, and displaying new artifice. It seems they've discovered or devised, the tales vary, a new metal. Orichalcon it's been dubbed. A golden metal, hard as steel, and supposedly lighter than air. There are a few reports of metal men, not humans in armor, but golems of some sophisticated design, serving one particularly wealthy Slairean trader as slaves.

Finally, after hours of talk, Gratia comes to the heart of the matter. It was Logistics Boss Hal Skeltan, natively from Islandholm himself, who had sent the child in the first place. He wanted her to have the Orichalcon axle, but for what purpose? She had set it on Mary's desk before she set out. Upon returning, she found it to be hovering in the air, roughly six inches above the desk.


T'aella Ne'cota (Urksang)
"The land of Urksang is bleak enough without blood or racism to mar it, I think," the Lord of Bittersteel replied at first, his sister smiled warmly, "And ghosts of the past haunt it. You and your kind are possessed of more friendly faces than I generally find in these wastes. As for my blade, I regretfully cannot make any promises regarding its quietude, but for my part, please trust that I am not here to hurt anyone. In fact, so long as you bear me no ill will, you may consider yourselves under my protection."

In reply to Argus, Ciel, Lady of Light, replies, "It is likely that we are merely passing through, but if it would not trouble you overly much, accommodations would be very welcome, thank you. We will pay you well for any generosity you see fit to grace us with."

The men begin handing over their weapons, a longsword here, a bow there. Ciel, it turns out, takes longer than the rest, drawing a seemingly endless supply of daggers out of increasingly more devious hiding places on her person. At last, having given up two dozen blades or more, she unbuckles her sword belt and hands it over, grinning sheepishly.


Sjach Gix (Riddle)
The returned hero, Gix, seems to have cowed the four humans into submission for the time being. The noble scowls, the fat one grunts and gestures with his axe, and the cloaked man's eyes narrow and flit here and there, searching everywhere. The smallest, the female, lowers her weapons and steps forward.

"I'm Vera Schoenn, I'm a Believer," she states, "We're looking for--"

She is interrupted by the noble, "Don't tell them anything, the freaks!"

"Oh, shut up, Celwyn!" the fat one retorts, "We're surrounded, we're probably about to be slaughtered! Our only way out now is to talk!"

"No it is not!" the noble whines, "My father can get us out of this!"

"Silence!" the cloaked man shouts with little more than a whisper, "Vera, continue."

Celwyn and the fat one both respect the words of the tall, dark man in the cloak. They do not say another word.

"We're looking for an engine," Vera announces, "A relic from the Immortal Age."

Ankin approaches the young Kobold hero at the last. "Sjach," he begins, whispering in the Kobold tongue, "We may have found such an engine. There are so many of the inscrutable artifacts down here, as you know. However, seven members of the warren-guard lie dead at the entry. Two hacked to death by a heavy blade, one stabbed, another blasted with magic. The other three seem to have been pummeled and throttled to death." As he finishes he turns a wary eye toward the cloaked man.

You believe that Vera is telling you the truth. You sense that the noble is a fool, that the fat one and Vera are both afraid. The man in the cloak is the leader, and you think, by the way he moves and speaks, that he is roughly your equal in terms of experience. The others are lesser, but the cloaked man is unafraid. You suspect he is hiding something.


Greatheart (Bryngann)

How many people/creatures are with you? I was under the impression that you left Home with only yourself and Oldbones. Did you bring followers? If so, it would be relevant at the time being to stat them out.

Unable to avoid hoof and claw, Greatheart suffers 8 damage, though he is able to protect Oldbones from the worst of it (the dog, and each other accompanying follower, takes only 5 damage). What could have provoked such a scare? Should he press on or turn back to try and calm the dozens of creatures now heading toward Home and toward Llewelyn? He has traveled 8 hours so far, and managed to find enough food for himself and six others for the day. It won't be long before he has entered the Vale.

[Tim Proctor]

Oh hell yes, was all that Gratia could think. They use the rods to lift up the carriages so they float meaning they could carry a heavier load. Would it work over water? How many would be needed for a boat? How high could it go? Could she make an airship with it, something that could avoid the pirates? She'd have to come back to that, there were bigger fish to fry.

Why would her boss (Skeltan) give her a rod and then reveal himself as the boss? He was the boss and could easily give her a dagger in the throat as the rod, but why the rod? Gratia pondered the issues and came to the conclusions that if he wanted her dead this was probably the best way to go about it. Because the relationship with her father if Skeltan wanted to have her killed the best way was to get her to get herself killed. Although he could probably just have her killed and make it look like she acted recklessly.

There was another issue at hand also, how did someone smuggle something into her port without her knowing about it. Sure there were people in the port that were not loyal to her, but this is someone that purposefully kept information from her. It seems like time for a house cleaning, and then she could get to the bottom of this rod business. Time to pull a Mephistolese and stage a coup against herself, and separate those who want to usurp her power and those loyal to her.

Gratia her Consigliere and John, gather roughly ten thugs into one of the port warehouses where the they would be caught by the usurpers. Forty thugs would be hidden within the warehouse for the would be assailants.

Previously I had the boss unknown, I assume since it was revealed that she now knows.

The following roll is for the faux coupe de tant:
[roll0] Bluff (17 Gratia, +10 from the Consigliere who are helping orchestrate).

Edited: didn't see the edit until after I posted, I wrote this waited an hour and then came back, sorry. The edit only adds to it.

[EdroGrimshell]

Argus chuckles, "not really one 'kind' here," he replies, "but it is understandable," he then says something to Twitch, who nods, "accommodations will be ready by evening," he looks to Cidolfas and Ciel, "T'aella will likely offer you lodging in her own home, Twitch has offered her and G'urk's home for your men. G'urk owns the local tavern, so there will be no lack of space for them either."

G'urk raises an eyebrow at the number of weapons Ciel carries, but makes no comment, even if one of the goblins in the area asks something along the lines of "where do you think she kept them all?"

Once formalities are finished, Twitch leads Cidolfas and Ciel to T'aella, who has a large, dark emerald green tent erected outside of a well made two story house. Inside they can hear someone running around as well as groaning, "don't worry Dorrin, this should help with your leg, you're lucky you didn't lose it out there," walking in, the two would see T'aella, in little more than two bands of cloth covering the important parts, and a red-scaled lizardfolk who had a layer of a light green poultice laid over a chunk of missing flesh while she produced what looked like webbing from her hands and formed into bandages that she then wrapped around the wounded lizardfolk's leg.

Twitch calls out in Draconic, simply saying "wehaveguests," again, so quickly it was hard to decipher completely.

In response, T'aella looks over. It was surprising how humanlike she actually was, especially with her reptilian nature, "ah, if you'll hold on for a moment, I need to finish treating his wounds. It will only take another minute," she says with a soft smile, before turning back to Dorrin with a look of determination as she produces a small block of a blue-green substance that gave off mist as if it was cold, "keep this on the bandages until it evaporates, it should reduce any swelling and dull the pain. Once it's gone you can try walking again, I suggest not trying anything extensive until it's fully healed, but you're not in danger of infection or losing the limb anymore, the salve will just speed up the process."

The red lizardfolk nods as it takes the block and places it on the bandages. T'aella goes over to a basin and washes the residue of what she had been working with off of her hands and dries them over a basin of pale jade-colored coals before she goes over to meet Cidolfas and Ciel, "it is rare we have guests in this region. I am T'aella Avo'tinas Ne'cota," she offers a hand to the two humans, one can tell she's slightly weary, who wouldn't when dealing with the race known for its racism, especially towards unusual races such as herself.

[Amoren]

The kobold's stance visibly stiffens as he hears on the fate of the warren-guard, seven of the twelve soldiers he had to command in the defense of his den dead was not something that a new leader wanted to hear. Furthermore, it made the situation worse – if they had merely invaded and gotten caught, it was likely that Gix could have released them on amicable enough terms. But kobolds demanded blood for blood, and if he was to do so now, it would diminish their trust in him.

Ignoring the four humans for the moment, he turns to a nearby kobold who had returned with a sling and shouted back in their high pitched tongue, telling him to go find Edukris immediately and bring him to where the warren-guard lay, in hopes that some might be brought back from the brink of death. He would have wanted to summon the fosterer as well with his greater command of healing magic, but he dare not leave the hatchery undefended while these humans were about. Who knows if there was a fifth in their company.

“And just why are you after this... engine,” the kobold's eyes furrowed, and his stance was visibly more agitated, while in the back of his mind he contemplated how he was going to handle this situation, and idly wondering what names he would have to add to the wall to honor their sacrifice. He wanted to harass them for what they had done, wash his hands of this entire situation and let the tribe tear them in twain for their vengeance, but he shouldn't let his feelings get in the way of information. “My tribe has picked across a decent swath of the local catacombs when we searched for a good place for our home, its possible we might have stumbled across it if you can describe it and why you're after it.”

[Dimers]

Greatheart (Bryngann)

After the bulk of the stampede has passed, Del sees to his landbound followers' health, passing out goodberries to those with the worst injuries. He even has to stanch bleeding wounds in Putter and Futz, the house brownies who came with him this day -- one of them took a hoof to the side of the head. The group stay tightly together on a low rise, and the remainder of the rush flows around them.

Del reviews his contingent and his progress, slowly considering whether to turn back. The Breath, the young man's airy ally, silently indicates its preference to continue, moving jerkily on toward the Vale as if tugging a rope tied to Del.

"Yes. I think you're right. We can't catch up with that stampede, and the more watchful of our friends back Home can help any who travel that far. Raven? Will you begin your return flight? Tell Allsidh what has happened here." The bird resting on Del's shoulder bobs its head several times and flaps away noisily.

Del looks again at his followers, gathers his nerve within, and resumes his walk toward Conwy Vale. Though the leader is anxious inside, what little of that shows on his face is interpreted by others as concern for arriving in time to be helpful. The crew are so inspired by his past actions, they don't even consider that he might be worried for himself.

I'll take 10 on Heal checks to stabilize the brownies.
I presume the flying creatures don't get damaged? There's a great deal of airspace available for travel.
Number of goodberries: [roll0]
Awakened raven is removed from this group, headed back toward Home. It's not too far *ahem* as the crow flies *ahem*, but the creature is certainly out of this day's adventure.