After Mourning IC

[3SecondCultist]

The afternoon skies are the first thing to greet you on the platform of Cannith Tower. Tinged with silver and darkling cloud, they move overhead to the rhythms of a vicious wind that you cannot yet feel. Nevertheless, the first warm droplets of rain begin to fall, coating the metal with water and making it all that much more dangerous. One false step, and you might find yourself taking an unusual shortcut all the way down to the Undercity. All around you, the lights of Sharn have been lit - the earthly constellations appear even brighter against the stormy background. The City of Towers is well named, as the skyline is littered with spires and buttresses. Here and there, you can make out the faint glow of an airship or a skycoach making one last trip before the inclement weather arrives in full. On the streets far below, you make out the various lines and angles of a warforged regiment. Driven by the commands of a magewright, they make their way through the winding avenues of Sharn towards the base of Cannith Tower. The structure itself is huge, interlocking plates of steel and mithral rising up over a hundred stories into the clouds. On a clear day, you can see the huge bull's head that marks the highest point in Sharn, but today your view is obscured by the overwhelming pall. The base of the tower is nothing short of titanic, its halls built as if for the giants of Xen'drik instead of the puny mortals of Khorvaire. After the renovations, the tower is really more of a fortress, built to inspire a kind of terrible respect for the ingenuity of its artifice.

For the most part, you can't help but feel as though it succeeds.

The platform juts out of the side of the tower, nearly thirty stories above the street. Thankfully, a series of sturdy railings and everbright lanterns surround the edges, so as to easier land aircraft. Although the platform is much too small for a proper Lyrandar airship, it is more than capable of supporting the weight of a small squadron of skycoaches. The doors into Cannith Tower itself begin to open as you step out of whatever craft brought you here, revealing a trio of figures as they step out into the rain. As they come closer, you can make out the sigil of House Cannith, marking all three of them as magewrights. And yet, while the first two figures wear the mask an goggles that are often associated with the forges of Sharn, the third wears no headgear. Her light brown hair is tied back into a ponytail, and her pale eyes scan each one of you with a scrutiny usually reserved for faulty tools. Her face is lined with years of experience, and yet there is an energy to her demeanor that belies her apparent age. Everything about her body language - straight back, level shoulders, and unflinching gaze - suggests that she is in a position of profound authority. Closing the gap, she moves to offer a handshake to each of you in turn. Her grip is gentle, but firm.

"Good afternoon! I imagine some proper introductions are in order. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Jenasa d'Cannith. My uncle is indisposed, so I will be speaking for House Cannith today. I apologize for the mystery around your summons, but all will be explained in due course. Normally, I would suggest that we all get better acquainted, but we really should continue this conversation inside. If you would follow me?" Despite the inflection, Jenasa's tone makes it quite clear that this is not a request.

[Dunkoro]

The lean, tall female shifter, who's obviously a Druid, steps forward.

It's good to see you again Jenasa. Lead on to wherever we're going.

[Writtensanity]

As the doors open, Sol stows his Lyre, humming the tune he had been playing on it. The ever constant smile on his face doesn't falter, he only changes it so that it is directed at Jenasa. He takes a second to nod to her companions, not really caring if they return the gesture. After making it clear that he is willing to go with them, Sol continues to hum the song, a simple ballad he played for children. He considered it good for travel.

[Whiskeyjack]

Valgirn

With clanks and an unwholesome-sounding clatter of bone against bone and metal, a dwarf steps from one of the skycoaches. A deep red beard banded in pieces of iron and bone is the only bright splash of color against the white bone and gray steel of his armor, the massive head of a hammer peeking over one shoulder. The dwarf makes a show of brushing himself off as he stands on the platform, stray beard-hairs drifting in the wind.

"Never been this high up 'cept for when I was surrounded by rock," Valgirn mutters. "Nothin' natural about open air at this height, give be a good elevated cavern any day..." He takes a glance around, mostly looking indifferent to his fellows, but offers a wide smile to Jenasa. "Ah, there's our lovely hostess," he says, bowing slightly as much as he can muster in the armor without taking a knee, and begins to loudly clomp over towards her.

[Phasm]

Yet another skycoach pulls up to the tower, this one emblazoned with the crest of House Sivis. A gnomish woman in dark red knee-length robes and golden brown trousers steps out, followed by a weasel wearing a delicate gold collar. Her light brown hair is cropped short, and her eyes are the dark brown of Aerenal coffee. Cassia looks more like a clerk than a respected scion of a dragonmarked house. Only the well-crafted crossbow on her back and the decorative dagger on her belt hint at something more. Well, here we are. Exactly what does Merrix d'Cannith want with House Sivis? It's a bit odd that he asked for her, specifically, since Cassia has never met him save in passing at a few large parties.

The wizard reaches up to shake Jenasa's hand, her handshake firm despite its comparatively tiny size. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss d'Cannith. I am Cassia Torralyn d'Sivis and this is my familiar, Rikki." The weasel bobs his head at the sound of his name. "He is quite intelligent; you need not fear that he will make a mess on the floor." She could have left him behind or used a familiar pocket spell, but Cassia doesn't quite trust this branch of House Cannith. Rikki's keen senses have saved her from sneak attacks and ambushes many times.

[Let'sGetKraken]

Standing off to the side of the platform, as he had been for quite some time, Vraskis notes the newcomers' arrival. First the shifter and the foppish bard, now a gnome and a dwarf. We're a veritable menagerie.

It had been many years since Vraskis had stepped foot in a large city, much less returned to Sharn; he was not particularly happy to be back. The distaste had soured his normally carefully controlled expression. Behind cold and dead eyes, his mind whirrs, trying to put the pieces together. Why are we here? He saw no purpose in introducing himself until he found out.

[GameOfChampions]

A Wood Elf steps forward lithely from his transport, striding towards the group gathering around Jenasa and after shaking her hand gives her, her compatriots, and the rest of the group all polite reserved nods while saying “Its nice to meet you all, I am Mah’reth Aralus and I look forward to making your acquaintance”. After that he steps back to take in the rest of the group just to see what his possible companions seem like, all the while fidgeting with the powerful looking Composite longbow strapped to his shoulders while his eyes constantly drift from observing his new interesting companions to the House Cannith members.

[Writtensanity]

"The pleasure is all mine!" Sol breaks himself from his turn to approach the Wood Elf, "Now I don't want to be too nosy, but you're a woodelf." He gestures to the entirety of Mah'reth"I have never spoken to one of you face to face before. Valenar or Aerenal? Wait, don't answer. We should get to know everyone." Sol turns to the crowd, smiling until he finds himself facing Jenasa, "but business, business first."

[3SecondCultist]

The massive double doors open into a spacious hallway, sparse and well lit by the ghostly flames of everbright lanterns.The metal archways that mark the edges of the corridor form a protective ring around the walls, like the ribcage of a massive beast. And yet everything here is clean and sterile, polished to the point of lifelessness. The hallway itself seems to run all the way around the circumference of Cannith Tower, and seems to look in on a number of adjoining rooms that move towards the center of the floor. Glass observation panels give you a look at a number of ongoing experiments, most of which involve some kind if tinkering. There look to be numerous chambers for binding elementals, as well as in-house forges and halls built purely for testing out new products. However, Jenasa is not interested in any of that. She leads your group towards a small corridor that heads directly to the center of the floor, at the end of which stands another door. Ushering you through, you find yourselves in a closed off compartment. A number of dials have been built into the wall. Jenasa nods at the pair of magewrights, who move to wait outside. She taps a button, and the doors slide closed. After making sure that you are all present, she throws a pair of levers, and suddenly the entire room begins to shudder and jolt.

"This lift will take us to Merrix's private chambers, at the top of the tower. Before we begin, he wishes to speak with you. Now, my uncle has been the victim of a number of disorders associated with his advanced age. Normally I wouldn't even broach this, but he hasn't had any outside visitors in some time, and I don't want any of you flustering him. Do you understand?"

[Dunkoro]

Don't worry, we won't.

[GameOfChampions]

Mah'reth being somewhat distracted from all the impressive inner workings of the tower, takes a second before responding "Of course" to Jenasa.

However the observant would notice that along with his stance and the way he responded that the Wood Elf was slightly anxious and had been since he had entered the tower and got in the lift.

[Whiskeyjack]

The dwarf takes a moment to tap his armored knuckles against one of the big metal ribs, grumbling appreciably. "Nice, nice, not that I expected less. Cannith forgework 'n all, heh," he chuckles, tearing his gaze from the artifice to step onto the lift and gives it a solid thump with one foot once it starts to ascend.

"Fluster? Pah," the dwarf gives a snort. "Wouldn't think of disturbin' him, on purpose 'fcourse. Can't say I don't have questions about the, erm, invitation, sure the others do as well, huh? An' if he's in such a bad state, explainin' why he thought to invite such a colorful group here might just be flusterin' by itself, right?" He shrugs, the armor creaking softly.

[Let'sGetKraken]

In a dispassionate voice that the others have to strain to hear, Vraskis speaks for the first time.

"The dwarf is right. We will not unnecessarily agitate your uncle, but we will be getting answers."

He traces his hands along the walls of the lift as the others speak, feeling the incredible metalwork that had created such an imposing structure. Could Merrix d'Cannith have really been reduced to a feeble old man, fighting off dementia and increasing frailty? No. From what he had heard, the Baron was certainly not weak. Not even age could completely rob such a formidable man of his intelligence or his willpower. There was a reason for their being here beyond the ravings of an ancient artificer.

[Phasm]

Cassia frowns slightly, but nods. "I will not deliberately provoke him, Miss d'Cannith. Are there any topics in particular that we should avoid?" She feels a pang of sympathy for the artificer. Humans live for so short a time before falling prey to the ravages of age. To her, it seems as if Merrix was just coming into his own... how sad, for such a brilliant mind to fail so quickly. And how disturbing; who will maintain the Aeon Wall once its creator is no longer able to do so?

Let's hope that he has one last trick up his sleeve, or I fear I shall have to move to Stormreach after all.

[3SecondCultist]

The lift ascends quickly, and through the frosted glass you can see floor after floor pass faster than an arrow loosed from a bow. With every moment, you can see more and more of Sharn beyond. It is a view prized by many, but only a select few ever see. Those of you with weak stomachs might have thrown up at the quick journey, but the lift stops after a few minutes. Any other proud Cannith engineer might have sneered at your inexperience, but Jenasa remains stoic. She does not even reply to your own comments regarding Merrix, choosing instead to take a few moments while the lift is still moving to look at each of you covertly. What she is looking for, and what she sees is still a mystery. She is silent for the whole ride, and once you reach the top of Cannith Tower she does little more than open the doors for the seven of you.

The hall beyond is at once simpler and more grand that any of you might have come to expect of a man like Merrix d'Cannith. Most of you, at least, are aware of the fact that this man is the de facto ruler of the Wynarn Protectorate: the municipal councils do nothing to check House Cannith's power in and around Sharn these days, and the meteoric rise of Merrix himself over the other Cannith factions proved his innovative dominance in the fields of both artifice and statecraft. Looking out at the furnishings, you can see both of those aptitudes in full display. The lift opens into a parlor that both elegant and utilitarian. Several fine chairs and a glass bar run across one wall, stocked with all kinds of liquors. An adjoining door leads to a luxurious lavatory, and you can see the signs of a dumbwaiter system built into the opposite wall. An open archway not unlike those that bind the hallways around the rest of the tower leads into a huge circular chamber. Looking up, you can see that the main room is built to house a kind of concave glass dome. The everbright lanterns of the lower floors have been replaced with bands of pure light, overlaid on wires that crisscross the glass seemingly at random. It takes you a few moments before you realize that the entire ceiling is a model of Eberron's night sky. The Ring of Siberys is there, as are the twelve moons, and the great constellations that the dragons of Argonnessen even now worship as gods. There is Chronepsis, and Falazure, and the great dueling wheels of Bahamut and Tiamat. As you watch, a ticking sound begins to emanate from one of the pillars at the dome's base, and one of the moons begins to move along its metal track. Everything here is in perfect harmony, a symbol of structure organized and calculated to the inch, the complex movement by the will of rational man.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

The voice is so soft, you could be forgiven for thinking it your own imagination. It is a man's voice, wracked with pain and yet oddly contemplative. At the other end of the chamber, the floor ascends yet again to a kind of dais. A huge four-poster bed dominates this space, and through the window slits you can barely see the evening lights of Sharn far below. You must be near the very top of Cannith Tower, right beneath the great bull's head that can be seen from anywhere in the City of Towers. The man himself lies prone beneath the great crimson sheets, but his eyes are clear and fixed on you. His jowl bears the marks of a recent shave, and a strong perfume barely covers up the scent of death. When he speaks, he is careful not to engage the muscles of his body.

"I apologize for calling you here on such short notice, but I'm afraid we are running out of time... I am running out of time." As if on cue, Merrix is overcome by a coughing fit. He recovers quickly, however. The way he looks at you is not dissimilar to the way Jenasa did only minutes ago, as if he is staring through you. His eyes are ablaze with intellect. "I have selected the seven of you for various reasons. Some of you have worked for my interests in the past. Some of you hold the good of Khorvaire in your hearts. And some of you are here on the whims of curiosity. Loyalty, valor, and ambition are all things I place great value on. I am asking for your help today, in potentially saving the last remnants of Khorvaire from the Mourning, and even driving the mists back to recover what we have lost. This task will require your courage, your strength, and above all your will to succeed. But before I tell you what it is I need you to do, I need to know if you possess all of these things. Can I count on you?"

[Dunkoro]

It doesn't really matter how many times have I ridden this elevator, it will always amaze me in the end...
And to think that this is merely a byresult of Merrix's ingenuity; it was simply designed to more effectively progress the one goal he has always pursued; to fight the Mournland...

If only I had been as resourceful... But the most I can ever dream of is to do whatever there is in my power to support this man, as he's Khorvaire's or maybe even the whole of Eberron's last hope...

She walks into the chamber confidently, as if she's been here before.

Ah, yes, the sky. Even though it's impossible to match its beauty with artifice, this masterpiece comes the closest of any I've ever seen...

She seems quite surprised seeing how weak and frail the old man has become in the time she's not seen him.

For all his genius, he's still mortal, like all the rest of us... It's such a shame the world will one day have to go on without him. Let's just hope that when he's no more it doesn't also mean the end of the world as we know it...

She quietly and intently listens until the man finishes speaking.

Whatever task you have in mind, I'm sure you can count on my participation.

[Let'sGetKraken]

Vraskis smiles slightly at the man's words, knowing that his return to Sharn had not been for nothing. He clears his throat, wiping any trace of emotion from his face, and speaks in a voice as cold as ice.

"Loyalty, valor, and ambition aren't going to save this continent. Resourcefulness will. Even so, if you'd wanted us dead, there are easier ways to kill us than by drawing us into your own bedchamber. We trusted you enough to come here... and I suppose we'll have to trust you now."

Stepping forward, he continues, "You're a smart man, d'Cannith. Brilliant, if the rumours are true. Brilliant men don't send valuable assets off into the mists to die. I cannot speak for the others, but I would like to hear just how you intend to save Khorvaire. And if it is reasonable, well, you're going to need resourceful pawns."

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrendssensz

The seventh guest had been silent most of the way. A small nod, a minimal greeting and a reserved smile was all the human, wrapped in monk's garbs, had given away so far. He emanates a certain degree of...serenity. A calm, yet poised posture. Physical strength. Balance. Composure. A light tread, and eyes that betray deep wisdom. The young, bald man is obviously a monk. At first glance, his most peculiar physical feature is his dragonmark, however. The prominence and size of the Mark of Passage betrays his strong tie to the house of Orien. Apparently unfazed by the marvels of house d'Cannith's creations he had followed the group, responding to the remarks of his fellow guests with nothing more than a raised eyebrow or a small smirk.

Once faced with the house's patron, Merrix, his humility shows. Once others have spoken, he steps forward and proceeds by bowing respectfully. "Master d'Cannith. If I did not possess these qualities, I would not be here, I assume." Finishing his bow, he looks up again. "I am Ahrendssensz, grandson of Ahrend. Ahrend for friends. If you know how to save Khorvaire, I am willing listen, and to fight for that cause."

[3SecondCultist]

"Oh yes, I am smart - always have been. But if I've learned anything over the past ninety years, it's that when it really counts, it takes much more than brains to solve a problem. You need the will, the drive to conquer life's greatest enemies when they move to block your path."

"My cause, as you put it, is saving Khorvaire. To that end, I have cast my nets far and wide for a solution. For the past three years, my artificers have been hard at work." Merrix chuckles, a rueful sound. "Our goal is to achieve a unique way to study the Mourning's origins in order to learn how to potentially counteract it. And that's where all of you come in. Jenasa and the other House Cannith leaders call it the Genesis Project, but I always found that a bit dramatic for my tastes. The plan is that we send each of your minds back to relive everything leading up to the Day of Mourning. You will have ample opportunity to move around the memory of Khorvaire just as it was, untouched by the narratives of history. And from there - " The baron of House Cannith begins to cough again, but this time a small stream of blood runs down his chin. His eyes roll back in his head, and he begins to spasm softly. As if from nowhere, a warforged attendant moves in with a leather grip for the old man to bite down on. Ushering you all away from the bed and back into the central chamber, the warforged administers a small electrical shock to Merrix in order to regulate his systems.

Jenasa watches the proceedings with a kind of resigned sorrow. By the look on her face, she has seen this kind of episode before. But she holds her chin up, eyes unyielding, and begins to head back towards the lift.

"There isn't anything you can do for him in this state. But if you meant it when said you were willing to fight, then you're going to have to follow me. We have a lot of work to do."

[Phasm]

For a long, long moment, all Cassia can do is stand there, stunned. Finally. After so many years of watching the mist devour miles upon miles of land while the Five Nations and the dragonmarked houses devoted their time and resources to destroying what the mists did not take... finally, someone is willing to do something! The relief, the knowledge that she hasn't been screaming into a vacuum, that somebody in power has a plan beyond staving off the inevitable for a few years- it's overwhelming. The gnome surreptitiously wipes her stinging eyes with her sleeve as Merrix coughs and spasms in his bed. Rikki sits up on his haunches, chittering an inquiry.

"I'm all right, love, don't worry." Cassia takes a deep breath and looks up at Jenasa. "You have absolutely no idea how much I have longed to hear someone say that they have a plan to stop the Mourning. I don't care how crazy it is, how risky it is, or anything else. If there is even a slight chance of success, I will do it."

[Writtensanity]

"Merrix' " Sol beings, perhaps too informal for the situation, "there are some parts of Khorvaire that I didn't think I would see past the first days of mourning."

Sol spun on his heels, pacing back and fourth, moving ever closer to the bed. "And some I didn't want to"
Sol's hand falls to his sword, drawing it forwards as a crystalline screech erupts through the air. He stops himself halfway through the motion, unable to keep a straight face.

"By the Silver Flame, did any of you really think I was going to do that?" Sol wipes a tear from his eye, too caught up in his humor to notice the guards with their hands on the hilts of their swords, "You need to lighten up guys." He chuckles again, before casting an eye to the guards, "and like seriously, confiscate stuff like this." He points to his sword whilst unbuckling it from his side, "Mourning brings mourning."

Finally, Sol turns to the man in the bed, "The church sends it's regards sir. I'm sure you will find that I am more than a trustworthy soldier. I also do entertainment."




Sol turned away from the man, the artificers of Cannith were more than he could ever hope to be in the way of medical practice. He had spent his time in the field, taking care of those who suffered by the mourning, but this was something different. A ballad, no matter how much magic he poured into it, wasn't going to change the tides of this man's battle.

"You know, he was right about genesis, it is a little dramatic." He says, trying to lighten the mood as Jenasa leads them away, "Like, the mourning deserves it's name. It turns rivers into glass. It's fog that kills people." He turns his walk into a skip, "But I feel like Genesis is going to be a little undeserving of it's name. No offense, but what are we really creating?

In the back of Sol's mind the usual doubt flickered. It hadn't been long since he took over his parent's position in the silver flame. Some of the higher ups doubted his constantly chipper demeanor would be able to handle the image that people have come to expect. He doubted it as well. He knew he was terrible at lightening moods, he never needed to cheer himself up.

[GameOfChampions]

The words he had been about to say die on Mah’reths lips as the group is ushered out of the room of the brilliant House Cannith patron, leaving the elf filled with both awe and respect for the extraordinary man and his plan and chills at what they would be attempting to do.

Mah’reth turns to Jenasa and says “I wish we could have had more time to speak to your esteemed uncle but since misfortune dictates otherwise, I would like to tell you to please tell him that I am honored he would place such trust and confidence in me and that I will fight for his cause and relish being in his employ, even if it is only for the time being.” After taking a brief glance back at the chamber he turns back to Jenasa eyes full of passion “I will give this mission my all, how can I do anything less when he has given everything for us. Please lead on.”

Turning back to gaze around the room one more time to take in the wondrous ceiling before the group gets to the lift he also observes the group with him. He thinks It seems like their respect and commitment are true, if so then these fellows should be a fine group of people to adventure with! Even if some seem slightly... out there.

[Let'sGetKraken]

Vraskis listens to the footfalls of the others as they begin to follow Jenasa out of the room behind him. Standing as still as stone, he faces the broken and brittle human before him. What a sad, pointless affair. Even if his plan is successful, he will not live to see it fulfilled.

"You are misguided, Merrix d'Cannith," he whispers, too quietly for any to hear. The light from the luminous strips above casts twisted shadows across his face, a face that isn't his, as the old man writhes in his bed, attended by one of his creations that will no doubt outlive him.

"The world is harsh and cruel. It always has been harsh and cruel, and even with the removal of the mists, it will still be harsh and cruel. But perhaps... with a different world... perhaps it does not have to be."

Bowing his head in respect, Vraskis turns and follows his companions into the lift.

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrendssensz

Young Ahrend has a sad look on his face as he sees Merrix suffer. He had witnessed the struggle of an old man against a failing body before, and this scene brings back memories. It is also an extra motivation to keep on training and never stray from the path. Legends say that those who reach full enlightenment will enter a state in which the mind is so much stronger than the body that one can prevent aging through meditation.

He also seems a bit troubled by the old man's message. A traveling mind. His mind is his most treasured possession, even though many people think doing what he does is all about athleticism and physical prowess. Would they hook him up to some machine and fool around with his mind? Young Ahrend had committed, though, so he has to deliver. He follows Jenasa out of the room after another swift respectful bow to the old man and mumbling a prayer.

"I am curious to learn about the practical implications of the plan your uncle just mentioned, milady."

[Dunkoro]

This could... not could; has to be the breakthrough we've all been waiting for. And I'm going to be a part of it! I hope everything goes well...


That's quite an ambitious plan Merrix has invented this time. How would that work though? Will we be actually going back in time? Then what about continuity? Will we be ourselves or simply witnessing lives of others? Will we merely be observers or we'll be actually able to influence the events? And if so, could we prevent the mourning? What effects would that have?

Sorry for the avalanche of questions, it's my usual reaction to something I don't understand at all...

[Whiskeyjack]

"Observe the living history? 'Genesis?' This what you fancy humans count as an explanation, even more riddles?" the dwarf chuckles, an edge of irritation in his voice. "Now what exactly do---" Valgirn breaks off as Merrix's fit begins, and the dwarf sighs. "Seen plenty o'that on my way here. Mists don't just kill people, no, that'd be too kind." He turns away from Baron Cannith before he's bidden, trying to give the stricken man the slightest amount of privacy. In that state, it's just a matter of days, ain't it? Nerves can't bear the weight of motion, then the mind can nearly hold onto thinkin' without triggering some attack. 'Course, every time I saw it, it was from wounds, or the Mourning, not old age. Some might call that a luxury. He shudders.

"Right. So." The dwarf's words are somber, monotonous, though the corners of his eyes are wet. My people, did they come here hopin' for a fix, an' now we just have fever dreams as our plan? Aureon give us some strength here...

"So what's your plan, Lady Jenasa?" He manages a rough smile. "This son of Mroranon didn't walk across a continent just to say 'boo' when the plan-maker's in a bad spot. Tell me how to burn those blighty mists outta my mines and tunnels an' Valgirn'll be right there on the front line for it!"

[3SecondCultist]

As the lift doors close behind you once more, you get one last glimpse of Merrix lying beyond the starry chamber. And then the platform descends, and all around you is sound and fury.

Jenasa, for her part, stands and listens to all of your questions impassively. Her eyes betray nothing, having absorbed whatever memories she once wore about her. When she speaks, it is in a cold and brittle voice.

"For the past two years, my uncle has been at death's door. The Genesis Project is his, as the Aeon Wall is his. You can blame the marketing heads for the names if you like - I certainly do. But grandiose or no, when all is said and done, Merrix will be the mind that saves Khorvaire." She says it defensively, and with just a touch of bitterness. Perhaps it is true what they say about Cannith artificers. "As to your questions: the Genesis Engine is designed to allow individuals to look back through the memories of others. More specifically, we have taken memory samples from countless volunteers who lived in the final years of the Last War. From there, we were able to build a Khorvaire from which to study the origins of the Mourning. You will be observing the past, not altering it. No matter what happens in the Genesis Engine itself, history will not be changed." Jenasa finishes her explanation with a note of finality, as you feel the lift descend far beneath the height of Cannith Tower. Whatever the minds of House Cannith want to show you, it is apparently housed beneath the tower itself.

[Dunkoro]

But by only observing, without any actual way to influence the ones with whose eyes we'll be looking through we may not learn of anything of importance.

Also, what may we learn of that the volunteers could not have conveyed themselves?

She raised an eybrow.

[Whiskeyjack]

"Maybe...clarity? Always different t'hear a story than t'see events happen firsthand," Valgirn muses. "So it sounds like...almost like you made a whole world of memories that we can just look into. Did I get that right? In any case, what makes us so suitable for this, instead'f a big team of your Cannith magewrights who might have a better idea of what to be lookin' for?" The dwarf's tenser features seem to relax as the elevator dips below surface level. Somehow the plan seems so much more legitimate being conducted in the depths of the earth...

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrendssensz

Young Ahrend nods. "It can't be that simple, I'd wager." He smiles at Jenasa. "Your uncle would not have addressed us the way he did, nor would you have gathered men and women like us to do this."

[3SecondCultist]

"Quite simply, we needed diversity. A shifter, a gnome, and an elf are more likely to be compatible with the cognitive fields that the Genesis Engine is responsible for. Additionally, this way we can handily avoid the problem of inductive bias in our researchers. Once each of you is attuned, the machine will guide your mind to where it would be most optimally placed. Our algorithms are above reproach. Here, let me show you."

The lift comes to a gradual halt, and there is a moment of silence before the hydraulic doors open with a hiss. You find yourselves at the end of a long hall, flanked with pillars and databases. On both sides, you see a flurry of activity as Cannith magewrights and artificers proper move from hub to hub. You can see images across glass screens of places, people from the history of Khorvaire and even beyond. There is a glimpse of the jungles of Xen'drik, and the white-tiered city of Io'lokar. But for the most part, the material is only fire and blood. Jenasa leads the seven of you along, towards the end of the hall where the room opens up into a kind of control room. Three artificers stand at attention, beside an incredibly complex bank of machinery. Even with a manual, it would take weeks to understand even the barest function of the dials and levers you see before you. At eye level, however, is a long glass window that runs the length of the room. It looks down on another hall below you. You can see several raised platforms, and a series of devices atop them. Each set-up looks like a throne, except that there are metallic harnesses that wrap across where a ruler's arms and chest would be. Each machine is anchored by dozens - no, more like hundreds of wires that run down into the floor. Jenasa watches each of you for a moment, as if to gauge your reactions to all of this.

"We used to house our creation forge down here, some years ago. But all of that has been cleared out now. Each of those consoles is connected to a network of hundreds of thousands of memory sequences. The benefactors - which we call Anchors - are the underpinnings of the entire system. They have built the world, but you must be the ones to witness it. Again, Valgirn is right. We need to avoid bias at all costs. My team and I will be monitoring your progress from up here. Even when you're inside, I will be able to talk to you. Now, are you ready to begin?"

[Writtensanity]

"Well douse me in water and stomp on the ashes," Sol presses his hands against the window, looking down to the machines. If he were honest to himself, this would probably be something he should pass on to his higher ups at the silver flame, at the same time, it was too cool a concept for him to risk this chance. "You're going to hook us up to one of those things, and suddenly we will be looking out of the eyes of someone in the past?" He backs himself away from the window "Merrix, you have outdone yourself this time."

There is a moment of pause before Sol realizes another avenue of questioning, "So, if we are going to be going into the past with these, why did you tell us to bring weaponry? And why keep us in the dark about this while you summoned us? Why a shifter, an elf and a gnome? Why did we go upstairs to talk to Merrix about this? What part of us needs to be loyal if we aren't going to be able to change anything? Wh-" He stops himself halfway through his rapid fire stream of questions, "Eh, I don't care anymore. I'm in."

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrendssensz

Young Ahrend is visibly less enthusiastic. He frowns while he looks at all the levers, wires and metal parts. "So....we get hooked up to these, ehm, things..." He looks quizzically at Jenasa. "Then what exactly happens. Will you put us under, in some sleep or coma, or...? He turns his gaze back to the machine. "I am ready and willing to carry on with this, but I would really like to have more details on what is going to happen to me. If only to focus my mind and body to deal with the situation." He thinks a bit more. "Will you be using potions, or chemicals? I really need to know, because they may not affect me the way you anticipate."

[Dunkoro]

I'm all for doing this.
Can we have some preferences for who we end up in? I'd rather I wouldn't go into some sort of warforged...

[Writtensanity]

If we are putting in requests, I would love to be in a warforged. Or a girl, are there genders for warforged?

[Whiskeyjack]

"Hm, weird stuff. Those, ah, those kinda remind me of the old lightning rail stuff. Heh, we gonna get shocked or somethin'?" The dwarf leans forward, thinking about poking one of the strange components, but refrains. "Welp, whatever, I'm in, if for nothin' else than t'tell my future grandkids that I got to get hooked up to a bona fide Merrix d'Cannith contraption! How do we get started?"

[GameOfChampions]

"Wow this is just... wow." Mah'reth is stunned at the information Jenasa just dropped on them but perks up when he hears the House Cannith representative explaining the machine a bit more and joins in with everyone elses questions. "Ya I'm also curious, what kind of people will we turn into and to what degree will we be controlling this person and to what extent will we be able to feel in this memory world? Will we be able to feel pain or die or would it just be the person we are... with?"

His mouth quirks up as he hears the enigmatic bard banter and quips "I'm sure with you in the past anything is possible." while giving him a good natured rib with his elbow.

[3SecondCultist]

Jenasa responds to your concerns with a practiced air. If you had to guess, she has been prepared for exactly these kinds of questions. Her eyes are still cool, although they do take in your weapons with an amused air, as though noticing them for the first time.

"I'm afraid choice doesn't come into it. Each of you will be paired with the base sequencing of one of the Anchors. The algorithm works, but I cannot speak to its specific functions. As in all things, there is an element of chance." She motions to a stairwell that descends to the lower hall. Seven magewright attendants move to join you, a silent invitation to head down to where the consoles lie in wait.

"After your bodies have been attuned to their respective devices, a series of alchemical drugs, administered in a particular order, will put you into a deep and dreamless sleep. From there, the cognitive streams that make up your subconscious will be linked to the Anchor field, and the project can begin in earnest. I warn you once: this process is not without pain. The attunement process can take a toll on the body, but healing magic will be provided to counteract the worst of the damage to your nervous systems. Each of you made a promise to my uncle, and subsequently to House Cannith. Now, unless you have any more questions, we really should get started."

[Phasm]

Cassia frowns slightly, but nods. "Very well. Please feed my familiar while I am hooked up to your uncle's device; he refuses to be parted from me for long, and trying to catch a weasel with the intelligence of a sapient being is a difficult endeavor. Particularly if there are fragile objects around." She squats down to stroke Rikki's reddish-brown fur. "Rikki, I will be sleeping in the chair over there, perhaps for quite some time. It will be a magical sleep, and may hurt me, but you must not try to interfere! This is very important magic." The weasel tilts his head to the side and chitters at her. "As long as you do not touch any of the wires, and if Jenasa here tries to make you move, you need to obey her." Rikki chitters again and rubs his head against her knee rather like a cat. "Good boy."

The diviner gets to her feet and looks up at Jenasa. "I am ready." Her family knows that she has been asked to assist Merrix d'Cannith with an unspecified but important project; if they inquire, doubtless Merrix and Jenasa have a story ready. Rikki will be provided for; she has no husband, lover, or children. There is no reason to wait and every reason to press forward.

[Let'sGetKraken]

In the silence following Jenara's words, Vraskis begins to laugh. Quiet at first, it builds and builds until he is bent over with frenzied laughter. A mad grin is plastered across his face; to the others, it seems out of place on a something that, until then, has been carefully controlled.

Once he regains some measure of composure, he speaks to the others in the room. "The attunement... oh my. My sincerest apologies." As he gathers his thoughts, it seems to the more perceptive in the room that his smile is tinged with bitterness. "Alright, then. Will you be monitoring our thoughts and experiences, or will you be relying on us to give you an accurate depiction of events? I suppose we don't have much of a choice, regardless. Let us begin."

[Writtensanity]

"Hmm, I would draw the line at the random development of arcane abilities, Mah'reth I've never had a knack for those. I can't see someone who is matched with me having it either."

After taking a moment to reel back from the howling laughter coming from the man who he thought was the most normal in the group, he begins, "Well, alright then. Remind me to stay pretty far from your.. past self?" He shrugs, there isn't a chance that he would be able to understand how this thing worked. Something about hooking him up to the past, looking at thoughts. And wavelengths that involved gnomes. "Either way, the church did say I was supposed to help you guys, and I suppose it can't be worse than being a missionary in the mists. So let's get hooked up."

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrendssensz

Young Ahrend nods. While he is determined to do this and help out, he seems not so happy about the drugs in his body. But then again, perhaps his training has made him immune to the ill effects, just like he is not affected by poisons and diseases. "All right, then."

[3SecondCultist]

A few of the workers stop what they are doing when they hear Vraskis laugh, as does Jenasa. The senior operative stares at him for a long moment, her eyes deepening as though looking at him through a lens. But she says nothing. Instead, she gestures for each of you to descend.

Once at the bottom of the stairwell, you can see that the lower hall is more of a single room. The ceiling is quite high, no doubt to account for the large viewing panel. All in all, You can still see Jenasa and her crew behind it, although they are busy preparing the initial sequencing on the machine board. The magewrights that are accompanying you wait for each of you to approach the consoles before beginning to strap you in. The seats are surprisingly comfortable at first, soft leather soles forming a kind of cushion around you. However, once you settle in, the unyielding iron plates beneath are all too noticeable. Your attendants start with your arms, tightening the straps until your arms feel pinched. Your legs are next, and then they tie down the rest of your bodies. You cannot help but notice a series of small, pointed metal heads pushing up against your skin beneath the bonds across both your forearms and your chests. Whatever this process is, it is a fair bet that there is some immediate suffering just around the corner. From above, Jenasa stares down at all seven of you, her face still unreadable. Now that you are affixed in your consoles, you can see an inscription engraved in the wall above the viewing panel. It reads: Haurach zair, ir shar thric throden. Those of you familiar enough with the Draconic language understand the inscription enough to guess at its intended meaning. But the room is obscured as the Cannith attendants move to affix the last piece of the console. A chrome helmet is lowered over your eyes, blocking your field of vision entirely. In its place are a series of metal devices, little boxes and wires. Through the apparatus, you can hear Jenasa's voice as if she were standing next to you.

"Activating heads-up display. Live feed primed and ready. Once you're inside, we will be able to see and hear everything you can. Now, does anyone have any last words before we get started?"

[Dunkoro]

Maleera states simply:

Good luck to us all. And may any gods you're worshipping help us.

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrendssensz

Young Ahrend undergoes the whole ordeal without protest. Steel resolve can be seen in his eyes, and those close to him can almost feel the focus he is centering on the effort of dealing with whatever is going to happen. When the helmet goes over his head, he closes his eyes and zones in on his 'other' senses, which allow him to be aware of what the persons in his direct vicinity are doing, even without seeing them. When lady Jenasa asks her question he frowns, even though noone can see that. "Last words...?

Using Blindsense (30ft) to remain aware of what is going on. If that does not suffice, he will activate his Blindsight (30 ft) to do so.

[GameOfChampions]

Wiggling a bit in his seat Mah'reth comments "This is actually quite comfy, good place to rest while we're gone." Just before settling in he adds "I wish you all good luck and safe journey, see you on the other side."

He wiggles around a bit more in his seat finding a more comfy spot before closing his eyes and preparing himself while also listening for any final instructions.

[Writtensanity]

"The adventurer heard as she spoke,
and thought, 'this must be a joke'
but it all became real
with bindings, steel,
and a cover put over his head,
but the Bard remained gay,
and laughed it away,
which was funny, when he ended up dead."


The crystal blade at his side began to make up it's own words. Continuing the song when Sol trailed off into giggles. "remember to water us after you turn us into vegetables".




The song is me casting inspire competence.
[roll0] + 18 ranks in preform song
Pretty sure this should pass. Though I am unable to see my allies (and that is technically in the rules. If we don't get the bonus I still got to sing a song <3

[Let'sGetKraken]

Vraskis' mind reaches out from within the helmet, feeling the consciousnesses of those around him. Into the past, then. Best of luck to you all.
Settling back into the chair, he tests the straps that hold him in place. "Not an enjoyable feeling," he mutters quietly. Though it doesn't matter, he closes his eyes in the darkness and waits for what is to come.

[Phasm]

Cassia suppresses a wince as the metal points jab into her skin. Her vivid imagination provides far too many possibilities of what this apparatus might do to her, none of them pleasant. Hopefully Rikki will obey her command to not interfere, otherwise the Canniths will be in for an interesting time. "Let's get this over with."

[Whiskeyjack]

As the dwarf is strapped in, he begins a low chant in Dwarven and Draconic that sounds like small pebbles rushing downhill into a lake. "May the Sovereign Host in its goodness and light guide our souls to their epic tasks ahead: may Aureon bless this machine and its attendants, Olladra's good luck guide these memories t'th'answers we seek. Balinor grant us the harvestable bounty of, uh, whatever knowledge we seek t'find, Dol Arrah grant us the wisdom and light t'see this task through, Dol Dorn the strength t'face...whatever is on the other side. Um, Kol Korran be good t'the city's trade so as, erm, to keep House Cannith solidly in th'black for this endeavor and, uh, Arawai grant the city fair weather so a not t'disrupt th'process? In the name of the Host, yer faithful servant-of-all, your Champion, Valgirn ir'Mroranon prays!"

He gives a solid grunt as the straps are tightened. "All right, let's get 'er join'! Oh, erm, y'might need a bigger needle. Bonecraft armor an' all." He settles in to his seat, humming an old Dwarven hymn to bless travelers leaving on a great journey.

[3SecondCultist]

There is a faint whirring sound, as you hear the physical console begin the attunement process. The pain comes almost immediately, as sharp and deep as you have ever known. You can feel the metal tips digging into your arms and legs, through the muscle tissue all the way down to the bone marrow. They cut through your ribcage, and around your cranium you can feel the pressure of the skull clamp begin to take hold. The displays on your helmets light up, and for a moment you are back in Merrix's chambers, looking up at the artificial stars. The last thing you remember before you black out are the screams all around you, as each of you can hear the others undergo the exact same process.

There is no sound in the void, no feeling or sight.

Nothing.



Genesis Mainframe, Beyond Time


Are you alright? Can you hear my voice?

Jenasa's tones are quite distant, spoken as though over a very long distance. For the first time since you have met her, you can hear traces of genuine concern from the Cannith artificer. Looking around, all you can see are floating piles of light. There is the odd image, most of which you recognize from the monitors beneath Cannith Tower. But you are no longer in Sharn. The landscape here seems endless, made up of moving lines and unknown boundaries. Little storms of data swirl around you, and as you look down you can see that you have no visible or tangible form. You simply float, as if submerged deep beneath the surface of a still pond. Only your minds exist in this in-between place.

Don't worry, you aren't dead or anything as morbid as all that. Thankfully, all of you subconsciously accepted the program and have found your way inside the Genesis Mainframe. From here, my team and I are instructing the Engines to find you compatible Anchors. This will take a couple of minutes, so just be patient. Oh, and don't worry about your physical bodies: you will be healed after you detach from the console. As Jenasa's voice continues to drone over the otherwise silent atmosphere, the images become stronger. You can see platoons of warforged, fighting a squadron of Valenar elves on an open plain. In a murky swamp, a bone knight is stalked by an elven assassin of some kind. Phiarlan or Thuranni, no doubt. A pair of vampires hold off a small army by themselves, cutting down as many attackers as they can afford to before the sun rises in the east. A steel kraken sinks a warship, off the coast of what you presume to be Cyre. You can see entire years of war compressed into moments even as they flash around you. After a while, you realize that some of the images are no longer disappearing, but instead hover in place translucently. As you look, you can see more and more remaining after the fact, and soon they begin to converge as though drawn by a kind of centrifugal gravity. They pass through where your bodies might have been, were this place anything like the Material Plane. The images shrink, as countless thousands of new ones are generated and added to the mass. You can no longer keep track of them all. Eventually you realize what the images are doing, as you step back and see a map of Khorvaire, outlined in ghostly light. It is made up entirely of millions upon millions of flickering portraits of a continent ravaged by war. And like it or not, it is your destination.

We have a seven-point match! The cognitive field should be picking up your location any moment now...



Lhazar Principalities, 28th of Vult, 992 YK

You find yourselves in a place simultaneously familiar and yet unfamiliar: on the deck of an airship as it flies through the night. The moon is out, casting its light on the ocean below like a gentle silver curtain. All around the ship, the ring of bound elemental fire roars in triumph as it devours the passing oxygen. The rail lamps have also been lit, and although they are little more than grains of sand next to an avalanche, it does make the ship look like the only light in the darkness. Looking around, you can see that each of you comprises a member of a sizeable group, all gathered around a spot near the back deck of the ship. There is no immediate way to tell who is who, but the first thing you realize is that there are ten people in this circle, not seven. The immediacy in which your minds are cast into the framework of another is somewhat shocking, and even those of you with powerful wills struggle to keep a hold of your own identities under the sheer pressure of those whose memories you are watching. Most of the individuals here look human, but two of you have come to embody gnomes, and one of you a warforged of all sentient beings. For the briefest glimpse, the chaos is absolute. But order comes back to your minds, as you begin to work out the scene. Even as you look, the three outsiders are already established, as they stand nearly shoulder to shoulder and move with an air of camaraderie that is seldom seen outside of a deep and lasting friendship.

The first figure is as tall as he is broad, filled out to proportions not often seen among men. Of course, such dimensions are often to be expected of a half-orc. This particular specimen looks to be more lanky than other members of his race, and he bears no dragonmarks upon his skin that you can see. He seems to wear his hair in braids, complete with a pair of bone earrings. To round out the caricature, one of his tusks appears to be chipped. But his eyes miss nothing, and you can see the bestial cunning within him. When he moves, you see that across his shoulder blades is perched a truly massive crossbow. The half-orc doesn't appear to carry any ammunition, but he does not seem to notice, or perhaps he does not care. His garb is mostly muted leathers, complete with fingerless gloves and a headband to absorb sweat. He sniffs the air slowly, as if he can taste it, but stops to roll his eyes at the woman next to him.

Where the half-orc is bulky, the second figure is anything but. Her torso is quite slender, but you can see the scars and muscles beneath her plain grey tunic and pants. Her hair is a startling bone white, and yet it carries all the vibrancy of relative youth. The crossbow slung over her back seems much simpler than the one that her companion carries, and she wears it almost as an afterthought. Indeed, her closed eyes seem to indicate that her mind is far afield. You note that she has tied her hair up into a ponytail so as to not get in her way. After a moment, her eyes snap open, and you see that her pupils are a luminous gold, not unlike those of a bird of prey. The color matches the intricate amulet around her neck, from which emanates a powerful yellow glow. Where the half-orc's power comes from without, this woman radiates a kind of inner brilliance that her eyes can only hint at.

The last man standing on the deck would be immediately recognizable in a crowd. He wears an easy smile, and his dark wavy hair blowing in the night breeze gives him a kind of dramatic profile, like the doomed hero of an old storybook. Beneath the fires of the lit elemental ring, his hazel-brown eyes gleam softly. His armor is brilliant - it almost hurts to look at it - and he wears it with the ease of someone who has been fighting his whole life. A light cloak is wrapped around his shoulders, but you can still see the hilts of two fine swords on opposite sides of his belt. There is a kind of beauty to the function of his garb, an elegance that defies ostentation. And yet, a long and jagged scar mars the length of his nose, spoiling the image of the flawless hero. Anyone with half an eye on the pulse of the Last War knows this man to be Colonel Haldren ir’Brassek, a special officer in service to the Aundairian military. But he is not watching any of you. His eyes are fixed on a point in the distance, a darkening stain on the water below that grows with each passing moment. For even in the moonlit distance, the rocky crags of the island and the spires of Dreadhold are cast in shadow.

"Let's go over the plan one more time, shall we?"

[Dunkoro]

Does Drock trust these people enough to reveal to them he's a Warforged? Or maybe simply there wasn't any possiblity for him not to blow his cover? Also, our future characters can't access Anchors' memories, right? They have to obtain it by way of conversation?

*Drock*
Tentative place for character description, depending on whether all the others really know Drock is a warforged or not.
So, once again, from the beginning: What are we supposed to do?

*Maleera*
Oh, great... A warforged of all things... Couldn't it have been anything at least slightly less artificial?

EDIT: Adding conversation, happening at the speed of thought and not displaying any outside effects.

*Drock*
What... Who are you? Have we a telepath on board?

*Maleera
No... this is a lot more complicated than that. I myself don't understand the technical details, but essentially I was sent from the future to learn about an event that is supposed to happen in near future that is going to be more catastrophical than the whole of the War...

*Drock*
That's... kinda a lot to take in... Why me?

*Maleera*
I don't really know... To be honest, I wouldn't choose a warforged for my anchor if I had any choice... The whole aperture that sent us back here also determined that you're one of the best possible 'people' I could travel to.

*Drock*
Wait... us? There's more of you?

*Maleera*
Yes, there are seven of us and I suppose most of the present here must've become other anchors as well, but I'm not sure of that.

*Drock*
So, what do we do about that? Am I supposed to do anything specific?

*Maleera*
It seems you're in some sort of a mission right now. What's it about? Maybe it's related to my purpose here?

*Drock*
Listen for yourself, we're just about to rehearse it anyway.
It occured to me though that we've not even exchanged our names with each other.
I'm Drock, formerly ADM#7268. I've some... draconic related powers, that I can't really explain to you better than by showing them.

*Maleera*
I'm Maleera, a Moonspeaker.
It's... nice to meet you I guess...

*Drock*
Ohh, a druid... I understand now why would you not be overjoyed by a warforged... 'anchor', that's what you're calling it?
Tell me, in the future, will the warforged be recognized as legitimate people? Or would they always be considered a lesser race?

*Maleera*
You were considered sentient and free-willed at Treaty of Thronehold as a part of treaties ending the War in 996.

*Drock*
996 you say? I just hope then I'll get to see that...

[Writtensanity]

Cordelia Ir'Vrynn let herself fall back in her makeshift seat, propping her feet up as she did. If there was one thing she didn't need to do, it was go over the plans again. First of all, she'd heard him the first time, second of all, she and Haldren could have worked together with their eyes closed, while chugging mugs of ale.

If was the first time she had seen Haldren in ages, usually getting information from the a telepath. It had been better to keep the two apart until now, but it seemed like Haldren didn't mind not working under cover. Even if Cordelia's past wasn't mentioned.

She picked up her blade, which she had left on the floor due to it's clumsy carrying size. The bowblade was good for a lot of things, but no person would consider it subtle.

"Cordelia Ir'Vrynn, I knew I knew you from somewhere."

"What?"

"Oh, you are the Scarlet Rose right? That's Flytrap?"

"Yes, and yes. Which one of you is this?"

"Oh, I'm Sol. How did you know about us?"

"We don't have a Sol on the ship."

"Oh! You thought I was a telepath on board."

"Are you not?"

"No."

"And this isn't a message, you're 28 words in." Cordelia raised her eyebrows and reached into her back pocket, pulling out a small cloth that she began to run along Flytrap's length.

"So, what am I?"

"I couldn't care any less."

"I'm in your head."

"So am I, crowded place."

"Is this not flipping awesome?"

"I worked with a telepath for two years, this is far from a novel experience for me."

"What if I told you I was from the future?"

"Cool."

"You're a bore."

"I've been told this before. Just not a gigantic fan of talking to people that are in my head."

"You know, I asked for a girl, but I didn't think I was going to get one."

"What?"

"****, you could hear that?"

"No, I said 'what' for no reason at all"

This is going to be...." there is a moment of repreive in the crowded head, "interesting."

[Whiskeyjack]

The young man standing on the deck shifts uneasily from foot to foot, white hairs escaping from the tie-back fluttering in the high wind. Fingers of his left hand nervously tick their practice-tracing of arcane gestures that could befuddle a mind or summon a devil from thin air, should he but speak the words to accompany the finger-dance. His other hand wraps around an iron shod staff, and even as the wind tugs at his gray cloak and the charms around his neck and wrists, it feels muffled somewhat by the invisible armor spell enveloping him.

Win Privet, late of the Haus Arcanis in contested Northern Aundair, the gifts of her (?) flesh granting a few extra bits below the waist, the most prized protection for a person on the road during wartime. Now, Win risked merely death itself, instead of death preceded by ravishment of so-called civilized Men of Galifar.

Not that Win minded, or even felt particularly out-of-place as a man. Win even identified as male during this period. Fluidity; versatility: the greatest advantage of an arcanist; the innermost nature, such as it was, of the spawn of doppelgängers. Win even went as Win. How much a place the other races put on something as inherently meaningless as gender identity, even if biological sex was readily determinable by a cursory examination. Or was it? These were the thoughts occupying Win's mind as he (yes, he) observed the dynamic of the two humans and their half-orc friend. He suddenly felt quite alone, here in a group of relative strangers.

"Let's go over the plan one more time, shall we?"

Agh, gods, that's a pinch!

Win's heart leapt to his throat, his eyes flitting around at the voice that came from nowhere.

Agh, wonderful, gods preserve me, no proper stone within sight, nor even a proper floor or ceiling. Damn blasted airships!

The wizard wet his wind-chapped lips with a dry tongue. Something was in his mind - a foreign presence quite different from the feeling of an enchantment or divination creeping into the mind. No, this link was deeper, even as Win felt the presence, he knew of its nature: dwarven, with the bloom of undeath about it somehow? And yet there was a purity of purpose there as well, a devotion to the gods of good.

Aye, lad. Lass? Whatever y'prefer.

What...is this?

Long story, sorry t'say. I'm here, but not really, I guess. More of an observer than anything else.

Win took the opportunity to tense his hands and legs, to shake his head slightly. It seemed like he was in control of himself, so it couldn't be a dominate effect...

What sorcery caused this? You're in my head - are you one of those Riedran psychics? But you, erm, don't taste like a kalashtar...if you pardon the term, I've had the misfortune of going brain-to-brain with one of them before.

Psionics? Nah, nothin' that fancy. But what sorcery, only the trickiest sort - Cannith artifice, Valgirn's mind chuckles back to the changeling. Welp, I could've done worse. Least you worship Aureon, and least you know somethin' of magic. Much preferable to some poncy elf bladesman! Huh, I wonder who got the Warforged?

Cannith - why would House Cannith invade my mind, not that they'd know who I am! Wait, who got what?

Eh, they said you donated it freely. Your memory, I mean. Sorry if that's not the case, but, erm, it's more like lookin' through a mirror into a book playin' itself out in yer mind, y'know? We're all just visitors here, in this time, seein' what we can. Things aren't so great in the future. Last War nothing - I'd take war over what's coming at any rate.

O-okay...look, let's, uh, talk later, assuming I haven't just lost it. You said the future, but I have to worry about the present. I have an operation to run right now and my companions---

Yer companions are prolly going through th'same thing, to be frank. I think we're all in this together. Tricky Jenara, that was a fine piece o'work there, keepin' us grouped like this! Nicely done, not that I expected less from Cannith.

There are more of you? Win looks around at her companions, and it seems to be an accurate statement: everyone seems a bit out of it right now, beyond the reflection that always accompanies an operation. No, more than that, everyone seemed somewhat dazed.

They're going through this too, then?

I reckon. Dunno. I'm not in all these heads, mind, just yours. An' I don't think I can do much but watch, so I'll just get comfy...feel free t'carry on there, miss...ter? With whatever ya were about t'do.

"Great, I've lost my sense of self and what's left is something dwarfy," Win mutters, shaking his head, even pressing fingers to his temples. He realizes how this might look to the others - caught up in some reverie, right as the operation was about to start. Even if they were all in the same situation.

"Yeah, let's go over it again," he manages. You might want to pay attention, dwarf, if you're along for the ride.

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrendssensz

The whole event was something akin to meditation, and young Ahrend underwent the transition calmly. A ship, hmmm....Officers. I wonder who I am. Is there a mirror somewhere? My hands look young and strong, a man. And it looks like I am wearing armor. Hmpf...

Should I speak to my host? Better not startle him just yet. Perhaps better not to speak at all for now, not before I know where I am, who I am, and what's going on.

Ahrend

The young, bald human stood proud in his breastplate. Not very talkative, he is more of a thinker, Ahrend stands distracted a moment as the Colonel speaks. He squints a bit and tilts his head, as if he has noticed something. A weird smell, a faint sound or perhaps a small headache surfaces...it is not clear what is bothering the sage. Then, Ahrend shakes his head, as if he decides it is not important enough. "Yes, let's, Colonel." Ahrend steps forward to be better able to hear the officer.

[Let'sGetKraken]

Barrek stands near the rail of the ship, tall and proud despite the nausea writhing in his gut. "This is unnatural," he mutters, not for the first time since he'd boarded the airship. It certainly won't be the last. "Completely unnatural." Gritting his teeth, he resolves not to show any signs of the airsickness, though it was far too late for that. The half-digested remnants of past meals now decorated certain choice segments of Khorvaire down below, he was sure.

Suddenly, he is aware of a small but acute pressure at the back of his skull. Growing, it intensifies until all thoughts of his current illness are forgotten. It's all Barrek can do not to cry out in agony. Gritting his teeth, which seems to be becoming a habit, he concentrates, trying to ignore the pain. What is this? Some sorcery? Has Haldren discovered me?

As fast as the pain had arrived, it lessened and vanished, leaving behind a curious sense of wholeness and completeness. His mind felt stronger than it had in days aboard this blasted airship. Interesting.

Very much so.

"Aaaah!" Barrek's cry of shock at the thought that was not his own attracts the attention of Haldren and his lackeys, but his own companions seem distracted. Grinning weakly, he blames it on his poor constitution.

Am I insane? No. Not now. I have so much left to accomplish.

Indeed. You certainly do.

This time, Barrek was ready for the voice. What is this? Am I possessed, then? Am I delusional?

The silence within his skull is deafening as Vraskis chooses his words carefully.

Answer me, creature!

No. I am mortal. Not quite a human such as yourself, but close enough for any practical purpose. I am here to prevent a great calamity from ever blighting these lands, at least ostensibly.

What, like an emissary from the higher planes? Surely a more pious host would do.

A sigh echoes through his mind, a very unfamiliar sensation.

Barrek, regretting his rash words earlier, continues, though rather clumsily. Um... I am sorry if I caused offense. I didn't.. I did not mean to....

No, it's not that. I am thinking. Or we are thinking, I suppose. I am not here from a higher plane. I have been sent from the future. Now, tell me everything. My rudimentary knowledge of this time and place will not suffice for our current endeavor.

Barrek, giving into the madness, gladly obliges.

[Phasm]

Melina stands near the rail of the ship, idly stroking the thick white fur of her loyal companion and steed, the celestial dog Erian. The fire of the bound elemental propelling the airship isn't the Flame she follows, but the paladin has always liked to meditate while watching more earthly flames. She rouses herself from her thoughts and turns to answer Colonel ir'Brassek-

Something slams into her mind with all the subtlety and finesse of a sledgehammer.

Dimly, the gnome feels herself falling to her knees as Erian starts barking. Fiend! Leave my mind immediately! But even as she thinks it, this doesn't have the distinct feel of a demon, devil, or other servant of evil. The presence is... foreign, yet oddly familiar. It's almost like being greeted by someone when you can't quite put a name to their face, but feel you should know it. What is going on?

I'm not a fiend! Calm down and I'll explain.

The words are crisp and clear, as if the speaker is accustomed to speaking telepathically. Melina frowns, trying to form her thoughts with equal clarity. She's been on the receiving end of Rary's telepathic bond a time or two, but this person obviously has practice. Who are you? What are you?

I am Cassia Torralyn d'Sivis, a diviner of House Sivis, and I have come to try and prevent a catastrophe such as has Eberron not been seen since the daelkyr were defeated and the civilization of the giants laid low in the effort. Only this time, it may be our civilization laid low... and for nothing save human ambition. Bitterness laces the words, almost tangible in its depth.

Wait... Cassia Torralyn d'Sivis? I have a little niece with that name! I'm Melina Torralyn d'Sivis, paladin of the Silver Flame.

Surprise. Aunt Melina? By the Host! Well, I guess this explains why I was drawn to your memory! Who would have thought? Cassia gives the impression of a chuckle. I can see I won't have to convince you to help save Khorvaire, Auntie Paladin. You have a task to do right now, apparently- is that Colonel ir'Brassek? I've read about him!- so for now I'll give you the short version of how I came to be here. At some time in the future you will volunteer to have your memories recorded by Merrix d'Cannith. I am now experiencing them; hopefully they will give myself and my companions some clue as to how to stop or even reverse the disaster overtaking Khorvaire in my time.

Whatever I can do to help, little Cassi. The story is incredibly farfetched, but then so is the concept of living constructs, and House Cannith made those a reality. With the threat of annihilation and Merrix d'Cannith's genius driving them, the House of Making could conceivably do such a thing. Even so, Melina makes a mental note to have herself checked out by a professional exorcist when she has the opportunity. I expect the full story once I have the time to listen, though.

The wet slurp of a huge dog tongue on her face brings the paladin back to the world of the living. "Eww, stop it, Erian! I'm awake, I'm fine!" She shakes her head, looking around. It seems as though most of her comrades have had a similar experience. "Sorry, Colonel, what were you saying?"

[3SecondCultist]

If Haldren and the other two operatives notice anything out of the ordinary, none of them deign to make a comment. The only reaction you get is a slight grin from the half-orc before he reaches over his shoulder to grab his weapon. Even in the warm light of the fires, its pointed edges seem hungry. But there doesn't seem to be any active malice in the half-orc's eyes, as he turns back to listen to the colonel.

"I was only about to go over the details one more time. The job is to get into the Deep Ward beneath Dreadhold, retrieve the mark, and get out. We're going to split into two teams. The first group will infiltrate the citadel from below, and will include myself, Ahrend, Win, and of course my Scarlet Rose, Cordelia." He moves to kiss the hair of the blonde woman on the top of her head, his eyes twinkling with something akin to affection. To each of the three, he hands a small pouch containing a small winged amulet and a vial of cloudy blue liquid. "The rest of you will stay here with Astari and Ro'hl Vek, to keep the fortress guards busy. The dwarves of House Kundarak are smart, but they've certainly never seen a craft like this one before. No doubt they'll send out their manticore squadrons, but with a reptile like that, I'm sure you can handle such easy prey. Besides, that's why I'm leaving my two best behind with you! Isn't that right, Vek?" He smiles and nods to the half-orc, whose only reply is to trace the contours of his massive crossbow.

As you get a better look around, you can see that the airship is barreling towards the shadow of Dreadhold with an almost suicidal determination. Those of you inclined to look for a pilot can see through one of the back windows of the airship, where the silhouette of a half-elf stands at a protected helm. Neither Haldren nor his two subordinates seem to even acknowledge his existence, but the slight adjustments to the ship's course to align with wind direction seem to indicate that he is actively steering the ship towards the ramparts atop the island prison. The mists cling to the distant towers, but judging by your speed, you will reach the edges of the island in under a minute. There can be no doubt that on such a clear night, the sentries have already spotted your approach. In the wooden planks above the captain's quarters are a name, stamped in gold: The Falconet. By it's design, you might guess that it is one of House Lyrandar's earliest efforts in the realms of air transport, and the mounted ballistae leave no guesses as to its purpose.

[Whiskeyjack]

Heh, jailbreakin' eh? From Dreadhold? Ha, I always thought the Kundaraks were full'f themselves with their little Mark an' all, but you're gonna need more than just some good luck and a poncy captain t'get yerself outta there. Even if the boss is ir'Brassk himself!

Hey, shut up for a minute! I'm guessing if we frack this up, you're not going to have too much of a problem, being some disembodied voice of dubious origin that I would really love to study if I had some time. But this is my life we're talking about! Just...just let me think, okay? I have to be ready to do this, not distracted, I mean, this isn't just any prison after all.

Yer life? Um, well, not so much, I mean, ya donated some of yer memories, like, after all this was over an'---

Okay, okay, whatever, but for right now, just leave me be, okay? Future being whatever, I'm still here and now, and...ugh. Your presence really scrambled stuff I need to know. This better be Duskwhisper, alright? I mean, it needs to be!

Duskwhisper? That rapscallion? Heheheh, well, I'll try to keep it quiet fer now, let you get back to yer deal there...hoo, if it's Duskwhisper, ha, yeah, good luck lass---lad, sorry! Shuttin' up fer now!

"Ugh," Win mutters, rubbing at his temples. "Sorry, I don't know, stared too long at the fire ring and it's given me a headache. Amateur move, I know," he manages a smile and glances at the pair of humans, trying to remember what, if anything, he was told of their capabilities. The conversation with the...dwarf-thoughts? still permeates his mind, and he swallows bile, hoping the voice won't return just because he thought of it. No, mission at hand, but remembering the details is fuzzy now, and fuzzy details are lethal when it comes to assaulting a holding of a Dragonmarked House.

"Sorry, can I raise a point of order? For the purpose of clarifying certain things we absolutely do not need to be questioning once in the field: what is the mark's name, species, and appearance? Where in the fortress do we expect to find him, and--" He looks down at the items in his hand, brushing the unruly white mane back from his face. "And these are? I'm guessing this is a feather fall charm, but the potion?" Win glances at the sky and the sea. "Water-breathing, or...?"

Aye, good lad, use yer noodle there! Don't give him the satisfaction of tellin' ya! So glad I got an arcanist!

Win stifles a groan in waiting for the response. The last thing the mission needs is one addled operative, and if the voice is correct, most or all of the people here are suffering from the same issue. Ugh, why today of all days?!

Irritatingly enough, the dwarf-thing does not answer this question.

[Writtensanity]

"The name of the mark never matters" Cordelia pulls herself from her seat, bringing her blade with her as she does. It's a strange contraption, a long dual bladed weapon with a bow-string pulling on either end. Intricate lines of gold hum down it's sides, betraying the enchantments on the bow-blade. It seems clumsy and overly complicated, but magic used to seem that way.

Cordelia snaps the weapon in the middle, splitting it into two longswords that she then sheaths away on either side of her. The string of the bow is brought across her belt, or rather, one of the series she wore. "And just trust Haldren that it works. Got me through two years of the war." She snapped the blades out of her sheathes and brought them together, the soft click on them locking with one another coming just before she began to spin the blade. She smirks at the movement and takes them apart again, pushing them back. She looks looser after pulling the action, as if it were some sort of ritual. After the quick check or her items, she walks over to Haldren, nodding to his two compatriots as she does.

"Haldren, there are people on this ship who don't know my history with Aundair."

The man simply smiles back at her, "As long as you are working with me you are going to use your proper title. I'm speaking to people higher up about it."

Cordelia raised her eyebrows at the powerful man, looking up at him, "Of course you did, Haldren always get's what he wants." She laughs at the second part, breaking into a legitimate smile for what seems like the first time since you met her. She turns to the hulking Half-Orc and the woman beside him. There is a moment of pause before her smile widens and she tries to wrap them both in a tight embrace, "Gods I missed you guys."

""There is but one conduit of the flame"

"Shut it"

She pulls them into something like an awkward hug, despite the two's seemingly stoic nature, they both take a moment to welcome Cordelia back, unlike Haldren, they hadn't been having secret meetings with her ever since she deserted. For them, and Cordelia, the team was whole again. For perhaps one of their more dangerous missions.

After the moment had passed, Cordelia made an excuse about needing to get something ready and went back to the place she had been sitting. She surveyed the crowd as she walked by, a few of them had been brought here by her claiming she was a "scout" for Aundair. Knowing that she was a member of Haldren's commandos would be nothing fantastically interesting.

This was different for the Druid on the boat, Barrek Worgenson, who had been travelling with Cordelia for the past either months, on a manhunt for Haldren, and the special ops forces that had stormed his home in a raid for guerilla fighters. He was the man that was walking over when Cordelia sat down on her perch.


Rolling to act casual in this situation:
[roll0]

****

Edit: It's also not as fun when it says what die I rolled. I was hoping to use a D6 to replace the 20 to make it automatically low enough that she would fail the check. I'VE BEEN FOILED.
.

[Let'sGetKraken]

Scowling, Barrek replies, "Sochet is not exactly suited to aerial combat, ir'Brassek." Then he sighs, knowing that Haldren does have a point, and continues: "But at least he can help repel boarders."

Turning away from the rest of the group, Barrek tries to ignore the churning in his gut. This time, it wasn't airsickness that was bothering him. He had given up everything to find this man. This war criminal. The butcher of his adopted people. Now that he was here, though... He wasn't sure what to do. "This is all Cordelia's fault" he grumbles quietly. Spinning around, he spots her perching alone. Perfect. We need to have a very pointed discussion.

Caution, druid. Do not let your emotions control you. This could very well be an opportunity.

...Go on.

From what you've told me, Haldren is a monster... He will be brought to justice. The ruthlessness of the stranger's thoughts was jarring. Not for the first time, Barrek wonders whether or not he should trust this voice from within. Use him to get to his superiors. Those who gave him the freedom to commit such atrocities. Find out more. Then act.

Shaking his head to clear it of errant thoughts and suppressing his anger, he walks over to Cordelia and grabs her arm. "We need to talk. Now."

Shaking off his grasp, she turns to face him; Barrek can't help but notice that she isn't quite meeting his eye. "This isn't the time or the place, Barrek."

"When will it be the time and place? When Haldren learns why I'm here? When I'm rotting in an Aundarian jail cell? When?" Barrek sighs, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair in frustration. "When I told you I needed to get close to Haldren, this wasn't exactly what I meant."

"Look, he told me to find people I trust. I trust you."

"That's not the point!" Barrek is almost yelling at this point, visibly furious. Getting a hold of himself, he looks around anxiously to see if anyone noticed his outburst. Turning back to Cordelia, he continues he tirade. "I didn't want to think that you were the Scarlet Rose. All the signs were there, but I didn't... Gods above, I trusted you! I thought that you couldn't possibly have been complicit in the murder of innocents. Clearly, I was wrong."

Cordelia's face goes flat and cold at his words. "We'll talk about this later. I have a mark to find."

Throwing up his hands in the air, angrier than ever, Barrek turned and marched back over to his companion. He was hurt, betrayed, and conflicted, but more than anything else, he was ready for a fight.

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrendssensz

Ahrend?. After a small pause: Naaahhh...


Ahrend

Something odd was up with some of his companions. Not the best timing to come down with, well whatever something odd is. The sage frowns slightly. Then the Colonel lays out part of the plan. Ahrend nods in confirmation. "I've got your backs, sir. Anything in particular you wish me to do?" Ahrend smiles. "Do you expect strong opposition, death magic for example, or do you need me on the offense?"

[Dunkoro]

Just before your eyes the warforged transforms into a Flyer Saurian, who apparently is still wearing the Adamantine plating of his.

*Maleera*
Wait, what? You can shapeshift?

*Drock*
I told you, I've got some dragon-related abilities like changing into humanoids or breathing fire.

*Maleera*
Well, you're full of surprises then aren't you?

[GameOfChampions]

Alistair:

I prepare myself to hear Haldren drone on about the mission again, I roll my eyes and look over the side of the ship thinking about what we will find in Dreadhold. As I stare over the edge of The Faconet and I start mentally preparing myself for our mission, I recall everything I heard about Dreadhold and the prisoner I hope to find there. As I try to prepare myself I clutch at my temples feeling something intrusive invade into my mind, I try to put my considerable will against this mysterious force but as I try to resist it settles into my mind and the sensation passes. I shake my head but I can still feel it there on the fringes of my mind, I reach out to it with my mind fully expecting some enemy psion or something similar but as I’m about to start questioning it I hear it speak first “What have you done”. I pause and respond “Excuse me but I’ll be asking the questions here” I reply with a hard voice “Now what are you and why”, the voice in my head interrupts me with a roar “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!”. I start at the vehemence and horror in his tone, was this my absent conscience finally coming back to me after all these years? Thrusting those thoughts aside I respond “ I have never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it! I may have done one or two things to some innocents but they were never killed.” My ‘conscience’ quickly shoots back “No but you have done things to innocents that were so terrible you should have killed them.”
“That’s beside the point, besides we can discuss my somewhat questionable history later, right now you need to tell me exactly what you are and what you’re doing in my head.”

Mah’reth

My mind reels from the memories of this disturbed gnome surge throughout my mind and I see the horrible things he’s done to people though he was right by technicality, he never killed the innocents. His memories and very identity grate against my very being and I roar out to him in my confusion, barely aware of what I was saying. As I collect my senses I catch the last thing he says to me “That’s beside the point” the Gnome says “besides we can discuss my somewhat questionable history later, right now you need to tell me exactly what you are and what you’re doing in my head.”
“We will continue that later, your right though I have some explaining to do.” I pause to try and gather my thoughts so as not to sound like a total moron. After a brief moment I respond “Well me and a group of others were gathered together to stop a cataclysmic event that will slowly destroy Khorvaire. To do this we were sent to the bodies of others so as to be better situated to stop it.”. I feel proud that I explained it in such a normal non-crazy manner when the gnome asks “Well why did you need my body to do it? couldn’t you have trekked around Khorvaire yourself?” Well Damn there goes my rational explanation… I take a second before muttering “Because we’re from the future.”
I can feel the gnomes surprise in his mind, that obviously was not the answer he expected. My new host just responds with a “huh.” And then falls into deep contemplation but before he gets too caught up in it I say “I’ll give you some time to think about all of this but I want you to know I’m not here to harm you. My names Mah’reth Aralus.” The gnome replies shortly after “Well this is certainly an interesting first introduction, my name is Alistair Duskwhisper.”

[Whiskeyjack]

"Mmm, okay, but no. Sorry Miss Scarlet, I don't buy your logic. If that works for you, that's fine. Not for me. If only one person has all the information, and that person is separated from the group or otherwise indisposed...well then there goes the whole mission," Win sighs with exasperation, eyeing the human with the strange composite weapon.

Who's she think she's impressing? the voice in her head says, and it's all Win can do not to snort in amusement.

All that aside, I've been trying to get to this point for the better part of two years of the war in Aundair. Ugh, why can't I remember what we've gone over before? Your arrival's really thrown my memory...

"If you have a history and have implicit trust, fine. I don't have the history with you all so saying 'just trust' doesn't go as far as it might otherwise." He throws a slightly annoyed look towards Haldren. "Colonel, it’s not like you haven’t gone over this information before, and the whole point of a briefing is to, well, recap planning.”

Not the first time on this ride, looking at how ir’Brassik talked to Cordelia, Win briefly wished he had stayed a she for this job.

[3SecondCultist]

This time, the signs of disturbance cannot go unnoticed. The white-haired woman finishes her stretch and walks over to where Cordelia and Barrek are standing. Her movements are languid and graceful, akin to a cat that has just awoken from a deep slumber. Indeed, her eyes peer into both of you with an intensity that predators know best. Haldren called her Astari - a kalashtar name. Up close, you can see the signs more clearly. Her features are more angular and symmetrical than those of a normal human woman. Together with her whip-thin hair and captivating golden eyes, they give her a kind of sharp beauty that would not look out of place on the edge of blade or the fangs of a tigress.

"Are you children, to be squabbling at a time like this? In Adar, there is a saying: 'the serpent does not wait for the mongoose to strike'. Always mind your surroundings, and do not let your prejudices blind you to immediate dangers. We all have our orders. Here, druid. Let Haldren have his Rose, while we give these Kundarak dwarves a thrashing they will remember."

Haldren, for his part, says nothing, but watches Cordelia and Barrek talking out of the corner of his eye as Astari approaches them. His blades are not yet drawn, but you get the impression that they could be in the blink of an eye. Instead, he moves over to where Win stands, his voice lower than it was before. He also gestures for Ahrend to come and join the two of them, apparently enough confident in Cordelia's cooperation to leave her out.

"The mark is named Ilven Sunbreaker, an older man. As I have said, he's in the Deep Wards, the most secure section of the prison. As for the tools I have given you: the charm is to be worn and broken before you hit the water. Otherwise, the impact will almost certainly kill you. I have a source inside House Kundarak who has shown me a few strategic weaknesses in the layout of Dreadhold for us to exploit. First and foremost is a hidden harbor, which the dwarves use to bring in luxury goods for the prisoners in the Golden Ward. There is a boat near the island that waits for our arrival. We will be smuggled into the prison itself through this dock, at which point you can use those potions to impersonate the guards. From there, we can head to the Deep Wards." In relative privacy, the Aundairian speaks with a slight drawl, all high 'r's and 'l's. It's only somewhat distracting. "As far as the mission goes, this is a minimum contact stealth op. Our job is to get in, get the mark, and get out. Ideally, House Kundarak will never even know that we broke in. Do you understand, or is there anything else you would like me to go over before the manticores arrive?" True to his words, you can see the first winged silhouettes detach from the looming island and wheel towards the prow of the ship. They will be all over you in a matter of moments. Making sure that Win, Cordelia, and Ahrend are all with him, Haldren grabs an amulet of his own and ties it around his neck.

"The command word for the amulets is 'Axios'. Make sure not to engage them too early, okay? I'd hate to have to go in there without a team behind me." Without another word, the colonel steps off the deck of the Falconet and plummets towards the waves far below.

[Writtensanity]

Cordelia tries to keep herself busy, tying lengths of rope around her arms as Haldren explains how the charms work. She only half listens, mostly distracted by the stunning silence in her head. Memories flutter around, she looking at them in the blink of an eye, Sol barely able to discern what's happening in each of them. There is a child, then flames, then an army of warforged. A man swings an axe at her, she feels blood on her cheeks, and how it drips down when she smiles.

For Sol the silence is stunned. The tales he had heard through hearsay about the Scarlet Rose and her ways were everything that they were supposed to be , she was brutal. She preferred to kill than sneak. Each time her blade drew blood, it simply seemed to make it crave more. He was shocked and appalled, there wasn't a way they could have been matched with one another.

At the same time. The recurring thought that flickered through her head was a mix of pride and longing. The people of Aundair, cheering for her when they saw her with Haldren, the want to be with her family again and keep her last name. Everything was a mix. Everything was complicated. It wasn't easy to make judgements on the girl, at 18 she had already fought in war for two years, each one again her twenty. Perhaps he was being more dramatic about the thoughts than he needed to be, but all the main thing he felt was that she was looking for something to hold onto. Right now that thing was Haldren.

In the same way that he was willing to speak of a second cleanse with the Flame, he was willing to help her do terrible things in the name of her religion.

Cordelia pulls the charm tight around her neck. A slot she had kept empty ever sincr she had lost her necklace that marked her as the Scarlet Rose. Haldren had mentioned that he was talking to people higher up about her position. She grits her teeth, looking up over the edge of the ship and sprinting towards it.

[roll0] + 39
(10 boots + 10 from move speed + 6 from int + 1 from dex + 12 ranks. )



Cordelia twists her body into a tight knot as she soars above the deck, whipping around in a tight corkscrew multiple times before she has even dropped below the deck level. She pulls her knees tight and drops into a straight dive as she passes the rest of the crew. Ripping thought the wind and towards the creul waters of the Dreadfort.

Sol hums a prayer to the Silver Flame, as Cordelia remains painfully stoic. She may be young, she may be less of a hero than Haldren, but this was all just another day on the job to her.

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrend

Ahrend frowns slightly indicating he is not entirely happy with the situation. Swimming...do I look like a fish? The sage sighs, and dons the amulet. Perhaps he would have preferred staying on the ship, shooting wyverns out of the air. Nevertheless, orders are orders. He smiles at the folks staying behind: "Good luck," and jumps off the ship, firmly grasping the amulet.

[GameOfChampions]

Alistair:

I run up to Win before the other Gnome jumps off and grabs him lightly by the arm and in a low voice say to him "Remember to keep an eye out for you know who while your down there." A shudder runs down my spine as several powerful emotions course through my mind. "Good luck"

I'm backing off after my few words to Win when my bodies new resident decides to contribute to my already jumbled state of mind "So who is this guy your looking for?"

[Whiskeyjack]

"Right, I know. And he should be, we know that much," Win murmurs to the gnome in response, pulling a sour smile, his mind drifting back to that tavern months ago where he and Alistair had started working out the intricacies of this plan-within-a-plan, such as it was (that being, not much). Back then, I hadn't known really who this Duskwhisper was, and that's when it started. Now I have no excuse, but it's too late to put on the brakes.

Still, despite the gnome's reputation, Win fully intended to live up to his end, as Alistair would if he were part of the recovery team. "If he's there, I'll do what I can, regardless of what anyone says. Once I'm inside the wards, I should be able to work a proper divination to figure out where he is. Hey - give those dwarves hell." He reaches out to squeeze the gnome on the shoulder before turning to the gunwale and hopping up onto it. Looking down, there is only the reflection of the fire showing the ocean, though the shrieks of wyverns carry over the roar of wind and bound fire.

Win swallows the hard lump in his throat and leaps off the ship.

I'm not a gnome :smalltongue: Right now I just look like a human.

[Let'sGetKraken]

Barrek scowls at the kalashtar. The normally playfully gruff druid was in no mood for admonitions. Barrek was in no mood for anything, truth be told. Being this close to Haldren was bugging him. His conversation and relationship with Cordelia was bugging him. Nine hells, even the resounding silence in his head where his uninvited guest - or delusion - should have been was bugging him. "Typical wizard," he mutters angrily, too irritated to care about the subtle distinctions between arcane spellcasters. "Drops a few lines of unsolicited advice and then refuses to speak."

Vraskis, meanwhile, was far too busy going over the information that Barrek had given him - and not only that which pertains to his host's timeline. Shrouding his thoughts from the young druid, Vraskis does what he does best: plan. First Haldren, now Oalian; the accursed gods must be smiling upon us. A talented and influential, albeit feared, sorcerer and the oldest and most powerful druid on the continent, if not the entire world. If anyone can help us get to the bottom of this, it is them. The sooner I am away from this... naive idealist the better.

Barrek begins a short incantation aimed at his companion, uneasily watching the approaching wyverns. He's unsure whether or not he'll be able to finish the spell in time. "Astari, was it?" Barrek mutters distractedly, beginning the somatic portion of his transmutation. "There'll be a thrashing, all right - let's just make sure it works out in our favour."

[3SecondCultist]

Ahrend, Cordelia, Win:
The charms that slip around your neck so lightly shatter at the faintest touch of the word 'Axios'. The angelic wings of the talisman are snatched by the wind even as your descent is slowed and you touch down into the warm waters of the Lhazar Principalities with little more than a splash. The light of the twelve moons gives the waves a ghostly appearance, and yet you can see Haldren's head emerge from their grasp only a few yards away. His shadow is joined quickly by the silhouette of a boat gliding over to your position. Nearly thirty feet long in all, the craft's proud keel is belied by the grubby yellow light of a mundane lantern on board. A voice calls out softly over the moonlit span.

"Ah, you must be the 'extra cargo' I heard so much about. Come on then. These dwarves aren't going to rob themselves." The speaker leans out over the water, the torchlight revealing his long nose and unyielding eyes. He wears leather armor of a very fine quality, and yet it does not seem to fit his wiry frame. Indeed, it is the kind of garb that comes only from being looted off the body of a soldier who doesn't need it anymore. Haldren doesn't seem to mind the boatman's appearance, however. Reaching out with a armored hand, the armored colonel pulls himself up over the gunwale and onto the deck. He then gestures for the three of you to do the same. Above, your eyes cannot help but notice the coal in the darkness that is the Falconet as it soars towards Dreadhold without any sign of yielding. By the looks of it, your window of opportunity is about to be opened.


Alastair, Barrek, Drock, Melina:
With Haldren and the others gone, you find yourselves alone on the deck with Astari and the half-orc, Ro'hl Vek. Both are poised and ready for the House Kundarak guards to arrive, and yet their postures are radically different. The former waits with her arms crossed, golden psicrystal hovering nearby and her face in deep focus. Her eye is turned inward, and you feel a tremor of psychic energy coil itself around her. The fragmented nature of your minds only compounds the effect, as both aspects of your selves can feel Astari's mental might all but double in only a few moments. Meanwhile, Vek hefts his huge weapon into the night air, grinning all the while. As you watch him, the truth of the colonel's words come to surface. This is the portrait of a hunter, waiting for his prey to step into a snare. There is a stillness in his arms that comes only from years of experience at killing beings from afar. The legacy of the Last War is well and thriving, it seems. Each of you has some time before your assailants arrive in force to make whatever preparations you deem necessary. Of the four of you, some of your gazes drift towards the multiple ballistae that have been mounted on various parts of the Falconet, including the larger siege implement that adorns the forecastle. Truly, such a weapon would be worthy of a manticore's heart.

Those of you still aboard the Falconet have approximately 1 round before the wyverns start to close. You all rolled high on the initiative table, so you will all be going again once combat starts, but the enemies will have another turn to close the distance first. To be clear, you get a full round for buffs before the enemies get to within 80 ft. of the airship, at which point it might be more prudent to attack your enemies. Oh, and for the record: Ro'hl Vek readied a full attack against the first manticore to come within range of his crossbow, while Astari manifested Schism.

Also, I screwed up. The House Kundarak dwarves ride manticores, not wyverns. The mistake has since been corrected. :smallsmile:

[Dunkoro]

[OOC: I assume that everyone is already under the effect of my Endure Exposure, as there would be no reason not to cast it on anyone I'm travelling with]

Drock casts Walk Unseen, turning invisible, then flies towards the enemies.

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrend

Ahrend jumps down:
Yes, you can swim, it is as easy as it looks, and sea water is not bad for your armor.
Yes, you can swim, it is as easy as it looks, and sea water is not bad for your armor.
Yes, you can swim, it is as easy as it looks, and sea water is not bad for your armor.
Yes, you can swim, it is as easy as it looks, and sea water is not bad for your armor.
Yes, you can swim, it is as easy as it looks, and argh...screw this!

Not long after diving down, Ahrend reaches out for his mental abilities and manifests a power. Before hitting the water, his fall speed slows and he directs his route to the boat, in which he lands softly. He shrugs at the others: "I am sorry, I hate a wet suit of armor."

Ahrend manifests Fly, psionic. If the power effect can't do it for him, he will use the charm to slow his fall.

[Let'sGetKraken]

Barrek finishes his spell, feeling the layers of divine magic wash over him and his companion. His senses sharpen and what remains of his angers washes away, replaced by a deep sense of serenity. He smiles softly in the soft glow of the moon. The calm before the storm. In response, an alien thought echoes through his mind: What good is wisdom without its... application?

Brushing the other caster's thought away, he watches the approaching manticores draw steadily closer. You'll have your bloodshed soon enough. Concentrating, he begins a final incantation. It would not do for the dwarves of Dreadhold to strike me down so close to my goal. I will not fall this day.

Barrek casts Owl's Wisdom, sharing it with Sochet. Changes his effective wisdom modifier to +8 and his will to +14. EDIT: Also boosts his AC to 21, since he has the monk's belt.

[Writtensanity]

Cordelia rolls her eyes at the bald psion, there is little place in the dreadfort for someone who isn't willing to get a little wet. Her position on the matter was overly judgemental for what she had done in the past, until her time in the war, she was very particular about many things. She gave them up over time as they became impossible. So as the bald little bastard explained himself, Cordelia was pulled onto the ship, dripping wet.

Water dripped down the few strands of hair that hadn't been pulled back into her tight ponytail. Which was tucked below the collar of her jacket. She didn't have time for hair in combat anymore, as she had gotten older she had become more of a maneuverer than a fighter, and she needed to keep her vision up, if only it were to keep an eye on the smuggler.



Cordelia rolls for sense motive on the smuggler.

1d20 + 0



Cordelia describes Ahrend as a 'little' bastard, despite being two inches and 25 pounds smaller than him.

Despite her size, she has a (comparatively) monstrous strength of 16. This is because the stat got switched with Dex during the build to give her better use of the badass bow-blade. It makes her entire build and actions really out of place with each other. This is explained by the fact that being a Factotum gives Cordelia her INT bonus to all strength and dex checks, as well as on skill checks related to those abilities.

She's so smart that she doesn't need Dex to outrun you.






(TO BE ADDED UPON RESULT OF ROLL GIVEN BY DM)



"Sooooooo are you just going to stand there staring at him for a while?"

Cordelia rolled her mental eyes at the intrusion.

"At who?"

"Haldren, you two are cute together."

"Gods, you're annoying."

"There is but one conduit of the-"

"Are you going-"

"-Silver Flame."

"-to do that every time?"

Cordelia pulls out her blades to make sure that they were alright, Sol lets her focus on the task.

"Seriously though, you two would be adorable. Maybe a little creepy."

"Creepy?"

"Well, he's like.. Old enough to be your Dad."

"No he's not."

"You listen here young lady-"

"I'm not going to-"

"-you're not going to go-"

"-listen to you-"

"-****ing random old men with this body while I'm in it."

"-tell me what to..... What?"

"Well I mean, I don't think it's appropriate for me to see that sort of thing."

"I was more asking if you think I was going to have sex with Haldren."

"Have you not?"

"Of course not!"

"Oh-just."

"He's like my Dad!"

"Is he your father?"

"Ir'Vrynn."

"Right."

"Do you want to leave me alone for a moment?"

"I don't think I can."

"And seeing me naked would make you uncomfortable?"

"Well of course, you're young, and I do have a significant other back-"


Cordelia walks toward the stern of the ship, facing away from the Dreadfort and looking off into the fog. At her hip lies her Handy-haversac, which she reaches in to pull out some spare clothing. She looks behind her back making eye contact with Haldren and spinning her finger around in the traditional "Turn around/face away" motion. Haldren complies and Cordelia removes her jacket, throwing it onto the deck and pulling at the bottom of her main tunic.

"Um, what are you doing?"

"Changing, my clothes are too wet, they are going to drip and make noise."

"Right here?"

"Here. Do you expect me to do this in the middle of the Dreadfort? Or should I jump back up to the Falconet?"

"I-" Sol cut himself off, grumbling something under his breath, or at least the mental equiviant of the action. "You're doing this just to bother me aren't you?"

"Not JUST. Mostly."

[GameOfChampions]

Alistair:

As I prepare myself for combat I pull a wand off my belt and cast a spell on myself and then I pull some components from the pouches strapped to my chest and cast another two spells on myself. After I finish all that I pull my loaded crossbow from my back and check the bolt in there and I smile when I see the bolt "I love these things, whoever made these things was a genius." I muse to myself, after that I looks around to see whats going on around the deck and sees everyone getting geared up for combat. "Does anyone who's shield-less want a shield spell? Be quick about it if you want it." I offer aloud rather magnanimously i think to myself. "BY THE FURY!" I shout in surprise.

Mah'reth

I watch Alistair prepare himself for combat, impressed by his efficiency and speed and here him say to himself "I love these things, whoever made these things was a genius.". I see the bolt through his eyes, "It doesn't seem that different. Whats so special about it?" I ask curiously. "BY THE FURY!" Alistair exclaims outloud, then in his head "Damn i forgot you were in there and you'll see. Stop distracting me I can't afford to be distracted right now but we will talk later." "Hmm" I think as i settle back in his mind to see how my new companion and his group handle themselves.

[Whiskeyjack]

Win plummets toward the gray surf below, the roar of wind drowning out the cries of manticores and the growl of the ship's fire ring. Below him, there is nothing but water...for now, but Win's sure the plan isn't just to swim against the surf into

Inside, a dwarf-thing hums a nervous tune about spelunking in giant caverns as he rides a humanoid body falling towards the hard sea.

"Axios," the wizard mutters sooner than the others did, slowing his descent to a crawl. In that moment, the mechanism for insertion becomes visible nearby: a tiny boat. Win drifts towards it and, when close enough, simply jumps between time and space, landing softly face-down in the boat. He raises to his knees, trying to tame loose hairs and slow his breathing - not that the panicked dwarf-voice helps his stress much.

[3SecondCultist]

Ahrend, Cordelia, Win:
Once all of you are inside the boat, you can see that it is loaded almost to the brim with crates of all shapes and sizes. Each of them is tied town in some way, as most of the containers are marked 'fragile'. The lantern at the front of the boat gives your surroundings a cast that is decidedly wan, but you can nonetheless make out the shrouded island of Dreadhold getting closer. This craft seems to be moving towards the rocks under its own power, and yet you can see no sails, no oars, and no real crew to speak of. The man at the rudder smiles and tips his ragged hat. "The name's Kyrren, by the by. You could call me a pirate, but I prefer the term 'smuggler'. It's got a more pleasant ring to it, and besides, I wouldn't know piracy if it took me from behind! The face I'm wearing is not my own, I'm afraid. These Kundarak types are a bit slow when it comes to making new friends... so I had to borrow their regular delivery-man for a spell." He smiles, twisting the growth at his chin. Up close, you can tell that this is a very mismatched sort of soul. At the very least, he talks far too much for a criminal of his nature. Haldren pays him no mind, staring ahead at the oncoming shore. His expression is unreadable.

"We'll be coming up on the harbor soon. Unfortunately, we will need to pack ourselves into the empty crates. We'll be loaded off onto one of the docks, at which point we should be close to a secret door my contact told me about. Cordelia, once we get out of these containers I'll be trusting you to find this passage. We'll be out in the open, so every second will count."


Alastair, Barrek, Drock, Melina:
As the dark shapes of the manticores draw closer, you all get a much closer look at the creatures. Each has the head of a vaguely humanoid beast, the body of a lion, and the wings of a dragon. The backs of the manticores are set with curved barbs, and their long tails ends in clusters of deadly spikes. However, each of the beasts has been outfitted with special pieces of leather barding, as well as a saddle. These saddles are all occupied with dwarves in plate armor, complete with a bow as well as an axe and shield. The quality of their arms and armor and the sigils they bear on their plate would seem to suggest that these are no ordinary guards, but indeed members of the House Kundarak belonging to the group known as the Iron Gate. To your counting, there are a total of ten mounts and ten riders in the air - at least, until the first of them touches down on the Falconet, and the dwarf steps off his manticore, axe and shield at the ready. But from where you stand near the stern of the airship, it is hard to tell what is going on all the way at the bow. One of the riders that approaches over the port side of the vessel yells out at you over the roaring of the elemental ring.

"Turn back! This is your last warning. We will not hesitate to kill everyone on board this vessel if you do not comply immediately."

But it is too late for that, as both Ro'hl Vek and Melina loose their weapons into the approaching squadrons. Your paladin companion sends an arrow at one of the approaching manticores first, but it falls far short and disappears into the darkness. Vek, on the other hand, is more successful at striking out at the enemy, and you hear the first satisfying sound of his crossbow bolt sinking into monstrous flesh. The manticore screams in pain, the sound resembling the cry of a great cat. The creature balks, although its rider manages to hold on. As you watch, the enemy flyers prepare for their assault in earnest.

[Dunkoro]

Drock doesn't hesitate any moment and immediately moves in to attack.

*Maleera*
Wait, stop! What are you doing?! You're not even going to try talkin

*Drock*
And what would that achieve? We have a clear conflict of interests with them and we are to occupy their attention. What better way to do just that than by smashing over their faces?

*Maleera*
Or we could appear that we want to talk, make them land on the deck in a cluster and then strike when they're a much better target...

*Drock*
You should've thought of this earlier, it's too late to convince the others anyway...

He flies directly ahead the three manticores on the left and Breathes an Entangling Exhalation on all of them:
Cone shaped breath (15ft range): Fire (DC 25) [roll0]/2 + (1d6 + entanglement for [roll1] turns)

[Writtensanity]

Crodelia nods and makes her way over to the boxes, having effectively silenced Sol for the time being. Having worked on Haldren's team before, she was used to having another presence in her head, but this time it was different. It felt mechanical in some odd way.

That being said, things had always been a little strange. She hadn't seen the ir'Vrynn residence since she had gone off to war. Back when the biggest thing she needed to worry about was her mother trying to get her to wear a dress.

She knew she was a bastard in the family, that much had been dropped as an insult by siblings. Those who were old enough to remember the timing of her birth knew that much. She had just spent her time as a regular member of the family, if only half by blood. Now she was the daughter of a noble, squishing herself into a smuggler's barrel outside of the dreadhold.

She had heard a rumor that she had another sister now. Only the gods would tell if she was going to be as out of place as Cordelia was.

The box was cold and damp from the mists. Gods dammit. It was going to be a while again until she was as comfortable as she was with Barrek, but that was a topic for her to think about another time.




Cordelia hears what Haldren has to say and sighs, reaching into her back pocket and grabbing her character sheet. Scanning down the list of skills as 3SecondCultist thows up his arms at the ruined take.

Haldren goes for Coffee.

Cordelia tenses up after looking at her sheet, and storms off the side of the boat, leaving the set and stepping past the green screens that create the water she had been 'swimming' in. "This is ****ing bull****," she calls while moving towards Writtensanity, "are you KIDDING me with this?" She waves the sheet in the air.

"What?"

"I have no ranks in ****ing MOVE SILENTLY."

"Well no, you needed them for other things."

"Oh yeah, because I needed Forgery, more than I needed SEARCH."

"Look, Cordelia," written raises his hands to the seething character, "I wanted to make you an interesting character."

"Yeah, because NOBODY expected the ****ING FACTOTUM to have useful skills. NOOOOOOOOOO Let's use all of her skill points on skill tricks rather than something like," she looks down at the sheet again, "Listen. Intimidate. Sense Motive." She pauses for a moment, "How the **** do you even take an untrained LISTEN check. Have I never listened before? Do I not have practice?" She pulls out her blades and places them against Writtensanity's neck, "IS THIS NOT ****ING INTIMIDATING YOU PIECE OF ****."

"Cordelia," Written squeezes out before the director calls for places, "I-"

"I don't care." She finishes, "if we all die it's because you're a dumbass."

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrend

Ahrend is not quite at home in the small boat on sea, and he produces a small grunt as the smuggler introduces himself: "Well met, Kyrren." Then, when the upcoming procedure is being explained, the monk frowns deeply. Swimming, boats...hiding in a box... 'Twas all not quite Ahrend's style. However, there is no escape, so he moves towards one of the empty crates and starts working out how to fold himself inside one.

[Let'sGetKraken]

Sochet is not pleased by what it sees as an incursion into its own territory. The ship was his, and his animalistic side yearned for the bloodshed to which he was rightfully entitled. He growls, a low, menacing rumble that fills the air. Barrek glances at him as he finishes his spell, feeling the magic course through his body as it changes his anatomy. Soon, my friend.

Rippling upwards from his hands, Barrek's flesh hardens and cracks, turning as brown as the planks beneath his feet. Sochet, though his natural hide is already formidable, roars in pain as the soft flesh beneath his scales becomes as hard as petrified oak.

Wiser, tougher, and grinning like a madman, Barrek rushes towards the dwarves with Sochet in tow. He may not be the hammer to smite their foes, he thinks... but by the gods above, he could be the anvil.

By the host thinks Vraskis, utterly bemused. Rushing towards nearly a dozen manticores... the boy is mad.

Barrek casts barkskin, bringing his AC to 25 and Sochet's to 26. He will then move forward 30 feet, with Sochet following behind him (moving at full speed, 20 feet).

[Whiskeyjack]

"This is all so cloak-and-dagger," Win smiles, moving to inspect one of the boxes. "I'd call it exciting if we weren't sneaking in to the most secure prison on the continent and then trying to sneak back out again. But...whatever"

Win takes a moment to look far above at the progress of the Falconet. He can't see the manticores, but there is a gust of fire separate from the elemental ring that is briefly visible, a flash against the dark pan of the sky. And close, the mountain fortress looms with waves breaking hard against it.

Hey, you there? the wizard ventures.

Aye, lad, just gettin' my sea legs. Open ocean's a bit different even from a big ole cavern lake, y'know. Tides and all. Ain't right.

Yeah, yeah, say, you're a dwarf, right?

Nah, I just have the Mror cadence fer fun an' chattin' up the ladies predisposed to likin' beards. 'Course I'm a dwarf, you daft---

So, have you ever been here? Dreadhold?

There's a pause, a sense of contemplation. Win can't help but wonder if the dwarf is holding something back from him, but...

Nay, lad. I mean, I've certainly heard of it. Seen it from the shore one time too. But been there? Nope. I dunno if you missed it, but I'm not House Kundarak. I'm Clan Mroranon, through and through, the Founder's blood, Iron King's blood. Not that we don't like the Kundaraks, they're okay, hell, they helped Mror declare freedom from the chains of Galifar once the succession wars broke out. Good on them t'make money from all those feuding bastards who kept us toilin' away for centuries, in our own mountains, for the little baubles they wore. Good riddance! But, erm, I bet I have relatives in Kundarak, but nothin' springs to mind that could help you.

Um...so the answer would just be 'no,' then, if I'm understanding you.

Aye. Nay. Just know the basics about it really.

Great, of all the dwarf-things in my head...

Quit complaining! You'd rather have me than one of those Kundarak prigs complainin' the whole time about you breakin' into their prison! Have some gratitude, ugh, I think I'm gonna be sick...

Win's stomach lurches in response to the dwarf's feelings. "Fantastic," he mutters, climbing into one of the crates. "Welp, once more unto the breach..."

[3SecondCultist]

Ahrend, Cordelia, Win:
Haldren suppresses a grimace as he watches the three of you climb into sizeable crates. Inside, your surroundings are rough wood and piles of crushed hay. Although the compartments you have found are big enough to hold you, there is still a sense of closeness that cannot quite be avoided. The colonel himself moves to crawl inside another crate nearby, tucking his swords inside his cloak as he does so. Kyrren can barely contain a grin as he begins to hammer the crates shut, and the rhythmic thuds are reminiscent of a coffin being buried beneath the earth. It is not a pleasant sound.

"Sorry, but these need to at least look legitimate before they're put on the loading dock for your escape. I should hope you'll be able to break your way out of these things, if you really are going into the Deep Wards. Best of luck." You can practically hear the mockery in his voice, and yet there is a kind of sincerity in it.

But all those thoughts disappear as the rocking of the boat begins to cease. The roaring of the waves is replaced by the stomping of boots and the echoes of voices. And although you cannot see anything beyond the space of your own crates, the wind that reached between the cracks in the plywood is long gone.

You have arrived in Dreadhold Prison.

The first person you hear is Kyrren, accompanied by another in rugged Dwarven. As the boatman speaks, you realize exactly why Haldren chose this particular smuggler for the job: the cadence and timbre of his voice have both changed completely, descending into a much lower pitch. There is more consideration in a single syllable than most use in a full minute of speech. After a couple of minutes, you can feel several heavy footfalls around your crates. Suddenly, each of you is lifted by a team of at least two dwarves at a time. Most of them grunt and curse, but eventually you find yourselves placed on a far more stable surface. If you peer through the slits in the wood, you can just barely make out a stone floor and a pile of other crates around you. There seems to be a long, smooth stone wall that runs across your field of vision, and although you can hear guards, there don't seem to be any in sight.

[GameOfChampions]

On the deck of the ship Alistair watches the manticores close in around them and quickly taking stock of the situation quickly steps foward a few feet and starts preparing a spell. After muttering below his breath in draconic for a second he looks up with a feral grin and manic gleam in his eye and says. "Lets introduce a little bit of panic shall we." As he says that four white darts appear from his finger tips and just before he he shoots them at the oncoming manticores sparks of black travel down his arm and start crackling around the darts, as they fly through the air each one unerringly hits each manticore. As he finishes he glances around planning his next move and another small grin tugs at his lips as he realizes what he'll do next.

Alistair moved 20 ft foward and used fell frighten magic missile on the group immediately to the left. the missiles hit all the manticores the group of four is riding and the dwarf on the front most manticore. They are all shaken, no save.

[Writtensanity]

Cordelia sighs as she squirms, trying to get her blades out of their scabbards. Eventually she wrestles the longswords out and whispers to them, the word for fire spoken by the mages in Valanar. The two blades hiss with the beginnings of flame as the girl sticks them between the thin cracks in the crate. The mercurial blades crackle, burning the wood to a weaker state that she then kicks away. The siding slides across the granite flooring, skidding to a stop only a few feet past. Cordelia tenses up for a moment, but as the seconds pass, she knows she hasn't been heard yet.

Contorting herself into a shape appropriate to get out of the box, she deftly tumbles towards the wall of the room, righting herself in the same motion. It's a practiced maneuver for her, not difficult to pull outside of combat. Her two blades have now come to a soft glow. Humming with heat. The wall in front of her is barely lit by the blades, giving her better vision than she would usually have. She remains couched while willing the blades to stay at a steady glow. Too much of a flame would give her away.

Her mithral chain shirt is the only soft noise she makes. Impressing ever herself in the moderate silence she moves in. Sure, it's not the most stealthy, but it's better than she's used to. In fact, it's better than anyone who knows her is used to. At the end of the movement she feels accomplished, but knows that she used one of her few miracles for the day. It's not always easy, but she can figure most things out.

Cordelia runs his fingers along the wall, holding one side of flytrap close to light up the walls. She taps the floor for her comrades, coast is clear.

[3SecondCultist]

Alastair, Barrek, Drock, Melina:
The battle begins in earnest as the manticore squadron to the port side of the Falconet releases a flurry of retaliatory strikes against Drock. The manticore in front, trying desperately to stay aloft despite the dragonfire adept's breath weapon, descends towards the deck. It leaves Drock at the mercy of its kin. Two volleys of tail spikes whistle through the night air with a scream, piercing the skin of the transmuted warforged with a single-mindedness that only vengeance knows. The riders atop the beasts also take shots at Drock, and one of them actually succeeds at striking him just below the collarbone. His adamantine plating absorbs some of the damage, but many of the spikes pierce his vital systems, making every movement twinge with pain. While he remains conscious for now, the warforged will be hard pressed to stay aloft for much longer in this state. Under the light of Eberron's moons, the eyes of the manticores seem to adopt a predatory gleam as they watch his every move. Their wings flap against the currents that continue to bear the airship on a course straight for the upper towers of Dreadhold.

Yet another of the creatures fires towards Ro'hl Vek, who barely moves and yet seems to dodge the majority of the spikes. He fires back four times in quick succession, each shot hitting its mark and handily knocking both beast and rider out of the sky. The exchange seems to occur around Barrek, who can see that the half-orc's crossbow seems to never need any reloading. Whenever Vek makes use of a bolt, another one appears as if out of nowhere to take its place. The screams of the House Kundarak dwarf as he falls to the unforgiving waves below brings a slow smile to the sniper's face.

"One down, nine to go."

Meanwhile on the other side of the deck, Alastair finishes casting his spell, sending his magical projectiles at the approaching squadron. As each of the missiles find their way to their targets, they carry with them a dark pall. As a whole, the momentum of the flying creatures falters, as many of them begin to move back towards the bow, where others of their kin are already descending. It seems that whatever the gnome mage did worked, as their wings are unsteady and their countenances off-balance. They seem well disposed to retreating, to say the least. To make the deal sweeter, one of the manticores is too slow, and Astari moves to leash the beast with her mind. You can hear the echoes of the inner struggle as the telepath shackles its will, and it immediately turns on its rider. A frenzy of claws and bite marks leave little of the dwarf, even as the remaining chunks begin to descend to join his companion at the bottom of the sea. The kalashtar turns to Alastair then, a knowing grin on her face. Strangely, those of you who are still onboard the Falconet can hear her voice in your head as if she were standing next to you. She is the calm at the center of the storm. Her voice carries a kind of echo, the presence of a mental partition not entirely unlike the same divide you have recently come to know. And yet, when she speaks it is only her that you hear.

Listen up: we've held off the first wave, but nearly half the squadron has already landed on the bow. Alastair has a plan to form an illusory battle in the skies to frighten them off. But seeing how many are already on the Falconet, it might not shake their resolve. That's why we need to drive them off this ship first. Who's up for a charge on the bow? And where is Drock? He's passed out of sight.

[GameOfChampions]

Alistair starts slightly when he hears the Kakashtars voice in his head but he thinks wryly to himself "I should be used to all these voice in my head by now". His face turns serious once again as he starts to weave his spell. He remains caught up in his spellcraft, when all of a sudden he thrusts his hands up in the air and then all you can see is the dwarves faces contort in fear and panic but you can't tell why. Alistair just grins watching the dwarves and their mounts become more panicked by the second, relishing their fear and his mastery of it.


Alistair doesn't move but casts a Silent image spell with nightmare phantasm and spirit chills and manifests it as a shadowy dragon 50 feet long and 20 ft wide with a shadowy rider on the back who all you can tell has a skull emblazoned on his chest and a skull on his staff that he points towards the dwarves. the image is behind the stern of the ship 40 ft back and 40 ft up visible to the dwarves but not to us, unless we turn and look at it which you shouldn't cause why would people turn around in battle. The image makes anyone who looks at it shaken and scared of Alisatir, this stacks with the shaken of the manticore making them frightened.

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrend

Ahrend tries to get out of the box.

I guess there's not much more to do than rolling strength checks, right? Let's see how long it takes :smallsmile:.

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]
[roll5]

[Let'sGetKraken]

As Sochet charges forward and blocks the passage to Melina and the Psion, Barrek stands near the archer, watching the dwarves dismount towards the bow of the ship. Unless we can drive them from the ship, we are overrun. Hmm. If only I had prepared more offensive magic.

A sight echoes through the druid's mind. And here you were almost beginning to impress me. That's not the case. They will only overwhelm you if you let them. Your... allies are more than powerful enough to drive them forth, but they are vulnerable. Spellcasters and an archer. Even the paladin would have difficulty fighting all of them off.

Bristling at the beguiler's casual dismissal, Barrek suppresses a wave of irritation. So what do you suggest? I can command the winds to force them back...

But that would damage the ship and reduce the capabilities of your allies. Yes. But, if my recollection of druids is correct... and it is, I assure you, there is more than one way to command the winds.

What? I don't... oh. Barrek smiles grimly. A bit wasted as a distraction...

But one that will be easily exploited by your comrades.

Raising his arms in the air, Barrek begins his incantation as the winds begin to swirl faster and faster around him.

Perhaps this won't be the worst arrangement they both think in unison, unaware of the other's thoughts.

[Whiskeyjack]

A soft thunk. A sliver of faint light, definitely torchlight.

Of all the...

Thunk. A tiny mist of dust, the smell of rock.

...stupid ideas, why...

Thunk. The sliver expands...

C'mon lad, put yer back into it, this is embarrassing!

Easier said than...

Thunk.

Not a word, dwarf!

And with that, the nails come loose. Win gently pushes the lid off the crate and glances around. He rolls out of it into a low crouch, replacing the lid of the crate he just emerged from and looking around.

[3SecondCultist]

Ahrend, Cordelia, Win:
Each of you manages to break out of your confines, and as you get a better look at your surroundings, you can see just how well guarded Dreadhold is. Ten heavily armed dwarves patrol the causeway of this 'secretive' harbor. Two separate pairs of crossbowmen flank what look like ballistae that seem to be empty. But a rogue wave rocks the boat, and the pointed end of each siege weapon turns with it. A series of gears at the base of each ballista betrays their engineering: they are self-leading, autonomous weapons platforms. Another four dwarves stand in front of the only exit from this chamber: a pair of sealed doors that have been forged out of what appears to be iron, or perhaps adamantium. Given their size, it doesn't look likely that their make-up will matter all that much. There is no visible lock or keyhole, or even any way of opening them from this side. If there are hinges, they are on the other side of the stone passage. Past the mountains of crates, you can see Kyrren in conversation with the last pair of dwarven sentries that stand guard near his small boat. He smiles graciously and holds up his hands, his eyes scanning the darkness as if to find your own. His face is apologetic, and as he climbs back aboard his craft and begins to set off, you realize why.

Your ride is about to leave without you.

"Damnation." His voice is low, but you can hear Haldren as he makes his way from the remains of his own crate to hug the farthest wall of the chamber. He motions for Cordelia to approach him, and together they seem to find the contours of the entrance the colonel mentioned earlier. A curtain of seemingly smooth stone turns out to be actually wood, as the secret door slides open and the four of you make your way through. The same door closes with a small 'click', leaving the four of you in absolute darkness. Unlike the harbor, whoever carved this tunnel doesn't seem to have had much consideration for the senses of humans.

"We should be able to talk in here. My contacts tell me it used to be a postern gate, when Dreadhold still suffered the attacks of Lhazar pirates that didn't know any better. The dwarves would wait until the pirates had breached the stronghold, and then send a team of their strongest warriors to come in from behind and cut off their retreat. It's designed to be soundproof. But we're not going to get far if we don't have an escape plan. If anyone knows anything about Dreadhold that they haven't already said, now would be the time."

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrend

Ahrend grunts. "Just give a minute, colonel. I can try to attune myself to the location...maybe I find something buried in my subconscious." The armored monk closes his eyes and starts humming almost inaudibly. You can see his eyes light up with a faint yellow glow. After a minute, the humming stops and Ahrend opens his eyes. "Hmmm, yes. Some of te local Dwarves used to mine the earth here to export Khyber Dragonshards. I can't tell you where, sadly, but it stands to reason there is a way out of here through Khyber." He shrugs at the officer. "That's all I have to offer."

[Writtensanity]

Cordelia ir' Vrynn leans back against the wall. Nothing. Nothing at all. There weren't many places on Khorvaire that she didn't have at least passing knowledge of. Sure, she could tell you who guards the prison, maybe a little bit about the layout, but nothing beyond what Haldren already knew. She shrugs at Haldren, it wasn't often that she said no about this sort of thing.

She notices the psion channeling his thoughts. Hopefully he would have something soon.


----------- Eldeen Reaches ------------

Cordelia tossed her hair to the side, making sure that the sandy blonde wasn't covering her eyes. She flicked flytrap rendering the blade inert as she pulled it away from the wall of someone's home. The flames were starting to flicker against the roof, and it wouldn't be long before the entire building was alight.

She heard a short cry come over the crackle of flames. Someone small, perhaps a child. This was not a headache she needed at the moment. She sighed as she pulled around the house, snapping Flytrap into bow form. If she was going to do something about it, she needed to make it quick. Their forces needed to move on.

She rounded the corner and found herself right. A small girl was huddled close to the now spreading flames. She was clothed in a tattered white dress that had been lined in soot. Obviously a remainder from her time in the, now burning, town. All Cordelia saw of her was her minute feet, and ruffled hair. There were stains of tears covering the ground.

Cordelia sighed and pulled her bow tight, there wasn't anything she could do for the girl, and she wasn't about to let her give them away.

"You stay away from her."

Cordelia spun to see a hulking man, carrying the sword of an Aundair warrior. He wasn't part of her side though, on either side of him was a scabbard for a different weapon, and he was wearing a simple green and brown tunic. A local who got lucky? The shock and awe of their assault had made the resistance mostly token at this point, though it wasn't unlikely that those who were assigned to protect these area's were finally arriving. That would make things more complicated.

She lowered her weapon to face the ground, "Sir, those who stand in the way of Aundair will be terminated." the words came out of her mouth like viper's venom. Not particularly targeted, but lethal nonetheless. As she finished the words, she turned to face the man.

"She's just a girl."

"That's what they all said about me." Cordelia kicked her head in the direction of the burning homes on 'they'.

"I'm not going to let you touch her."

"Then come stop me." Cordelia snapped Flytrap out of it's bow form and into two blades. The enchanted one of the two flickered to life with the motion. Molten fury dripping off of it like burning blood. The man should have been more than angry enough at this point, the fight was hers.

He charged toward her, bringing the great blade above his head in a wild swing. He may have been a skilled warrior, but there was no telling that now. Between his anger, and the size of his opponent, he was placing all of his cards in the hand of strength. It may have been a good hand, but it was hard to beat someone who didn't play by the rules.

Cordelia smirked as he approached, it had been a while since she had gotten to fight hand to hand, to toy with her prey. Have a few moments before she finished them. It was going to be an interesting, wait a tick.

"What are you looking at Sol?"
The Cordelia in the memory steps out of position as the world freezes around her, she looks over to the right, where an image of Sol was standing, "This is new. Image projection?"

Sol looks himself over, checking if all the details are correct, This is mostly right, I guess you picked up a little from me when I was checking things out."

"What are you doing in this memory Sol?"

"I-" He pauses, there wasn't a good answer to give her. He still hadn
't quite figured out the extent of his abilities in her mind, nor had he even been given a tutorial. Perhaps the truth was the best thing to bring up, "I don't know how to steer myself, I only get shown what comes to your mind."checking over himself again, "What you share."

"And so here we are," Cordelia sheathes her two blades, "my moment of flipping pride."

Sol sighs, there isn't really a good way to handle this part either, "Look, Cordelia." he begins, trying to retain a smile through his image. Though he is unsure how much control he has over it, "I know that you're a bad person. I've read books that mention you in passing."

She looks up at him, then back to the child behind her, and bites her lip, letting him talk.

"You killed a lot of people, but I'm going to look past the evil things that you did and try to hel-"

"It's not that simple Sol."

"I'm going to help you redeem yourself.

"SHUT UP!" The sky in the memory darkens as the world around Sol begins to shatter, "This is my ****ing mind, GET OUT."

"You aren't what your actions made you Cordelia, we can get through th-" Sol looks down and sees his image being torn apart. There is no pain on his end, but it is a peculiar concept.

"I don't need to through, ANYTHING, Sol. Everything i did, I did for my country."

The memory shatters. Pieces falling around as Cordelia and Sol return to their normal, non-visual conversation.


----------The Dreadhold----------

Cordelia opens her eyes, finding them brimming with tears. She's still in the small room with the Psion, still facing seeming doom around her as they are trapped on the dreadhold, she needs to pull herself together. Pull some sort of a solution out of a hat. There has to be something but, Gods Dammit her mind was fuzzy. She's always been absent minded, but there were times when she really was unsure of how long she could keep the high stress missions up. It had to be messing with her in some way.

Ahrend begins to speak, giving them an option. An unlikely one, but an option for escape nonetheless. She runs it over in her head before speaking, as much as Haldren was Commander of her previous group, even he differed to her for options sometimes. She makes an attempt to pull herself together, to make sure the first words she speaks aren't choked out, she mostly succeeds.

"That leaves us with a few options I guess. It's better than my plan, which was to make a boat and hope we can get up to the falconet through some sort of magical means." She sighs and looks up while tapping her fingers against one another, quickly going over ideas and odds in her head.

"Which leaves us with two problems, one, how are we going to get the prisoner out? And second, we are chasing a god-damn ghost story as an escape plan. I don't like either of these, but it's all we've got." She looks to Haldren, "As for getting us to the prisoner, I did bring my forger's equipment. Get me a look at a good requisition form and I could probably get them to bring us right to the prisoner. Maybe even unlock him." She shrugs, gaining the confidence back in her voice, "Otherwise we could just alter self and let me do the talking. It's gotten us out of a few bad situations." She trails off for a moment, "Thoughts?"

"We could also,"

"Get out, Sol."

[Whiskeyjack]

"Khyber, huh?" Win muses. "That means fiends. Which happen to be...well, not my specialty, per se, but something I'm quite, um, familiar with."

Just what kind of brain did I wind up in?

"There's a downside, though. We'd need a guide through the local Khyber region, not just a hint on where a door out would be. Summoning a devil doesn't guarantee getting one that either knows anything about this particular Khyber region. Not that a standard summoning spell would even last long enough to get us through. No, we need a more...long-lasting guide," Win sighs, then sizes up his compatriots for not the first time. He leans against the wall. Time to take a risk.

"There's someone I know of who can help us. If nothing else I think he could confirm or deny the existence of a route out of Dreadhold through Khyber. Personally, I don't think we can find a way out on our own in any safe timeframe. This person I speak of been in enough places like Khyber to know things like that, if not know how to navigate the guts of the Dragon Below to get everyone out safely. But the problem is," Win says carefully, "Is what his price will be for that information, and for his services. In this case, for his help, I bet the price would, at the very least, be his freedom from this place, in case that wasn't obvious." The wizard shrugs. "It's our best shot, I truly believe that. Any thoughts, or should I try to figure out where he is in here?"

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrend

Ahrend frowns: "Could you perhaps be a bit more specific? It does not bode well if you have to be so mysterious about whoever you're talking about."

[Dunkoro]

Drock flies over to once again entangle his enemies.

*Maleera*
Are you seriously just going to attack them right again, even though you've just took a powerful beating? I can't say I understand that...

*Drock*
There's nothing to understand I'm afraid: We were tasked with occupying their attention and probably beating them until they retreat. I'm planning to do just that until either we fulfill our purpose or fail.

*Maleera*
You do realize that you're a lot of feet in the air and if they drop you unconscious you will probably be destroyed by the fall? Don't you care for your life?

*Drock*
I may no longer be a part of an army but I'm still a soldier; I understand my duties and I'm willing to do anything, even sacrifice myself, if that would mean that it was not in vein. I want my death to matter. I'm not willing to speed it's coming if that's avoidable, but I won't avoid it at all costs.

He then breathes a line of fire at both the manticores and their riders.

[Whiskeyjack]

Win leans against one of the walls, speaking softly and slowly, carefully choosing his words. "Of course, Ahrend. My apologies if it seems like I'm being cagey. I'm referring to an arcanist named Xoryn Duskwhisper. He's attended a number of the arcane colleges in Khorvaire--and been thrown out of them for his lack of discipline. For all that, he's quite renowned in certain circles - depth and breadth of knowledge that gets results. He may be a rogue and a rake, but he knows about fiends, including the pits of Khyber. I don't know exactly why he's being held here. Certainly there are a lot of rumors about it, most of them unsubstantiated. Possible that he's just a divisive figure during a time of divisive civil war, and someone called in a favor to keep him out of it. I shudder to think getting thrown out of school is a jailable offense these days!" Win chuckles a bit, noting the serious faces on everyone else. The inner dwarf groans, and Win feigns a cough, continuing.

"Reputation aside, like I said he's a font of knowledge. If there's a secret way out of here through Khyber, he's our best chance of verifying that tidbit, finding whatever secret path, and using it. Of course, I doubt he'll just give up that information with no benefit to him - like being released and snuck out. And I must emphasize, even if we find such a way out on our own, I don't think any of us knows enough about Khyber to navigate it safely and quickly. Xoryn might, though. I can try to see if he's here in the Deep Wards, but..."

Win looks around at the small tunnel they've taken shelter in. "This little hallway isn't the best place to do that kind of thing. And we might also tell the Falconet to fall back. Going out through Khyber is going to take longer than getting back out on a boat, I think. Your call on that, Colonel." He nods to ir'Brassek.

[Writtensanity]

"I can't say how reliable he's going to be, but he may be more willing to help seeing as we have a Duskwhisperer on the Falconet. Perhaps using the bait of his nephew will keep him in check long enough to get us through the Khyber."

Cordelia shrugs, "it's better than any other plan we have at the moment. It's got my vote."

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrendssensz

Ahrend. Grandfather...what are the odds?

Ahrend

Ahrend raises an eyebrow. "Well, Win, I hope he is as knowledgeable as you say." He then turns to the colonel: "Colonel?"

[3SecondCultist]

Ahrend, Cordelia, Win:
Haldren nods slowly, listening to all of your input before making up his mind. His features are resolute, although you do detect a hint of uncertainty in his eyes right before he starts to speak.

"Very well. Since fighting our way through the entire prison isn't an option, it would seem as though our path has been chosen for us. Before we head down the lift to the Deep Wards, we need to find Xoryn Duskwhisper on the inmate registry, which should be located in the prison library in the Golden Ward. If the maps we have of this level are accurate, that's not actually too far from here. And don't worry about the Falconet. No matter the outcome here I've left instructions with Astari to give our captain a heading to Port Verge, where my associates will wait three days for us to return. And if they don't hear from us, it probably means we're dead. In a way, it makes our plan quite a bit easier." He winks in Cordelia's general direction at that last part.

As the colonel speaks, it seems as though the corridor brightens on its own, enough for you to see to the end where it turns back towards what is presumably the hall beyond the doors you saw blocking off the harbor. All in all, the passage must span over a hundred feet from end to end. Along with the sudden improvement in lighting, you hear a series of small murmurs emanating through the stones around you. However, Haldren doesn't seem to notice anything, proceeding down the corridor with a confidence that only comes from years spent in command of others. The more you think about it, the more one thing becomes clear: he either has a death wish, or he must think himself immortal.


Alastair, Barrek, Drock, Melina:
The only accurate way to describe the events unfolding around you would be 'chaos'. Some of you have seen it before, on the battlefields of the Last War or even in the long twilight that Khorvaire has really become. But no matter your level of exposure, there is always another battle that will bring you into the moment. This is just such an engagement.

Another burst of fire lights up the clear night sky, as Drock unleashes a barrage of clinging fire against the pair of manticores over the port side of the Falconet. The creatures cry out in pain as the flames lick their bodies. But soon their attention is drawn to the stern of the airship, as Alastair finishes casting his elaborate spell. A pair of massive wings dominates the skies, as an illusory dragon glides over the warm currents of air around you. It hangs over the aft-castle of the airship like a massive specter, its great baleful gaze pointed down at the members of the boarding party. Its rider is just as silent, the skull imagery on his clothes and weaponry all the more fearsome for it. Indeed, its very presence seems to invite a chill over the deck of the ship and beyond, as dwarf and manticore alike falter and tumble under its shadow.

It is only an illusion! Pay it no mind. Focus instead on the battle before you. Astari's voice is like a balm, cool and soothing in the presence of the phantasmal dragon. But she is only an island in an ocean of conflict.

Melina begins the next wave of engagements, climbing up to the forecastle of the Falconet and loosing an arrow right at one of the nearby manticores. The beast screams in pain, even as it leads a few of its kin down the length of the ship and towards your crew. Three of the manticores soar above the deck, loosing volleys of spikes down at Melina, as well as Barrek's crocodile Sochet and his newly summoned air elemental. The paladin and the elemental emerge largely unscathed, but Sochet bears the brunt of three separate spikes as they lodge in his scales. He releases a low hiss of pain, dark blood seeping out to run over the fine soarwood planks of the deck. He stares up at the manticores, clearly relishing the chance to devour them should they make the mistake of setting foot on the deck.

And they are not in the sky for very long.

Astari and Ro'hl Vek move almost simultaneously, each of them finding their own way up to the forecastle to join Melina in leading the assault. The half-orc archer takes aim at the nearest manticore, sending a bolt straight through its side and tearing quite a few ligaments in the process. The manticore, clearly still recovering from the shock of seeing the dragon, does not see the attack coming and nearly collapses in pain. It will not survive a prolonged barrage from Vek, and by the look on the beast's face, it knows this. But it is the psion's intervention that seems to shift the tide of the conflict, as Astari flicks her fingers at two of the manticores, and they both disappear in twin vortexes of silver energy. Those of you more knowledgeable about the psionic arts know that the kalashtar has trapped both manticores in a closed off time-stream. They will return in the same place eventually, but you now have time to focus on finishing off the rest of these creatures.

[Let'sGetKraken]

Hands held above him, chanting into the raging winds that build .and build before him, Barrek summons the mightiest divine magic granted to him by the wilds. As the winds reach a roaring crescendo around him, the onslaught of energy nearly overwhelms him. Barely holding on, he hurls the completed spell at an area next to the ballista, nearly collapsing in the aftermath.

The swirling winds around the druid rush towards the elevated platform, where they almost seem to implode inwards. To Barrek, the silence is almost deafening. He watches as they coalesce into a humanoid figure, a rough outline of where a creature should be. The air that forms it is in constant motion and yet seems perfectly still.

Then the elemental turns towards him. Though it has no eyes, he knows instinctively that it looks at him for command. A icy stab of fear wrenches its was through Barrek's gut. Oh god. What if I can't control it? He had summoned elementals before, but never one so large, or without the watchful guidance of his master. The thought of Oalian strengthens his resolve. I can do this. I will not disappoint him.

"Go. The dwarves and manticores... keep them at bay. Avoid lethal force unless necessary." He doesn't know if it can understand him, or even if it truly cares. After what seems like an eternity, the elemental turns and rockets towards the bow. Barrek feels a momentary stab of guilt as he watches it slam its mass into one of the dwarves.

A quick glance at his comrades dispels any pity he may have for the guardians of Dreadhold. His companions seemed to be holding their own, but Sochet... Sochet had charged forward to reach the manticores. Stuck in the narrow gap between the gunwales and the forecastle, Sochet had been unable to dodge their projectiles. Jaws gnashing, his blood dripping onto the planks below, he claws his way out of the passage, leaving gashes that made Barrek wince. Once free, however, all he can see is the faint traces of psionic energy, as the manticores wink out of existence before his very eyes. Already irritated by the manticores, Sochet is left waiting for the next attacks, his primitive mind consumed with fury.

Barrek, too, is furious. They will regret ever seeing our ship he promises to himself, as lightning begins to crackle between his hands. He rushes forwards towards the manticores attacking Drock. With a roar like thunder, he slams his palms together and an arc of electricity crackles between the two closest manticores, coursing through the hapless dwarf that stands between them.

"They're not the only ones who can strike from afar." He can't help but feel a small sense of satisfaction as he watches the lightning surge through his enemies.

Oh yes. There is much potential in this one thinks Vraskis.

Barrek moves the elemental up towards the cluster of enemies towards the bow, which will make a slam attack against the dwarf to its left. Sochet will move forward out of the cramped passage, bringing his AC back to full. Barrek will cast Arc of Lightning between

[Writtensanity]

Cordelia cracked a smile at Haldren's wink, brushing aside the feelings of regret that her memories had brought up.

If we die.

It had always been a very big IF when it came to Cordelia and the rest of Haldren's group. When she had first been adopted into service, the thought of death was hard on her, pressing her down to the floor each night with the tip of it's sythe. Every morning she awoke with more scratches on her arms from where she fought off the reaper.

Then she began to notice, the man that she followed seemed to have an agreement with death. Whenever he mentioned it, the group would just laugh. With Haldren around, the reaper didn't put you into the ground, he helped you up off of it.

Haldren had always had a deal with death. NO matter the odds, there was always a moment of last minute heroics that pulled the group through. There was nothing that they couldn't do. Death was never going to touch Haldren, or those who worked with him. Why would death kill someone who made him so damn busy?

Cordelia sheathes her blades and reaches into her bag, pulling out a small ball of glowing light, an angel's radiance. It was a popular piece of alchemical equipment, but it had the amazing property of being bright as an everburning torch for much cheaper, and without the risk (or utility) of fire. It was one of the many things that had made it's way onto Cordelia's little blue shopping list over the years.

The glowing ball slashes the darkness, banishing it away from Cordelia as she follows the Colonel down the hallway. Each of her steps softly ringing on the stone floors. Above her, the light glistens off spider webs, the intricacy of them giving away the passage's disrepair. The Dreadfort had the barrier of it's reputation at this point, it didn't need postern gates.

Alas, at this point it's inclusion seemed to be rather counter intuitive.

Cordelia reaches the end of the hallway just before Haldren, thanks to the enchantments on her boots. She presses her hand against the cool stone of the wall, wincing at the dust and grime that covers the surface of it. She held her breath for a second, then peeks around the corner.

Her eyes take in an empty hallway, a door congruent to the one they came in through at the end of it. She moves the radiance around the corner to check it once more. There isn't a visible person there. If the ambient lighting was anything other than harmless magics, the source at least wasn't there with them.

Cordelia moves to check the door, but stops herself before taking a step into the second part of the hallway. She was dealing with Kundarak. If there was one thing they were good it, it was making sure you didn't get in somewhere without an arrow in your foot.

The fact that the arrow petrified only your foot, and anyone who wanted to kiss it was just their little game.


"Hold back a second," she calls to the party, "I'm going to check for traps."

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrend

Ahrend follows the colonel. He decides to fly rather than walk, hoping that this way he might produce a bit less sound. Still, moving unnoticed was not his thing. He holds when Cordelia asks him to, and it is it this point he realizes what a potential death trap they are in. It occurred to him they would be fighting, perhaps a lot, if they want to get out of here. Ahrend does not like fighting a whole lot. Thoughts on potential events race through his head.

I'd like to take 10 for a knowledge (local) check of 20 to learn about the kind of defenses the Kundurak Dwarves employ. E.g. are they typically crafty rogues or brute barbarians, do they employ much magic...death magic, elemental magic, or nothing in particular?

[Phasm]

Melina

Dwarves on the ship! Melina lets out a piercing whistle as she nocks another arrow to her bow and aims at the nearer manticore that Barrek just fried. A deep bark acknowledges her signal, and moments later Erian bounds up beside her. The gnome squints at her target, waits out a sudden gust of wind from Barrek's elemental that rocks the ship... and fires.

Are you planning to use your sword anytime soon? Melee is the strength of a paladin, is it not? The question could have been snide, but Cassia's mental tone is honestly curious.

If those manticores weren't firing spikes at us, I would be mounted up and charging one of the dwarves. As it is, though, we need to get the enemies out of the sky before they get the bright idea to attack the airship itself and bring us down that way.

Somehow Cassia manages to convey the impression of a sigh. I wish I could use my magic through you. I know any number of spells that would help. As it is, I feel rather useless.

I'm sure your knowledge will come in handy at some point.

[GameOfChampions]

Alistair quickly moves forward raising his crossbow up to his eye to sight his shot all the way down the ship, the shot barrels down the length of the ship. It passes in between, and close to, half a dozen of the dwarven boarders and manticores finally coming to an end in between the the two manticores at the bow of the ship. "You missed! You had so many people you could have aimed for but you missed them all!" Mah'reth exclaims incredulously in Alistairs head. "Well" Alistair replies scathingly "Maybe if you were actually aware of what I was doing then you would be aware I meant to be doing this, I didn't want to hit them now watch." Alisatir, and Mah'reth through his eyes, watch a wave of panic hit everyone that the bolt passed by. "Ohhhh smart" Mah'reth mentally nods his head in appreciation for the tactic, "Told you so".

Not sure if this is necessary but if i need a roll to hit the deck of the ship then here [roll0] also the save for the screaming bolt is 14. Everyone the bolt passes within 20ft of has to make the save or be shaken for 5 min. unfortunatly it hits the crocodile but i'm sure he can make the save.

[Dunkoro]

Drock falls back a little bit, seeing as the manticores dispersed and made it impossible to catch more than one at a time in his breath. He then breathes at full power.

[roll0]

Even if Maleera had any reservations or thoughts, she realized that Drock can't be reasoned with when he actively tries not to be.

[Whiskeyjack]

"Colonel, how long do your potions last? Should we take them now or wait?" Win murmurs as Cordelia sneaks ahead.

Huh, prison break just turned into double prison break. Hope me kin don't find out that---

That you watched something that happened years ago?

Oh, you believe it?

No, but I think your hand-wringing is annoying. And what could a prison break have to do with...whatever happened. What was it again?

I'll tell ya all about it - just not now. It's quite a tale - not good for the soul, either. Could be distracting.

How nice of you to distract me by saying you won't distract me...

I thought so too.

Win sighs, apparently for no reason, and waits.

[3SecondCultist]

Ahrend, Cordelia, Win:
The strange light source disappears just as Cordelia's awakens, and you get a better look at the end of the hallway. The door is framed by slivers of light from the other side, and yet you cannot see any hinges. Whatever function the Kundarak dwarves used to build this exit, they obviously didn't want anyone seeing the inner workings of their design. It betrays their paranoia.

Of course, the first signs of a trap built into the portal doesn't exactly help.

The handle of the door glistens faintly, the last residues of some no doubt dangerous substance still very much present on the surface. It emits no odor that you can discern, and seems to be built into a more cleverly hidden secondary function within the door itself. Learning more about the nature of the secondary charge will likely involve getting a lot closer. If you want to pass unmolested, you will need to find a way to disable both mechanisms. Thankfully, your initial scan reveals no traps between here and the door. Regardless, it appears that House Kundarak did anticipate someone using this entrance against them after all. By the looks of the trap, it will only be triggered from opening the door from this side. Haldren looks at the setup with a wry smile.

"Well, I suppose this was to be expected. Cordelia, will you do the honors?" He quickly turns to address Win's question, however. "These potions are supposed to last for about fifty minutes, and while they're active we will blend right in as a four-dwarf guard patrol. But again, these walls are soundproof, so there is a chance there is a patrol group right on the other side. We may be walking into a fight."


Alastair, Barrek, Drock, Melina:
Several things seem to happen at once: an arc of lightning illuminates the deck of the Falconet as Barrek's spell takes hold, scorching the flesh of beast and humanoid alike. They leave the enemy force more than a little bit scorched, just as Melina's graceful shot at one of the wounded fliers brings it down to the deck with a resounding crash. Meanwhile, Alastair's bolt leaves the long impression of a young woman being brutally murdered as it lands in the planking at the bow. It manages to demoralize the enemy, but Sochet also seems to have been affected by the noise, as the crocodile's gaze follows the bolt. All in all, your side seems to be winning this little aerial engagement.

Drock crashes onto the deck next to Barrek, his saurian form still bearing the marks of dozens of spikes. His breath weapon complements the druid's last spell, leaving a bright afterimage as it strikes one of the airborne manticores. Together, you face off against the next wave of attacks as the pair of manticores off the port side of the Falconet wheel around in preparation for another volley. On their backs, you can see the dwarven riders take aim with their bows and release in tandem with their mounts for added effect. Fortunately, Drock manages to avoid or deflect all of the attacks with his tough hide, but Barrek is not so lucky, as two spikes pierce his side. To make matters worse, one of the dwarves on the deck lets out a war cry and charges the druid, his axe drawn. He also draws blood, his twirling weapon moving to try and knock Barrek's spear out of his hands. But the enemy's advantage does not last long, as the one of the distant manticores is knocked from the sky by four consecutive bolts fired above your heads. If you had time to turn and look, you might have seen Ro'hl Vek's smile from the stairs up to the forecastle, his huge crossbow primed at the skies and already looking for his next target.

The events at the bow of the airship are just as hectic as they are everywhere else. The air elemental that Barrek summoned seems to devour the sky around it as it strikes out at one of the dwarves preparing for a bout. It successfully knocks the Kundarak fighter back, but he is remarkably quick to recover, and with the aid of one of the manticores is actually able to wound the elemental. They say storms don't bleed, and yet the creature's pain is palpable. At the same time, those of you standing on the forecastle can see a pair of dwarves advancing on Sochet, careful to stay out of the range of his claws and preparing to attack should the crocodile move towards them. Their battle acumen certainly is impressive, but it does not save them, as another silver aura erupts around the foremost warrior, and he disappears without a sound. Astari hovers beside the ship, her white brows furrowed in concentration. Not far away, her dominated manticore screams and opens fire on its counterpart, severely wounding both beast and rider. All told, the two creatures seem on the verge of colliding. The last manticore on the bow doesn't seem to last long after that, its leathery wings kicking up currents of warm air as it retreats off the Falconet entirely.

Just then, the ship lurches somewhat as it begins to turn. Up ahead, you can see that Dreadhold is far too close. You can make out the individual lights from their torches and everbright lanterns, and cadres of dwarves with bows readying to launch volleys of their own against you. And so the Falconet's course moves slightly to the right, as if to circle Dreadhold and keep the fortress on your port side, but stay just out of bowshot. Not for the first time, you remember that there is a pilot of some sort steering this massive craft, although they did not come out to greet anyone before the start of the mission.

[Writtensanity]

Cordelia first looks to the monk, then to the wizard. "I have to do everything myself don't I?" she hisses under her breath as she approaches the door. "Not like anyone else should have expected traps in the middle of the most secure location in the world. The ability to avoid getting wet though? Thank the gods they have that."

She reaches into her pack and pulls out a small leather case, wrapped tightly by a black tie that reads "Property of Miss Cordelia." Once she pulls off the tie the case falls open, and a set of modified thieves tools are revealed. Cordelia ir'Vrynn is flexible when it comes to her talents.

Her first trick is to grab a small pinch of white dust from the case, and toss it over the door. As the powder drips down it is caught on an edge around the door handle, a panel.Cordelia smiles, "Child's play Kundarak." She pulls out a small thin tool and goes to work, loosening the panel from the door, inching it out while carefully avoiding the handle. She couldn't place what poison was on it yet, but the way to find out wasn't to go touching it.

The panel comes off cleanly, revealing an overly complicated mechanism underneath. She switches tools, and pauses for a second before pushing her hand into the hole, is this not a little complicated for a single swit-

As soon as her tools put pressure on the inner workings, there is a sharp hiss. Cordelia moves to pull her arm out of the opening, but not before a spike stabs up and pierces her skin, pinning her wrist to the top of the opening. She immediately recognizes the poison as the same one as is on the door handle, Black Lotus Extract. The skin around the wound immediately tightens, as the hand trapped against the top of the door begins to shake with the neurotoxin. Cordelia doesn't say a word, just bites down on her lip as she uses her left hand to pull the left side of it's sheathe.

Blood begins to run down the spike as she smashes the inner workings of the trap with the handle of her blade. Having already set off the mechanism, it was more a matter of getting her hand free than anything else. On the third try she finally breaks the needle that has gone through her arm, and stumbles back. HEr entire body is now visibly shaking, Black Lotus Works fast.

Cordelia falls back onto the wall, if there is a reaction from any of the others she quiets them by holding her, now-blackening, hand up to them, "Trap is spent. Just harvest the poison on the wall, no touching." She turns her gaze to Haldren as her eyes begin to get bloodshot, "Black Lotus, I need to go under to see if I can," she coughs, lungs beginning to shake uneasily, "resist the rest of the dose."

She can't hear what the others are saying as she closes her eyes, trying desperately to focus on her breathing. Each breath is ragged, and her first cough brings up a small amount of blood. She needs to focus, she needs to slow everything down. It's her one chance.


[roll0]

[3SecondCultist]

Ahrend, Cordelia, Win:
In the darkness, your companion's gasps of pain are the only sound you can hear. The poison on the handle of the door enters Cordelia's bloodstream, with immediate and devastating effect. She all but collapses on the floor of the passage, her skin ashen and eyes bloodshot. Her shaking voice sounds like a prayer. And Haldren is there, his hand resting over hers. He turns to the rest of you, his gaze full of broken glass.

"Is there anything you can do to help her? We need her alive... please. Help her." A long pause ensues, as Cordelia begins to pull herself together on her own. She seems to have fought off the worst of the onslaught. For a moment, everything is peaceful. Haldren's swords are drawn and at his side, but he has lowered them for the time being. He exhales a quiet breath of relief.

And then you hear something. It is quiet at first, so at first it is hard to pinpoint. But as the noise of a hand bell rings throughout the passage and likely beyond, you realize just how much trouble you are in. As the last echoes of the Alarm spell begin to fade, Haldren is already at the door, his weapons at the ready. He turns to look back at the three of you.

"So much for stealth. By the time we open this door, there will be at least two patrols waiting for us. Cordelia, I want you to stay out of the fighting as best you can. These aren't House Kundarak's best fighters, but one lucky shot will be enough to bring you down. Everyone else, get ready. Ten seconds, and then we breach."

[Writtensanity]

Cordelia struggles to her feet as the alarm spell fades, skin still the colour of falling ash. It's wobbly, but her attempts to calm her body down worked. Still wasn't going to be an easy day.

She sighs and tries to pull her right hand up to her chest, but it refuses to move, "Son of a-" she begins before switching to her better hand. She says a quick prayer and a soft glow emanates from her fingers, fighting to bring some of the colour back to her skin.


Cordelia uses inspiration to use opportunistic piety, recovering 22 health.

She listens to Haldren before looking him in the eye, "Haldren I'm fine. A flower isn't going to kill me," she supplements this comment by coughing heavily, small bits of bile coming out when she does. The poison might be inert, but she needed to see a healer within the next few days or suffer more permanent consequences.

"A better plan might be drinking those potions now, we alter shape. It gives me a chance to convince them that I am part of a repair team that made a mistake. It's a long shot, but if I get them on our side, we can still continue this mission in relative stealth, and I might get a chance to see a healer."

She sighed as she reached into her bag and pulled out the potion, uncorking it, but looking at her commander for a comment, "Worst comes to worst, at least they hesitate enough that we break them with a handful of spells."

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrend

Ahrend shakes his head slowly as Haldren pleas. "I am sorry, but I am afraid I cannot help her." When the implications of the alarm sounding sink in, he raises his shield and nods at the colonel, ready for battle. As soon as Cordelia makes her suggestion regarding the potion, he hum's in agreement. "It may be worth the shot....on the other hand, we may want to save the potions for a moment when we have a better chance of using them effectively." He shrugs at Cordelia apologetically. "What say you, colonel?"

[Writtensanity]

"The problem with that being that they are going to be a lot more on top of security if there is a legitimate security breach. Do you not think they would be wary of a party of four unnamed Dwarves running around asking to release prisoners? We need to make them think that nothing is wrong and figure it out from there."

[Let'sGetKraken]

Back on the ship, Barrek winces as he rips the solitary manticore spine from his side. "By the host, these things are deadly," he mutters, trying not to think about the piercing pain radiating from where the blasted creature had hit him.

Then I would suggest, an cold and impatient voice seems to whisper in his mind, trying not to get hit.

Oh, thanks for that brilliant suggestion, you arrogant, parasitic-

Barrek is almost too distracted by Vraskis' colour commentary to notice his surroundings. His senses, normally as sharp as his spear, notice the footfalls to late to react. He looks up to see a dwarf of house Kundarak charging towards him, beard still smouldering from Barrek's lightning and axe raised high (well, for a dwarf) above his head.

Fortunately for Barrek, the axe simply bounces off the outer layer of his skin, fortified by magic and his years of training. The dwarf's subsequent attempt to knock his spear out of his hands, however, proves successful.

As he watches his spear clatter to the ground at his feet, the young druid looks at the dwarf's rage-filled eyes, genuinely confused. "Sorry if this seems a bit, well, rude," he asks distractedly, focusing his power and beginning a process he'd undergone hundreds, if not thousands of times. "But what was the point of trying to disarm a spellcaster? Let alone a druid?"

Barrek feels the divine energies of the wild wash over him. As his muscles begin to bulge beneath his skin and his skin begin to grow rougher, darker, and much harder, his jaw stretches forward and his teeth become daggers. Barrek falls to the deck as his tail stretches out across the deck behind him and his scales finish forming, his transformation complete.

The spitting image of Sochet, the giant crocodile roars at the dwarf before him, ready to fight.

Meanwhile, Sochet has not been having a good time. Though unnerved by the arrow, he charges the remaining dwarf in front of him, jaws wide open to deliver a vicious bite. However, still uneasy from the gnome's magic projectile and hurt from the spines of the manticores, his attack goes wide as the dwarf dodges out of the way. Frustrated and off-balance, he can do nothing to prevent the dwarf's retaliatory strike.

The air elemental weathers the assault of the manticore without any outward reaction, air currents whirling to fill the slashes of the creature's claws. Without a sound but the rushing of the wind, it slams its fist into the dwarf that attacked it.

Barrek will use wild shape to transform into a giant crocodile after using the pearl of speech (which is a standard action, not a move action. My mistake). Sochet will move to attack/charge the dwarf in front of him (if he is able to do so, the map of the ship isn't up on roll20 right now), and the air elemental will just repeat the same slam attack against the same target. If Sochet connects, he will attempt to initiate a grapple.

[Dunkoro]

Drock yet again breathes fire on the nearest manticore.

[roll0]

*Maleera*
Good job at breathing fire at that manticore. It's not like we're standing on an airship that's made of WOOD.

*Drock*
Calm down, it's an airship, all airships are powered by fire and are thus pretty well impregnated against it. Could you at least for a moment try not to lecture me? It's not like you know anything about me... And it seems your opinion of me is pretty biased...

*Maleera*
Okay, at ease... I'm simply trying to help...

*Drock*
If you want to help; keep quiet and let me do my job, ok?

*Maleera*
Ok, Ok, do whatever you think is best.

[Whiskeyjack]

"Whatever we're going to do, we should probably do it fast. The potion idea is probably the best one for now. Later I can always...well, we'll figure it out, but now it's go time one way or another."

[GameOfChampions]

Alistair runs forward as far as he can with magic glowing at his fingertips, once he stops he thrusts out his arm and the greyish glow surrounding his fist suddenly turns to a midnight black streaked with shots of blood red and flys forward toward the dwarf directly in front of him. The dwarf gets a tic under his right eye and his eyes search around the deck of the ship rapidly until they rest upon Alistair and he takes a small nervous step bakwards as he starts to shudder with fear.

Alsitair moves side ways 5 feet and then up 15 feet and casts ghost sound with spirit chills, nightmare phantasm, and fell frighten causing him to become frightened with no save. the ghost sound is cast right on him and is as audible as a someone who whispered in his ear. The save to disbelieve the whisper, I'm making it from the evil lich riding the shadow dragon illusion, is 20 but even if he makes it he is still frightened.

[3SecondCultist]

Ahrend, Cordelia, Win:
The effects of the potion are immediate, as you all begin to shrink and morph, until each of you appears as one of the dwarves. Your bone structure is thicker, your stance wider and sturdier, and your entire body more hearty. For those of you not accustomed to changing your body structures, such a transformation is slightly unnerving. The floor is unnaturally close, and the ceiling just as far away. Your vision does not improve, however, and you see that while your gear has shrunk somewhat, it does not fit nearly as well and still looks nothing like the House Kundarak uniforms you saw in the harbor.

But the door is already opening, and the passage is awash with light.

Eight dwarves stand at the ready in the chamber beyond. By the looks of it, this level of the prison seems to be more or less self-contained, as the doors to the harbor itself remain closed. The hall itself is lit with everbright lanterns, and the walls look like they have been carved at the edge of a knife. There is another corridor that runs directly away from you, although it does turn left eventually. But it is the northern passage, the one that no doubt leads into Dreadhold itself, that seems to interest Haldren. At least it would, were it not for the abundance of weapons pointed in your direction. These dwarves seem ready to attack you, although they hold off just long enough for you to speak. A few of them sport quizzical expressions, as though they can't quite understand what a group of dwarves is doing sneaking around their postern gate.


Alastair, Barrek, Drock, Melina:
These envoys of House Kundarak do not seem to be having a good time of things, as the few remaining dwarves attempt to ward off your attacks. The air elemental at the bow manages to get a few good hits in, although once more the dwarf's toughness seems almost unbelievable. You catch a glimpse of a clear-cut diamond embedded into his breastplate - indeed, all of these warriors seem to carry the same jewel in the same place. Whatever it is, these dwarves do not seem the types to carry around precious jewels unless they served some purpose. One of the dwarves takes a wary step backwards at Barrek's transformation, readying himself to attack the druid's new reptilian features. On the other side of the Falconet, another of the dwarves deftly sidesteps Sochet's jaws, although the grin on his bearded face fades as Alastair's magic seeps into his mind. Forgetting all honor, he turns to flee, although Melina's arrow strikes him in the leg as he does, slowing him down somewhat. Drock's newest air assault is also successful, as the column of fire engulfs one of the last manticores still in the air. And yet, the beast evades the worst of the flames, emerging burnt but still alive.

These enemies do not give up easily. The space around the bow of the ship is filled with screams and empty air, as the manticore and its former rider fight back against Barrek's summoned elemental. Unfortunately, they seem to have learned from their mistakes, as they display a new coordination that for the most part gets past the elemental's defenses. At the same time, the dwarf near Barrek himself moves to strike, although he is far less effective, his axe bouncing harmlessly off of the druid's new hide. However, your foes seem to have been largely broken, as the two manticores still in the air turn and flee towards the relative safety of Dreadhold. Likewise, the dwarves seem to be falling back to the bow. The climax of the assault seems to have passed.

Suddenly, a series of dark shapes loom in the sky. As they get closer, you recognize them for what they are: ammunition. The dwarves of House Kundarak were only waiting for most of their compatriots to fall back before unleashing their barrage against the Falconet. Your ship seems to be making a long, slow bank around the towers of Dreadhold in a counter-clockwise direction, and while the distance is far enough away to stop their archers, these catapults seem to be closing the gap quite well. Four of the massive projectiles smash into the deck, and the splintering of wood fills the night air. One of them even manages to strike Barrek as he finishes his transformation, narrowly missing the dwarf next to him who seems to gasp a sigh of relief.

"Move out of the line of fire, druid! Or don't lizards have basic survival instincts like the rest of us?" Ro'hl Vek lets out a low, throaty chuckle, as he turns ninety degrees to point his crossbow towards Dreadhold itself, so impossibly far away. He lets loose four bolts in quick succession, and although it is too dark to see the result of his intervention, you have a feeling that at least some of the bolts hit their mark. Astari also lands on the deck, although you get the impression that the psion has worn out a lot of her energy already and is not quite ready for another bout.

[Writtensanity]

"Ah,." Cordelia begins, her voice matching that of one of the dwarves, "You caught us." She shrugs, as you begin to notice a sway in her movements and her speech, by the gods, is she acting drunk? What kind of foolhardy plan would involve convincing the warriors of the Dreadhold that you were drunk.

"That's what we get for -er," she pauses, "skirting our duties to go get some ale on Cape Far." She stumbles back a bit, grasping Haldren's dwarvish shoulder to steady herself, "Y'see, this boy here was thinking we should go see some sights instead of being on this dreary island all day. I was in, who am I to keep this man from going to see a giant pair of knockers in a tavern? Hell, I don't even think that third girl was a dwarf," Cordelia slaps Haldren on the back, not paying attention to his reaction, "anywho we didn't wear our uniforms off the island, didn't wanna get caught out there you see. Next thing you know I can't find my casual clothes this morning." She laughs, "And neither can these guys, we're all wardering around wondering how the hell we got our hands on these giant clothes. My best guess is we came upon a group of mercs and offered them a trade, but none of us remember that."

She stumbles again, "So we grab a few more buckets of Ale before we try to come on back. 'Course, we know that we ain't exactly going to get a welcome party if we come back after a night on the town, so he," She points her thumb to Win in his now Dwarvish form, "has the idea that we should all come back in shipping crates and sneak by all of ya."

She laughs, "and it almost worked too! We got out of them boxes, you can go check on the docks if ya wanna confirm," she acts proud of this, like their attempted break in was a barrel of laughs, "so we come through this here gate, hoping to sneak past everyone and get into bed so we can get ready for the hangover of our lives." She sighs, "but disarming traps ain't the speciality of a drunk dwarf, forgot 'bout the secondary switch and ended up getting stabbed in the hand."

"Sorry for the price of the extract boys, and the false alarm, but I really think it's about time that me and my mates here go to bed before our shifts later today. After all, the extract didn't leave me feeling the best."

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrend

The potion, becoming a Dwarf. It would never be a hobby of Ahrend, but at least, he figured, he was allowed to keep his mind the way he likes it. With appropriate relieve he notices that Cordelia is doing the talking. She is good at it as well. Ahrend decides to keep his eyes focused on the walls and the floor, figuring that's what a Dwarf that is ashamed of being caught looks like. On the inside, though, his mind was racing, trying to estimate with which power he can end the fight that may be coming as swiftly as possible.

[3SecondCultist]

Ahrend, Cordelia, Win:
By the time Cordelia is done talking, most of the dwarves have lowered their weapons. They have heard enough for now. A few of them still cast wary glances at your 'drunk' friends, but even more bear open smiles at the thought of a rowdy pub crawl gone wrong. One of the more prominent figures - clearly a captain of some sort - pushes through the ranks to greet your crew personally. His demeanor is gruff, but largely accommodating.

"Aye, you sprung our trap well and good. But what a show! I bet none of ours saw ye in the harbor. I imagine that boatman helped yer scheme. Hmm. Taking advantage of drunk Kundaraks like that! He should be flogged. At the very least, I'll have him struck from the register. He won't be seeing another piece of gold from us for the rest of his natural life. Tha's the dwarven way!" He laughs, a loud guffaw that complements the hewn stone. His armor is greater than the others' in every way, larger around the arms and shoulders and yet somehow just as light. A diamond is embedded into his chest. His axe is still in its scabbard, but he wears a shield on his left forearm like he was born to it. He turns towards the northern hall, gesturing with his free arm.

"Come on then! Ye must be right tired." Most of the guards have gone by now, but the elite and three of his men move as if to escort your group up the tunnel into Dreadhold proper. As he turns to walk, you see the strange ambient light yet again. It is more intense than it was before, a few isolated pinpoints illuminating the tunnel completely. As you watch, the points begin to merge synaptically, forming a kind of humanoid shape before disappearing. The echoes are more distinct this time. Between the static, a voice cries out. You make out but one word.

Liars.

[Whiskeyjack]

Win quaffs the potion, relishing the feeling as the spell within takes hold, shrinking him and altering his features, his proportions. Ad with every transmutation effect, Win focuses on the physical sensations - a power that he can invoke at will, normally, adjusted by the external spell effect now. It's interesting, and Win almost loses himself in it like one might in a fine glass of whiskey, but the opened door is a little more pressing. Win takes on the part of a drunk dwarf, playing with his center of balance, hiccuping and muttering under his breath, and not making eye contact with the Kundaraks.

Things seem to be going ok, and the brain-dwarf is even holding his metaphorical breath, though out of tension or trying not to ramble on about Cordelia's lie right now, who knows.

They move through the door even as the patrol starts to disassemble. Then the noise happens. Win's hands tense and a fresh sheen of sweat breaks out on how now-dwarven brow. But he holds it together, seeing if Cordelia can defuse whatever that new situation is.

[Writtensanity]

"Let's play a quick little game and assume that I was the only one who saw that." Cordelia whispered mentally, waiting a moment before the guards confirm her suspicions with her lack of action, "That you Sol?"

"Why the hell would I pull something like that?

"I don't know, same reason you were digging around in my memories."

"By accident?"

"Sure, let's go with that."

"You're talking to me again?"

"I need someone to talk AT, whether you respond is completely your choice. Right now I need to figure out how to deal with this."

"Deal with what?"

"They were bluffed, not fooled. The other guards were fooled, they are sticking with us because they don't know us."

"So then what are you going to-"

"Oi! You lads don't think we are so tipsy that we can't find our beds, do ye?" Cordelia stumbled forward to the guard as she said this, "I think that I can find my way to my bed if I am able to sneak past the docks!" She laughed, acting like the comment was much funnier than it was. Meanwhile her mind was racing at a way to get rid of the men. She then righted herself and preformed the most powerful act you can do to convince someone you are drunk, act sober.

"Oi, lads" she burped out, "lemme level with you for a moment. Yer doing me and my pals a real big favor right now." She tips to the side, "I'm okay, I'm okay." Then she reaches into her pocket, making the action look as if it took monumental effort, "I know you're all some of the better men around here and you are doing me and my pals a - wait a tick, I already said that." She giggles to herself, "but I don't want you'se to be seen with a bunch of drunks like me in case someone has a problem with our sobriety." So finally finds the coins in her pocket, "So, I had some luck at the tables last night, and I was able to get myself quite a bit of coin, and I was thinking I would share the love because you're being so nice to me and my friends." She takes the three platinum coins and shoves them into the lead dwarf's hand, making sure to close it around them, "So why don't you guys go and buy yerself some drinks while we get ourselves into bed."

She pats the leader on the back, "Just make sure not to end up like us here if you decide to take that gold off the island!"

She waits with baited breath, if they leave, the party is in the clear for quite a bit longer. If they don't it's going to be difficult to explain why she just tried to bribe the guards.

[Dunkoro]

*Maleera*
So, you're simply going to breathe at them and hope they drop dead before you do? That's not a very effective strategy.

Drock responded, by breathing yet again at the nearest Manticore.

[roll0]

*Maleera*
You're even ignoring me right now? Fine...

[GameOfChampions]

Alistair warily keeps an eye out for more incoming missiles, and praying that his force shield would help if he got hit by a giant flying boulder, as he hustles forward with the dwarf in front of him in his sights. As he stops to cast his spell he sees the two dwarves and the manticore together and casts his spell in the middle of the group. As the spell is cast he watches closely to see the reaction among the group and to see which of the group is weakest so he can strike them next.

Alistair moves foward 5 ft, then diagonal 5 ft, then foward 10 ft. after that he casts ghost sound with nightmare phantasm, spirit chills, and fell frighten right beside the air elemental at the volume of one man trying to say something to them in a slightly raised voice. The spell stacks 2 fear effects on everyone who hears it. Even if they make the save they are still frightened.

[Let'sGetKraken]

Barrek bellows in pain as the boulder smashes into his side. He twists his head back towards Ro'hl Vek, who can swear that for the briefest second it seemed like the crocodile scowls. Turning back to face his assailant, he opens his jaws wide, his gaping mouth taller than the Kundarak dwarf who stands - visibly shaken - in front of him. Then he strikes, a blur of scales and teeth.

Meanwhile, Sochet is yet again visibly frustrated at the prey who seem to keep disappearing before he can get to them. Filled with bloodlust, the crocodile charges forward at the nearest dwarf, attempting to pin him in his jaws.

Finally, if the air can look cross, the wind elemental certainly manages it. Battered from the assault and resentful of the creature's vicious spikes, it turns its full might against the manticore in front of it.

Barrek will make a full attack against the dwarf before him, attempting to initiate a grapple with his jaws. Sochet will charge (yet again) towards the nearest dwarf, attempting to bite and again grapple with the creature if it hits. Finally, the air elemental will make a full attack against the manticore - it is seriously pissed off.

[3SecondCultist]

Ahrend, Cordelia, Win:
Thankfully, the lead guard seems to accept Cordelia's money gracefully, leading the others back down the western hallway and leaving all of you with a clear passage to the north, and into the stronghold proper.

"Well that was cutting it a bit close." Despite his low tone, Haldren's dwarven expression is oddly cheery. He claps Cordelia on the shoulder once - although more gently than he is normally accustomed to - and nods towards both Win and Ahrend. Throughout your impromptu performance, he seemed to enjoy himself immensely, a fact which only now strikes you as more than a little bit odd. At least the strange light is gone now. Indeed, there doesn't seem to be any trace of it ever having existed at all. It may have all been a dream, but for the subtle expressions of worry you see on your companions' faces.

"We shouldn't dither. I know the way to the Golden Wards from here."

Alastair, Barrek, Drock, Melina:
The battle has long since come to a close by the time Barrek roars, taking a swipe with his great claws at one of the dwarves. Thankfully, the druid manages to grab the armored defender, pressing all of his newfound weight on his opponent. His companion has no such luck, however, and misses its target completely.

But in that very moment, Drock releases one last torrent of flame and Alastair finishes another spell, breaking any semblance of morale within the last of the Kundarak boarders. Both dwarves near the bow turn to flee, opening themselves up for reprisal from both the massive crocodile and the elemental. It is too late for them: the last manticore retreats from the combat, its bat-like wings pushing up eddies of wind as it soars away from the Falconet. The two dwarves have nowhere left to turn. Their bravery has cost them the fight, just as each of you stands slightly taller for your own victory here.

The suddenness of the silence that follows the last blow being felled is almost overpowering. The Lhazar wind whistles all around you. It is only then that you look back and see the Dreadhold, growing smaller and smaller in the distance. You are out of range of their catapults now, far beyond the reach of any mortal archer. Even Ro'hl Vek has put away his crossbow for the time being, although he looks far less than pleased to be doing so. He scowls at Astari, who turns wordlessly to float across the deck towards the captain's cabin. This abrupt departure from combat is clearly not a part of the plan.


Both Sochet and the elemental may make a single AoO against their respective dwarves for moving out of one of their threatened squares. The former only gets one due to a lack of the Combat Reflexes feat, and the latter only gets one due to the dwarf taking a withdraw action (he doesn't provoke AoOs from leaving the square he starts the movement from). This is also how the manticore is able to move away on the ground and fly away in the same turn without provoking a single AoO.

[Autopsibiofeeder]

Ahrend

Ahrend nods back at the colonel. Quite opposed to the leader, Ahrend was not enjoying himself. Could I be more out of my element? The sage chuckles internally at this word play. Let's hope we get out of this mess soon...

[Let'sGetKraken]

At the bow of the vessel, the elemental aims one last punch. Understanding that its services are no longer needed, it begins to spin, rising into the air above the deck. As it whirls faster and faster, it slowly disintegrates, its mind returning to the Elemental Plane of Air, its body nothing more than mindless wind.

Why does the archer get to have all the fun? grumbles Barrek. His side aching from his recent encounter with a boulder and his head pounding from the focus of directing the elemental, the druid spits out the wriggling dwarf, who collapses to the deck in a puddle of crocodile saliva. Barrek concentrates once more, and his body writhes and shrinks, the scales merging to form smooth skin as he reverts to his natural form. Casting a baleful glare at the dwarf, he reaches down into a pouch at his side and pulls out a small white pearl, which he places on his tongue. The pearl immediately dissolves, granting him fluency in the Kundarak's tongue.

"You're outnumbered and outmatched. I've barely cast a quarter of my spells for the day, and the crocodile was the least powerful of my forms - not to mention the psion, archer, illusionist, paladin and... metal-dragon-creature. If you want to make it through the day, I suggest surrendering. Immediately. Or you'll be spending the rest of the trip as a ferret."

Not very eloquent, as intimidation goes. The low, cold thought echoes uninvited through Barrek's skull.

Quiet, mindthief. Leave me be.

You know, I've been called that before, whispers the beguiler in Barrek's mind. But I don't think it's ever been quite so accurate.

The druid casts a glance at the starboard side of the ship, where Sochet snaps halfheartedly at the fleeing dwarf, resigned to another day of substandard food. Even so, the blow is powerful enough to tear gaping wounds in the Kundarak's side.

That was the only attack he managed to land. He's getting old. It was true - the crocodile had been with Barrek for nearly four years, and had been just past the peak of his prime when the two had met. In fact, it was less than than -

No. Out of my memories!

Vraskis sighs, retreating into the darker crevasses of the druid's mind. He would do what he did best - watch and wait.

[GameOfChampions]

As Alistair trains his crossbow on the remaining dwarves and flexes his fingers in preperation for another spell in case the dwarves try something sneaky. Just then his new 'friend' upstairs said "Hey Alistair?", Mah'reth says casually, "What do you want you parasite, I'm trying to watch these guys!" Alistair says voice tight with stress and excitement from the battle. "Well i thought the plan was to pick the other group up but we are straying kinda far now..." Mah'reths voice trails off as Alistair whips around to look at the fortress fading into the distance. The slight gnome turns to yell at the unseen captain "HEY TAKE US BACK AROUND! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"

[Whiskeyjack]

Win breathes a sigh of relief as the dwarf patrol moves away. "Can't believe that worked," he mutters. "We should hurry, but what reason would a bunch of drunk dwarves in civilian clothes have to go to the Gold Wards? I mean, I know little enough about this place to think up a good ruse to justify it, but in any case we should try to get in and out while these potions are still working." Win looks around, then waits for the Colonel to lead the way.

[Writtensanity]

Cordelia sighs, "This is why I usually carry those potions for bluffing, that was way too close for comfort. I mean really, I lost money on that." She looks disappointed with her performance, even if it was as good as anyone could have hoped for, "I think Win's right in the sense that we need to move, I really would prefer to see one of those requisition forms. Plus, I have a feeling that next time we see a patrol, it's not going to be so jovial."

[Dunkoro]

*Drock*
That was... a lot harder than I expected it to be to be honest...
But we did our best, held them here as long as possible and beaten most of them.
Is anyone left for some questioning? Additional intel never hurt anybody.