Wrath of Tiamat

[Talbain]

It's happening! Welcome to the start of what I hope will be a long lived and entertaining campaign. Please post all OOC (out of character) commentary in spoiler tags, like this. Likewise, please spoiler all dice rolls.

When you begin to post, please select an individual and easy to read font color to color all of your character's spoken lines. It makes it easier to parse your posts.

Finally, unless things pan out otherwise, please try to check up on the thread about once a day. Once we hit a combat segment, I may try to accelerate things via skype, if I can get everyone together. We'll play it by ear and see what works best for us.

Here are instructions on how to use the dice mechanics on the forum. If you have any other questions, please let me know via skype.

#d#Diplays cumulative results. 1d6 gives the results of 1 six-sided die, for example.
gives you [roll0]

#d#Displays individual dice results, then cumulative.
[roll1]gives you [roll1]

[roll]#d#+XDisplays the cumulative results, with the added modifier (X) totalled into it.
[roll2] gives you [roll2]

Our story begins on a continent so vast that it is simply called "the land." The Land is enormous and varied, home to every manner of species and race of being. At the center of the land is an enormous mountain range that bisects the continent, from the northern wastes to the shimmering copper cliffs overlooking the Sea of Antiquity in the south. The highest peaks of the World's Eye mountains are frozen, bleak, and inhospitable. Yet, carved into the side of the tallest mountain peak, the holy city of Uen'Del stands alone, bathed in the glorious light of Solaris!

From this remote mountain fastness the eyes of the church, a vast and political organization claiming dominion over all the lands, sweep out over the surrounding kingdoms. The One Church is dedicated to the rule of law and the worship of Bahamut, greatest of the Dragon Gods. The gaze of the church falls equally upon all the surrounding kingdoms, great and small; aided by his dark steward Vorlianth, God of Knowledge, and his faithful Inquisition there is nothing that happens in all the known lands that escapes Bahamut's notice.

The prosperous eastern lands are home to many great and pious kingdoms, situated amongst vast, fertile farmlands. To the West of the World's Eye mountains however lie the blighted wastes, dominated by a large and inhospitable desert. It was to this cursed desert that, in ages long past, the Hero of Mercy banished the goddess Tiamat and all her wicked brood.

However it is in this city, Uen'Del, that our adventure begins. Uen'Del, so named by the nameless elven Hero himself, marks the final resting place of the Hero of Mercy after the Great War. Upon this spot (or so the legend goes) the revered and lawful dragons of old vanquished the last evil chaos wyrms and departed, honoring their compact with the Hero to interfere no more in the lives of men. Upon this spot was erected a holy city; a great monument and temple were constructed to these saviors of former slaves.

Pilgrims from far and wide come to worship here. Beneath the shadow of the great temple complex a number of streets radiate downward, housing various inns and small shops. While permanent residents of Uen'Del are relatively few, they are a hardy lot, consisting mostly of the servants of both the ecclesiarchy and those who come to learn from them.

This day begins a day like any other. The light of Solaris bathes the temple steps in its radiance. An enormous statue of Bahamut can be seen from any main street, the great Lord winging his eternal way skyward to cast his blessing upon all who devote themselves to his service. In the city below the bustle of life begins anew as pilgrims make their way up the staircase towards their morning rites, or else haggle for trinkets and souvenirs in the market.

Amid this activity, hidden from view amongst the buildings and masses, you make your living. You have all lived in Uen'Del for some time and all of you, unsuspecting, are about to be marked by a grim and glorious destiny. Who are you adventurer, and what do you do?

[Objectivism]

Greetings friends, I am Troman Daystar, novice cleric to the great church of Bahamut. I typically spend my days working for the church and running small errands for my superiors. At first, my superiors did not trust me much (being human and all) and only allowed me to play messenger between various high-ups. However, upon my 18th birthday, my superiors have started to notice me more (maybe cause of my size?!-6'6 and 275lbs) and have begun to assign me greater duties and roles. I am adventurous and do yearn to see a life outside of the church walls. I have lived a sheltered life and desire some excitement.
I tend to be even-tempered and good-natured and can become talkative in the right company. Though more on the reserved side, I can appreciate a good joke and see humor as a sign of intelligence. However, I can be become swift to anger if harm is threatened against friends and family and will swiftly use my divine magic as a smiting agent. Not afraid of combat, I will plummet head first into trouble relying on faith and skill to hopefully avail me!

[Talbain]

I should have thought of this earlier, but because more than half of our players are new to this format I should probably go over some style rules. Think of this game less as a bunch of people sitting around a table playing Dungeons and Dragons, and more of a collaborative storytelling exercise. Instead of addressing your posts to the dungeon master directly or to the other players, construct them as if you were writing a novel in the third person.

at this point, what I'm trying to do is allow players the opportunity to introduce their character through narrative. instead of simply describing your character, think of this as Chapter one of our book. The characters may or may not have met yet, and they probably aren't around each other right now. if you are so inclined, you can use this time to describe your characters living space, their close relationships, and such in the context of going through a normal day. Whenever you pursue an open-ended action, like going to the market or to a church service or something of that nature, I will be there to provide the surrounding imagery and people and props for you to continue writing.

Feel free to write whatever you want about your living conditions and your close family members or friends, and leave the town and the rest of its folk to me. Try to introduce your character more subtly without breaking the narrative flow. Only 2 out of the 5 people who will be playing actually have experience with this type of game, but I have spoken with both of them and they should be posting soon.

Objectivism, I am sorry that I was not clear about this before, but I just didn't think of it until I saw your post. Please feel free to get with me outside of the forum if you have any questions. As always, if you want to post anything here out of character, please put it in spoiler tags like this.

[vortex320]

Sorcerers in Uen'Del have a unique fate bestowed upon them at birth: to be brought into the world with the gift of magic lurking within, only to be brought out in the hellish chaos that is young adulthood. Were it another place or time, this power would often be recognized and nurtured as something of great importance, and those with this gift were considered the wild, tempestuous flames of spellcrafting.

These are not such times. The gift that offers great power also carries a great price: to be hunted from the first budding moments of magicianhood until the grave. Sorcerers, their abilities drawn from within rather than study, are considered heretics, and the punishment for anyone caught practicing sorcery is quickly metted out.

A young sorcerer in times like these without the guidance of a mentor would quickly be discovered and executed. As such, the only sorcerers that live to adulthood are those far removed from civilization, and those who owe their lives to a benefactor. A young sorcerer by the name of Ben falls into the latter category. Though no longer a teenager struggling to stop himself from wantonly lighting objects on fire and manifesting his powers in public, he is still very much a novice in the ways of magic.

As a child, he was raised alongside his brother, both the last in line of a long line of sorcerers, as their mother had died giving birth to his older brother, Jacob. Their father David trained them for the moment of their rebirth as sorcerers from early childhood, only for an even crueler fate to befall the elder: he was born without the gift. As the years passed, something terrible grew inside Jacob. A child that once showed great intelligence and promise turned inward, and his hatred grew. One day, Ben returned home to find his father being dragged from their home by several members of the church. Worse still, his brother was among them. He knew that if he returned home, he would likely share the same fate. And so, only a month after turning 19, he cast himself out into the world. He wanted revenge.

But first he had to survive.

[Delphon]

The Ba Gak family have always been a modest, but well off family located in the middle region of the Holy City. As reptilian members of the city, they have enjoyed a good and prosperous life, instilling in their most promising son a strong sense of connection to Uen'Del.

A kobold with a keen intellect and a strong, inquisitive drive; Nef Ba Gak joined the Guild to study the arcane, having been drawn to magic and the mysteries of using such nebulous forces to efface great and drastic change upon the world.

Calm and reserved, Nef excelled in his studies as the arcane seemed to come naturally to his ordered and placid mind, such an attitude also kept him out of any mischief that tended to plague the records of many other entrants, and as he approached graduation, he attracted the attention of an Inquisitor by the name of Ulster; more than just his industrious and hardworking nature, it was Nef's strong sense of duty and loyalty to the city and desire to serve that drew the Inquisitor's eye.

Upon his graduation from the Guild, Nef was formally inducted as a recruit of the Inquisition where he has been training and now eager to serve the Holy City.

[Ashok]

Ashok's lightly scaled fingers moved deftly as they cinched a tight knot in the top of the pack he carried with him. It was the last day at home for the Vishkanya, and he paused after swinging his bag upon his shoulders to look at the building where he'd spent the better part of his life. For the wyrm touched, a man who should have been a nobleman, the room above the old tavern was worn and sad. The deep brown shutters clacked against the windows in the wind, and more than one had already fallen down. The bricks were crumbling, and the roof leaked, but it was his mother, waving from the window, that drew Ashok's attention. He could tell her eyes were misty with tears even from here, and while he would miss her, the sight only deepened his resolve.

The woman who had born him had done the best she could with the lineage that been passed on to her. Having had to take up work as a lady of the evening and tavern girl after his father's death, she had still provided well for him and had taught the young man everything he knew about lock-picking and thievery. It was a family tradition after all, one he planned to keep up.

After looking at her a moment,Ashok lifted his hand to his lips, pressed a kiss there and presented his hand to his mother. She returnd the gesture, and with one final look, Ashok patted his theif's kit and turned away. He slipped his thumbs into the straps of the pack and flicked his forked tongue out to taste his lips and the smoke that riddled air around him. The scent of cooking meat billowed out from the building just behind him.

The man had to make a stop at the market before starting his journey, but knew it would probably be the last time he saw home for a very long time. A part of him ached for it, but a part of him knew that what he found outside those walls would be so much better. Ashok swore to himself that he would not return until he had amassed enough wealth to set he and his mother up as his family once had been. Rich, powerful, proper. And he would stop at nothing, care about no one, until he managed to do this for her. Ila had sacrificed so much to teach him who he was, the least he could do was help her live out the rest of her life in peace.

[Matrikas]

Matrikas was born the only child of two sacrifices to Uen’Del’s Law. Her family hails from the arid west and an old community of Nagaji living just far enough from the mountains of the Eye that no shadow fell on their homes or their history but those they cast themselves. So they would have remained, her parents taught, but for the bold and reaching sight of The Church. The inquisitors came prepared to wage war, with their assumptions and their righteousness, and so the community volunteered an upstanding young couple to prove the lawfulness and honor of the Nagaji way. As ambassadors to The One Church and its Inquisition Matrikas’ family is honored, and doomed, to live in exile under the probing eye of Uen’Del and its masters.

They are proud and honorable Nagaji, descended from the Naga and thereby, legend has it, the Dragon Gods themselves. They are westerners, crass and distanced from the glory of The One Church. Their lineage threatens heresy and so they are lesser, second class, held up as ambassadors and exemplary citizens but always watched, one misstep from condemnation.

Raised in exile, hatched to enhance her family’s reputation, Matrikas has always been taught that her triumphs or failures reflect the fate of her family. Yet she is no smooth politician or skilled warrior. Standing at 5’6’’ and 160lbs, Matrikas is average except for her determination to grow. She is young and untried, has shown no special talents nor developed any skill beyond the rudimentary with the halberd, a traditional Nagaji weapon. As Matrikas has moved into young adulthood the pressure on her scaled shoulders to uphold the family’s honor and become something of worth to her family, herself, and the world is overwhelming.

Carefully contained and aiming for a sense of nobility in her stride, Matrikas exits her understated family home in the second level of Uen’Del, the watchful city, to feel sunshine on her bronze scales and find some air to breath that isn’t full of burgeoning disappointment and expectation.

[Talbain]

Feel free to read anyone's "spoiled" responses, of course. I'm just using spoiler tags to keep them separate, and to differentiate between information available to the party and information available only to specific characters.

For Ashok:
If the main roads of Uen'Del radiate outward from the Grand Temple like the spokes of a wheel, the hidden alleyways of the city lace those spokes like the strands of an ancient spider's web. Your mother's tavern, the Blinking Basilisk, is affectionately known amongst the locals as "The Blinker," and it has a something of a reputation amongst residents and tourists alike. Invisible to those oblivious pilgrims who travel only the main streets, the Basilisk draws in a different sort of crowd, and it always has.

As you step out into the alleyway, another chill wind gusts through the city as if to speed you on your way. You head to the market.

"The Market" in Uen'Del is less a location than a state of mind. Dozens of booths line the main streets as vendors of various and sundry trinkets hawk their dubiously priced wares to unsuspecting passerby. Peddlers and charlatans work the crowds of wide-eyed tourists, making a small fortune from the pockets of the over credulous. It is an aspect of the Watchful City that only the more observant and experienced would see, and it is a side of Uen'Del with which you are all too familiar.

Residents of Uen'Del rarely waste coin among these respectable con-men unless there is dire need. The truly knowledgeable, however, know that beneath the gaze of the dragon gods anything may be found... so long as you too know where to look.

Whatever else you do during your next post, please roll a perception check.

For Matrikas:
Your life has been one of privilege in exile; your family was bound by duty to the city of Uen'Del, and though the cage has been gilt it is a cage none the less. While understated compared to the sheer opulence of some of the great houses closest to the temple complex, your family demesne is nevertheless located high up on the mountain slope and enjoys an excellent view of the city below. Truly, the world stretches out below you in all its sun-drenched splendor.

A chill wind gusts through the street as you leave your childhood home. It is morning and the streets throng with people, many of them pilgrims or resident faithful making their way up vast stone staircases towards the Grand Temple and morning mass. A familiar bass tone peals out from the temple and echoes down the mountain towards the commons, a giant bell summoning the dutiful to worship beneath the clawed feet of their Lord.

[Talbain]

For Nef:
It is morning, and you can hear a cold wind rattling the shutters outside. Your studies at the small but prestigious mage's academy in Uen'Del have borne fruit, and you have been selected by Ulster, the famed witch hunter, as an apprentice! All field officers of the Inquisition must apprentice themselves before they earn the symbol and full authority of their station, the Eye of Vorlianth. It is said that through these jeweled lenses the dark Wyrm himself spies evil growing in the hearts of men, and as his arms the Inquisition must root out such wicked weeds for the good of the Holy Empire. These eyes are vested with much power, for they give an Inquisitor the authority to investigate misdeeds and interrogate sinners, as well as prosecute trials and execute bloody justice in the name of the Dragon King.

Each jewel is marked with eldritch glyphs, and possession of a counterfeit sigil is punishable by public dismemberment or a gruesome death, depending on the quality of the forgery.

Today Ulster, called "The Bloodhound" by all who know of his exploits, has summoned you to meet him beneath the great statue of Bahamut in the temple courtyard. A glance at the sun, however, will reveal that you are still possessed of plenty of time beforehand.

[vortex320]

As he stumbled hurriedly away from his home, his mind raced. What would he do now? He no longer had a home. Almost no money to speak of, now that his father's estate was likely under lock and key. And they would be looking for him next. He needed a safe place to hide and collect his thoughts. First though, he needed a disguise. He was certain his brother had told the church what to look for, and without quick changes to his wardrobe, he was in dire trouble.

Though not a rich family, they had always lived comfortably. This allowed him a choice of wardrobe that would be a luxury to many. As he wandered the street, his shoulder length black hair, the color of his robes fluttered in the wind. There was nothing colorful or garish about his appearance, but a man in all black stands out like a sore thumb in the drab streets of Uen'Del. He quickly found a shopkeeper, and purchased a drab brown robe, more in keeping with the rustic aesthetic of the common man.

He still needed a place to collect his thoughts. And as his hurried brusquely through the streets, he knew there was one place his brother would never look.

The church.

[Ashok]

Ashok had a habit of keeping his fingers moving, at least the ones of his right hand. Thumb sliding over each digit to crack the knuckles and flick off the nail, he repeated the gesture with his index finger over his thumb before curling his fingers to press into the palm of his hand. Still, his arm hung so his hand was always close to the handle of his kukri. The fidgeting was the only clue to the whirlwind of thoughts and emotion swirling in his mind. He was scheming, wondering what his first step should be upon leaving the market.

Ashok's own features were schooled into a scowl. His eyes were narrowed, watching those around them for any hint of ill will toward his person, and the fingers of his left hand were curled, clenched around his belt as we walked. Snakelike, he wound through the crowd and carried himself along the edges of each vendor booth he came across. He ignored those vendors who spoke to him, but his eyes darted to take the wears in, weigh their uses against one another. Almost everything he needed was in his pack, but one never knew when a simple object could change one's path. Pocketing opportunities were also fleeting and Ashok was not against stealing something of value to trade it off later.

The vishkanya stepped away from one booth and to another. He tried not to think about how close home was, about how he hadn't even really started his journey. The young man, though he had approached the vendors with the idea of better preparing himself, was in this instance also stalling for time. Having traveled before, he still had not been away from home for more than a fortnight, and his confidence held him back. His confidence, or something more. He turned from another table, moving on to the next, stepping ever closer to unfamiliar cities with his courage growing with each step.

[Matrikas]

Matrikas crossed through the shadows of other houses on her street. Morning sunlight always hit the Temple and its surrounds before gracing the lower levels of the city, pooling on corners, slithering around and between carefully planned stone structures. The homes here were full of less wealthy aristocrats and extremely well to do merchants, and they dammed the warm light, monuments to their influence, luck, or skill staining the ground in regularly spaced patches of shadow. Her house sat almost at the end of the side road and as Matrikas turned left onto a larger avenue leading directly to the Temple it did not escape her notice that the surrounding buildings conspired to keep her own home sitting in their darkness against the mountain rock itself.

Matrikas snapped her head forward as she rounded the corner and concentrated on her surroundings, noticing a few neighbors and several familiar faces entering the increasingly strong current of bodies running upstream to the Temple. The morning breeze brought smells from other parts of the city, and Matrikas, self-conscious, discreetly scented the air with her tongue to identify freshly baked goods from further up the main road and several unwashed bodies that rushed past her. It was important that she be seen on her way to and from worship and so Matrikas made no effort to rush up the road as it became busily congested.

Around her families and groups of friends with resonant voices attempted to greet each other or exchange customary pleasantries. Some people chose silence rather than try to speak over the Temple’s sounding. Others nodded or reached out as they passed those they recognized, setting a brief touch to shoulders or hands and smiling. Unsurprised, Matrikas walked untouched and unrecognized though certainly noticed.

[Talbain]

Testing die roll.
[roll0]

[Talbain]

For Ben:
You begin your ascent towards the Grand Temple, fleeing directly into the waiting jaws of a predator that has always been eager to swallow you up. How ironic that you can now think of no better place to flee the hounds of the Inquisition, than to flee straight into the arms of their master!

You try not to panic as you weave through crowds of devotees, wyrm-touched and human alike. You can almost feel the noose tightening around your throat. Are they looking for you? Are they watching the city gates? You stumble for a moment, and those around you turn to look. Has the wrong person seen you?

If anyone recognizes you, no one calls your name. After what seems like an eternity of such moments, you reach your destination. As you approach the temple complex, you notice that a small crowd has gathered outside, and you are unable to enter.

For Matrikas:
The stairway leading to the Grand Temple seems choked with even more faithful than usual. One in particular catches your eye as he rushes past, stumbling over his own robes in his haste to find deliverance. He catches himself and moves quickly onward.

Your own journey passes totally without incident, and you soon find yourself standing beneath the shadow of Bahamut's great statue, in the courtyard of the temple complex proper.

For Ben and Matrikas:
The courtyard of the Grand Temple is carved directly into the mountain itself; a vast and vaulted dome of smooth, carved rock encases the back parts of the unnatural cavern. Sunlight reflects off the polished marble of the walkways and planters here, casting eerie shadows and reflections on those buildings which escape the direct light of Solaris. Well kept lawns and various majestic flora line the pathways between the cathedral and the various outbuildings, clearly sustained by magic in this harsh mountain clime.

Many branches of the church and its puppet organizations have offices here, which line the sides of the cavern, their relatively drab grey walls contrasting sharply with the gentle curve of the dome itself.

As you climb the last step you enter the presence of Bahamut; an enormous statue of the Lord of Wyrms stands at the entrance to the complex, eternally winging his way skyward as he makes a sign of blessing. Below him kneels a statue of the masked Hero of Mercy, his emotions a mystery as he eternally contemplates the glory of the savior of men.

Behind this grand vista, the path splits in two, encompassing a mural dedicated to the work of Vorlianth. Beneath the wings of Bahamut, Vorlianth, his dark and faithful steward, is depicted driving out the cursed minions of Tiamat. The gruesome display is full of fire and torment as the heathens and beast-men are beset on all sides by the stones and spears of the faithful! Such is always the fate of those who oppose the glory of the Lord.

You can hear the sound of chanting issuing from the open gates of the cathedral. Pilgrims and parishioners alike crowd around outside the doors, unable to enter. Some kneel, while others lean and crane their necks to get a better glimpse of the holy mass being practiced inside. Though the cathedral is enormous, it seems today that it is filled to capacity. It appears that several important looking church officials have come to participate, though you see none that you recognize offhand.

For Ashok:
As you wander the familiar stalls of the marketplace, you find nothing that you have not seen a dozen times before. Cheap trinkets here, overpriced souvenirs there. On another day you might have been intrigued by some of the more expensive "relics" on offer here, but today you have no use for such baubles. Today, you have a greater calling.

Your pack is already heavy with adventuring supplies as you make your way past main street and prepare to descend from your longtime mountain home. Will you go East, into the fertile lands of the chosen kingdoms? Or will you head West, towards the opportunities of chaos and the unknown? Perhaps you will go South to Dorter, and ply your trade among the mansions of the fabulously wealthy merchant-kings and moguls of the great city of commerce? The world is your oyster.

Suddenly, you hear a crash and a commotion. Glancing over to see the cause of the disturbance, you notice that a large golden palanquin has been upset, and the dignitary it once bore has been sent sprawling out onto the pavement, face first onto the bottom of the stone steps. He looks ancient, and you would not be at all surprised if he were dead. A crowd is beginning to gather around his exhausted looking palanquin bearers, one of whom appears to have been crushed under the weight of the falling platform. One of them kneels over the immobile body of his master, while the other two unsuccessfully try to keep the crowds at bay.

[Objectivism]

Troman had come from a low-middle class family with few luxuries. His father, a miner, bore the marks of a hard-lived life coupled with hard drinking. His mother, toiled in a local tailoring mill, weaving and bundling tapestry exports for the nearby metropolis. The family had no other children and was probably better off that they didnt.

From an early age, Troman always felt oddly cloistered. Because his family could not afford to send him off on far away excursions, Troman often found himself daydreaming. Being a smart lad, he could see other privileged children eagerly awaiting their bright futures. Fate had seemingly become cruel towards him.

Yet things are not always as they appear. When Troman was 13, he had the fortune of running across a teenage child of a high ranking church official from the Temple of Bahamut. The 2 quickly became good friends due mainly to Troman's warm sense of humor and quick wit. It was not long before his friend's father took note of gifted Troman. Within a year, Troman had been initiated into the Church's novice ranks. For him, the Church had offered everything one could hope for in a mediocre life; 3 meals a day, shelter, basic clothing and an education. Desperate for adult approval, Troman worked hard to garner the Church elder's respect. From doing mindless chores to pointless errand deliveries, Troman bided his time. With an unearthly sense of calm, Troman knew his time would come.

Now that he has arrived at his 18th birthday, Troman has requested a walkabout from his church. Taking a page from a nearby country's rites, Troman has applied for an extended leave of absence from the Church and its secluded walls. He seeks to explore past the outer reaches and to see the Golden Beach. Armed with a strong sense of conviction, Troman seeks to conquer the world he has only seen from afar. A wise fellow, he knows his place. He understands that it takes time to make a pearl. More spiritual than religious, Troman takes comfort in the pleasures of the mind. A funny tale or a witty joke can quickly earn his admiration.
He eagerly awaits his Church's decision regarding his request...

[Delphon]

Nef could barely contain his excitement, having been chosen by the famous Inquisitor was more than he could have ever hoped! He knew that his life was about to take a big change.

His life up to that point had been a steady rise into what was expected of a citizen of the City, but now it seemed that he was poised to ascend to greater aspirations. His lifelong goal to serve and protect had been validated in the most visible and important way possible; as a protege of such an august personage as Inquisitor Ulster he had joined the shortlist to prestige and power. Power that would be used to better and protect his home from enemies both foreign and domestic, for the Eye of Vorlianth knew not mercy or rest.

He loaded up his small wagon and hitched it to his faithful pony as he headed out for the day, doing his self appointed rounds around town before he would begin his formal apprenticeship.

[Ashok]

For a moment Ashok refuses to go over to the strange commotion. His features just set themselves into a sort of snarl, lips curled with distaste. Palanquin bearers are supposed to have more stamina. They aren't just supposed to hurtle their charges to the ground. Ashok almost passes the scene over, but the wealth dangled before him plants his feet. His eyes narrow and the pupil-less orbs flick about to take in the scene. After the decision is made, Askok slips through the crowd to stand at the arm of one of the bearers trying to keep the crowds at bay.

“Is everything alright? Do you need a hand?” He lets his words come out as politely as they can. He's not usually someone who enjoys giving aid. Normally, he avoids it at all costs, but playing kind earns trust and trust opens up worlds of opportunities. “Perhaps just with lifting your litter off your friend?” He can't help the slight hiss and lisp that curl with his forked tongue, but he hopes it works in his favor.
“Or does your master need aid?”

Ashok turns more fully to the palaquin bearer, stepping forward to give him a little aid in keeping the crowd restrained.

[Talbain]

For Objectivism:
The depths of the Grand Temple are off limits to the average pilgrim. Dark hallways descend deep into the mountain depths, eerily lit both by magic torches and other, more exotic sources of illumination. The deeper one wanders, the more labyrinthine the passages become; you have heard many a cautionary tale of young monks who enter areas high above their station and never return.

You wander these halls restlessly, your eager anticipation turning to unrest and disquiet as the hours turn into days and the days turn into weeks. Your request for freedom, thrilling though the idea may be to you, has apparently escaped the attentions of your father abbot. You have received no response.

Something strange indeed has been going on as of late; you have spotted several archbishops from foreign lands and many high ranking dignitaries as of late, all unannounced arrivals. Every time you have attempted to broach the subject of your petition with anyone of importance, your request has been summarily ignored for reasons that you can only guess at.

So it is that you have forgone attending today's service, and pace the dark hallways of the grand temple alone once again. You know that Father Merek, the wizened saurian in charge of your particular enclave of novitiates, is in his office now, and you are tempted as ever to beg an audience. However, you can hear a heated discussion going on behind the closed door. What will you do?

For Nef
Your self appointed rounds pass entirely without incident. If there is something in particular you really wanted to do and I just skipped over it, you can refer to it in the past tense if you'd like. At last your tasks are finished and you complete your ascent of the great staircase. Amid the crowd gathered on the lawn, a lone figure stands beneath the statue of the Lawbringer. His aura, as it were, immediately sets him apart from the rabble strewn about the lawn; your eyes are immediately drawn to him.

As you approach, you notice that he is wearing a well worn suit of leather armor and what appears to be a common traveler's cloak. When you close the distance, when you see his face, you begin to realize how Ulster, called the Bloodhound, earned his reputation. His face is covered in scars and old burns, and his expression is twisted into a scowl and grimace so hideous that you nearly begin confessing your sins on the spot. His scraggly brown hair grows only in those places where his scalp has not been seared by the hell-fires of some heathen mage, presumably long dead.

As you stand before him and begin to introduce yourself, you are nearly stopped cold by the dead, clouded white eye that twitches and shivers in his left socket. It is surrounded by a tattoo that depicts a ring of briars. Its gaze settles upon you, and your blood runs to ice! Roll up a Knowledge: Arcana check if you want to try to recognize it. A gravelly voice spills from his lips as his remaining good eye locks your gaze. ""You're late."

For Ashok:
You force your way through the gathering crowd and approach the scene of the accident. The palanquin bearers are unsuccessfully trying to keep the crowd at bay, and you easily find yourself within reach of the palanquin. The scene is grisly.

The palanquin itself appears to be insanely heavy and, to your appraising eye, is quite possibly made partially of gold. The hapless lout who dropped his master lies dead, his spine snapped under the weight of the mobile throne he once bore. The remaining bearers look totally exhausted themselves; one begins to shout for the town guard, who are nowhere in sight.

The ancient master himself is garbed in exotic green robes of a make you have never seen before. Gold embroidered vines wind their way up his long outer coat in an elaborate and flawless pattern. He lies face down in an undignified heap at the base of the great staircase that leads from the market commons up to the temple courtyard itself. You approach the attendant kneeling over him and attempt to offer your help.

As you approach however, the old man begins to move. Slowly at first, he begins to lift himself off of the stone. He rises unaided, a furious expression twisting his aged countenance, as if his dignity has been irreparably sullied. There is something about his eyes... you cannot place it. You blink. His forehead is covered in blood and his nose is in ruins; he surely must be grievously injured, yet he cuffs his attendant so hard the man is sent sprawling. Without a word he abandons the palanquin and all of his belongings and heads upward towards the temple, leaving his hapless slaves to fend for themselves.

[Matrikas]

Seeing the temple grounds choked with worshippers did not at all alarm Matrikas. As she approached the colossal open maw of the Temple’s double doors the crowd only became denser, but there was always a path to be found amongst the intimidated masses. Crossing the elaborate threshold and discreetly scanning the crowd to confirm her family’s presence at their usual spot a third of the hall’s length from the speaker’s podium, Matrikas continued to pick her way through incense-laden air and sweating congregants who tried very hard not to pay her attention.

Stiffly passing the wealthier crowd around her parents, Matrikas focused on maneuvering herself to the floor alongside her father with something she felt could pass for grace under lax inspection. Greeting the ambassadors with a respectfully bowed head, Matrikas assumed the form of a postulant and waited for the priests to bring the crowd to attention.

[Delphon]

Nef visibly quails under the harsh gaze of the Inquisitor as he offers up a stuttering apology. "I'm greatly sorry, uh, sir Inquisitor. I had believed..." He stops his mewling, realizing that to the Inquisitor the point is now moot.

He instead bows formally and draws himself up. "Reporting for duty Inquisitor."

[Talbain]

For Nef:
The senior inquisitor looks you up and down, but his hardened expression never changes. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he gives you a curt nod.

"Sniveling to a minimum. That's good. Follow."

Ulster begins to walk around the courtyard with stiff, measured strides; as he speaks, he never looks back to see if you follow. Not even once. He continues:

"The gods are gone, Gary; they left long ago. Men rule in their stead; make no mistake Gary it is the church, not Bahamut, that is Lord of All Things. The church has two arms: the Mage's Guild, and the Inquisition. The church has two eyes: they are BOTH the Inquisition. An inquisitor both informs the will of the church, informs the will of the Lords of Men, and then carries that will to fruition.

There are many kinds of evil in the world son, but there are only two kinds of inquisitors. The living, and the dead. Look around you Gary! Look at all this!"

Ulster pauses his march around the courtyard to raise his hands in the air, indicating the whole cavern, or perhaps the whole earth, in a sweeping gesture.

"Do you know what makes this possible? Do you know what keeps this kingdom alive?"

The grizzled witch hunter wheels so abruptly that you nearly walk into him. He drops down into a crouch, his charred visage glaring at you inches from your face. He growls one word. "Vigilance."

For Matrikas:

You carefully pick your way through the crowd, but the densely packed bodies stop you far short of your intended destination. The mass is already well under way by the time you arrive; as the kyrie ceases the teeming chapel hall grows eerily quiet. You have heard rumors that several famous and very powerful leaders of the church have come here from lands both near and distant; for what purpose, you remain uncertain. You recognize many faces among the multitude of worshipers today, and it appears that even some of the less pious locals have come today to see what the fuss is about.

There has been a palpable tension in the air of late. Dark rumors have been swirling about, particularly among your family's circles. Many dangerous cabals have been cropping up, even in the more placid eastern kingdoms; grisly tales of savagery, blood sacrifice and ancient gods have been all the rage at many of the otherwise dreary social functions your station has forced you to attend. It's impossible to tell sometimes whether or not such tales are actually true, or fabrications designed to feed some upstart noble's hunger for attention. Perhaps more troubling are those stories told only in hushed tones. You have gathered from bits and pieces of eavesdropped conversations that the mad warlocks of the western wastes have become increasingly bold in their defiance of divine law, and that several church officials, including inquisitors, had recently gone missing there. You have heard stories of the grotesque arts banned by the church, and the thought of what they could be plotting sends a shiver up your spine.

To the disappointment of many, the mass continues without event. From what you can make out from your vantage point, a few minor bishops do appear to be in attendance this morning, but nothing to draw a crowd like this. There is a definite tension in the air as one of the bishops steps up to a lectern to speak, but it is only to give a guest sermon. Whatever important thing is going on, it appears to be a matter of some secrecy... at least for now.

[Ashok]

For a minute, Ashok is left standing alone in the small area he'd been occupying. He's torn between going toward the dead palanquin bearer and following his master. The grisly old man wins out. He's the more interesting one at the moment, and there's something about him that's not quite right. As the man ascends the stairs, Ashok adjusts his pack and follows after. His boots squeak against the stone as he walks up toward the temple.

Ashok's never been one for religion. It's the morals that churches teach which ripped away his birthright and took his mother's dignity. He tugs his cloak tighter, a reaction against the small burst of emotion. He wants to bury it down, keep it from flickering over his face.

Instead he focuses on the back of the old man, on the blood spattering to the stone before each step he takes. Ashok is worried, but not for the man's life. He's heard tales of evil and mayhem and he's afraid he may have found his own.

[vortex320]

As Ben hurriedly brushed through the crowd, his mind raced with anxieties and fears too numerous to describe, so much so that he barely noticed the golden litter or the man crushed beneath it. His advance was stopped by the crowd gathered outside the church, however, and he stopped to catch his breath.

Now what? Why did he come here, of all places? What was he hoping to find?

Even he didn't know. In the back of his mind, he toyed with the idea that an unconscious desire to share his father's fate had drawn him here. He had nowhere to go, no way to protect himself, and surely his time was quickly drawing to a close. Why not end it now, rather than stringing things along and living on the run until the jaws finally closed shut?

But there was still too much to do. So many questions left unanswered. Death was no longer a luxury he could afford. He caught his breath and looked around. A man in a green robe was lurching away from the upended litter. He looked important. Ben approached.

"Excuse me... are you alright?"

[Talbain]

For those present:

The old man moves rapidly up the side of the mountain, climbing the vast set of stairs leading up to the temple complex with preternatural swiftness. He appears totally unperturbed by his crushed nose or bleeding forehead, and does not pause for one instant in his ascent... until Ben approaches.

Ben moves toward the man cautiously, offering aid but keeping his distance. You get a look at the old man's face; his ancient visage is ruined. Blood now covers his eyes, and you are certain he must be blind. The ancient one stops in his tracks, and faces you directly. His long, thin, white beard is stained crimson with blood. His presence is palpable, and his aura is terrible. You can feel a terror deep in your bones as his sightless eyes find your own.

The wounds of the ancient one begin to heal before your eyes, and his own tainted orbs glow red for an instant as they spit their blood into the air! Too shocked (or perhaps enthralled) to react, you stand motionless as a fleck of blood strikes your cheek just under your right eye. He begins to approach you, but stiffens as a dark shadow falls over the sun. He croaks one word: "No..."

Ashok, ever alert for signs of danger, is the first to see the reason why. Looking up, you see the impossible: a flight of four enormous black Wyrms flies over head, their vast wings briefly blotting out the light of Solaris as they ride! They soar just overhead, their powerful wing beats blasting air down so strongly that they threaten to bowl you over. The last of them dives straight towards the old man, dipping so close that the backdraft sends Ben flying into a nearby building! Succeed at a DC 14 Fortitude Save or take 2 damage and become Dazed.

The dragon's tail lashes out, snatching up the old man before he can react. He is carried off swiftly towards the summit, suddenly captive and screaming obscenities in Draconic.

At first, like the old man, the city folk are too stunned to react. For the first time in perhaps a thousand years, the vast street wide staircase marking the approach to the Grand Temple is totally silent.

The moment is shattered by screaming. In a matter of moments, the walkway becomes filled with panicked pilgrims fleeing down the mountain - first a river, then increasingly a flood. Ashok is barely able to swim upstream through the tide of humanity, men and saurians alike pushing against each other in an attempt to escape the antediluvian nightmares winging their way up the mountainside.

For Nef:
Something is wrong. You begin to hear a din from down below, echoing in the vast and vaulted stone chamber surrounding the courtyard. Is that... screaming?

Ulster looks up in surprise. Your back is to the entrance of the cavern, but before you turn around you see your mentor's face grow pale. A loud crash sounds and you turn around just in time to see the statue of The Wyrm Lord toppled by a gigantic black dragon! The beast plows directly through the statue mid flight, scattering pieces of the once great monument as if it was made of mere plaster. The dragon slams into the ground, wreathed by rock dust, and lies momentarily still. You barely have time to notice the rider perched unperturbed on the nape of the dragon's neck before it's three companions and their riders materialize behind it, the formation careening recklessly into the cavern and throwing up giant clods of dirt as they skid to a collective halt beneath the solemn stone walls of the temple perimeter. They fan out from behind the first great wyrm, blocking any possible escape with fang, fire, and talon.

The crowd outside the temple begins to panic. The densely packed mob begins to stampede, man struggling against man in a vain attempt to seek shelter within the relative safety of the chapel proper. The ceremony stops immediately, the thunderous chords of the organ dying in the still air as a frenzied mob forces its way into the cathedral! Those who cannot move fast enough are brutally trampled, their dying screams lost in the ensuing madness. The ancient pews of the cathedral serve to buffer the crowd only briefly as the force of the mob washes over the back seats and the tide swells over, forcing the assembled congregants to either make way or be destroyed underfoot. The crowd begins to rush the altar, but they are stopped dead at the bannister by a bubble of invisible force. Unfortunately for those in front, the momentum of the throng is unstoppable; several of the priests are visibly shaken as they are forced to witness the fates of those ground into the barrier in the riot.

Matrikas, it takes all of your considerable strength to keep your footing as the horde presses in around you. As you push back against the swarm of panicked pilgrims, you are momentarily deafened by a booming voice coming out from the pulpit. "ENOUGH!"

Before the altar stands Cardinal Gruut. Though he wears the habit of the High Lord, the lizard man's slitted eyes appear to hold nothing but contempt for the fear stricken cattle before him. With a wave of his hand he parts the assemblage like the sea. His expression is as cold as the icy mountain winds themselves as he strides briskly down the aisle towards the doors as if the crowd did not even exist.

He storms forth from the cathedral, looking nothing so much as outraged at the intrusion of the vanquished ones onto this sacred ground. He marches directly up to the invaders, even as he is met by the first dragon's rider. He spares no glance for the struggling old man in his green robes, imprisoned in the talons of the dragon towering over the pair.

Unexpectedly, a loud voice erupts from the Eye of Bahamut, the vast cavern carved into the top of the mountain. It says:

"Citizens of Uen'Del: Be not afraid. We come in peace."

[vortex320]

Roll for fortitude.
[roll0]

[vortex320]

The huge gust of wind from the dragon violently lifts Ben off his feet and throws him like a ragdoll into one of the cavern walls. He slams into it with a sickening crunch, and his body slumps down in a heap.

"Guhhh...." Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, and he looks around dazedly at the hellish churn of bodies flooding past him. The screams are muted, and in his ears a loud buzz threatens to overwhelm his senses.

He catches his breath and dusts himself off. "Looks like I picked the wrong day to quit smoking". He slowly works his way around the edge of the teeming masses towards the church. And then, as though from the Gods themselves, a voice rings out from the top of the mountain:

"We come in peace".

[Matrikas]

{ (1d20)+5: 23 }
Matrikas’ body coiled, rose, and settled into a rooted stance of its own accord within heartbeats of the first panicked and horrified swells from the crowd. Her body was ready, but her mind was still and empty when the tide of screams broke over her and hands rose in trembling protest towards the quartet of nightmares fast closing on the temple. Then the herd began to flee, and to keep her balance and view of the winged myths Matrikas took to shoving back the mass of running, stumbling people breaking for the exits beyond the speaker’s area and podium. With bronze eyes locked onto the monstrous black dragon she shouldered and pushed away the reeking bodies that would otherwise have trampled her. The citrus scent of fear was all around her, and the heat from so many suddenly racing hearts and frantic bodies turned the air moist, making the tang of horror thick on Matrikas’ tongue. Organized, conscious thought slowly began to return as her senses clarified. Her parents. Where were her parents?

Her eyes were drawn out of their search for her mother and father to Cardinal Gruut for a glance as his formidable presence asserted itself over the crowd, then returned to the hulking black dragon as she realized that one unfortunate soul had been taken up into its claws. Matrikas’ gut clenched tighter in sympathy for the struggling old man. The crowd which had stilled under Cardinal Gruut’s influence turned briefly once again to panicked scrambling as the dragon and its entourage settled overhead and Matrikas maintained her position, searching for her parents more fervently and beginning to move through the shocked, passive slew of people still around her. Then the dragon spoke, and every muscle in her body locked down, all her blood retreated to her core and Matrikas was left in the cold knowledge that this was all really happening.

[Ashok]

Ashok flicks his split, pointed tongue out to taste the air. He immediately regrets this. The tangy metal scent and taste of blood is welcome in a good roast, but catching it from what he believes to be human is not nearly as enticing. He raises a hand to wipe the blood away from, or into his skin, anything to get rid of the marring stain, when he sees them.

There's an empty feeling that engulfs his stomach first. Awe and nausea and something like pride follow and fight for dominion of Ashok's emotions. He barely has a moment to feel these things before he's making to plant his feet and hope for the best. The old man is just a little ways before him and the dragon, in it's immensity, is even closer.

He watches the stranger get thrown back against the wall, lets his eyes linger on the black glittering scales of the wyrm before the bleeding, screaming man is taken from his sight. For now, all thought of treasure is forgotten. Ashok needs to know more. Had he a tail he'd be whipping people with it, forcing them out of his path. As it is now, he uses fingers as claws and growls curses through gritted teeth as he attempts to push back the mass before him and make his way up to the temple. He cares not for those he pushes to the side. If they get trampled it's from their own weakness.

Fear is also strong in Ashok. Between it and curiosity a new wonder begins to tremble inside of him. When he hears those words from the cavern, his mind spins. He knows from experience that peace promised is rarely peace given. The men at the taverns who whispered in his mother's ear that they would give her the world were more often than not those who would rob her blind or kill her in her sleep. Distrust and anger bloom at the core of him. His actions become more fevered as he forces through the now still crowd. He needs to be at the center of this. When it all starts to crumble he wants to be able to understand why instead of relying on hearsay and fantasy.

[Talbain]

For Objectivism:
Intent on securing your release, you approach the door and begin to listen in on the conversation within. You recognize the voice of Father Merek, and while you hear a heated discussion underway, the thick oak of the office door muffles the voices too much for you to make out many words.

As you strain your hearing at the door, other noises begin to filter in from outside. You hear a monstrous crashing sound outside, and the ceiling above you begins to shake. The voices within the office go silent. You hear shouting so loud it carries through the stone itself! At the words "We come in peace," you hear hurried footsteps towards the door. You have just enough time to stumble backwards to avoid being hit!

The door before you is flung open with such force that it smashes upon the wall behind, flying off its hinges and illuminating the corridor with a shower of sparks as the metal bands binding the wood grind into the flagstones and crash to the floor. Three figures sprint out of the room and are gone so quickly you scarcely have time to register their presence at all, bounding with inhuman speed towards the surface.

For Matrikas:
I'm going to roll this for you to speed things up.
[roll0]

[Talbain]

Matrikas, though you are not drowned in the human flood, you are unable to locate your parents yet; the bodies in the cathedral are too densely packed. While the tide of human and saurian bodies as ebbed, the tapestried hall is still a scene of chaos, however subdued. Finding anyone after that melee will take time. However, you manage to push your way out of the crowd far enough to witness the events that will change your dull, peaceful world forever.

Nef has a front row seat. Standing in the courtyard, the 4 dragons tower over you, mountains of flesh and wing and scale utterly dominating the entrance of the cavern and casting huge shadows that loom over those assembled. Ulster stands behind you, silent as a ghost. Your eyes, however, are drawn to the singular figure of Cardinal Gruut.

Cardinal Gruut strides forcefully out of the packed charnel house that once was the cathedral. A one saurian typhoon, he scatters his flock before him, his robes rippling as he summons waves of pure force to cast aside those too slow to get out of his way. The crowd melts away around him and he wears an expression of fierce defiance as he marches directly towards the lead rider. The wind carries his words as if it were created to serve no further purpose, flinging his wrath at the invaders as if to drive them away with nothing but pure, unbridled fury.

"What is the meaning of this sacrilege? What fool DARES to taint this holy place with the spawn of Tiamat? Your kind were banished millenia ago, and I swear an oath on the fangs of the High Lord himself that I will see all of you slaughtered for this outrage! I demand that you tell me who sent you at once, so that when I am finished with you miserable wretches I can teach your masters the folly of sacrilege!"

It is a scene that will be etched upon your memories forevermore. Cardinal Gruut standing tall, totally unshaken by the appearance of his people's ancient nemesis. Before him, the rider; the spokesman for this wicked brood, covered head to toe in black tattoos, leers back in response. His face is pierced, his body partially encased in chitinous black carapace. The four wings of an enormous dragonfly span out behind him, occasionally flicking this way and that as a number of his tattoos twist and distort around his frame in patterns that threaten to make you physically ill.

Behind the rider, one of the dragons rises up. In his claws you see an old man garbed in emerald robes; he is bloody and appears to be near death. The great wyrm approaches, each step beating the ground like a great stone drum. The vibrations make your teeth rattle. If the cardinal is intimidated by this display, he makes no sign.

The dragon drops the old man in a heap before Cardinal Gruut.

In Draconic:
"We brought you a gift, old one. It seems we are not the only ones who commit a sacrilege today."

The dragon places a foot over the old man and begins to bear down. You hear a loud cracking noise, and the old man begins to scream. The cardinal glances down, but does not flinch. The rider addresses the awe-struck crowd in a booming voice so loud that it can be heard all over the city.

You see us as evil. You see these wyrms, and you see oppressors; you see a menace and a nightmare from a time you have forgotten. But see! We are men, but we are dragon riders! We live as one! And your masters... the ones who feed you these dark tales of oppression... have fed you a meal of LIES!

The old man screams and writhes in agony as his bones are crushed. Gruul makes no move to aid him; his face has lost its expression of outrage and has become cold and calculating. He stares at the old man but he says nothing.

The grisly spectacle is only briefly interrupted as Father Merek approaches. He is escorted by two foreign dignitaries who you do not recognize. As they cross the courtyard lawn they begin to break into a sprint, but Cardinal Gruul halts them with a stern glance. Instead they stand by his side and they too, begin to observe.

At a gesture from the rider, the dragon lifts its foot and plucks the elderly man, surely dead, from the ground once again. The rider grins and prepares to resume his speech.

I'm pausing for a break here for the night; you can post reactions if you want, I'm going to continue this post either over the weekend or early next week. It's just too long to do in one night. Once this section is finished we will be in the campaign proper, so please bear with me a little longer!

[Objectivism]

Troman scuttles to his feet and quickly chases the elder priests he had been eavesdropping on. So swift and nimble the elders course was, that Troman loses sight of them as he attempts to make it to the outside floor beyond the atrium. Unaware at the spectacle, Troman quietly gasps at the sight of winged terrors before him. Never had he seen such chaos and never had he seen such carnage! The sounds alone were deafening....

[Matrikas]

Matrikas is caught up in awe and sensory overload. She is quite unaware of her forked tongue persistently questing for the unfamiliar scent of the heretical beasts before her. Still as only prey can be in the presence of these ultimate predators, she listens.

[vortex320]

Hearing the loud ruckus in the courtyard, Ben runs to investigate. He moves carefully, however. Getting the wind knocked out of you once a day is more than enough.

[Talbain]

The old man hangs in the dragon's claws like a limp, bleeding rag doll. The rider gestures at the dead man as he continued.

"You have been told that the dragons have left you. You have been told that you are free – but I say that you are SLAVES, as surely now as you ever were! Behold one of your many masters. Behold this man, who you know as Bishop Syrath!"

With a flick of it's enormous wrist, the dragon snatches his victim up in a fist. The wyrm actually winds up, taking a step back before it flings the corpse of Bishop Syrath into one of the nearby pillars that frames the entrance to the main cathedral. The impact is tremendous; the pillar is shattered, and the form of the bishop plows into the earth behind even as the column topples to the ground! Dirt and grass fly in all directions as the body digs a furrow into the soil, and your vision is momentarily obscured by the cloud of debris.

"Your church is..."

The rider does not have a chance to finish his statement. An unseen force slams into the side of his skull, turning half of his face to meat and flinging him from his saddle. The tatooed man lands in a stunned heap at the feet of Cardinal Gruut.

"Enough of this foolishness! We have suffered your presence long enough, worm!"

Gruut leers over the fallen rider as the man attempts to recover himself enough to stand.

"You say you come in peace, and murder a man before our eyes! You say he is of our church! What more lies..."

The cardinal does not finish his statement either. The dust does not have time to settle around the body of Bishop Syrath before an enormous mass of scale and flesh erupts from his form! Where there once was a dead man, an ancient and bloodied copper dragon explodes from the corpse. Scraps of emerald cloth fall away as the beast rises up into a predatory crouch, very much alive! A wave of heat watches over the assembled crowd. It is so close they can feel it, and it towers over the frightened masses. The people are too stunned to move, too shocked to scream.

The dragon's green slitted eyes narrow in indignant contempt, and Matrikas, standing only a few dozen yards from the ancient behemoth, can feel his low, thunderous growl rattling her rib cage. Gruul and his priests stare at it in stunned silence, and once again the cardinal's face has gone cold. Behind him, the rider rises up from the ground. Though one side of his face is broken and bleeding, he is smiling.

Nef, also shocked by the display, is jolted from his reverie by the sound of a pained moan. Looking behind you, you see Ulster is pale and sweating profusely. You turn just in time to see the tattoo around his eye begin to convulse. The inquisitor groans and lurches; though his hands move to cover his face, you see the ink begin to move. The ring of barbs opens and begins to slither, swelling Ulster's flesh as if something is crawling beneath his skin. It constricts around his eye and as you watch, worms its way into the socket! Blood begins to trickle through his fingers and Ulster falls to his knees before he collapses onto the lawn, writhing in agony... then going still and quiet.

Sorry for the delay, I'm back! There's going to be one more part to this section, and then things are going to get interactive again. I'll post again soon!

[Delphon]

*Nef is speechless as he watches the gruesome transformation of his would-be mentor, eyes wide as he does not comprehend what is going on in front of him or the situation in the plaza. Backing up as he finds something solid to brace himself against as he edges away from the the spasming man before him*