[IC] Age of Absolution

[TekHed]

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As winds sweeps across the mountains and the waters erode the stone, time passes for the people of Eberron.

The Last War has ended, bringing with it a time of peace, where new nations were born and the the mistakes of the past would serve as lessons for the future. Yet old enmities die hard and there are still those that vie for power as old evils stir beneath the lands. Ancient plots begin to manifest themselves in the dark corners of the world and secret wars are waged within the shadows.

The waves and verses of the Prophecy have become uneasy as it marked the begging of a new age and not even the dragons know what the future has in store for us.

Only one thing is certain, in this new age the people of Eberron will need heroes. Those with burning eyes and fearless hearts, possessing incredible skill and power they will rise to the face these challenges. They will wage wars, travel to the farthest corners of the world, uncover mysteries of ages past and change the world forever.

But most of all, they will discover themselves, they will find their purpose in their darkest hour and claim victory against all odds. Be they cold hearted tyrants or valiant paladins, they will be remembered as their deeds shape the future and their names turn to legend.

This is their story.

The Age of Absolution

...awaits.

PROLOGUE: Regalport

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1000 YK 15 Aryth Sul (1st of November Monday)
07:46 AM
Weather: Clear
Temperature: - 11° Celsius
Wind Speed: 6 mph


"This is new," said the beautiful shifter as she traced a finger along the intricate path of the dragonmark that had risen to the surface of his well chiseled abs. "Who knows?" she asked.

"So far no one else...only you. And...I'd like to keep it that way," the man spoke in his booming baritone.

"Of course my love." she purred looking up at him with her intoxicating eyes. "You do so love your secrets. When are you going to show me what you've been working on, locked in your basement for all those hours?" Her hand began tracing lower under the sheets.

"Maybe when I'm done, if you're lucky," he answered her. "You had better be off now. The shop will need opening soon," he added, slipping from the bed and her wandering hands. She pouted as he pulled on his trousers, but nonetheless got up and got dressed.

"I'll see you later," Tatiana said as she kissed him goodbye. Boryx shook his head to himself as he watched her leave, her long legs a testament to her shifter namesake. It was a dangerous gamble he had taken, allowing her to see the fresh dragonmark. She was a spy of course, that much he had discerned long ago, but he had an inkling that perhaps her feelings had not been entirely fabricated over the last 10 months. Besides, it would have aroused suspicion if he were to break things off with her and this way, if House Orien came caling to collect him, well he would have his answer. The thought of involving himself further in House politics was distasteful, and something he had been running from for quite some time. His inheritance it seemed, was finally catching up to him.

"Oi! big man!" a voice broke the surface of his deep thoughts. "What's with the reverie? I thought only Elves could do that?" The chiding voice belonged to the smiling face of Enoch Elestrel, one of the few people he could trust.

"You should know better than I," Boryx quipped back as the Half Elven spellthief removed the hood from his head. "What brings you 'round here this morning? Don't you know I have work to do?"

"What? I'm just lookin' out for you my friend. I saw Tatiana leaving. The forge isn't the only place you like playing with fire..."

It had been Enoch who had first discovered the Shifter's shifty allegiance, and he'd been warning Boryx about her ever since. The roguish half-breed was perhaps too disorderly for Boryx's taste, but he had a good heart and was loyal to his friends which meant a lot to the hulking human. Real friends were in short supply these days. Though the War was over, it's shadows still loomed long over the land.

"Well, I'll know soon enough where her loyalties lie. Here. I fixed your sword. No no! I don't want to hear how you bent it. Probably better off if I don't know the details. If I'm asked, I don't need to lie. I'm just a humble craftsman and you my well-paying customer" Boryx winked.

The half elf took the parcel gracefully. "Thanks again. Hey! You want to join me at the pub later tonight? Probably do you good to get out of the house for a bit." he asked his friend.

"I don't know, I really should keep working on my project. I've almost got the output differential figured out. Besides, I need to stay on my toes for the time being. We'll celebrate when we're out of Regalport, away from Orien's prying eyes."

The half-blood sighed. "That's not all they have. Watch out for for Tatiana. Even tail like her isn't worth what might happen if her employers decide you're a target."

Boryx gave a playful punch at his smaller friend, though the half-elf easily dodged from harm's way.

"You let me worry about Tatiana. Besides, watching my back is what you're for! Now go on, I'll see you later."

The spellthief drew his hood back up as he turned around, casting a final smirk at his oversized friend.

Boryx shook his head and sighed once more before closing the door.

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1000 YK 15 Aryth Sul (15 November Monday)
17:24 PM
Weather: Cloudy
Temperature: - 15° Celsius
Wind Speed: 9 mph


This city.... what'd they call it? Regalport?

Out of all the places you visited this has got to be the nicest. Sure some guy tried tried to mug you just as you arrived and when you entered the inn you got plenty of lewd remarks from both the innkeep and the patrons. But the people here are still nicer than anyone you've met in the lower planes. You could definitely get used to this.

You are suddenly jostled from your thoughts by a group of five men, each of them having a face more unpleasant than the next. The guy in the middle of the group not only looked more surly than the rest, he also looked pretty strong (for a prime).

"Stop right there honey." He spoke in the most raspy voice possible. "You're the gal that almost killed Pete a day ago. Well, Pete is a good friend of mine so me and my boys thought that we'd return the favor."

In the mean time the crowd began to step away, both not wanting to get mixed up in the upcoming fight and looking forward to a good brawl.


"Oh dear, I believe you must be mistaken," Bellatrix says, confused. "I have just arrived here, and it wasn't for a mission. I couldn't have killed anyone yet, and I'd like to keep it that way thank you."
A glowing blue tie that looks suspiciously like a noose forms around her neck. "If it were at all possible, could we talk this out?"

"By talk, you mean with your fists, right?" a masculine voice rasps in her mind.

"That's right child, draw them in with honeyed tongue then draw your blade across their throats," Bella hears in a sensuous whisper. She frowns, putting her hands up to prevent them surreptitiously going to Alighieri.
"Oh wanna talk do ya?" He chuckles. "Hardly lass."

The thugs begin to advance towards you with their weapons drawn in a vaguely threatening manner.
Bellatrix's hair shifts from red to blue,
a billowing blue traveler's cloak appearing around her shoulders, making her hard to look at..

"I'll buy you a round and spare you your lives if you give me no trouble."
Two ornate blue rings appear on her pointer fingers as she pleads. "It's for your best interests, really."

"They're not going to listen, you know," the masculine voice grouses.

"I know," Bellatrix thinks back, "I just want them to have a chance. Plausible deniability and all."

"How sweet of ya." He said with a wicked smile. "I might even call for a cleric to pick up what's left of you."

They begin walking towards you and you are certain this time that they will not listen.
"Can't say I didn't try," Bellatrix says to herself, bumrushing the leader before letting the light of her soul explode outwards.
In a flash three of the six thugs drop to the ground as your radiance overwhelms them and scares the nearby spectators. The leader managed to remain standing but he was not un-scarred.

Howling in pain he swings his club at you and even as you were not quick enough to react, the weapon swung in the wrong direction. In the meantime, the two still conscious thugs rush to help their leader, quickly trying to surround you and assist him.
"Look, I just wanted to see the sights of Regalport, not stab people," Bellatrix says, mildly annoyed. "Am I going to have to kill some more to get a bite to eat?"

She sighs, a blade made of blue soulfire materializing in her right hand. The movements are automatic, sensuous whispers telling her exactly where to put the blade.

Her eyes flare with murderous intent, the wild soul of the demon hunter itching for a party. She slashes at the leader's throat, then aims to run him through; looking back at the flunkies with a mixture of pity, admonishment, and excitement.

With a single slash you cut off the head of the man in front of you, then you turn around and repeat the same action with one of the thugs. Only one was left standing after that and he wisely opted to run as quickly as his feet could carry him.

You yourself were quite a sight, covered in quite a bit of blood with more spilling out into a puddle at your feet.
"God, that was completely pointless!" the masculine voice whines like a petulant child without a toy. "They didn't even last six seconds!"

"They learned their proper place was bleeding on the floor. That is purpose enough," the feminine voice drawls.

Bellatrix watches the man run away with his tail between his legs; if only they all did that she wouldn't have to clean the blood off of the floor. She was a guest in this place, to sully it so was most uncouth. She clears her throat, wipes away at some of the blood on her face.

"Ahem. If anyone else has a death wish today, please step forward. If not, may I please have a towel and a glass of water?" She turns to the barkeep, his fear masked by a weary expression. "I'm dreadfully sorry about the mess, if you would like me to, I shall clean it up for you."
"Well I got neither lass but I want to say just how bloody impressive that was. Quite literally!" Stepping out from a crowd was a tall, well built human male with a wide smile and dashing brown eyes. "Allow me to introduce myself, Aran Liomar at your service."

He gives a short bow of greeting.

"I rather enjoyed watching you handled Fashen and his men. We have few warriors of your caliber around here and I know most of them, which means that you are a newcomer." He spoke and a lot of whispers instantly broke out amongst the crowd. "So I want to offer my help and a deal. I work for a very important man, someone who could use your talents. "

"In return you will recieve shelter, respect and have the potential to become very, very rich." He paused "And of course I will arrange for these bodies to be removed."
"Ooh, this guy looks strong. Take him on!"

"No you fool, he is offering us purpose. Long have I craved a new master to serve."

"Does this important man have cloven hooves, the horns of a ram, and does he bathe in the misery of sentient creatures?" Bellatrix asks with a small curtsy. "If not, then he's probably better than my old boss."

"Looks are deceiving, young one."

"As those poor bastards found out. Good thing stupidity is a fatal disease; what would happen if those berks bred?"

Bellatrix cuts the light of her soul off, her hair returning to blazing red. She smiles demurely and holds out a hand to the man. "Bellatrix Alighieri. Pleased to meet you mister Liomar."
"Does that mean that you worked for demons?" He said, slightly taken aback. "And you came here all the way from the Demon Wastes?"
"To put it simply, yes," Bellatrix says, blushing slightly.

"That is certainly... interesting. I never thought that demon servants would look and act quite like you do..." He said with raised eyebrows. "Ahhhh I don't know what to make of it. Let's just get away from this... mess and you will tell more along the way."

The two of you leave the scene of the slaughter without looking back.

"If what you said is true then we need to do a lil' background check." He spoke as the two of you walked through the streets. "Just want to be sure that we won't actually have to deal with your former master, if you get my drift. As for my boss, perhaps you have already heard of High Prince Rygar?"
"Why yes, yes I have." Bellatrix says absentmindedly. "He's-"

"A pudgy waste of organs, suckling off the wizened teat of his own bravado," the feminine hisses.

"A rather influential privateer, correct?"
"To put it mildly." Aran said. "Rygar is a hell of a guy and a good friend of mine. The city you see around you right now was his vision but there were many that helped him make it a reality, which gives us certain privileges."

He finishes with a smile as he simply grabs two oranges from a nearby fruit-stand as the merchant would only smile and bow happily.

"Want one? Courtesy of Regalport." He said as he offered one to you.

The two of you continued walking through the harbor area untill you come up to a dock building that you could only describe as royal, not only was it made out of more expensive wood than its neighbors but someone had actually taken the time to point it into blue and gold colors and adore it with the flags of the Sea Dragon. The flag of High Prince Rygar.

"So any questions before we enter?" Aran asks from the side.
"See if his lapdog can put up a good fight! We shouldn't follow anybody whose asses we can kick ourselves, eh?" the masculine boasts. "Those guys were small fries, this dude smells like he's got some serious mojo."

"I don't know anyone here outside of him and the men I've slain," Bella says inside her head. "I don't know how demon hunters live, but in polite society we don't go fighting every person who shows us hospitality." She takes a bite of the orange, squeals softly at its sweetness. "Besides, why would I hurt someone who gave me such a wonderful thing?"

"Feh, women." the masculine snorts, drawing a protracted hiss from the feminine. Meanwhile, Bellatrix scarfs down the orange, enamored by it's exquisite taste.

"Can I have another one of these orange things?" she says, cheeks stuffed with flavor.
"Maybe afterward." He said with a coy smile before the two of you finally enter the dock.

Inside the building was teeming with movement, all sort of people were there, unloading cargo, building ships or making repairs.

"When you are High Prince you need to make sure you have the biggest fleet or else it is nothing but a title." Aran comments as make your way along the rows of ships.

Soon you come up to one of the biggest ship you have ever seen, from your view, the entire thing seemed to be infused with magic. Both of you walk up onto the deck large enough to support a full grown dragon where you expected to find the High Prince himself.

"Ey, Rygar. Come down here. I think I've found us a new recruit." You look up, to the top of the huge elemental ring surrounding the ship and about 90 feet above where you stand stood the pirate prince himself.

"Great. Great. Show him around and give him something do while I repair the Dragoneye." Was the simple response.

"It's a lass captain. Bellatrix. She claims that she is from the Demon Wastes."

That seemed to have finally gotten his attention.

"Be right down." He said before he jumped. In a few seconds he had landed right in front of you without any problems.

"Ah, a Genasi! Not too many of those around here but I've stranger people working under me." He paused to give a welcoming smile. "Welcome Bellatrix, I, am High Prince Rygar, Ruler of Regalport, Heir to Galifar's Throne and the most dangerous man in these waters. Tell me, what did you do to impress our friend Aran here?"

"I killed a room full of very stupid men," Bella shrugs, "In about 12 seconds. It's not all that impressive, and I really didn't want to, but these things happen." She stands there for a minute, staring at Rygar curiously.

"Manners, child!" the feminine scolds.

Like a marionette with its strings cut, Bellatrix falls into a deep curtsy, her red hair falling over her face and cascading onto the floor. "Forgive my impudence."
"She killed Fashen." Aran comments from behind you.

"Uh, who?" Rygard asked.

"Fashen. Don't you remember? The ugly bastard who tried to seduce Mailen?"

"Oh.... right. That Fashen. Well when you've seen one thug like him, you've seen them all." Rygar said, seeming slightly annoyed that his had to reminded by Aran. "Well then Bellatrix, welcome aboard. Anyone is welcome among my men as long as you are ready to give it your best. Whatever battles or enemies you have left behind you are irrelevant, this day will be the start of a new life."

He then pulls out a bag full of gems and hands it to you. "Here. This should be enough to to get you the best quarters in Regalport and the richest meals you can think of. I see that you are already well equipped so there is no need to bother with it. Since you are new here you probably have a lot of questions, Aran here will be happy to answer them."

You hear a slight cough behind you.

"But sadly I cannot stay any longer. I need to get back to repairing my ship." He smiles before slowly walking to a nearby mast. "Return tomorrow and I will have a mission for you."
Bella turns to Aran, hands behind her back. She rocks back onto her heels. "So, where's a nice place to eat around here? Do all your bars have thugs to murder?"

Aran smile. "Not all of them. Come. I think I know a place you might like."

After a few minutes of walking you have left the docks and entered the more central area of the city and not long ofter that do you come close to what is probably the best inn in the city.

"There she is. The Seadragon, named so after our banner. Enough luxury to satisfy the rich but but also simpler rooms for the poor." He pauses. "I think you will be fine from here. Get a good nights rest, I have a feeling that tomorrows mission will involve more than just talking."
Bella curtsies in thanks to Aran, then heads inside. She takes a small meal of medium rare steak, tea, and an orange in peaceful silence. Thankful that nobody had to die, she gives the barkeep an olive sized gem and a bow of gratitude, before heading off to bed early.

The beds were soft and soon lulled you to sleep. That night, you slept in peace.

-=-

In a distant realm, a forge, a creation was kneeling before its creator.

"Twelve..." The fabric of the plane resonated with the sound of his voice.

"Find her..." The kneeling figure shook as if his feet were barely able to hold him.

"Kill her..."

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1000 YK 15 Aryth Sul (15 November Monday)
17:24 PM
Weather: Cloudy
Temperature: - 15° Celsius
Wind Speed: 9 mph


A whaleboat rowed close to the pier, carrying with it an elf covered by a cloak. Standing on the pier was an old man, who reached out his arm to support the disembarking elf. Facing each other, both gave a small grin.

"Time has not been kind to you, Robrand." Aselia addressed the old human standing in front of her. The man was wearing simple clothes which smelled of fish. On his hip was a short sword. Held in his hands was a wooden cane which he used to support himself.

"And you have not aged a single day, my dear. Still beautiful as always" Robrand complimented Aselia, who lightly blushed at the praise. "Flattery." She quickly retorted, trying to hide her embarrassment. Robrand simply laughed."Let walk, shall we?"

From the pier, they walked towards the center of the city. "Regalport has changed." Aselia observe the city, noting the various sights. "You'd be surprised how much change occurred the last thirty years you were gone." Robrand points out while walking.

Eventually, the two reached their destination, a restaurant; "The Swordfish". Entering the establishment and taking their seats, a young girl, the waitress hands them their menu. "Any word about Thuranni?" She asked, her eyes settling over the house specialty.

"None. After all, they think you're dead." Robrand nonchalantly responds to Aselia's inquiry, more concerned about whether to order grilled marlin or calamari. Raising his hand, he called attention to the waitress. "Calamari."

"Shellfish." Aselia stated her order before handing back the menu. Likewise, Robrand did so. The waitress quickly took them and left. A few minutes later, their food had arrived.

The meal was silent, the two enjoying each other's company and the food. Once the two were done, Robrand broke the silence. "What now?" He inquired, curious about Aselia's presence in the last place she would be found.

"Business." Aselia answered a curt reply as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Will you be informing Thuranni of my presence?" Her eyes quickly stared at Robrand, eyeing his every move.

"Why bother? I'm too old for this anyways." Robrand answered with a shrug. "After all, we're dead."

"True." Standing up, Aselia gave Robrand a short bow. "Thanks for the company and the meal." Turning about, she walked towards the door. "Take care, and stay safe." was the last she heard from Robrand. Aselia simply responded with a wave before putting on her hood.

Out in the street, Aselia quickly stepped into the alley beside the restaurant. There, a cloaked figure was standing. Seeing Aselia, the mysterious person quickly broke into a sprint. Aselia, with a fluid motion, drew her dagger and immediately threw it at her target. The dagger struck true and pierced the head of the cloaked figure. Moving closer, Aselia removed the dead man's hood to reveal a familiar face.

It was an operative of House Thuranni. Aselia recognized it as one of the field agents who she worked with before. He apparently recognized Aselia and trailed her, trying to discover why she was alive and here in Regalport. "It seems I have to be careful from now on." She said to no one in particular as she removed her dagger from the dead elf's head.

Sheathing her dagger, she touched the brooch which fastened her cloak. Aselia felt an itch on her skin as the item activated. Once the itch was gone, she took of her hood and stepped back out to the street. Walking past Robrand who has just left the building, her disguise worked.
Aselia, in the guise of another elf, stands in front of the hornet's nest; the House Thuranni enclave within Regalport. Calmly walking into the den of lions, she observed the surroundings to give herself any clue about the current situation of the House.

The main base of House Thuranni stands before you, a beautiful house that is both a manor and a fortress. In typical elven style the house refused to compromise defense for aesthetics or vise versa.

Surrounded by a wall of beautiful craftsmanship, the manor itself has a small courtyard with many trees that were imported from Aerenal, the house managing to keep them alive even in this cold climate. The windows of the building are black, making it impossible to see inside and a sense of secrecy surrounds the building like a veil.

A few guards are posted at the entrance, as well as in the courtyard but much less than when you were last here. This might mean that magical security has increased or something else entirely.
Aselia moves closer to the guard and strikes a conversation. "Been a while since the upshots called me back from the field. Seems different from last I saw."
The four guards eye you with suspicion and exchange glances with one another.

"Erdes, come out." One of them shouts. "We have an arrival."

After a few seconds the gates open to reveal a short elf clad in wizard robes. Still rather young, he has a focused look in his eyes.

"This one?" He asks. When the answer was a nod he pulled out a wand from his pocket and made a single gesture to activate it. You identify the effect as detect magic.

"She is clean." He said after a few seconds of scanning you. "But I don't recognize her. Where are you from?"

"Stormreach and Xen'drik, running about in the jungles and getting lost." Aselia coolly replied, stating half-truths.
"Xen'drik..." He said quietly. "You have come a long way. Were you not given the proper codes by your summons? Is there someone who can attest for you?"

Aselia shakes her head. "Sadly, the person who can attest for me was killed by someone who called herself the Heir of the Mark of Death. And I fear that I may be her next target." She replied while slowly looking behind her, as if paranoid about something.
"What?!" He asked complete disbelief filling his voice. "What the hell are you talking about?! There is no such mark!"

"Either you are trying to cover up your own incompetence or you are a very good liar." His eyes narrowed. "Get out of my sight and don't come back until you have some proof of who you are."
"Really now? As I recall, there was a agent who was found dead in an alley beside The Swordfish, a restaurant here in Regalport. A knife wound from the back. And no clues as to who who killed him." Aselia then shrugs, then narrows her eyes at the guard. "If agents of the house being killed aren't important, your loss." She then turns around and leaves.
The young wizards eyes go wide as his jaws drop at the same time.

"How do you... Nevermind!" He said as he finally composed himself. "You will come with me! And you two will come as well!"

Gathering some of the guard, the newly formed group made its way into the courtyard and towards the manor. Old, familiar smells great you as you pass archway after archway finally coming to a stand at the doors and they too soon open.
Within you see a small, brightly lit and richly decorated hallway with a few more guards posted.

You are led to the back of the manor, the endless corridors seeming almost mazelike with endless twists and turns. Finally the journey ends in a room that lacks any of the decorations found within the rest of the manor.

You are sat down at a table positioned at the center of the room with four guards standing on all sides of you.

"Call for Tural! And get the others here as well!" Erdes shouts out in a worried tone before turning back to you. You recognize the name, an old gnome that joined the house during the Shadow Schism.
After a few minutes of waiting (time that was used by the guard to strip you of your weapons) you see Tural enter the room. You have only seen him once before but already you see that age has not been kind to him, behind his glasses his eyes were sunken and his small beard had begun to turn grey. Even his expression is one of constant annoyance.

Behind him was a very uncommon sight in these walls. A human who by the looks of it, supplied the muscle for the house. His long, dark hair matched his equally dark eyes and the way he looked at you made it obvious that he was looking forward to what should come next.

"Master Tural, Master Iram." Erdes quickly bowed to his superiors. "We have discovered this elf outside the base. She claims that she is one of ours but she did not know the codes. She also knew about the death of Tavin."

The gnome quickly focused his attention on you after hearing the last part.

"Did you detect any magic upon her?" He spoke and despite the years, his voice was still as strong as ever.

"N-no sir. She was clean when I inspected her."

Tural stepped closer and began moving his hands in an arcane pattern as Erdes's face began to show signs of worry.

"You are a moron Erdes. She was protected right from the start." One by one he proceeds to point out the locations of every single magic item upon your body and they were quickly removed. Once your cloak was taken your disguise falters and you return to your regular form.

"Well, well... our sister returns." Spoke a feminine voice who's bearer was not yet seen but already you were able to recognize it. A moment later an elf, one whom knew her all too well. "It has been a long time, Aselia. Have you gotten homesick?"

Isarra stood unchanged, looking no different since the day you both spilled blood of your fellows. There was her long silver hair and her cold eyes, there was her armor covered in fine silk and the double bladed sword that served as her favorite weapon hung from her shoulder.
"Not really. I've been busy being a mother." Aselia gave a slight grin as she answered her former companion's question. Now unarmed, with only her wits to go by, Aselia knew that she had to play her cards right. "How about you? Still the same as before?"

Isarra shakes her head as she brings her hand to her forehead in a sad, overdramatic gesture.

"Ah Aselia, how can we truly remain the same as before? After everything that has happened?" She lowers her hand and smiles. "But that is of no consequence. What matters is you."

She pauses and casts her eyes up.

"You... oh I should kill you right now for what you did." She sighed. "But I cannot. By order of Baron Elar you are to be brought directly to him should we capture you. It seems you have become important now."

In the mean time the elf left the room with Tural having replaced him.
"And how I wonder why the Baron sees me important..." Aselia sarcastically deadpans while tapping her finger to her chin.

"Who knows. Maybe he misses you as much as I did? Now that is a thought..." She said, maintaining the fake nonchalant attitude that she has been wearing this entire time. "But I think we have already talked enough. Iram, would you kindly?"

The human gives a grim smile as he steps away from the wall and walks up towards you. Instantly the guards on both sides grapple you, holding you in place.

"My pleasure..." He said while flexed his knuckles. At this close distance, you could smell the stink of sweat and dried blood upon him.

"Remember Iram, we need her alive for Elar, so be careful." Isarra spoke as she prepared to watch from the sidelines.

"I'll be gentle."

The last thing you remember seeing was the human raising his fist. What fallowed then would soon be lost in unconsciousness.

[TekHed]

PROLOGUE: Regalport


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1000 YK 15 Aryth Sul (15 November Monday)
17:24 PM
Weather: Cloudy
Temperature: - 15° Celsius
Wind Speed: 9 mph


The late morning sunlight finally found its way through white lace curtains, motes of dust visible in the beam as they drifted lazily through the air. A light breeze whispered its way through the open window, and lightly brushed a few stray blonde hairs that lay across their owner’s face. After a long while of denying that he was awake, Giles Maxander finally opened his eyes. For a moment, he was still, and allowed his mind to expand and greet the day.

Eventually, the tall man scrunched up his face, fed in the impulse for a sigh, and began a long, luxurious stretch. The silk sheets were a pleasure on his bare skin. After a moment, he lifted his head off the feather pillow and sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees contentedly. Judging from the quality of light in the room, he guessed it was about noon. Excellent.

With another sigh, he let his eyes wander around the considerably large room, not really willing to give up the pretense of being in bed just yet. A charming lacquered vanity desk stood on clawed feet, painted with gold leaf, which in turn rested on a plush, dark red carpet embroidered with a pattern of waves and stars around its border. Matching chairs, footrests, a coat-hang, and a boudoir completed the furniture set (beyond the four-poster in which Giles was seated, of course), and a hanging tapestry full of many-sailed naval vessels adorned the far wall. It was a sumptuous room, and he was sick of it.

He was also sick of his bed partner. The woman beside him, as nude as he, and even more beautiful, had a sloppy grin plastered across her still-sleeping face. Giles spared her no more than a passing glance before throwing the single sheet off his knees and swinging his legs out over the side of the bed. With one final sigh, he stood up, reaching back down for the dark brown woolen trousers that had been thrown carelessly aside the night before. In a moment, he had put them on, and did not hesitate before striding over to a cream-colored linen shirt a few feet away and throwing this next article of clothing over his head. He tied the cuffs loosely, but did not bother with the strings at the throat. Too constricting.

Giles strolled across the room towards the door and picked his light brown leather coat off the ground at the foot of the coat-hang. Turning back around, he found one boot, and then another, and stamped his feet into them. The noise made the woman in bed stir, and lift herself up on one elbow. Sleepily, she opened her eyes and peered at the man before her. She opened her mouth, but Giles was already speaking. “Go back to sleep,” he ordered casually as he channeled a minute amount of mental energy in her direction, not even bothering to look at the woman as he did so. Without protest, her head flopped back onto her pillow. Giles made a face. Too easy.

In the next moment, he was turning the door handle and stepping out of the room. “Good morning,” a melodious female voice chimed sarcastically from the floor. “If you can even call it morning any more. Lazybones.” Giles gave the oblong pink crystal a rueful smile as he allowed it to grow spidery legs and begin crawling up his leg as he moved down a hallway as opulently decorated as the room he had just left. “Good morning to you too, Darling,” he responded good naturedly, a pleasing baritone matching the crystal’s light soprano. He jogged down some stairs and winked at a liveried servant going the other way. The latter tried a half-smile, thought better of it, and turned his eyes downward; Giles laughed, and continued, making one more turn before finding the back door of the manor house. Out he stepped into an alleyway that took him directly to one of the most bustling streets in the Regalport Market. The roar of the crowd, the open sunlight, the general bustle of activity, all of these were a dramatic change of pace from the quiet manor house Giles had just left. It was going to be a good day, indeed. Absently, Giles resolved never to spend another night with that particular merchant’s wife.

“I’ve never understood why you don’t let me stay in the room with you overnight, Giles,” the psicrystal sent telepathically from her perch on Giles’ shoulder. Had she chosen to emit sound, it would have been lost in the din. “It’s not like I don’t know exactly what’s going on in there. You certainly project everything strongly enough.” Giles only laughed again, his good mood indefatigable as he reveled in the sights and sounds of the market. As he made his way through the market, he opened his mind to the surface thoughts and emotions of the crowd, a favorite pastime of his. Maintaining a steady pace through the streets of Regalport, he took the time to whisper into the ears of this or that passerby. “You’re right, he doesn’t deserve you,” he would mutter, or “She would have loved it,” not taking the time to see how his little words of advice landed. After all, he could feel the reactions. Giles left a wake of doubt, anger, regret, and sadness. It was so easy.

Rounding a corner, he arbitrarily picked a fruit-seller and proceeded up to the man’s stand. Nodding amicably to the man, a portly fellow with a red beard and bright eyes, Giles inspected the merchandise. “How much?” he asked nonchalantly, gesturing to a particularly ripe-looking purple something-or-other. “Two copper, m’lud,” the seller replied with a smile. Giles looked the man straight in the eye, and didn’t bother reaching into his pockets. Instead, he channeled. “I’m sorry, my friend, but I don’t think I have that much. Won’t you just let me have it for free?” The seller’s bright eyes momentarily lost their luster before he responded. “Why, o’course ye can! Take two, even, y’poor soul!” Giles smiled and picked up three fruits. “You know, I think I’ll take an extra. It’s my birthday, after all.” “Farewell, now!” the seller called out as Giles walked away, smiling. Too easy, Giles thought a bit sourly. These weak-minded fools would let Giles undress them in public and set fire to their homes if he wanted them to. Giles took a bite of one of his recent acquisitions and immediately spit it out. Overripe. Of course. “I forgot it was your birthday,” Darling ventured telepathically, catching Giles’ mood and deciding it wouldn’t hurt to call him out on something, for once.

As usual, Giles paid her little heed, his mind already on other things. He had a lot of work to get done today, and as much as he liked sleeping in, he had already wasted a lot of daylight. He had a few more errands to run before returning to his modest apartments halfway across the city, not to mention some extensive tattooing to get done this afternoon in preparation for a rendezvous tonight with one of his “friends” from House Thuranni. She had been a tougher nut to crack, but now he had her under so many layers of compulsion he would be surprised if she even remembered where her allegiances lay if she ever recovered from all of them. She was a good little spy. And a pretty one, too, Giles mused absently. Pretty enough for an elf. Perhaps he would spend the night with her.

**********


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You stand before the mirror in your room, preparing for the meeting with your new friend. Inadvertently you begin to think about what you are doing.

Never before have you tried challenging a house this openly, something you would have never even got the chance to do had you stayed a member of House Tarkanan. Now, what would they say if they could see you here, playing a deadly game against one of the twelve houses? Call you foolish most likely. But the dice have already been cast and the stakes too high to back down.

It is time to prove your worth.

You hear a light knock on the back door of your manor as you stand in your room, signifying that your guest has arrived.

Her name is Rin Veijis. She is a bit younger than 100 years old. She does not have a dragonmark but she is an agent of House Thuranni.

You are not sure however how high ranked she is within the House but the lack of a mark makes you suspect that she is not the among the inner circle.
It had been a relatively quiet afternoon, Giles thought to himself absently as he appreciated himself in the mirror, putting the final touches on his disguise for the evening. When the contact he had been expecting later that evening, Lydi Drouvei, had sent word to him that she would be unable to meet, Giles had rolled his eyes. When he continued reading and learned that she would be sending someone else in her place, he had pursed his lips, and when he continued reading and learned that the replacement would be coming earlier in the evening, he had raised an eyebrow. Quite aggressive behavior for Lydi. Perhaps she was getting pressure from her higher-ups to try and shake up this "well-informed foreigner" she had met a few weeks ago, or perhaps she had finally worked up the gumption to test him, herself, or perhaps she had simply gotten cold feet tonight after some off-hand remark from a superior, or.... There were any number of reasons she might not be coming tonight. It made little difference to Giles.

All it meant, really, was that he would have to very careful with this new woman, Rin Veijis. Odd that Lydi had mentioned her age; young, for an operative. An insult? A bribe? "Your eyebrows don't match, dear" Darling sighed from her perch on top of the mirror, recalling Giles to the task at hand. He shook his head ruefully and made the last adjustment. Elves were always difficult to disguise for; did he stay human, or pose as an elf? As usual, Giles had decided to go the middle route: although his eyes and chin retained their characteristic human curves, he had adjusted the shape of his eyes, pulling them out into a soft almond shape, and he had slimmed down his body mass to reflect an elven build. Theoretically, the full disguise would give the impression of a human with vaguely elven features. Giles had darkened his hair and eyes, both now a lustrous brown, as well as changed the shape of his jaw and cheekbones, in order to further obscure his true appearance. All in all, not a bad job.

The knock at the door was Giles' cue. "Come on now, Darling," he sent her absently, sweeping his arm over the top of the mirror. As his limb passed, the psicrystal latched hold with an ectoplasmic strand she extended for the purpose and skittered down his side, settling comfortably in the pocket of his coat. It was an impressive thing, a gray silk tunic with black detailing on the shoulders and cuffs. A simple belt crossed his waist and matched his sturdy boots. Black breeches completed the ensemble.

Giles strode to the door and opened it without hesitation. "Agent Veijis! Welcome, welcome. Please step inside." As he ushered the woman through the entryway, he glanced out into the quickly darkening street, eying for anyone who might have tailed the half-elf. "I hope you had a safe journey here? It gets so dark so early, this time of year." Giles laughed good-naturedly to show that his word weren't a threat, which they weren't. Small talk before business.
Rin smiled at the posh welcome. Gladly embracing the warmth of the mansion as opposed to the cold outside.

"Greetings to you as well, sir." She said and bowed slightly. "My journey has been uneventful. I know my way around this city well enough to be in no danger from any common criminal."

She paused as she looked at the luxury around her.

"I'm sorry... I'm not too skilled at small talk."


--=--

Looking through the streets you see only a small number of locals scurrying about their daily lives. None of them seem noteworthy to you.

"You're too modest, I'm sure," Giles replied with winning smile. "Please, come through to the sitting room. We can hardly conduct conversation in the foyer."

Giles stopped only after a step or two. "Oh, how silly of me. Your charm fogs my mind, Agent! Forgive me, but--well, it's simply a precaution on my part." Without waiting for a reply, smiled again and closed his eyes briefly; in that moment, a quiet chime emanated from some indiscernible location, and when Giles' eyes revealed themselves again, they held a soft, gold glow. He gave the half-elf before him a once-over. "You understand, surely? Just a simple divination, I assure you. One can never be too careful, after all."
"Of course." She stood before you for a moment before proceeding into the manor once you have finished your search. You were confident that you detected no spells or powers upon her.

"My mistress told me that you were a friend of the House and a friend of hers." She mused as she walked along side you. "She has very few friends. A lot of contacts but very few friends."
"You're a dear," Giles said absently as he completed his scan of Veijis.

"I'm honored that Madam Drouvei counts me as one of her friends, then," Giles replied amicably to Veijis as they stepped into the parlor. "Please extend my thanks and appreciation to her. Wine? Spirits?" Giles turned and gestured to a darkwood cabinet standing against a wall, its glass doors revealing a few bottles and glasses on its shelves. The sudden change in topic was a carefully orchestrated play on Giles' part. Always control the direction and flow of the conversation. "I hope you won't mind me indulging just a bit. Join me, won't you?" Keep them off guard, unsuspecting.

As he turned to the cabinet, Giles channeled mental energy again, but there were no displays to this particular power. It was a favorite of Giles'. Tenderly, he reached out and felt for Veijis' mind, hoping to gain access her hidden thoughts.
"Perhaps later, once we are done." She said as she moved the glass away.

The weather outside was growing colder as the winds began to pick up speed. The sound of the cold air brushing against the frame of the house could be heard inside and looking out the windows reveals nothing but the dark streets.

"I understand you need information?" She said with her eyes were fixed upon you. As you look into her mind you see more than just the desire to fulfill her mission. You see genuine curiosity regarding the friendship between you and Lydi. Would the person before her truly have been able to win the trust of Lady Drouvei?

There is one common thread amidst her thoughts, that of complete loyalty to her mistress.

"Have it your way," Giles said, pretending to be offended by Veijis' refusal of a drink, for a moment. He replaced the proffered glass, and his own, back in the cabinet, before walking over to the window. "You get quite to the point, don't you," he said over his shoulder as crossed to the window. "The first time I met with Lady Drouvei, she had me chatting away for so long I forgot we even had business to discuss! Such a charming woman." He reached the window and pulled the curtains shut. "There. A bit of privacy."

"Now then." Giles sank into a cushioned armchair across from Veijis and crossed one leg over as he sat back, giving the overall impression of relaxed interest. "I suppose time is precious. Especially to a human like me, no?" Giles laughed again. "You understand correctly. I am indeed in the business of information." An amused smile broke across his face, and he interrupted his own chain of thought. "I wonder, how did our good Lady Drouvei brief you for this meeting? I must admit I was saddened to hear that I would not have the pleasure of her company tonight, but I put my faith in her, as always, that she chose a suitable substitute." Another smile, this time complimentary. Giles' voice took on a playful tone. "No doubt you're as qualified to speak to a nobody like me. And you're surely as beautiful as your mistress."

Giles preferred things this way, sometimes. Every now and then, it was a great pleasurable to simply exercise his natural charisma and charm, instead of immediately moving on to compulsions. Of course, there was, and surely would be, a time and place for everything...
"Thank you for your kind words." She said, not being able to suppress a smile. "But beauty matters little out on the streets unless you intend sell yourself out on the docks. Lady Drouvei wields hers far better than I do."

Her thoughts turn to her mistress but no coherent thought was formed before she turned back to the task at hand.

"Nevertheless, I know my mission and I am prepared for it." Scanning her thoughts you find no trace of realization that her being here might be considered a disregard for you by Lady Drouvei. Her current thoughts are more concerned with the prospect of having to answer your questions as well as your surprising humbleness.
Giles brushed away Veijis' modesty with a kind wave of his hand and another smile, but didn't press her. "Your mission, eh?" Giles repeated instead. "Answering my questions. Well, it's quite an honor to have your attentions, Rin--excuse me, Agent Veijis." His beautiful brown eyes twinkled.

"I am here in Regalport for many reasons, but tantamount among them is the presence of House Thuranni. It's no secret that your House centers its base of operations here." Giles sighed, settling into his speech. "As you know from your mistress, I consider myself an ally of House Thuranni, and would hope that Thuranni considers me a friend. I value very highly Thuranni's expertise in information gathering, although I must admit that your....shall we say, darker arts, are less of an interest of mine. No, the old adage has always been a guiding principle for me: Knowledge absolutely is Power, my dear. I came to Regalport to learn as much as I could, through Thuranni, and perhaps lend the House my services, as well."

"Here enters my relationship with Lady Drouvei, and one or two other Thuranni operatives." One or two. Ha. "I meet with my contacts as often as I can, as I'm sure you would expect, and simply discuss the state of the world with them. What's the latest gossip in Regalport? How are Thuranni operations running across Khorvaire? Any recent troubles with those haughty no-goods from Phiarlan?" The last item was the one Giles truly cared about, but he spoke it with no special emphasis. A general air of leisure was important, in conversations like these.

In truth, Giles could not have been happier to have eventually found his way to Regalport. It was the perfect place to ground himself and set the stage for what would surely be a slow but monumental process, like the gradual awakening of a volcano before its eventual eruption. This coastal city was the home of House Thuranni, the second-most powerful network of spies and espionage in Khorvaire, and with whom better to sow the seeds of dissent, distrust, and destruction than the House that had the most to gain from conflict with another House? Giles would ravage the Houses from the inside out, and Thuranni would be his first tool.
Rin leans back in her chair as she begins to answer each question one by one.

"Regalport is uneasy. Still, it is far more hospitable than it was when our house first made its base here." She pauses. "Among the pirates were a large number that opposed our arrival twenty five years ago, wanting to be free from house politics just as much as they wanted to be free from Galifar. Some of them still remain but they are disorganized and not a threat."
In her thoughts you see that she does not hold the people of Regalport in high regard be they pirates or not.

"The rest of Khornvair is a mystery to me as well as my mistress." She said sadly. "Every agent is only assigned information about their region and knows little about the rest. All I know is that our operations have been lax ever since Baron Elar left Regalport two years ago and has not returned since." You sense her wishing for his return.

As the topic turns to House Phiarlan she tenses visibly.

"House Phiarlan has been active. The trouble is that we have not." She said bitterly. "Baron Elar has forbade us from engaging House Phiarlan at this moment and we will obey his orders." You sense her trying to reinforce her own loyalty.
"You know, in many respects, I don't envy the Baron in the slightest," Giles replied casually. "After all, he can leave this Khyber-spawned city any time he likes, eh? On business, or what have you. Lucky fellow. Not like you or me. We're stuck working here in Regalport. What a joke of a name!" Giles laughed, more than an edge of scorn in his tone.

"Still, though, it's admirable that you sojourn on here, my dear Rin, working as tirelessly as I'm sure you do. Even if Elar has found a way to skip town, we plucky few keep up the good fight for Thuranni!" Giles flashed yet another well-meaning smile. "I wonder, though, why the good Baron has so expressly prohibited any sort of quarreling with Phiarlan? Beyond the fact that not engaging with Phiarlan is probably nigh impossible, given the routes they take and the methods they use, you'd think that any means by which Thuranni could begin to wrest control away from those arrogant fools would be a step in the right direction. Do you know why Elar might have given such an order?" Giles caught himself, a worried expression on his face. "Not to suggest that it's necessarily a poor order. It just seems...well, misguided, to me. Surely you agree?" This was the part that required a level of artistry Giles prided himself on having. The trick was to plant the seed of doubt, and then get them to question their allegiances on their own.
"Our elders know what they are doing." She shakes her head in disbelief. "There must be a reason for it."

You still sense a bit of an inner struggle within her. More than anything she is loyal to her mistress and her house but it is hard to follow orders she does not agree with.

"I should not even be thinking about this."
"Nonsense!" Giles cried, concerned and well-meaning. He leaned forward in his chair and spoke earnestly. "An operative should never follow orders blindly. That's what can put her in real danger! No, I think this is exactly the kind of thing you should be talking about, Rin."

"Of course I'm not suggesting you disobey orders simply because you question them. Not at all! I only stress the importance of doing your best to fully understand the motives of your elders, and of Thuranni as a whole. It will make you a even better operative, I'm sure of it. Not to suggest that you aren't already a skilled and loyal one, now. No, the fact that you hesitate to question the Baron proves that without a shadow of a doubt." Giles smiled, and channeled again. The stage had been set perfectly. She was all his.

"Come now, we can be civil about this. Why do you think the Baron has put a hold on all engagement with Phiarlan?" And one last push, to further ingratiate himself with her: "What does our good friend Lady Drouvei think?"
As you reach out towards her you can see her mind clearly, doubting and weak. You strike but are met with unexpected resistance as she was somehow able to hold on to her sense of self.

"I... I need some fresh air." She said before she stood up from her chair and almost ran towards the door as she held her hand to her head.

As you tried to follow her you are hit by a wave of cold air and once outside you see her standing a few feet away from the manor.

"I'm sorry for that." She said as she turned back to you. "What you said made a lot of sense but I am not feeling well. If we are done, I think I will take my leave." What is wrong with me?

Giles cursed inwardly when his compulsion met unexpected resistance, but he took it in stride. There were ways of salvaging the situation.

Giles sprang to his feet quickly as Veijis hurried out of the room and followed her out into the foyer. As he neared the door, he reached out and swept a long cloak off a coat-hanger placed near the door - by the time he stepped outside into the night chill, he had taken the garment in both hands. He certainly cut a heroic figure indeed as, wielding the cloak with a flourish, the handsome man wrapped it around the half-elf standing alone in the alley.

"Nonsense, my darling," Giles murmured in response to her breathless excuses. Thanks to the way he had swung the cloak around his charge, he now stood intimately close to the half-elf. "I would never forgive myself if I allowed you to leave now. I don't know what happened, Rin, but I'll take care of you, if you'll let me." Gently, Giles placed a warm hand on Veijis' cheek and brushed a whips of hair away. His gaze found hers, and held it. "Won't you come back inside? For me?"
"I... of course." She answered after a bit of hesitation and both of you enter back into the manor. You sense that she has calmed now.

"But I don't think that I know much more if you still have questions." She said.
Giles made a point of ignoring her last comment. "I just want to make sure you're alright," he said kindly. With a gentle hand, he guided her back to the manor door. "No more fainting spells."

As the pair stepped through the entryway, he channeled again. Oh, what a game. If she somehow managed to overcome his telepathic advances again, the mental shock Rin might once again experience would most likely lead her to assume that there was something wrong with her. If not... Well, that was when the fun began.
Rin felt the intrusion as both of you were walking. Once again you were unable to overcome her and felt yourself being pushed away, both mentally and physically. You see her almost tripping as before she is able to focus herself again.

Breathing heavily she takes a few steps back. Soon those steps become steady as she goes for the door without saying a word this time. Within her mind you see her thinking that there is something wrong with her and that it has to do with this place.
"Rin, wait!" Giles called. "You're obviously not well, you should lie down--" but she was already out the door and disappearing down the street.

Giles really could have cursed this time. The trollop had rebuked him a second time! And then scurried away, like the miserable wretch she was! The nerve. With a grimace, he spun on his heel and stomped back into this house, slamming the door behind him.

"You can't win 'em all, sweetie," Darling chimed from his waist as she spidered her way out of his pocket and traveled up his shoulder. "Don't worry, she'll be fine."

"I know she'll be fine!" Giles responded in a huff, doing his best to remain calm. "I know, Darling. I know. But you know just as well as I do that I cannot afford mistakes, anymore." Giles took a deep breath and stopped in the middle of the foyer, allowing his mind a moment to simply drift and relax. The evening had not been a total loss. He already knew the Baron had left Regalport nearly two years ago, but it was worthwhile to learn that there were members of House Thuranni that were beginning to question his judgment. Any chink in a knight's armor, no matter how small or seemingly difficult to take advantage of, was still a chink.

"Damage report, hun..." Darling prompted. Of course. There was work to do, and quickly, if Giles was to contain the situation and spin the events of the interview in his favor. Moving with the agility of renewed purpose, Giles moved to a small study near the back of the manor and lit a candle. He caught sight of his appearance in the small mirror on the desk, curved so as to give a better view of the room, and scowled at himself before allowing the disguise he had been wearing to dissolve. Giles pulled out the chair, a simple affair, and sat down, already drafting a letter in his mind. By the time he had produced a thick sheet of paper from a drawer and dipped quill to ink, he was ready to begin writing. As he wrote, Darling would occasionally pipe up with a suggestion or small edit.

My dearest Lydi, Giles began with a flourish. I hope, as always, that this letter finds you in the best of health and the highest of spirits.

Thank you for making arrangements this evening to send your surrogate tonight, after whatever events or situations called you away. Agent Veijis was perfectly charming and as knowledgeable as I could have wished her to be, although I must admit, in all confidence, that she shared little of your charm or beauty. As much as I would enjoy meeting with her again, I sincerely hope that we might see each other again in the near future.

I am writing you at this late hour, however, on business, of a sort. Really, I must as a favor of you: please provide for Agent Veijis as soon as you can. She had what I can only describe as a curious fainting spell while we were talking, and eventually her condition became so uncomfortable that she was forced to leave in quite a hurry. Please inform Agent Veijis that I wish her all the best, and that I do not take offense at her speedy departure in the slightest. I hope she recovers quickly from whatever strange malady afflicted her, and I likewise extend my most profound apologies for any undue stress I may have inadvertently caused her.

The letter continued with a few other niceties and such. Once he was finished, Giles quickly scanned the full document one last time, and then penned his signature. After lightly sprinkling the paper with sand to dry the ink, Giles folded the letter, poured some wax from the candle onto the paper, and impressed the new seal with a stamp that stood on the desk. No sooner had he done so then he stood up, brushed back his hair absently, and strode out of the room towards the door. In situations like these, the faster communication was passed along, the better.

[TekHed]

PROLOGUE: Regalport



http://s28.postimg.cc/rnzmznsx9/Interior_hall_by_gapmad.jpg

--=--

1000 YK 17 Aryth Zol (17 November Wednesday)
18:30 PM
Weather: Light Snow
Temperature: - 3° Celsius
Wind Speed: 3 mph


A day and a half passes since your encounter with Rin. Not much seems to have changed in Regalport since then but such things do take time.

In the mean time you have received a reply from Lydi a bit latter than you would have expected but when it comes to agents of the Houses one can expect them to be occupied at times.

Carefully opening the envelope you pull out the letter. Soon you smell the perfume Druvei used when last you met. A very light and sweet fragrance.


My dearest Jules,

It is my pleasure to finally hear from you again. Your letters are like a warm fire in these cold times.

Worry not about Rin, she has already reported back to me in good health. She has still much to learn but I do hope that she was able to answer your questions to the best of her ability. Her behavior during your meeting was most likely caused by her own nervousness and inexperience. Do not worry, I will strive to fix these traits in the future.

For now, I am simply glad to heard from you again. It saddens me that I could not meet you in person and I hope you forgive the lateness of this letter but House business cannot be postponed. As a token of my apology I'd like to invite you to visit my estate some time later today. There we will have time to trade gossip and fully enjoy each others company.


- Lydi
Giles smiled at the scented paper Lydi had used. What a charmer. He admired a woman of such class and standing, even if she was a Thuranni. She played the game quite well, and appeared to have a good time doing it. There was a bit of redemption, in that. And she was quite the lover, after all. That had to count for something, Giles thought roguishly. "Honestly, Giles, I don't know how you get on with your mind on such things all the time." This particular topic was a favorite of Darling's. "You're such a boy, sometimes!"

"Nonsense, Darling," Giles replied without really hearing her, rereading the letter to make sure he had grasped the full meaning of every word on the first go-through. Satisfied, he brought the parchment to the candle and held it as it burned for a moment before rising from his desk and tossing it into the nearby hearth. "And besides, women like to take care of children." Darling tsked. Giles laughed.

Giles passed the next few hours absently, figuring that he might as well arrive at Lydi's estate around dinner time and possibly get a free meal out of the visit, as well. After some light reading, an hour or so of calisthenics, and a quick nap, Giles dressed himself, stood in front of his full-length mirror to fashion the simple disguise he used for meetings conducted at Drouvei's estate, and swept out the door into the biting cold. The man who walked out onto the streets Regalport that afternoon had the long face, strong nose, and slightly pointed ears Giles had used two nights ago with Veijis. His hair, though, was blond and longish, like Giles', and his eyes were just as mysterious and gray. His form was muscular, solid, and masculine; Lydi did not need to be pandered to like any common elf. His black boots were sturdy and well-worn, and his heavy cloak, clasped against the cold, concealed a dark red linen shirt and muted vest of black horsehair.

As he trudged through the mounting piles of snow, Giles absently ruminated on the numerous disguises he used all around the city. He wasn't bothered by it in the least. Even to people who knew him in multiple settings or guises, the explanation was simple: Giles was a man of character, subtlety, and discretion, and he saw no reason not to add a glamer here or there, especially if the addition was such an obvious one. Besides, he told his associates, with the confidence that they would not be able to do anything of the sort, it would be easy enough to "find" him if they so desired. After all, he usually used his own name, or something similar. So what was a little deception among friends? Giles smiled to himself.

The Drouvei estate was an impressive edifice, at least three or four times as large as Giles' modest manor house. The three-story structure sprawled out across nearly a full city block, counting its grounds and satellite buildings, but like any elven construction, its craftsmanship was superb, function and form always finding ingenious and beautiful ways to intermingle. Befriending Lydi, Giles thought as he approached the front gate, had been quite a feather in Giles' cap; he had managed to charm his way into a late-night gala attended by nearly a hundred of Regalport's highest-class nobles, merchants, and luminaries. Giles had cast his net wide, and come away with a handful of great catches. The Lady Drouvei, profitable merchant and member of House Thuranni, had been one such acquaintance Giles had met that night.

"Good afternoon," Giles said as he approached the human guard standing at the ornate iron gate, a tall human woman with fiery red hair. Giles looked her over with an appreciative eye, thinking about how things would go if he met her in a bar late one night. But to the business at hand. "M'Lady Drouvei is expecting me. Maxander," he said, identified himself.
"Of course, Ser. Please come in." And without any further hindrance you enter inside the mansion and are instantly surrounded by all the splendors within. As always, the mansion was bustling with activity: nobles, merchant, warlords... all of them would eventually find their way here. To this center of social activity, where wine and intrigue flowed as freely as the currents.

"Giles, it is you!" You hear the unmistakable voice of Lady Drouvei ring across the hall as she gracefully walks down the flight of stairs. "So well for you to finally come! This evening would have been dull without your charms!"

Finally, she walked up to you. "How have you been?"

"Lydi, you beauty, it's wonderful to see you, as always," Giles called to the elf as she approached him through the mill of people in the antechamber, an amicable twinkle in his eye. He took her proffered hand and bowed, lightly brushing his lips across a ring or two. "You should have told me you were having a party, you know. I'm terribly under-dressed," he continued as he handed his coat to a passing valet and casually turned up the cuffs of his sleeves, obviously not self-conscious in the slightest. "But I should have known, eh? It wouldn't be a Drouvei night without a Drouvei soiree!"

"Lydi, darling, I'd be insulting you if I didn't assume you know exactly how I'm doing. Besides, it's the same thing day in and day out, these cold winter months. Sleep in, read a book, write a letter or two, find some young thing to spend the night with and keep warm. You know, just this and that. I'm not nearly as busy as you must be."
"Ah, too true." Drouvei said as she led you to the tables. "House matters are quite time consuming in these times but we should talk about that later."

She calls a few servants to bring the two of you some drinks.

"For now just enjoy yourself." She said after sharing a drink with you. "I will be waiting in my private quarters. Join me there once you are ready."

"You're too kind, my dear," Giles smiled. "I'll just take one quick spin through this crowd of adoring guests you've assembled, and then be right up. You know I can't resist you."

Giles put down his empty glass and snatched up another full one from a passing servant. He didn't intend to drink any more, after all, but one always had to look the part. Standing with Lydi as she rose from the table and left, as any good gentleman should, Giles scanned the crowd for any familiar faces. There were most likely at least a few guests tonight that Giles would have met previously in some capacity or another, and even more likely there were some notables he had not yet met. As his eyes passed over the crowd, Giles spent a moment channeling. There was work to be done.
Giles reached out around himself, feeling the mind of those around him. What he felt was a flood of every emotion at once: joy, curiosity, awareness, caution, focus, hate, jealousy and others. But enjoyment was still the one that was most prominent this evening.

Looking around with his more mundane senses Giles indeed saw a few familiar faces. Some representatives of the princes were here, both enjoying themselves and waiting for something. Sitting in the corner was the head of House Orien in Regalport, he was talking to some woman you do not seem to recognize but as much as you try to focus, you cannot get a read on him. With your powers you detect another dragonmark, a single representative of House Kundarak amidst the crowd and he too seems to be waiting for something. Finally there were three young Lyrandar heirs in the process of getting drunk as they talked among themselves, a strong feeling of hate was coming from them.
What a wealth of options! This was why Giles loved Lydi. Her guests were always so interesting! It was almost as if she were purposefully helping Giles get in touch with people. And perhaps she was, in a way - Giles had to admit that she was probably just as confident that she had control over him as he was that he was manipulating her. Oh, the games they played...

Giles strolled around the party for another moment or two, deciding who he would approach first. He quickly discounted the Lyrander heirs, confident that their anger would only strengthen as the night progressed and their bellies filled with wine. He would return to them and stoke the fire, in good time. The presence of the Regalport head of House Orien was quite alluring, but Giles knew his limits - he was here to get his feet wet, not do his best to drown. And anyway, he had had such awful luck with that elf the other night. Approaching a man whose mind was obviously warded was asking for trouble. Perhaps if the rest of the night went well, he would make a passing comment or two.

And so Giles made his way over to the Kundarak dwarf. As he moved, he rolled up his sleeves one more fold, just enough that, were he to make a grand gesture, the flash of a tattoo on his left forearm would be exposed. He complemented this physical preparation with a mental one, focusing his attention on the dwarf in an attempt to get a better read on the man's surface thoughts and feelings.

"You too, eh?" he said as he approached. "I hate waiting around. Jules Maxilian d'Denieth," Giles introduced himself casually.
Oh bother...

The dwarf barely looks at and only casually glances over your "dragonmark". "Leave me be." He answers before returning to doing nothing.

By Moradin, I can't wait to be away from here.

"Pardon me," Giles said, assuming an air of professionalism. For a moment or two, he simply stood nearby the dwarf, surveying the crowd. After a while, he spoke again, continuing to scan the party guests as though he was looking for someone, or perhaps keeping an eye on someone. His tone was simultaneously friendly and dismissive, in the manner of co-workers who are in a bad mood because of a particularly onerous task. "The jobs we get, eh? What I wouldn't give to get out of here."
"Eh? We are working with Deneith now? Why wasn't I informed of this?" He grumbles to himself. "Fine... but you'll have to wait same as me before we move out."

Isarra better come soon. If this guy is with her then she will be the one responsible for him.
"Wait, you're working with us?" Giles started, giving up his observation of the crowd for a moment to give the dwarf a quizzical look. "I thought we were working with you!" Giles huffed, speaking rhetorically. "Can I just get one clear order, for once? By the Host, all I ask for is a simple briefing... I'm on double-duty right now, I'll have you know. Checking in with you was a last minute assignment; I'm here on other business, as well!" He barked a tired, rueful laugh. "What's your name, anyway? All I was told was that I should oversee a Kundarak agent's meeting with some woman. Izarra, or something. Anything I should know about her? What have my superiors gotten me into?"
"Call me Vanduk." He extends his hand for a big handshake. "As for Isarra... that girl is trouble. Not to say that I couldn't handle her, hah, but you might try not to make her angry if you know what I mean."

He chest visibly swells as he talked. Yea... that sounded good.

"Now I've been fighting in the Last War so I know one or two things about killing, let me tell you. And I know when I see someone dangerous standing in front of me." He tenses up. "It was like I was standing back on the blood soaked battlefield. I had just slain twenty men and was ready for more when the bloody haze lifted and I saw two eyes staring at me..."

What proceeded was him telling you story after story of his great accomplishments as a warrior and complaining in between about how his house was not giving him the recognition he deserves. Who knew it took so little to get him going?
"Vanduk d'Kundarak, of course!" Giles cried when the dwarf introduced himself. "I've heard quite a lot about you," he managed to get in, padding the dwarf's ego, before the blow-hard launched into anecdote after anecdote. Giles listened approvingly for as long as he could manage, but he grew tired of the dwarf's incessant prattle. Not to mention the fact that Vanduk was wasting Giles' precious minutes of telepathy.

After a minute or two of war stories, Giles managed to find a moment to begin speaking. "Quite a tale! I wish I could match them, but I've spent so much time back in Karrlakton that I'm sure anything I've done would pale in comparison to your exploits, eh?" There was no sarcasm in Giles' voice. Sometimes you had to lay it on thick. "You certainly sound like you can handle this Isarra girl. Who did you say she was? Some kind of warrior, or a hot-head noble?"
"That girl? Bah! Why do you want to hear about some elf when you have a true hero standing right in-front of you!" Vanduk boasted, already feeling so confident in his own stories that his thoughts were mimicking his words. When suddenly he stopped.

"But... now that you mention it... I do remember one thing about her. Her blade." He said as he slipped into thought. " It has one handle but two blades on both sides, both curved inwards and razor sharp. It was the strangest thing I have seen and I have seen a lot strange weapons let me tell you, like that one time..."

After that he falls back to telling you one of his stories.
Giles listens intently to the dwarf, but when he begins recounting his "exploits" again, Giles looks over his shoulder and starts, as if he's seen someone. "Sorry, friend," he cuts in. "Another one of my assignments just arrived. I better take care of this; you seem like you can handle some missy, eh? Tell me more about that blade of yours another time. Over a drink, maybe?" Without waiting for a reply, Giles pats Vanduk on the shoulder and moves past him, back into the crowd.

"And I thought you had a high opinion of yourself," Darling sent jocularly from Giles' pocket. He just mentally rolled his eyes in response, already sending out telepathic feelers back into the crowd. With some care, he began to draw nearer to the trio of Lyrandar heirs, hoping to get a read on their mental state - not to mention overhear what they were talking about - before approaching them.
Navigating through the guests you find yourself near the three Lyrandar heirs. All three were richly dressed and rather drunk at this point letting you easily penetrate the minds of two of them but the third one was more resilient to your intrusions.

What you sense a very simple thoughts that were hard to make out. Various grand speeches, plans and visions of a future where they would change Khorvair.

"I tell you... the nations of Khorvair have proven that they are not fit to rule! We should not be supporting these upstarts! Galifar is long dead so it is time for the houses to their place as rulers of this land!" Those words were met with a cheer of agreement from the other two. All their boasts were beginning to draw attention.
If Giles hadn't been such a good actor, he would have had a very difficult time keeping a sneer from crossing his face. These miserable fools. Drunk, ignorant, self-important windbags. Giles would have loved to have them alone. They would learn who would change Khorvair.

But their talk, while certainly presenting a great opportunity to Giles, was starting to get quite a lot of attention indeed. Prudence, thought Giles, dictated maintaining a certain distance, at least for now. Taking up a stance not far from the trio, he turned to a couple standing nearby, a pair of well dressed humans, a man and a woman. Probably merchants. "Who are those blowhards?" he asked quietly, with just the right touches of both curiosity and contempt.
"Ugh, that is Eruen, son viceroy Miuvalien." The woman answered shortly and shook her head. She was abviously distraught. "Such a shame really. Miuvalien is such gentleman but his son seems to have inherited none of his fathers grace."

"If they are smart, they will shut up quickly." The man comments. He seemed somewhat hostile. "Such talk can be dangerous and there are enough people willing to kill for less."

In the meantime the three Lyrandar heirs have begun to notice the stares that people were giving them and turned to leave the gathering in not an all too pleasant manner. Their thoughts were pretty much matching their actions.
"Indeed. What foolishness." The remark was made in passing; in truth, Giles had little more interest in these two than his tone conveyed. He knew how to quit when he was ahead. He already knew much more about this Eruen d'Lyrandar than he had an hour ago, and that was enough. No reason to make a scene, now.

"Have a pleasant evening, m'lady," Giles smiled to the woman as he left the pair. He took one more glance around the room to make sure there was no one else of interest, and mentally cataloged his findings for the night. Eruen d'Lyrandar, son of Viceroy Miuvalien d'Lyrandar and a pompous hothead, willing to speak in public about the greatness of the Houses. Vanduk d'Kundarak, a talkative but disenchanted dwarf who now thought he had a friend in the Denieth bodyguard corps. Isarra, a mysterious and intimidating elven warrior from Valenar, in Regalport on business that somehow involved House Kundarak. And then of course there was the woman Lord d'Orien had been speaking to; Giles wondered absently if she were any more likely to be a notable than a mere sycophant.

A productive night, indeed. And now, thought Giles with an inward smile - one that evoked a mental sigh from Darling - it was time to pay his respects to the lady of the house. Slowly, without a care in the world, Giles drifted to the edges of the crowd and caught the eye of a handsome young serving boy. "Good evening, son," Giles said conspiratorially. "You wouldn't happen to know where your beautiful mistress is at the moment, would you? She and I have some...business to manage. You understand." Giles winked at the impressionable teen. He knew perfectly well where Lydi was waiting for him, but there was no reason not to make one of the servants admire him before heading upstairs. You never knew who it would be useful to know, in the future. Having another mole in Lydi's estate would suit Giles just fine.

Or not, of course; there was always the simple pleasure of being respected. And Giles did enjoy the simple pleasures. Darling sighed again.
"She is in her bedroom I think." The servant said quickly as he was quite distracted with having to attend to the needs of so many guests. You could tell that he was new to his job.

"Of course she is." Giles left the serving boy to his duties and moved away without another word. You're incorrigible, Darling sent from Giles pocket. As usual, Giles paid her no mind.

Giles had been invited to the Drouvei estate enough times to know his way around the manor without need of guidance. Threading his way through the thinning crowd of guests, he took one more turn and suddenly found himself in an empty hallway, a route used only by servants and the like on their way to and from the rest of the house. Such was the wealth of the Drouvei estate that even the servant's quarters were beautifully furnished, if not quite as lavishly as the rest of the house; a thick carpet and wall-hangings deadened a great deal of sound in the area and made Giles feel as if he had entered another world.

As he walked, Giles sent out a mental ping to sense for those who might wish to discover him, but he was confident he hadn't been followed. At gatherings like this, the party usually held the guests; at worst, he might see another servant or two as they moved through the house, but they were probably all working in the kitchens, or serving. Giles kept moving, taking turn after turn and once, pattering up a small spiral staircase.

In mere minutes, he emerged from a servants' passage upstairs and found himself approaching the door that lead to the master bedchambers. Taking one last glance around to make sure he had not been followed, Giles turned the knob on the door and pushed, the door swinging open silently across a lush carpet. Giles closed the door behind him and made his way across the antechamber to another door across the room, which he likewise opened without hesitation. He was greeted with a view of an enormous canopied four-poster bed. Its usual occupant was sitting at her bureau across the room, lazily brushing out her long hair.

"Knock knock, m'Lady," Giles spoke softly as he stepped into the room and closed the bedroom door behind him. Lydi did not turn, but simply acknowledged him through the mirror into which she looking. Giles approached. "Quite a gathering you've got going on downstairs, my dear. May I?" Giles put out his hand for the brush.
You quietly leave the gathering, having discovered everything that was of interest to you. Now was the time to proceed to Lydi, no need to keep the lady waiting. As you approach the stairs you turn back to watch for prying eyes and notice the head of House Orien crossing the hall. By chance or by design, your eyes meet. You only had a moment to stare into his grey eyes before you felt yourself compelled to look away.

When finally you looked back you saw him casually talking to Vanduk. Their exchange was over quickly and when he was done he slowly gathered his clothes and politely left the gathering, This time, your eyes did not meet.

The woman with whom he was previously talking was nowhere to be found.

Seeing as there was nothing more happening in the crowd and nothing that could provide more answers you return to your task of paying a visit to Lydi in her bedchamber. A thought that brought you endless comfort.

Inside her room you find her sitting before a mirror, no doubt preparing for your arrival.

"I do have servants for that you know." She answered in a flirting fashion but makes no effort to stop your hand. From her you sense a strong feeling of anticipation.
"You do indeed, Lydi darling. One of them is in your presence now," Giles returned playfully. In response to her laughter, Giles simply smiled through the mirror and took the brush. With his other hand, he collected the elf's hair, but not before sensuously stroking the bare skin around the nape of her neck, exposed thanks to the shoulder-less dress she had chosen for the evening. Carefully, and not without care, Giles began to run the brush through Lydi's long blond hair.

"You seem tense, my love,"he offered after a moment, purposefully misinterpreting the anticipation he sensed in her. He could guess what that was for. "What's on your mind?"
A feeling of tension immediately emanated from Lydi.

"I... was thinking." She said after some apprehension. "About the current state of my House and the place of our relationship within it..."

She sighs. "Indeed, it is an unhappy topic. I had wanted to tell you after... this night."
Giles continued feigning innocence and ignorance. "Our place in Thurrani? Whatever do you mean, my love? I can't help unless you tell me what's going on." Giles was careful not to lay it on too thick. His tone was full of concern, but not sickly sweet with it.
Lydi began to calm a bit but still seemed concerned.

"Ah Giles.... I had wished to talk about this later but it seems I have no choice." Her voice hinted at her regret as she began putting her make-up away and locking it back in her small beauty box.

"As you well know, house politics can be a dangerous affair and feelings... complicate matters." She said while staying vague. "In truth, I have been privileged in my house, soon I will advance in status and I cannot have a lover that is not of equal footing with me. I am... simply not allowed to."

"Giles... untill you can prove yourself to be an ally to my betters, I cannot be further seen with you." Her voice becomes feeble as she spoke her last words and her eyes sank downwards.
"Lydi." Giles' voice was harder now - with malice or conviction, it was hard to tell. The seated elf did not turn. Giles repeated himself. "Lydi, look at me." With some unidentifiable difficulty, she turned in her seat and faced Giles. The handsome man smiled. He was a sword sheathed in silk. "I think we both know that proving myself to be...worthy won't be a problem." He channeled.
"Giles..." Lydi looks up to you and remains silent for a moment. "I believe you."

In her mind you sense a feeling of disgust.

"But how will you do this? What do you have in mind?" She speaks, her voice full of worry but also hope at your words. "How can I help you?"

She is lying to you.

The trollop. Resist his mental advances and then lie to his face, would she? It was difficult for Giles to keep his face composed. Difficult enough, in fact, that he gave up trying.

"How dare you lie to me," Giles suddenly snarled, grabbing hold of Lydi's shoulders savagely. His bright gray eyes did their best to burn a hole in the mirror as they stared into the reflection of Lydi's own green ones. "I can tell you're just leading me on. After everything I've given you!"
Lydi seems to be taken aback by your sudden outburst and for a moment you feel as though you will be able to steer the situation where you want it. But suddenly, you feel a rush of air behind you and hear an unfamiliar voice just a few feet away.

"Hope we're not late to the party." You turn around to look at the owner of the voice. Your eyes instantly fall on the human with long and greasy black hair, rough features and wielding two axes in his hands while his face showed little more than murderous anticipation. A moment later you notice the old gnome standing next to him, he was not as noticeable as his companion but the fact that he was wearing mage robes and carrying a staff is what worried you.

Behind you, Lydi slowly stood up and her features began to alter, growing more sharp and distinct. Her hair turning a shining silver and arms filling with a rough, graceful strength.

"Just in time." The voice you hear was not Lydi's and you turn around to see an unfamiliar female elf standing before you, holding a double bladed sword in her hands....
"Evening, gentlemen..." Giles murmurs a bit uselessly. Things had suddenly taken a remarkable turn for the worse. "Quite the luck we've had tonight," the psion sends to Darling. He can sense the plucky psicrystal trying her best to find an encouraging response, but she comes up empty. "Not the vote of confidence I was looking for."
Only for a brief moment did you turn to the new arrivals and in an instant, a surge of pain piercing your body. You look down and see the tip of the elven woman's blade sticking out of your chest, a strange magic surrounding it. Paralyzed, more due to surprise than anything else you can do nothing other than look at the tip as you see drops of your own blood fall from it.

With one swift motion, the blade withdraws but you are still standing but only long enough to feel an axe cut through your flesh. The last thing you see is the beautiful red carpet in Lydi's room.

In an unknown place at an unknown time...

--===---


Slowly consciousness begins to return to you and with it comes a dull pain, coursing through every fiber of your body. It was nonetheless a welcomed sensation as it meant that you are still among the living. Slowly hearing and sight return as well and you weakly begin to scramble up from whatever hard surface you were dumped upon.

"Welcome back to an unpleasant reality."

The voice came from a figure sitting in front of you but images would swim before your eyes and you could not tell the identity of the speaker.

"Can you see me now?"

The room suddenly lit up as the figure created a small ball of light within his hand. As he did so your vision focused and you saw the face of Thuranni Patriarch, Baron Elar himself, looking at you. His eyes only half open as he regarded you with an expressionless face.

http://s28.postimg.cc/h7ha1y5rh/326px_Elar.jpg

Looking around the room you see what was most likely once a weapon storage, changed to become the center of operations. Behind you was a large stairway leading to the upper portion of the room but you could not see beyond that. And then there were guards, watching, with crossbows ready. It was then that you both realize that you are unarmed and wearing nothing save for the clothes on your back.

"Aselia, Giles. It has been a long time since I saw the two of you and much has changed. Especially you Giles." He paused. "I almost did not recognize the boy who was once Evlyn's greatest pride."
The pain in Giles' body was located mostly in his head, a dull ache throbbing on the back of his skull where he must have hit the ground, and in his gut, which was a sensation of a more piercing, burning variety. The image of a sword emerging out of Giles' midriff sprang unbidden to his mind, and he winced.

Words brought him out of his introspection, and the light that blossomed in the man's hand was blinding only for a moment before Giles could adjust to the glow. When he did, and took in the elf sitting across the room, he scowled. Elar himself. How embarrassing.

A quick glance around the room told Giles little of his surroundings. But he did not have to rely on visual senses alone - with a thought, muddled as his mind was from what must, he thought sourly, be a concussion, the telepath reached outwards with his mind. As he did, he noticed his fellow captive. Another elf - that was odd. Phiarlan, perhaps?

Elar was speaking again. Giles was ready to ignore him, to feign ignorance, to do anything but parlay, but the name the High Baron invoked caused Giles' eyes to widen in shock momentarily before tightening angrily. So that was his game. Giles would not play along, but he supposed there was no point in denying his identity. "You haven't changed a bit, Elar," Giles growled through a smile. He had never met Elar in person, but he had seen him, once or twice, in Eston. House Thuranni had had to work quickly to make inroads with the other Houses after they split from Phiarlan, and Elar had visited the Cannith enclave in Giles' old home personally. "Still an opportunistic snake, I see. Still slithering about in the muck," he continued with a nod to their surroundings.

For the moment, Giles did not acknowledge the guards, or the female elf beside him. But there was someone else he desperately wanted to contact. Darling? he sent telepathically, searching for his psicrystal.
"Greetings... Elar" Aselia acknowledge the presence of his former leader. "Your hospitality and manners, especially with regards to women, is lacking, as always." Rubbing her chin, soothing the pain done by the beating. At least, the pain was a welcome indication that she is in fact alive and not a ghost.

Unarmed, in an unknown location, with a stranger, and enemies ready to kill. Just like old times. Was the thought that Aselia had in mind as she seated herself in a cross legged position on the floor. Applying her training, she observed her surroundings, and of her mysterious companion. From the interaction between Elar and the man named Giles, the elven patriarch had found another prospective tool.
"You must forgive Master Iram for his crude practices, he is only human after all, even if surprisingly skilled." The patriarch spoke with some satisfaction. "Giles here has met him as well, so I have heard."

Elar paused

"But I think we had enough of introductions. I see that both of you know nothing of each other." He leaned forward, eyes fixed on Aselia. "Your arrival comes at a very delicate time but now that you are here, we can begin to set our plans in motion."

As Giles reaches out with his thoughts into the surroundings you suddenly feel a sharp weight upon your mind but coming from your left hand. You looks down and see a steel bracer clamped around your arm. The bracer prevents you from accessing all but your most rudimentary psionic disciplines.

Still, that is enough that you are able to manifest your chosen powers but the results are still grim. You manage to scan only a few and see that they are armed with magic weapons and armor, mostly lesser quality and all bear the mark of shadows. Their emotional state is calm and focused. Elar and most other Thuranni remain shielded from you.

Finally, you hear the voice of Darling in your head. She seems to be trapped in a small box and can't get out but despite this you are still glad to hear her voice since this means that she is not far.
Iram, eh? That must have been the human with the axes. Giles squirreled that bit of information away with everything else he had learned that night. Elar really was an over-confident fool, to be so casual with his prisoners.

With Elar's attention fixed on the female elf beside him, Giles took the opportunity to examine the psychic shackle he had been laden with. He barely had to glance at it, though, to see that removing it was beyond his limited capabilities. He was familiar with the design, and the technology, well enough, but he knew that if he were to examine the silver band further, he would find that it appeared to have no end, no place at which it seemed it could open. Only the correct tactile input, or perhaps a command word, would unlatch the thing. Giles didn't even bother to curse under his breath.

Feeling Darling in his mind was a relief. Another mistake of Elar's. Giles reached out to her again. Where are we, Darling? How long did it take them to transport us here? Who took you from me?
"Whatever it is, using me will only attract unwanted attention." Aselia fixed a glare back at Elar. "Elar, you do know of what happened to the thirteenth house? Such a shame if it would happen to your house." Aselia spoke with added emphasis, denouncing again her lineage as a Thuranni.
The thirteenth house? What nonsense was this elf spouting? Giles didn't at all mind the threat she was making, but invoking the Mark of Death was...well, surprising, to say the least.

For the moment, Giles kept his mouth wisely shut. There was always more to learn.
Elar begins to laugh silently beneath his breath.

"My dear..." He said as he cast his eyes up towards the ceiling. "That is what I am counting on."

There was a pause as the patriarch's words lingered in the room.

"But I think we have talked enough for now." Elar stood and turned away from you, signaling that this audience was over. "I hope you two will enjoy your stay in Dreadhold..."

[TekHed]

PROLOGUE: Regalport



http://s28.postimg.cc/iomk7uzbd/deusexhumanrevolutionro.jpg

1000 YK 17 Aryth Zol (17 November Wednesday)
18:30 PM
Weather: Light Snow
Temperature: - 3° Celsius
Wind Speed: 3 mph



Regalport. A city filled with pirates, thieves and scoundrel. Not a place you would normally find yourself in but you reckon you will travel to much more unpleasant places before your quest is over. Here, at least, you have your workshop and any thug is easily scared off once you show them what you can do with your arm. You really cannot let such things bother you, when you are so close to finishing your project.

Which reminds you, you still need materials. You list them quickly in your mind: 70 lb of Iron, 30 lb of high grade mithral alloys, 10 bars of pure adamantine and a number of mechanical parts infused with the energies of law.

The metals will be easy enough to get. A half-orc over at the Pirate Exchange has a truly fine selection and should provide you with everything you need. The parts however are another matter entirely, the only place where you would be able to get those is Daanvi and you don't have the means to travel there on your own. The only ones that are able to allow for such a travel is house Orien...
Boryx of Breland brooded.

"What's wrong sir?" the voice was hollow and metallic.

Boryx looked up from the small piston he was soldering, as he did so the small torch retracted into his bionic arm with a soft whirring and a -click-. The look on the face of the clockwork centaurian was one of distinctly unmachinelike concern.

"I need to get back to Daanvi" the master craftsman answered, accepting a cup of tea from a small droid that had just walked over on stiltlike legs. "Thank you Gofer."

"Garantor..."
"Yes, sir?"
"Are you capable fo opening another portal back home?"
"No sir, only the Central Dispatching Hub has the authority to open a direct link between planes."
"That's what I was afraid of."
"I beg your pardon, Sir, but why?"
"Because it means I may have to deal with father. My real one I mean" Boryx lifted up his shirt where the glittering cursive of the dragonmark swept across his abdomen.

"Oh dear."
"Fortunately that can wait. I have some other materials I can procur in town. Hold down the fort for me while I'm gone."
"Of course sir."
Boryx grabbed his cloak, pulling on long thick leather gauntlets that extended up past the elbow. Removing his visored helmet and setting it down upon the workplace, the telescoping lenses that were his eyes retracted back into his skull before Boryx put on a pair of heavy goggles to disguise them.

"I should return later tonight."
Boryx pulled a thick fur hat down over his ears and fastend the heavy cloak snuggly around him. Thus fortified against the biting cold, Boryx headed upstairs out of the Vault, through the workshop and out into the brisk air, locking his shop behind him and setting the alarm system.

Off to the Pirate Exchange...
The cold air greeted you as you walked out onto the streets of Regalport. There were still plenty of people out at this time of day even as it was getting dark early, already some of the moons would show themselves upon the dark sky. One would be able to see them clearly were it not so cloudy.

The Exchange was a bit of a distance from your workshop so when you arrived it had gotten slightly darker. The market itself was living up to its name of being a hub of activity filled with people even during these hours, as well as various thieves and thugs. Safely navigating through the crowd, you find yourself in front of an imposing, two story high smithy.

The shop nearby was closed so you walk up directly to the gates and enter after giving a few strong knocks on the metal doors. The heat inside was almost enough to overwhelm, with enough light coming from the huge forge to light up the equally sizable room. Along the walls you saw various weapons and armor, some of which were probably magical. However, those were not why you came.

In the center of the room you saw Torek working on a piece of metal, filling the smithy with noise. He was so engrossed in his work, he did not even hear you enter.
Few in the market thought to harrass the giant stranger who waded through the market-place and those few fearless pickpockets who did attempt to pilfer a purse found their small hands rebuffed by the voluminous cloak.

Seeing Torek so focused and hard at work brought an empathetic smile to Boryx's face. He removed his fur cap revealing short wavy platinum locks and placed it and the cloak upon one of the racks placed near the entryway for just such a purpose. Striding forward with intent, Boryx circled around the smith so as not to surprise him. In Regalport, in the Pirate Exchange, one ought to show appropriate respect and courtesy lest one find a blade between the ribs.

"Hail Torek! What have you got there?" Boryx examined the half-orc's handiwork from a closer distance.
Torek raised his head and took of his goggles, even so it took his eyes a second to adjust and see just who had come to visit him.

"Look who the sea washed in! Great to see you back in my smithy, Boryx!" Torek said as he put away his tools. "As for this thing... I'm not really sure yet. When I start working on a piece of metal I wait for it to speak to me, to tell me what it is meant to become. So far, I hear nothing but be sure I will make this into something special."

Trying his best to cover up his disappointment Torek puts the metal away and came to shake your hand.

"So how are you Boryx? How is life? How's your own project going?"
Boryx nods with understanding as only an artisan can.

"Well that's why I'm here. I have need of raw metals to move forward and you're the best source in Regalport." Boryx reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment with a list written in expert cursive calligraphy, handing it to the half-orc.

"You seem slightly off today...is something bothering you Torek?"
The half-orc looked over the list before handing it back to you.

"Yea, I can supply you. Follow me." With that he put on a warm coat and exited out into the market with you right behind him.

"There has been some troubling news coming from the west lately..." He began as the two of you navigated the narrow streets of the market. "The Lord of Blades has been gathering an army and there is talk that there is going to be a war with the warforged. It hasn't even been ten years since the last one ended and already we need to worry about a new one."

He pauses as he shakes his head.

"Weapon prices are going to soar again but I think we've already had enough conflict on Eberron to last us a for lifetime. But enough talking, we're here."

The two of you stood before a massive warehouse with four well armed guards standing on duty by the entrance, a few more are probably standing inside.

"Give me a second while I open it up."

Giving the OK to the guards, Torek opened the the warehouse letting both of you enter. The entire inside of the building was filled with raw materials, metals, wood, crystal... you were certain you would be able to find everything you need.

"There you go. Just remember, it's going to cost you extra if you want my boyos to help you with the delivery."
"I'm sure I can handle a few hundred pounds on my own." the towering tech-knight asserted. "Thanks Torek, and for the news as well. Weapon prices going up is good for our business but bad for the people. Just be careful which side you choose."

After placing all of the materials on a pallete, Boryx made his mark on the invoice. "You just let me know if there is anything I can ever do to help you out. Be seeing you."

With a nod, Boryx gathered up his weighty parcel over one shoulder and made his way out of the Pirate Exchange.
"Alright Boryx. Till next time." And with that the smith returns back to his work.

You return to your workshop by nightfall with most of the supplies you need. But one thing was still needed and getting that would not be as easy.
After dropping off the supplies and checking in with Garantor, Boryx steeled himself for what he knew he had to do.

I wasn't expecting to have to do this so soon, but at least I won't have to wonder anymore...

Insulating himself against the biting cold, the augmented human warrior heaed out into the city for the second time in one evening. The magewrights busied themselves tending the street lanterns, casting a warm glow about the oppulent dwellings of the wealthiest of the Lahazaar Princialities. "The Jewel of the Lahazaar Sea" they called it.

Winding his way through the craftsman district, past the marketplace and downport of the wealthiest estates, Boryx headed to the one place he was reasonably sure the sultry shifter could be found on a cold night... The Siren's Call. One of the roughest watering holes in the porttown district...
You enter the the tavern when it was already late at night and it was full to bursting with drunk and lusting sailors.

Not two steps in you are greeted by a gorgeous lass wearing an incredibly revealing dress.

"Hello, my handsome stranger and welcome to the sirens." She said with a coy smile. "How might I... serve you tonight?"
"I'm looking for one of your regulars. A Shifter. Tatiana. You seen her?" Boryx inquired attempting in vain to not look down her cleavage, though with his height it made it hard not to notce. By way of averting his eyes, he scanned the main room, attempting to get a glimpse of his sometimes lover...
"Tat-iana? I don't think I know...." But before she could finish her excuse you see a familiar motion in the crowd. You and Tatiana were both looking at each other across the crowd of drunk sailors. She was wearing an incredibly intricate disguise only augmented by her shapeshifter abilities but in the end you you knew it was her.

She then turns away from you and going towards the back rooms, motioning for you to follow. Once there, she quickly checks the walls and drops her disguise once she was sure that nobody was spying on you.

"Well Boryx, you found me." She said with a smile. "Might I know the reason for your unexpected visit?"
Without saying a word, Boryx walked up to her and grabber her long lithe body in his strong massive hands and kissed her passionately. He felt her body stiffen, then melt and quiver into him. After a moment he broke the embrace and the look in his eyes, while still loving, became very serious.

"I didn't want to have to do this so soon. I wanted to give it time to play out, to give us time. But things are happening and I need to ask you for a favor..." he paused. "But before I can tell you the truth about me, I need to know if I can trust you."

Boryx let go of her arms and turned away, pacing for several feet as he considered his words carefully. Finally he stops and looks into her eyes, gauging them for a moment.

"I know you've been hired by Orien to spy on me. And I know why. I'll tell you right now that I mean Orien no harm. I have no desire to interfere with the House at all and my only concern for my f-...for the Elder is to destroy him. I want to trust you and tell you the truth because the truth is, I need your help right now. But first I need to know if any of it was real for you. The things you've said about how you feel. Because it's been real for me."
For the longest time the only response was silence, so much that you were beginning to become afraid. Finally she spoke.

"So you have found out my little secret. It has been a long time since someone was able to do that." She said, seeming to take her unmasking in stride.

She sits down gently on her bed.

"You are not sure if you can trust me but did not think that same is also true for me." She spoke as if to herself. "Trust is born slowly and destroyed in a single moment. I know."

"You made the first step Boryx. What are you wiling to give in the name of trust?"
"You didn't answer my question," Boryx smiled. "I'm willing to put my heart on the line...if you really want it."

"And I'll tell you what your employers want they to know. They should know...after all they have as much to lose...or gain as any of the Houses."

He paused.

"Besides, like I said I need their...your help. I just want to know if when the job is done, will you stay by my side? What I must do is incredibly dangerous, but I can promise you an adventure unlike any other."
She bites her lip and looks away. For a time there is silence between you, building until it can no longer remain unbroken.

"Never thought... it would come down to this." She spoke but as if to somebody else, not meeting your eyes. "But it seems you leave no choice..."

As she stood up the shifter's eyes met yours but even then you were unable to tell what was happening behind them.

"I believe that you believe in what you are saying. I will help you." She paused. "I will trust you if you truly trust me."
Boryx moved in close to her and pulled her chin up with one hand, searching into her eyes.

"There is always a choice. I will go with you right now and tell your employer everything they want to know. You don't have to do anything and you don't have to come with me. Your mission will be complete. I just want you to know that I have fallen in love with you."

With that he kisses her again, tuning into his own intuition to see what he can feel from her.
You touch her lips with your own, the touch is everything you remember but now it had a sense of distance, a sense of caution to your closeness. Despite this, she returned your kiss willingly.

You draw away and she looks at you, her eyes betray a true feeling that makes your heart beat faster but also something else that escapes you.

"You are a very special person Boryx." She is silent. "What do you need of Orien?"
Boryx frowned. This was not the kind of reaction he had been hoping for. He turned away, pacing again and seeming to quell a rising tide of emotion within him. He took a deep breath, composed himself and then walked back, sitting on the edge of the bed, which creaked under his augmented weight.

"You were probably told by your superiors that my father is Boryx the Mad. The Dragonmarked Houses have been quite thorough about keeping details hidden from the public but I know they are concerned, as well they should be. Around that time I dissapeared as well, and since my recent return I am sure the question on everyone's mind has been...where did I go? Am I an agent of my father's madness?"

He paused, removing the leather gauntlet that hid his hand. He stared at his palm, seeming to admire the mechanical precision, flexing each finger.

"When I left, I did not follow my father's footsteps. I went...up there..." Boryx raised his gaze skyward, up at the ceiling of the tavern. "Beyond the Heaven's, to a place that couldn't be further from Boryx's tainted madness. You may have thought my prosthesis to be magical...it is not." To emphasize the point, the arm came to life in a flurry of moving parts- sliding, expanding, extending and retracting tools and what looked like might be weapons.

"I've been hiding in a place of pure mechanical order. Some learned scholars call it Nirvana or Mechanus. The denizens of the realm know it as Daanvi. I need Orien's help because they are the only ones who can help me get back there."
"That explains... a lot about you." She said noding at your words. "The strange tools you use, the planar aura that surrounds you..."

She smiles at your stare.

"What? You expected that I didn't know about it? I was sent to spy after you after all." She said, now seeming to have regained her confidence. "But I see how your quest is important Boryx. House Orien.... if you tell them directly then it is unlikely that they will cooperate. They want to keep you close for now you see, long enough to have proof that you are not working for your father. We could try to explain your version to them but that will take time. If you really need to return this mechanus so quickly...."

She pauses... thinking.

"We will need to enter the headquarters of House Orien."
"They might cooperate if they knew how much they stood to profit..." Boryx countered. "If we attempt to sneak by and are caught well...that will only serve to feed their suspicions."

He gave her a quizzical glance.

"I'm curious though, what you had in mind..."
She shakes her head.

"Unless you have something to prove that you are an enemy to your father I doubt they will believe you. Remeber, House Orien is an enemy to the man himself rather than the forces that he serves." She thinks for a moment "Alternatively, I could go alone instead and try to retrieve something that could allow planar travel. "
"They would be if they knew what he was really up to. Madness and Terror the likes Eberron has never seen. We should go together."

He pauses as a thought enters his mind.

"Tell me Tatiana...do they know about my Mark of Passage?"
"They... do." She admitted reluctantly."But so far it has not changed their view of you, otherwise I think they would have told me to give you a personal invitation..."

She turns away halfway during that sentence and to search through her things, taking out a few well hidden wands and potions.

"But we should talk about this later. We've got a lot ahead of us."
"Well, for one thing, I need to get to Daanvi...that's pretty much the last place my mad sire would go. His very existence now is an affront to order and sanity, and he would be set upon by all the forces of Law."

He examined the items she was laying out.

"You still haven't told me your plan..."
"I'll go to the enclave of House Orien here in Regalport and I will get the spells needed to send you to your destination. They won't suspect a thing." She said while strapping on her gear, turning from an attractive maid to the deadly and attractive spy that you've come to know her as.

"In return I want only one thing. That you take me with you to this Danvi you keep talking about." She smiles mischievously. "And finally show me what you keep hiding in that workshop of yours. Well, I guess that's two things..."
"I'll show you...after we get back from the outer planes. Are you going after scrolls, or something more exotic? I'll wait for you back at the shop...I'll need to gather a few things myself..."

Boryx turned to leave, then paused and turned around, kissing her once more. "Be careful..." and then he dissapeared back into the bustling tavern.
The way back was not eventful but you had enough on your mind that you barely took note of it all. As you returned back to your workshop you were greeted by Garantor who guarded it while you were gone. You take a quick glance at the watch, one of the first things you have made yourself, and saw that it was already deep into the night. This might make things easier for Tatiana but will make your wait just a bit harder.

Boryx returned to his workshop, greeting Garantor, Gofer and his other loving creations.

"Sir? How did it go?" Garantor inquired of his master.

"I'm not sure" Boryx replied. "I took a risk tonight in telling her the truth but...there was something distant about her when she realized the ruse was up. To be honest I'm not sure if she really loves me. She claims she does but I can't help but feel like I might be getting played. Either that or someone's got something on her so serious that she can't tell me the whole truth...regardless I can sense she is hiding something. She'll be here soon, and she's getting the spells we need to travel back to Dannvi, so you'll have a chance to meet her."

"Sir?"

"I know, but I promised to show her the truth. I'm counting on you to watch my back. We can show her hospitality but that doesn't mean we give her the keys to the safe. We should leave right away so it will be a short dime-tour. I'll need you to accompany us of course."

"Of course, Sir."

"Gofer, I'll leave the shop with you until we get back."

"Yes Sir! Delighted to help!" the small round construct chirped cheerfully.

"Thank you both. Garantor, wait down here. I'll signal you when I'm bringing her down. I'll head upstairs to wait for her arrival."


----

After a few hours pass you hear a loud knock on the door that fills you with relief. Quickly you open it and see Tatiana, out of breath and holding a small but finely crafted case in her arms.

"I've got them." She said with a weak smile on her lips.

When Tatiana arrived, Boryx quickly rushed her in and closed the door, giving a quick glance each way down the street to see if anyone noticed, or was following.

Once the door was locked and bolted, Boryx embraced her. "That is excellent...what happened? You seem harried...were you followed?"
"It wasn't easy but I think I'm in the clear and House Orion is none the wiser." She said, as she dusted herself off.

"Now..." She put the box on the table and opens it, revealing three scrolls hidden inside. "You do know how to use these scrolls, right?"
"Unfortunately, no. Reading magic and casting isn't really my forte. On the bright side, I have a friend who may be able to help. He'll be here in the morning which is..." Boryx checked his wrist-clock. "...only 4 hours from now. That gives us a chance for a tour of the basement with plenty left over for some quality time." He gave her a lecherous smile.

"This way...I can tell the curiosity has been eating at you for weeks. And because you've been so patient, I think it's time for the reward."

Boryx lead her past the showroom where various weapons of exceedingly excellent craftsmanship were displayed with various levels of ornamentation and embellishment depending on the price. Behind the counter display case, a door lead to the back room where a standard if high quality blacksmithy was present with all of the usual accoutrements including a forge, several anvils, a water trough, various molds and several polished sets of masterwork tools. All of this was for show of course, and he lead her to a door that was ostensibly a broom closet. Inside was a floor basin, in which rested a mop, a bucket, several jars of lye and a straw broom with a dustpan attached to a small hook.

Boryx twisted the spigot on the floor basin a quarter turn counter clockwise and from behind the wall a sliding bolt mechanism could be heard shifting. He twisted the spigot, now a handle and the whole floor basin and wall opened outwards revealing behind it another door, this one made of solid metal and no discernable handle. A small raised circle was present in the center of the door, at the center of which was a small x-shaped slot. Boryx ungloved his mechanical hand and it extended a small protuberance from which popped a series of small flanges. This he inserted into the X-shaped slot for several inches until a soft click could be heard. At that point he rotated his hand and the circle on the door moved with it, followed by several more clicks, pops and scraping noises. Boryx removed the key which retracted itself into his hand and a moment later, the vault door slid vertically down into the ground, revealing a stairwell and stairs encased entirely in metal. A line of rivets down the sides gave off a slight glow lighting their way.

"This is where the magic happens." Boryx quipped as he lead her down the stairs to a second metal door. This one opened normally and Tatianna's face went wide with wonder at what she saw.

A warm yellow glow suffused the room from multiple everburning torches and a fiery kiln on the far side of the room. The metal walls were pleasently warm and the metal sheathed floor was covered in places with rugs or straw mats. The room was large and had a vaulted ceiling detailed with cross-buttressing. Several long work tables ran the the length of the room, upon which were various devices and contraptions the likes of which few had seen. It was the room's inhabitats however that proved the biggest shock. The entire workshop was buzzing with activity. Small constructs plodded about on anywhere from 2 to 6 legs, A few had wheels and at least two were zipping through the air upon whirling spinning blades. The most striking of all however was a magnificent white clockwork centaur with glowing blue eyes.

"Tatiana, this is my assitant Garantor."

The Zelekhut approached the stunned Shifter, bowed down upon one horse-knee and spoke in a melodious voice.

"A pleasure to meet you m'lady"
"Alright, but I have some experience in using magic items as well." She said briefly. "If you need to hurry I can try to activate them but I make no promises."

With that being said she eagerly followed you through the workshop. This was the moment she has been waiting for, to peek inside of the place that Boryx has been keeping a secret from her and if there is one thing that she hated, is when other thought they could keep secrets from her.

Still, nothing could have prepared her for what she saw behind those steel doors. What she found would have given pause to even a Cannith smith and to her it seemed like a whole other world. Tatianna merely nodded her head to the wondrous centaur that greeted her before she was finally able to speak.

"Is he... some kind of warforged? I never seen something quite like him." She said as she turned her head back to you.
Boryx laughs. "No, he was forged by no man's hand. He's a Zelekhut, one of a type of beings collectively known as Inevitables, from where we are headed. Zelekhuts are created to hunt down those who would defile the natural order. Garantor here was assigned to track down my father, and now he is assigned to me. So you see, Orien really has nothing to fear from us."

Garantor nodded.

"Indeed m'lady. The Elder Boryx is of quite a concern to us. On behalf of all sentient creatures of Order, I thank you for your help. "

Sir, are we ready to leave?"

"Not just yet. I figured Enoch would hate me if we went and didn't invite him, so I told him to meet me here for breakfast. Besides he knows how to use these scrolls Tatiana brought us."

He squeezed her side. "You should see the look on your face right now."
"Oh? Would you prefer that I looked differently then?" She said coyly as you feel her hands wrap around your shoulders. This close, you can smell the unique and familiar scent of the shifter. She gives you a warm smile and laughs deviously. "Now if you could see your face right now."

She then tilts her head slightly to the side in an almost catlike fashion.

"Your friend should be here by morning? That means we have some time then... what do you think?"

In the mean time, Garantor stood and looked oddly at the unfolding scenario.
Boryx felt a little rush pass through his body at her touch, and felt himself stirring.

"I do believe we have some time." he smiled. "Garantor can watch the fort here."

"Yes sir. Do enjoy your biological needs sir."

"Oh we will...it's inevitable." He winked at the non-plussed sentient construct.

After carefully locking the vault, Boryx picked up Tatiana bodily and carried her upstairs. She was so warm, a side effect of her shifter blood. Her body responded well to him, her nails dragging lines down his chiseled torso. Every kiss sent tingling waves of electricity coursing through their bodies and she moaned, arching her back like a cat in heat, waiting for him.


-------------------

After another hour or so they were spent, lying in each other's arms in a melted eternity, too contented to move. Boryx was just beginning to drift off into a blissful slumber when he was abruptly shaken from his impending reverie by the clanging of the shop bell downstairs.


"Ugh...that would be Enoch." Boryx said, disentangling himself from the shifter's svelt arms. She moaned in protest as he left her side, cold morning air rushing in to fill the vacuum.

"I'll go down and greet him." he continued, pulling on some breeches and covering his clockwork arm under it's shoulder-length glove.

"Be a love and put a kettle on for us. Come downstairs when you're dressed." he shuffled down the stairs.

Tatiana pulled the covers over her head in a futile act of defiance. "Boo."


---------

Downstairs, Boryx opened the door to his mirthful half-elven friend, his state of undress and the sweet musk of Tatiana still clinging to his body a dead give away for what he'd been...er...up to.

You walked to open the door, still feeling happy after having spent the night with the foxy shifter, expecting to find your friend Enoch to be there. What you saw instead was far different.

Before you was a sailor, with striking brown eyes and a wide smile on his wind-swept feature. He carried himself like a warrior and carried a rapier at his side that you could easily tell was masterwork quality.

"Ah, hello! You must be Boryx the Younger. My name is Aran Liomar and I have heard a lot about you." He looks you over one more time. "I'm not interrupting anything am I?"
The surprise on Boryx's face was obvious which only added to his unkempt appearance and the sleepy expression on his face.

"Oh! Good morning Mr. Liomar. Em...please excuse my entirely unprofessional appearance. I haven't opened the store yet and had just been expecting a social call."

He reached for a warm vest lined with fur hanging on the foyer coat rack, covering up his bulky half naked frame.

"But since you've come all this way to see me, and my social call has not yet arrived, how may I help you?"
"Hah, well that wasn't so bad! Here I thought I would be met with mistrust and suspicion, your hospitality is certainly refreshing." He said in jovial tone.

"Now then... I would like to get right to the point, you are a friend of Enoch, right? You two were supposed to meet right about... now, yes?" He spoke, his face and posture becoming much more serious and there were something foreboding about all of it. "It seems that your friend is in need of help."

He paused and looked in the distance for a second.

"Perhaps I could come in?"
Boryx got a puzzled look on his face at the man's response at first but it quickly turned into a frown when he mentioned Enoch and he realized that this wasn't some early morning customer.

Scowling, Boryx ushered the man in.

"I'm sorry, but who are you again? What's happened to Enoch?"
"You are not from around here are you? Most people around here recognize me on sight." Aran enters the workshop, giving a slight nod of appreciation to what he sees. He then turns back to you. "Well then, allow me to give you a proper introduction. Aran Liomar, privateer and right hand man to Prince Rygar himself. That name, I think you should recognize."

"Now then, Enoch was involved in some very dangerous activity on the behalf of the Prince. Spying on one of the Great Houses is not an easy task but your friend has proven to be exceptionally skilled." He pauses. "Last note we received from him told us that he discovered a link between the Thuranni and the Kundarak, converging in the prison fortress of Dreadhold. We lost contact after he set out to investigate."

"We believe that he was captured and since you are his friend, you might be able to help him."
Boryx waits several moments, processing what he has heard.

"So...Enoch was working for the Prince, spying on Thuranni, a House known for being spies and assasins, in the center of their power base...and then went off, by himself, to Dreadhold, an unenterable, unescapable fortress of a prison? Did I get that all right?"

A wave of suspicion washed over Boryx's face.

"How did you know we were friends? You knew we were meeting this morning so you obviously intercepted my message...which means you are spying on the mail, in itself worthy of it's own conversation...but what would then lead you to believe that I knew anything about it? This is all news to me. Frankly, I have other larger problems on my mind right now, though he is my friend and I'll do anything I can to help. However given we are talking about Dreadhold here, I'm not sure how much help I could be...?"

Boryx folded his thick arms across his barreled chest.

"Perhaps you should tell me a bit more. Of what kind of help you had in mind, and any other clues you might have."

"You have been following well." He said. "First let me say that Enoch is not just an associate of the Prince, he is a friend and was perhaps the only one who could have helped in that situation. He knows a lot about the houses, something I'm sure you have already noticed, about heir methods and intrigues. But this alliance between Thuranni and Kundarak was new even to him."

"And as for my knowledge of this meeting, let me say that nothing shady was involved. I stumbled upon your messege while I was trying to follow Enoch's investigation and it led me here. "

As your eyes glance over the polished surface of one of your armors you notice the sly figure of the shifter listening in from the shadows.

"I figured you would want to help your friend, so I came here. Prince Rygar already has a plan in mind but you will need to meet him in person if you want to know more."
Boryx raised an eyebrow at the last.

"Well then, I suppose I ought to put some proper attire on if I'm going to meet the Prince. I'll also need a bite to eat. Shall I arrive at the palace in say...two hours hence? That should be plenty of time..."
"Agreed!" Aran smiled. "Just come to the royal docks and I'll tell the guards to expect someone who looks like you. And you can take your time, Rygar was never one to be totally punctual himself."

He gives you a short bow and gracefully leaves the room.

"Never knew you'd have such interesting contacts." Tatiana said once she was sure that you were alone.
"Neither did I..." Boryx replied as he pulled he toward him and began massaging the toned muscles of her lower back, causing her to melt slightly at his touch.

"Looks like our honeymoon will have to wait darling. Enoch is too important. Care to shadow me to the meeting and have a listen in? If things turn sour I'd feel better knowing you had my back..."
"Ah, I think I'll pass on that. I've never spied on the prince before and while certainly tempting, I am woefully under-prepared." She giggles slightly but then becomes more serious. "I have been thinking since last night, Orien seems to have other reasons for not offering to make you part of the house. Something that they are not telling me. I'm going to try and find out."

The shifter quickly gets dressed, remembering to be seductive as you watch her.

"But try have fun without me, ok?"
Boryx nods.

"Hmm. Yes normally they would be eager to recruit a 'marked. Consider they only know because you told them, and that was after they hired you to spy on me, something they really had every good reason to do. Perhaps they are wary that I have not approached them? Or perhaps my schemeing mother is concerned about how the House would react to learning that I bear the blood of Orien and not Cannith. That's right...I've wondered for a long time and now the Mark proves it. Boryx the Elder is not my real father..."

His musings were interupted by the sight of her bending over to pick up her bag. Though he had become part machine, he was all too human.

"I'll do what I can, you be careful..."

A look of concern darkens his features for a moment.

"Even if Rygar has a plan, this is still Dreadhold we're talking about. I might..."
he paused the words catching slightly in his throat. "I might not..."

His metalic eyes were stoic, resigned even, but the lines on his face were grim.
Tatiana frowns giving that revelation some thought.

"Then I guess I know where to begin my search." She finally concludes as she gives you a very serious look. "Remember, I believe in you."

Having said that she gave you a final goodbye kiss before slipping away out into the chilly streets outside. You spend a few more seconds staring in that direction before more pressing concerns finally come to the forefront.
Returning to his shop and bolting the door, Boryx made his way down to the secret machine lab.

"Change of plans Garantor."

"What happened sir?"

"Enoch's been kidnapped, I need to help him."

Boryx walks over to where his Adamantine Carapace is resting on mounting brackets, themselves tiny constructs. As he steps into the backplate, the breastplate moves into position and seals itself while his small army of automatons fasten the rest of the armor into place.


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As this is occurring he speaks.

"I'll need you to accompany me as well. With your wings retracted and your full barding on, they'll assume you're an ordinary centaur."

"Yes sir, just let me change into my formal wear."

"Attaboy!"


*******

Several minutes later, heavily armored, with Boryx on Garantor's back like a Knight with two bodies, the mechanical duo rises to street level in an alley way via a lift constructed in a nearby storm drain. Clomping heavily through the chilled air of morning, their imposing presence brings stares from the merchants and customers already bustling about the day's business.

What have you gotten yourself into this time Enoch?



-End of Prologue-

[TekHed]

Chapter I: Dreadhold

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1000 YK 17 Aryth Zol (15 november Thursday)
16:10 PM
Weather: Cloudy
Temperature: - 13° Celsius
Wind Speed: 7 mph

--===--



The streets were quite today in Regalport. It was as if the city was holding it's breath in anticipation of coming events. It was clear that what was set in motion today was going to have consequences far beyond the Principalities and none were more aware of this than Rygar.

As you two stood in the Royal Docks, surrounded by the prince's most trusted guard you hear him go over the plan one more time...

"This is going to be a rescue mission and not an easy one." The prince points at a table holding a large map of the surrounding area. The small, island-like peninsula upon which the prison was built was circled in red. "Dreadhold is surrounded on all sides by jagged cliffs making an ocean approach impossible and the land rout is heavily guarded. Luckily, you can approach approach by air using an airship but even then it might be risky."

"Once inside, you are on your own. Find Enoch and get him out if he is still alive. Hell, get him out if all you find is his corpse... as a prince I have a few clerics by my side." He then turns to Lognar. "Lognar, you will help Boryx here on this mission, consider this your first true assignment."

"Now then, any questions?" The prince said casually. "If not I suggest you two get to know each other a bit before you dive head first into the kraken's maw."
Lognar peers at the overly large human, running his eyes over the exotic armor and sizing up his new ally. The craftsmanship was magnificient, and it put his imbued bear hide to shame. That is fine. He chuckles to himself. My... spear is bigger. Even the human's weapons were odd, designs he had never seen in his years of battle. He took note of the equally adorned centaur. I hope the human has the skill to back up his wealth.

Although the human was tall, Lognar topped his frame by an easy eight inches, and his clothed chest looked as broad, and for that matter, as solid, as the human's fine armor. He wore what looked to be a fine brown pelt, possibly a bear, draped across his shoulders. The arms come down over his chest and bind to his belt at the paws. The portions of his body the fur does not cover is a grayish-green and in most places covered with scars both large and small. In his right hand he grips the shaft of a large spear, the head of which was close to two of Boryx's hands wide at it's widest point and nearly a foot long.


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Boryx looked up at the humongous orc looming over him. His neck was unaccustomed to the angle.

"You're...not from around here are you?" Boryx asked him.

The man speaking was positively a giant. Broad shouldered, square jawed, seeming every bit the heroic image staring from his opened helm. His armor only added to his bulk and presence, overlapping plates articulated with precision movements and the whole of it sculpted from star-born adamantine. Next to him, from which he had recently dismounted was a centauroid, likewise clad in ornately detailed and intricately fashioned raiment.

"No, I am not." he states as he grasps Boryx's forearm in a firm grip.

The human extended a gauntlet. "Me neither. Boryx of Breland...the Younger." he added in hasty afterthought. The name Boryx the Elder, more commonly known as Boryx the mad conjured images of the boogeyman to most throughout Khorvaire, and with good reason. Hard to imagine this strapping specimen of humanity to be related to that twisted mockery of nature.

"Lognar Skinripper." The orc was unsure if he should know the distinction between younger Boryx and old, but he does not. He releases his grasp on Boryx's arm and turns back to the Prince, listening once more for instruction.

"It's not every day I meet someone I look up to! Skinripper, you say? That doesn't sound very pleasant."

After introductions had been made, Boryx turned his attention to the Prince, and the rough map of the prison fortress laid out on the makeshift table before them.

"You said you had a plan that would make this more than a mere suicide mission, Prince. Surely there must be more than just fighting our way through a fortress designed to prevent precisely that? What do you make of their defenses? How many guards should we expect on duty? Where in the compound would Enoch be most likely being held?"

He awaited the response of the local leige.
"Aye but I haven't told you all of it. Attacking Dreadhold head on is a deathwish but I've got a plan." The prince then points you to a part of the structure, an unassuming outer wall. "You will make your entrance here. This... is where they keep the prisoners. Set them free quickly and it will cause just enough chaos that you will face much less resistance once inside."

"We have also hired the Red Wings mercenary band to help you." Aran interjects. "They are good fighters but more importantly, they are able to man an airship. They are about thirty men strong."
Lognar grunts in approval at the mention of the mercenary cadre. Another airship voyage so soon, lucky me. He leans his free hand against the table and peers at the map, taking in the layout of the prison they'll soon be assaulting. He traces the entry point with his finger and looks up at the Prince. "What will the Red Wing's duties be during the breakout?"

He listens closely to the Prince and turns to Boryx. "You look to be ready for battle, but I do not know you." He says, looking to both him and his companion. "Can I rely on your prowess to aid me in this? I've given my service to the Prince, and I do not wish to fail him." He looks Boryx directly in the eye with his only good one. Gods, even his eyes are strange, although I suppose I cannot say much on that matter.

Turning back to the Prince once more, "I am ready. I depart on your command." He brings his spear up to his chest in what he hopes to be a salute.
"Yes well...I can hold my own in a fight. But I suppose talk is cheap where you come from. How about a sporting contest?"

The armor on Boryx's left arm begins to retract on it's own, articulated gauntlets sliding back into the lower, then upper canons of the vambracers and tucking neatly away somewhere under the ornate pauldrons. The arm underneath looks like something that would look more at home on a warforged than a human, though it is of a design and complexity that has no terrestrial comparison.

Boryx braces his elbow upon the hardy wooden table, waiting for Lognar to accept his challenge.

"Oh wait...wouldn't want you to think I was cheating or using magic." The armor on Boryx's other arm retracts, revealing publicly for the first time the sinewy slithering azure pattern of the lesser dragonmark coiling around his arm. His ruddy, tanned skin is stretched tight over veined muscles nearly as corded as Lognar's. He places it, palm open in ready position.
Lognar allows a rare grin to split his face as Boryx proposes a contest of strength. "Of course, I would be pleased to match strength with you. No magic is a fair rule." He flips his spear over in his hand and shoves the tip into the wood of the dock, holding it fast upright. His gloves come off as well, although not nearly so elaborately as Boryx. He tucks the worn leather gloves into his loincloth and squares up to the table.

Contests of strength were once commonplace among his tribe, although the more skilled participants knew it was almost as much about technique as pure strength. With his left hand, he grips the edge of the table. He flexes the fingers of his right hand and attempts for a high grip on Boryx's offered hand. He turns his head to the Prince. "If you would call it?" As the Prince gives the word, he bears down on Boryx's hand, attempting to twist the wrist.
It seemed he had figured correctly in his assumption that Orcs value contests of strength. Even if he lost, he'd win points for being direct and showing courage and competitiveness. If he won, he'd earn respect.

The towering figure locked grips with him, attempting to use his slight reach advantage for leverage. However Lognar was surprised to find that, while he had the drop on Boryx in inches, the human outweighed him with sheer density.

The sudden contest had the Prince's men buzzing with interest, and a few wagers were cast with a flurry of whispers. Even the Prince could not help but feel a small grin spreading across his face at the gregarious chutzpah of the two brawny warriors.

At the signal, Lognar gripped, but it was clear he was taking it easy, gaining the measure of his opponent. Boryx flexed, pushing back.

Alas it was not enough, and his arm began to move slowly toward the table, several of the Prince's men grinning as they prematurely counted their winnings. Sweat beaded on Boryx's brow as he struggled to keep his wrist in line with his forearm, maintaining leverage. Not to be undone so quickly, he summoned his inner resolve and with a loud grunt tried to recover his position.
Lognar grins as the human's arm slowly begins to inch downward without too much effort. The excited cheers and mournful groans of those thinking they're about to win or lose some coin eggs him on a bit more.

Suddenly however, the human grunts and exerts far more force than Lognar initially believed he was capable of, and he flexes his muscled arm against the renewed assault.

For a moment it appears a stalemate has been reached, but then ever so slowly, Lognar's arm begins heading back in the direction it came from, losing hard-earned ground. Gripping the edge of the table tighter now, he attempts to torque the human's arm, hoping to gain a leverage advantage.
Gods, but this Orc was strong. Boryx grit his teeth against the onslaught of the barbarian, and only very nearly held on. He could sense that they were both tiring. One final push would decide the victor. Growling savagely, Boryx reached deep down into his willpower and exploded downward with all the force he could muster.

His eyes blazed into Lognar and the Orc saw that he could indeed count on this mighty human's prowess in battle. Almost unbelievably, Lognars hand inched towards the table which was now vibrating with the isometric forces being unleashed between the two titans.

3 inches from the deck, two inches...Lognar could feel the human's power like a hydraulic press...a single inch. The growl from Boryx opened up into a primal yell as Lognar's hand crashed into the table, splintering a dent into its surface and sending the tiny miniatures laid across the map sprawling as if hit by an earthquake.
Lognar grunts and flexes, the table splintering under the grip of his left hand, but to no avail. The human was strong, the strongest Lognar had come across. Slowly but surely, his hand fell towards the table, impacting with great force. He releases his death grip on the edge and stands up straight, reaching his hand out to Boryx for another clasp.

"You are a worthy ally. I shall enjoy fighting alongside you." He releases Boryx once more and tugs his spear out of the dock. "Prince Rygar, I shall have no problems with this human."
Such an match! Several of the Prince's men were out some coin and a couple were richer for their insight, but all were impressed by what they had seen and were uplifted by drama of it all.

Boryx stood up, drawing his flesh forearm across his forehead to wick the sweat. Smiling and still breathing heavily, Boryx clasped with vigor his new comrades hand. "And you, worthy Skinripper...aye, it's good you're on our side!"

Rygar burst out into a hearty laughter.

"Good show, good show! Men, you could learn a thing from those two!" He joked making the surrounding sailors and soldiers a chuckle uncomfortably. "Pity about the table though but I think we won't be needing it anymore. Come!"

The Prince motions for the both of you to follow him through the gigantic building that served as the royal docks.

Boryx shifted uncomfortably in his armor as they walked.

"I'm not sure I like this plan, good Prince. Enoch aside, these men have been tried and convicted under law. We can't just go about setting them free. And they would pose a risk to us, the Red Wings, and the crew of the airship, not to mention the guards. We should try and rescue Enoch with as few casualties as possible."

"So tell me good Prince, for I cannot in good conscience release hardened criminals back out into the world..."
"I see, Boryx, you are not quite savvy when it comes to politics in these waters. Dreadhold is a prison owned by House Khundarak and they make good money from guarding other people's political enemies. For everyone deserving to be there you will find at least three that at one point or another went against someone in power, be it a nation or a house. People are sent there to 'disappear'." He paused. "But we are going there to get Enoch back."

As he said this you finally come to a beautiful ship, seated a little bit above ground. Perhaps not the biggest ship in the docks, it's elemental ring was still bigger than most buildings and the craftsmanship was something that Boryx instantly picked up on.


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"There she is, The Windray. If you complete this mission, you can keep her as your reward as well as anything else you might find in that damn prison."
Boryx nods. "Indeed. If we make it out alive."

He scratches his chin, and the Prince can see the spinning wheels of a keen intelligence at work.

"So you're saying Dreadhold is a private enterprise, and that they hold unwanted political prisoners. Outside the due process of law then, with no documentation of it's occupants or their crimes? Can hardly call that a proper prison..." he snorts with derision.

"Tell me Prince...what was Enoch doing for you when he was captured? I'm told he was more than just one of your agents, and that he was friend to you."
"Enoch was acting an a suspicion of mine..." The prince said in a solemn tone, he did not seem to be willing to divulge further information at this point.

"A suspicion? Sending a man into the lion's den on a hunch? Look good Prince, Enoch is my friend as well so I'm going to get him out, and I appreciate the hospitality that your Principality has extended to me as a law abiding craftsman, but I think you owe it to both Enoch and those of us going into the breach to level with me. What is really going on here? A man like yourself doesn't get involved in power plays of this magnitude on a simple suspicion."

There was an awkward silence following Boryx's outburst where the only thing that could be heard was the grumbling of soldiers as they reached for their blades. But the prince merely raised his hand and everything was quiet again.

"Tell me Boryx, if I do not satisfy your curiosity, will you leave your friend to rot in Dreadhold?" Rygar asked with a cold smile. "I thought not."

Boryx returns the cold smile with a stare of hot anger. "Of course not...but obfuscating the truth will haunt you in the end. If you cared so much, you would send your own men. You need us so you're not connected, so we can take the fall if anything goes wrong. I don't like being played, and I'm going for Enoch, not for you. We will finish this conversation in his presence and I will have my curiosity satisfied."

Aran coughed slightly.

"The Red Wings should arrive soon. You will be able to head out then and arrive by Dreadhold under the cover of night." He said. "Is there anything else you want to ask or do before that?"

As if on cue, the scene was interrupted and cadre of men walked into the building, each bearing a blade and a shield with two red wings painted upon them. They all seemed ready for battle.

"We are ready to begin."
"Good, then you are set." Aran spoke as all of you board the Windray. "I will be coming with you, just to make sure. I will be staying on the ship when you begin your assault."

The Red Wings quickly get to work operating the ship, activating the elemental ring and opening the gates before you. Rygar stands by the wayside, watching with a smile as the ship begins to rise into the air, the sound of its magic filling the air before you accelerate enough to fly from the docks and into the night and your destination would be in reach in a few hours.

Flying just a little bit below the clouds, you are making good time, the winds on the upper deck are strong but not powerful enough to knock you off your feet. This, you realize, are the final moments to prepare before your attack can begin.

Lognar watches as the Red Wings march aboard the ship. They move well as a unit, and look to be battle tested, most showing scars of some sort, although the majority of their bodies are sheathed in armor. I'll never understand why humans fear death so much as to load themselves down with all that armor. He watches only a moment longer as they scurry about, getting the ship ready to fly. He strolls over to Aran. "How long should the journey take?"

"A few hours, no more. The Windray can move quite fast." Aran himself seems to have changed attire, now wearing a hooded cloak that conceals his face. In the meantime you hear the talking of the mercenaries around you, mentally preparing themselves for battle.
Damn it Enoch, what kind of people have you gotten mixed up with?

He looked over at Aran who had made sure his face could not be identified. Everything about this operation was seeming suspect, and Boryx could not help but feel like he was being used. That bastard Rygar had found the right leverage for the job however, so there was little Boryx could, in good conscience do.

The hard-shelled human and his centaur companion joined the other two warriors at the bow of the ship, looking over the expanse of the sea below.

"You seem an honorable type Lognar. So tell me, how did you end up in the employ of such a shady character as Rygar?" The way he phrased it made it an obvious dig towards Aran.
Lognar chuckled. "Yes, I suppose I would be considered honorable now." He turned and faced Boryx. "I am not yet familiar with many human customs, but when you enter another tribe's territory without intent to kill, it is customary to present yourself to the chief as a token of respect. Service is offered, and summarily refused." He said this last part with a hint of frustration in his voice. "Rygar had need of one such as myself, so I am here to hold to my word."

He stands silent for a moment, then asks. "Who is this Enoch to you?"
"He is a good friend." Boryx replies.

He notes the frustration of the faux pas on Lognar's face and chuckles with an all too familiar resignation.

"Let this be a lesson to you then, not to go interpreting other culture's mores through your own. All too common I'm afraid...though it does affirm my sentiment that you are an orc of your word."

Boryx looked to Aran.

"It seems like your lord and master is full of secrets and mischief this day good Aran. I hope for your sake you aren't caught in the middle of it. What say you? Is your Prince a man of his word as well? Is he out to free Enoch, and will he abide by the terms of his payment? Or is he merely another politician who would sell us out for the slightest benefit? Speak the truth Aran and let your honor be known."
"That depends on how much you are willing to trust a pirate, mate." Aran answered with a confident smile. "My lord has honor but I doubt it is of a type that your kind would understand. But come, there is someone I'd like you to meet. Like you she is a new recruit but she has already been briefed on the mission."

The two of you follow him, wondering about this new recruit. As far as you know, the Red Wings were all male. That is when you saw her and were amazed how you did not notice her sooner, standing over by the entrance to the lower deck.


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"Let me introduce you to Bellatrix." Aran said as he casually approached the woman with the blazing hair. "Bella, this here armored fellow is Boryx the Younger. We will be helping him get his friend back. The orc is Lognar. He will be helping us as well."
Oh my...

In his mind, Boryx thought of Tatiana, and their tenuous trust. For all his love for the shifter however, he was still alive and human, and thus still quite susceptible to his masculine instincts. He suddenly wished he hadn't retracted his helmet to feel the cool breeze, which now heightened the sensation of burning in his cheeks. If there was one thing Boryx loved more than machines, it was tall leggy redheads.

A moment later, Boryx realized that the burning wasn't just in his cheeks, but a tingling under his skin all over...much more more unusual than the blood flushing from a female presence. The tingling was most intense in his augmentations, as if the modron symbiotes were having a party...or scrambling to alert. Something about her reminded him of his second home, something in her....crafstmanship.

His momentary trance interrupted by the sound of his own name, Boryx took a step forward and extended his armored still-human left hand...his modron right arm still felt like it wanted to jump out of it's socket.

"Thank you Bellatrix, for taking on this mission. If we survive, I am certain Enoch will thank you as well."

He squints, trying to get a feel for his recognition in her all too-perfect features. "You seem...familiar. Where do you hail from?"

Easy Boryx. Don't be lulled by the pretty face...she probably expects that.
Lognar nods to Boryx in affirmation of his dearth of social skill. He listens to both of the huamns and follows Aran's lead across the deck.

He looks the newcomer over. Scrawny, even for a female. Lognar looks quizzically at Aran.

"Are we to protect her as part of the mission?" He can't seem to fathom any other reason a human female would be joining them on such a dangerous mission. He turns to Boryx, hoping for some more insight and snubbing the female for now.
As the two men walk in, Bella looks at them with interest; the voices in her head already sizing them up.

"Alright, here's how we do this. We pop the Tin Can open like...you know while he's distracted, then shoot the Bear Skin with a couple of Agony bolts, and gut him when he's crying to his ugly broodmama." the masculine voice prodded.

"Just because the orc doesn't seem to fancy me doesn't mean we should make him suffer," Bella thinks in opposition, "Wait a minute, we shouldn't be trying to kill him at all. These are probably allies. All-ies."

"You and this "ally" thing are so boring sometimes."

"The idiot has a point. I long for the sight of crimson spilled." the feminine voice piped up, in a rare moment of agreement with her fellow passenger.

Boryx hails her and something clicks, a lower brain target acquisition. Her hair flares blue for a moment, hand twitching over Alighieri out of reflex. With a little effort, she stamps her soulfire down and shakes the blue out of her lockes. She bows, quite embarrassed.

"Ah, sorry, I'm a little on edge. You know, unfamiliar faces, strange place, had to slaughter a room full of men for a meal. The usual."

That admission made the orc's ears perk up. Slaughter a room full of men? These two must be of different breeding than most.

The pulchritudinous mercenary leaned back on the entryway's frame, full of nervous enthusiasm. "I hailed from the Demon Wastes, believe it or not. Well, that was more enslavement but what is duty but enslavement?" She laughs at her own joke. "Honestly, I hail from wherever they pay me enough."

Your banter is interrupted by the shout of a man from the Red Wings.

"We are approaching Dreadhold! From here on out we will hide inside the clouds!" Shortly after hearing that you feel the Windray gain in height, coming closer and closer to the clouds above until finally it enters inside, hiding the glow of the elemental ring until it would be too late. Your vision quickly becomes nil as a tense silence settles over the ship.

[TekHed]

Chapter I: Dreadhold


The giant orc looked in the direction of the shouting man and a small grin(a horrid looking thing) made it's way onto his face as the announcement sent a small surge of adrenaline pumping through him. He gripped his spear in both hands and brought it over and behind his head, shaft creaking as his shoulders flexed. He blinked a few times as they first entered the cloud, not sure what to expect. However, it was simply fog.

"Which side of the vessel do we launch the assault from?" he asked quietly of Aran.

"We can do this either way." Aran spoke. "We can attack from the roof or try to blast our way through one of the walls. The first is a more stealthy approach but is not guaranteed to work. The second will guarantee that you will get inside but it will no doubt alert the entire prison."
"Ooh, second! Pick the second!" the masculine voice squealed like an overactive child.

"Still thy tongue!" the feminine voice hisses. "Do you wish to wake the dead with your impertinence? We shall be unseen and merciless, like a great plague."

"My impertinence woke this dead girl up, so I don't see what the problem is."

"Personally, I prefer the stealthy approach." Bella says with a touch of melancholy. She absentmindedly strokes Alighieri's hilt. "The less men that end up dead, the better, I think."
Lognar thinks for a moment. The orc within him yearns for the combat offered by forced entry, but his new faith has tempered that fury some. Yearning gives way to contemplation, and he soon sees the benefits of a stealthy entrance.

"I can be quiet if need be. I led many night attacks into enemy encampments in which half the force was slaughtered before an alarm was raised. I also say we go in silently."
As the Windray ascends into the misty concealment of the clouds, Boryx's helm slides back up into place, fearsome in it's countenance. He mounts the similarly armored war-centaur whose barding is equally imposing, all overlapping bladed edges with a menacing slant.

"My armor is strong and puissant, but one thing it isn't is quiet. May I suggest the two of you, lightly armored as you both are, descend en point and take out any guards protecting the roof access. Once the door is open and clear, I will lead the Red Wings in to clear out any resistance."

At that moment, two mechanical appendages sprout from behind where Boryx is seated, fanning open into gigantic golden feathered wings of razor-sharp metal.

Boryx looks down appreciatively at Garantor's glorious craftsmanship. "My friend, if I'm going to be engaging in more mounted combat I should probably invent a lance."


"An effective tactic sir."

Leaning in a little closer, Boryx whispered through his helmet. "Watch my back while we're in there...and keep an eye on Aran as well." Garantor nodded affirmative.
Aran nods in agreement as the ship becomes deathly silent as it comes to hover just above the prison. You are all swiftly given a small amulet, nothing more than a trinket.

"This will allow you to land on the roof without problems. Once below you will need to eliminate the guards quickly to make way for the Red Wings. Do it quickly and silently or they will raise an alarm. If there is a problem I will order some of the men to help you." Having understood that you each take the token and jump down, towards the monolithic structure below you.

As you fly down you count seven guards patrolling the roofs just before your feet touch the stone of the highest tower. Hopefully you were not spotted.
Lognar grasps the amulet in an outstretched hand and fits it (barely) around his thick neck. He nods to Aran and moves to the edge of the airship, grasping the rail and peering over. The airship has come to a silent stop above the prison, and with a wary glance at his new partner, he leaps over the edge to float downwards.

As he touches down, he attempts to bend his knees and absorb some of the sound of impact, although his padded boots shouldn't make too much ruckus. Unsure if he has been spotted, he readies his spear.
Bella takes the amulet around her neck, gives it a soft kiss for good luck, and takes a running leap off the edge.

Her cloak glows blue and billows out, expanding and contracting to control her descent. Like the world's stealthiest firefly, she touches down on the balls of her feet, hand on Alighieri's handle.
Both Lognar and Bellatrix land silently upon the stone,hoping to take advantage of their sudden appearance yet one of the elves was more aware than the others. Quickly his eyes spot you before you were ready to strike and he instantly shouts to alert his fellows.

"Intruders!" You had only a few seconds to press your advantage.
Lognar grunts in pleasure as the elf sounds out the alarm. Just like an elf to talk instead of fight. He shifts his grip on his spear and spins it above his head, then pivots his whole body to the right, slashing out and around with the head of the spear as if it were a sword. The strike is aimed at the elven guard to his right. He quickly draws the spear in to his side and thrusts it out with enough force that a human's arm may have been torn from the socket.

As battle has now been truly joined, Lognar growls loudly as his heritage begins coursing through him. He may be learning to be more civilized, but in battle, there is no room for civility.
The guards sound the alarm and Bella just looks sad for them, like a mother who just watched her child stick its head in a fire. She glances back at her orcish companion, already working himself into battle lust.

"Feh, more small fries. They aren't even worth killing."

"One of these days they'll learn attacking is not in their best interests," Bella thinks,
calling her Soulblade to her as a wicked scythe With the sigh of someone who already knows the ending, she calmly walks towards the guard facing her and swings for the neck
With two blows from his heavy spear Lognar quickly fells the first guard who dies silently at the orc's feet. Bellatrix on her end is content to merely swipe at her enemy, expecting him to die rather easily and while the blue soul-lash does connect it was not enough to fell her foe.

Wearing a hood and cloth obscuring his face the elf drops his crossbow to the ground and two daggers appear in his hands. He steps towards you and and with surprising grace he feints with one dagger, making you lower your guards and in an instant you feel both blades find home in your flesh as the elf then proceeds to expertly twist them in the open wounds.

The last elf seems to realize that this cause was already lost and reaches towards his belt. From there he pulls out a potion and vanishes into thin air.
In the midst of combat, a thought flashes through his mind. I don't think Corellon will like this too much. Lognar takes the momentum of the killing blow and spins back the other direction, taking a step towards Bellatrix and her foe. Judging her position in the fight, he thrusts his spear down over her shoulder, hopefully leveraging his height for a successful strike.

He quickly runs to the double doors and stands in front, switching his spear to his left hand and holding a hand axe in his right.
The blades sink deep into Bella's torso, making her retch blue blood. She flops like a puppet with its strings cut as her strength fades.

"Know the results of your hubris," the feminine voice hisses.

"Hey, I thought this guy was a chump!" the masculine voice says, pride as hurt as Bella.

"Such a bother, and I was going to spare you," Bella says, voice flat. Her hair catches blue soulfire as she draws Alighieri, attempting to bury the blade in her attacker's belly. She draws closer to her assailant, eyes bright, smile vacant as she brings her scythe around his neck. With a throaty exhale, she pulls the blade back in a reverse guillotine, attacking with a true intent to kill.
Bella brings forth her blade, ready to strike in honest and in a flash of blue soulfire she cuts the head of the elf before her from its body.

Lognar in the meantime chased after the vanished elf, having correctly guessed that he would make his way for the door. Seeing no other alternative the elf dropped his stealth and struck at the orc with two daggers in his hands and while one was deflected by the armor Lognar was wearing the other buried itself in the orc's stomach.
Lognar grunts as the tiny blade finds purchase in his body, but that's all it truly was, a tiny blade. Still, he jerks away from the elf with a quick stride backwards and unleashes the fury that has killed so many of his kind already. The hand axe, drawn in case the elf disdained close combat, falls to the ground with the clatter of steel on stone.

Regaining a proper grip on his spear, he thrusts the spear forward into the brave elf, as it would have been a far cleaner death to simply leap from the side of the prison. The spear easily penetrates the well made armor and tears into the flesh behind. With a brutal grunt, Lognar slams his hip into the shaft of the spear, hoping to tear it sideways from elf's body.
Lognar barely stifles a roar as his spear nearly tears the elf in half. Shoulders heaving from an intensely focused anger, he flicks his spear out, the majority of the blood soaking the spear flying off. over the course of a few seconds, his breathing comes back to normal and his eyes lose that brutal blood lust, becoming relatively docile(for an orc anyways).

Anyone paying attention Lognar might notice his dagger wound begin to knit and heal itself as the orc comes down off his anger-high. In under 30 seconds, the wound has completely healed, leaving only a small scar as a reminder. You begin to understand how a creature could bear so many scars and still be living and breathing today.

He bends down and scoops up the daggers the elf was using, along with his hand axe. He takes a look at the two daggers, wondering if they might be enchanted due to the ease with which they pierced his skin. He sticks them into his belt and replaces the axe as well, then waves to the now-invisible airship, signaling it's time to enter the prison-proper.
Bella's hair loses its blue luster as the soulfire cuts out. In her peripheral vision she sees a violent explosion of color; the magical imprint of the invisible elf getting torn to shreds. She takes deep breaths, flexes her stomach to check the extent of the wounds.

"That's what I get for taking my opponent lightly," she says, untying the bandana from her arm. It unfolds to a blood red standard, flaming skull in the center. She delicately folds it back and wraps it around her abdomen, tying it tight to staunch the blood.

"You'd think with us in your head, you'd learn not to do that," the masculine voice snarks.

"You'd think that with the way you were defeated, you would remember that," the feminine retorts.

"Now now, it was my mistake." Bella thinks, the mediator. "I disrespected my opponent and suffered for it. No more, no less."

"Most impressive mister Lognar," she calls out, focusing her eyes on the magical spectrum "Don't forget to go through their pockets and pouches."
Lognar nods to Bellatrix. "You dispatched your foe with fair ease. I may have misjudged you." He glances at her wound. "But perhaps you should allow me to draw their attention first from now on." He says, with a grin only an orc can give.

He takes her advice and rifles through the pockets of his kills as he awaits the descent of Boryx and the Red Wing mercenaries. He takes what he finds, including the two daggers his first foe most likely had on him.
It quickly becomes clear that the items that the elves were carrying were enchanted for the most part. In addition, examining the bodies reveals the dragonmark of shadows upon their skins.
Meanwhile, on board the windray nested high above the prison, Aran was watching with great interest through his personal looking-glass.

"Ohh that has got to hurt." He said casually and puts the glass away. "Alright, seems that the tower is clear. You can begin dropping down and remember, once you are down there is no getting back up until you manage to cause some chaos inside the prison."

He pauses as he readjusts his hood.

"I will stay here, keep watch so to say." He smiled as he takes another look at the prison looming eerily below.
Descending from the clouds like an armored wraith, Boryx, riding on Garantor's back swoops down and lands gently upon the roof. The light of a cloud shrouded moon beam flickers and glints off the superlative surfaces of Boryx's armor as he stands regally, while the shadows of 20 Redwings alight upon the cool stones of Dreadhold on cushions of air like specters of death.

"Good work. Are either of you injured?" he asked. Walking over to the corpses he kicked one over with his boot and appraised the markings. "Assassins. Guarding the roof. So it would appear the rumors of Kundarak and Thuranni working together have merit. Stay frosty however...I have a feeling our pirate employer hasn't told us everything he knows. Something isn't right about this. I know it."

Lognar grunted, seeming suddenly woozy. "My wounds are healed but the blades were enchanted. I feel as if my strength has been sapped." He examines the two rings he picked up and chooses one, placing it on his right hand. The other he tosses to Boryx after a moments thought. "These rings seem to be magical as well."


"Why yes, mister Boryx." Bella says, brushing aside her duster. Her makeshift tourniquet has been blackened with the continued bleeding. "Quite severely, in fact." She places tender fingers along the wound, traces the opening in her flesh. "It seems I shan't survive another." She takes note of the Red Wings' dazzling display, trying her best not to gawk; instead she plucks the remaining ring from off of the vanquished elves. The needles catch her eye, she measures one and tosses it into the corpse of an elf.

"Senbon, eh? I hate ninjas." the masculine voice says.

"We might as well take their boon, better to have three knives when your enemies expect two." Bella responds, pocketing the rest of the needles.

"Mister Lognar, mister Boryx, I need a moment to regain myself. Sorry for the inconvenience." She sits beside the elf she had slain, closing the eyes on his severed head. "Good job. You taught me a lesson I won't soon forget." Legs crossed, palms out, the head of the elf in her lap, Bella meditates; she shifts her soul's configuration from mobility to defense. Once her soul gets into alignment, she falls back behind Boryx and Lognar.

Boryx pauses in the doorway of the keep, frowning in his helm.

"Then allow Lognar and I to take point and draw fire. If you can, hang back and used ranged weapons, or better yet, you can locate and retrieve Enoch while we create a diversion."

Dismounting, the Mechanus Knight patted his childhood companion on his armored flank. "The corridors in there are going to be tight. Stay with the ship, make sure nothing happens to it...and that Aran doesn't ditch us."

The Zelekhut did not seemed pleased at leaving Boryx without his vigilant care.

"I can take care of myself. And, I need you here."

"As you wish, Sir. I'll file my formal complaint later."

"Attaboy. You do that." Boryx winked, then joined up with the others.

A pneumatic hiss and the ratcheting of gears accompany the sudden burst of four metal levers splitting out of the mecha-knight's forearm, at quarter intervals distance from each other as an x and y axis. As their trajectory ratcheted toward perpendicular with the vector of the forearm, their momentum slowed until coming to a stop with an sudden and ominous *CLICK*

Marching to the point with densely resounding footsteps Boryx strode forward and into the belly of the beast.
The party descends down into the tower, being careful as not cause much noise. The Red Wings offered sanctuary to Bellatrix amidst their numbers as Boryx and Lognar walked infront of the group. The insides of the prison were cold and unwelcoming with barely any lightbulbs providing illumination, forcing the party to use torches at times.

You quickly pass a room that you assume was used by the three guards you killed beforehand. It consists of two beds, chests and a modest table with some food on it. Then, Boryx suddenly hears footstep within the room.
"Why hello there," Bella says to herself, the telltale swirl of magical energy catching her eye. She reaches for Eros, thrums the drawstring, but is unable to pull it to full firing position.

"Oh what the hell!"

"And it was already the slackest the bowman could make it. Pathetic."

"Bother." Bella curses, arms flopping like noodles. She walks towards Boryx and Lognar, staying in the doorway "Mister Lognar, mister Boryx, would you happen to have a crossbow I could borrow? I've lost a great deal of blood, so I can't lift much other than my Soulblade." She
points inside the room. "There's another invisible assailant over yonder; if I had a crossbow I could reveal him more clearly."
Lognar watches as Bella is unable to draw the string back on the small bow. "I took none of them." Lognar states, clearly a bit disdainful.

He switches his spear into his left hand and fills his right with one of the enchanted daggers used so effectively against him. His nostrils flare, and his sniffing sounds nothing so much like a bloodhound on a trail. He crosses the room at short diagonals, trying to root out the invisible guard.
The attack connects as Lognar draws blood from the invisible enemy and an audible gasp is heard in the room but the enemy remained hidden. Only Boryx once again hears the steps pass though the opening to the south.
Boryx's left arm is already up and aiming. Unfortunately it's not enough to reveal the guard but Boryx fires anyway, the raised X levers protruding from the mecha-knight's arm snap shut, first one opposing pair and then the other; one closing opens the other in quick succession, sending four razor sharp disks tearing through the air to slam into their would-be whistle-blower like the punches of an ogre. After his attack is complete, only one pair of levers is raised giving his arm the appearance of a built in small crossbow with no bowstring.
The attacks fly into the passage but all they seem to do is strike the wall on the other side before the stairway heads down into the tower. In the mean time the Red Wings rush into the room but realizing that this situation was best left to the party they wait with baited breaths.
Lognar growls as he spills fresh blood, his orcish anger seething forth once more. Focused and channeled, it was deadly to anything he came across. He watches Boryx's shots clang off the hallway and decides to take matters into his own hands.

He holds his spear to his side, moving down the hallway with a determined gait. He lashes out with the dagger at any enemy foolish enough to be in his path.
The stairs went ever downwards and just as the orc thought that the elf escaped him he felt a familiar smell and with a singe blow, he plunged the dagger into what seemed to be thin air. A moment later the dead body of the elf appeared on the ground as the invisibility wore off.
Lognar growls with a brutal pleasure as the dagger meets resistance to the savage swing. Blood leaks over his hand as he retracts the blade, and the elf falls to the ground, spine severed. His fight hadn't lasted long, so a few calming breaths later, he wipes the dagger on the elf's clothes and sticks it back into his belt. With a small grunt, he lifts the elf bodily onto his shoulder in a fireman-style carry and totes the corpse back upstairs, throwing the dead foe on the floor.

"I heard him call out to no one, I believe our entrance is still a secret." he states as he quickly rifles through the belongings of his fresh kill.
"Well then, loot and plunder, standard procedure." Bella says to Lognar, somewhat shocked at the speed of the encounter. "The deterrents seem to be more clever than effective so far; although there's a great deal of glamor and magecraft at work here."

She takes tender steps, the wound in her side throbbing in pain as the fire in her blood courses out of it. The little jolts of pain sap her breath, she has to steady herself on the complex walls after a few steps. As far as injuries went, she had known worse, but the strike was true and the blade wicked; unless she got treatment it was going to make anything other than drawing out her soul difficult. She wasn't running optimally, and all over a simple mistake. An unacceptable one, if the quality of opponent was even minutely higher.

"Silly, stupid girl," she says to herself.
"Good work Lognar." Boryx commended. Looking with ever greater concern towards Bella, Boryx paces her whispering softly in her ear.

"You are badly wounded. Perhaps retreat could be the better part of valor today? I must go on to help my friend but you owe him no such consideration. Surely your contract does not specify you fight to a bitter death? I will not hold it against you if you wish to return to the Windray, but if you stay we may not be able to protect you against what is coming..."

Boryx made a hand gesture indicating the Red Wings should fan out and take the flanks of the corridor they are entering.

"Lognar, you are the stealthiest and uninjured. Take point. I will cover you from the rear."

He looked back to Bella but she could not see his eyes through the menace of the closed helm. Still his voice was clear and unmuffled. "What say you?" he asked, waiting for her response before continuing on.
Lognar stands from collecting his trophies from his latest foe and looks back to Boryx as he counsels Bellatrix to retreat. Maybe our two races aren't so different. Contests of brawn and counseling the women to leave the fighting to the men. He chuckles to himself at this.

He nods as Boryx asks him to take point. "Many a boar have fallen to my spear, and they are far more attentive than elves." It does not seem to be a joke as much as a statement of belief held as fact.

Bella waves Boryx off, "No, no I'm fine. As long as I draw breath, I can continue." As if to punctuate her statement, her hair flares blue as a gossamer cloak drapes over her shoulders. She wraps it around herself, as if she were huddling for warmth. "I can serve as lookout, I see the magics that weave through this place; most notably the invisibility our hosts seem to favor." Painfully, she stands herself erect, arms crossed in determination.

"Besides, I said I would perform a service. That service is aiding the Red Wings and you two gentlemen. That is what I shall do, as long as my soul still burns and my heart still beats." She coughs a little and forces a smile. "And if it's stealth you men need," Another flare of blue and she vanishes, "I think my talents may still have use yet."
Boryx nods at the shapely redhead's competence. "Very well then, let us continue forward. Lognar, you're up."
The Red Wings chuckle in the background during the exchange, giving each other a few shoves but quickly falling silent as Bellatrix suddenly vanishes from sight.

It took a minute to loot through the room, inside the chests you find some fresh clothes, some miscellaneous junk and two potions that contain a somewhat different liquid from the ones you find on the elves up on the roof. The body of the elf also had the same type of equipment you found on the other elves.

Taking what you could with you, you continue downwards, passing two more rooms that were thankfully empty until you come down to what must a part of the main prison complex. It was a rather large room, empty, with paths branching in every direction but you remember clearly that the holding cells are to the south. Your group came from the northern one.

Lognar takes the two daggers and rearranges his own equipment, placing his 6 mundane hand axes near the corpse and replacing them with the 6 daggers he now has. He fits them into the loops as best he can. He grabs the guard's enchanted crossbow and box of quarrels and tosses them to Bellatrix, cocking the crossbow first if need be.

"I can sometimes smell the stench of elf, but your eyes seem to be far more keen than mine. Do as you said and stick them with this if you see them." He jostles the daggers hanging from him now, their weight subtlety different from the axes.

"We station three Red Wings here. A rear ambush is not ideal when mounting a rescue." He points to the three Mercenaries closest to him. "Stay here, stay hidden, but keep our exit secure."
Boryx and Lognar go ahead into the corridor, the rest of the group following behind them. The Red Wings feeling uneasy in the darkness but the thought that their allies are able to see gives them comfort. You continue this way for a few minutes, passing through a long corridor that has two double doors ahead and to the right and one single door leading to the left.

The cages where most of the prisoners are kept should be somewhere ahead but without a proper map you can only trust this general knowledge. Suddenly you hear a strange sound coming from behind you which reminds you of turning gears. In a few seconds, it stops.
Boryx stops in his tracks, whispering facetiously, "Well, that doesn't sound ominous at all..."

He puts a hand on the wall, attempting to detect what mechanical contraption was just activated.
Bella squints her eyes and focuses on the field. "Bother. I knew I should have studied spells more." She strains her eyes with the effort, "We tripped something magical, gentlemen."
Lognar stops at the sound of gears whirring to life. He sniffs at the air, checking for anything living nearby.

Lognar notices no specific scents around him. However, he does notice that the scents in the prison so far do not match the ones specific to the elves.

As the party stands before a set of double doors the Red Wings ready their weapons, feeling rather apprehensive about the situation.
The expert mechanic in the group quickly spots a little indent right before the huge double doors. Inspecting it, Boryx comes to the conclusion that it acts like a mechanical barrier that is currently open.
Lognar looks over as Boryx starts poking around the wall and watches as he stops, fixated on a point. "What is it you've found?" He catches the Red Wings out of the corner of his eye and he can see their growing anxiety. Gods, all we need is for the prince to have cut corners and bought a crew of fresh mercs.

"It appears to be a..." Suddenly, the gates are opened from the other side and everyone in the corridor hears the screeching of metal as iron cage bars are raised in its place. Those that can see in the dark behold a large corridor with multiple statues and House Khundarak banners hanging from the walls. A large amount of makeshift barricades were piled up and behind them 10 crossbow bolts were pointed at you.

<<SHATHUNK>> "...portcullis." Boryx replied with a tone of ironic resignation as the metal bars snapped up into place.

"Fire!"


You feel your blood run cold as they all fire and at the same time, the ground beneath feels like it is trying to move from under you. Boryx was lucky as his hand crafted armor deflected all the arrows but Lognar, preferring the protection of his own strength, was not spared the as the arrows dug into his body.
Lognar roars in anger and pain as the quarrels find a home in his torso. Blood trickles down his scarred body as his vision narrows down to a combat focus. He quickly assesses the situation, and it does not look good. First thing is to get these bars out of the way, so he can wreak death and destruction on those who wounded him. He grips the cage bars and begins heaving against them, trying to pull them from the wall.
As the bars go up and the bolts go flying, Bellatrix can't help but utter a soft little curse. How many mistakes was she going to make today, and what cost was she going to have to pay for it?

"This is probably the most obvious trap I think I've ever been privy to," the feminine voice chides, "And that includes the one that ensnared the three of us."

"Yeah, I've gotta say this was pretty obvious. Doesn't make it any less annoying," the masculine voice says, surprisingly in agreement with its opposing half. Bella feels a little mental kick, the masculine voice trying to make itself known. "Hey, slice through the bars and waste these *******s; even at twenty percent you should splatter 'em."

Bella shakes her head no while she traces symbols with her free hand. "Hubris left me in this position, sir; I'd rather not let it finish the job. I have a better idea. Let's see if I can slay with my tongue" She walks to the bars, struggling through the rolling earth. She cups her hands together beside her mouth and whispers, "Mister Boryx, I have a plan. Stall for a moment, I may be able to parley with their leaders."

The feminine voice clucks her tongue. "Seduction and disinformation, eh? Maybe the seal didn't sap all of your brainpower."
Hearing Bellatrix's admonishment Boryx nods and prepares to stall, but Lognar flies into a rage as several bolts sink into his orcish hide. Realizing that they are sitting ducks for so long as the bars block them from their attackers, Boryx heaves to his larger companion's side to break the barrier.
After the initial volley your vision clears and you notice two figures standing in the back but the magic around them obfuscates your vision. The next moment you find yourself being burdened by unseen force as a glowing stream of light hits your positions.

In the mean time the elves, seeing that their crossbows have no effect on the armored warrior and fierce barbarian, quickly turn to other methods. Instead, they resorted to throwing sharp needles at incredible speed, which as they hit, cover you in burning acid.

The situation continues to get worse as you hear footsteps coming from behind you.
"Oh bother." Bella gasped as the hail of needles and burning light rained over the party. The light burns her eyes, makes her stumble back and into the brunt of the needles. Each pinprick ties blocks of lead to her already fatigued body; her legs give out on her and she falls to her hands and knees, trembling. "Oh. ****."

"How ignoble," the feminine voice sneers, filled with scorn.

Bella swallowed her grief; she had hazy memories of being a perfect machine of murder and her current position was about as far from that as she could think of. Summoning steel in her weakened body, she whispered hoarsely to Boryx: "Mister Boryx, I am in severe peril. Tell the Red Wings I am about to enact a stratagem that will hopefully get us out of this predicament and to not be alarmed at anything I say."

She forced herself to her feet, hands groping for something to steady herself on. With a heavy sigh, her invisibility fell about her feet; she put her hands up in surrender. "What are you doing you dolts?" Bella said with feigned authority, "Didn't your leader tell you we are an envoy, sent to deliver someone to the Baron himself?!" She channeled her anger at herself into giving her lies extra weight and fire, creating a presence far greater than the blinded sack of useless meat she now was.
The elves stall, looking to one another but still ready to continue the fight at any minute.

"Lower your weapons and give them to us if you are truly here to deliver something to Elar." You hear a feminine voice who's owner you can't quite make out.
Bella held up a steadying hand, hoping the source of the feminine voice is too far away to see it tremble. "Mister Lognar, mister Boryx, stand down unless and until you see my hair turn blue again," she whispered hoarsely to her comrades, before turning to the back of the room.

"Given your hospitality, we find that offer distasteful. One that would make it all the easier for any...subversive elements to dispose of us and stymie our most sacred mission. I propose a mutual cease-fire, and an envoy to your headquarters; the better we can keep an eye on each other. My men and I need medical attention; your guards are well trained, if a bit slow on the uptake and have wounded us greatly as we merely went about our mission." Bella said, using her weakness to enhance the hurt and innocent act she was selling with her words.
Lognar heaves against the steel bars, and as Boryx lends aid, the two warriors rip the cage door from the ground. He hoists the door above his head and prepares to hurl it towards the barricaded elves, when Bella's voice seeps in through the rage. With a few calming breaths and a mental mantra to Corellon, the fire goes out of his eyes, leaving them pitch lack once again. He lazily tosses the steel gate to the floor and leans his spear against the wall as he begins plucking bolts from his chest.
Boryx grimaced in pain as the corrosive liquid seeped through the cracks in his armor.

"You had better know what you're doing." Boryx rasped back, but he did nonetheless follow Lognar's example in playing out the ruse.

Hang on Enoch, we're coming for you...
The elves tense up at your declaration but do not attack. It was obvious that they disliked the thought of you dictating any kind of conditions. There was a brief pause and a few whispers before one of the elves was sent out of the room.

"We shall check your story. Make no sudden movements, our weapons are still pointed at your throats!" You hear a declaration from the now familiar female voice.

In the mean time, the owners of the footsteps you heard a few moments ago finally showed themselves. A band of Dwarves, armed with halberds and clad in heavy armor, obviously the true guards of this place. Seeing that the fighting had suddenly stopped they did not attack.

"Dwarven" The elven leader spoke first.

"Dwarven" Followed a reply from one of the dwarven guards.

"Dwarven" And with that the exchange came to an end.
Boryx looks at Bella with an expression of "now what?"
Time passes giving everyone time to recover as the spell of the elves begin to wear off. You also notice that they begin to move slower, obviously having used magic to increase their speed.

On the other hand, more elves and dwarves enter the room, further bolstering their numbers as you patiently wait for a resolution.
Sight returned to Bella; what she saw didn't give her much joy. Any attempt to fight their way out had become much more difficult and would require near-suicidal offense. Hopefully it won't come to that, she thought, but a secret part of her wanted that challenge. The important looking dwarf caught her eye; she didn't know the power dynamics of this group yet, but with the feminine voice gone and her sight returned, he seemed to be the best ticket to continued survival.

"Hail and well met, sir," Bella said to the important looking dwarf, arms open and welcoming. Her eyes flared for a moment, coercive magics coursing through her friendly look. "It seems we have made a poor impression beforehand, and would very much like you to help us keep things civil."
The dwarf merely readjusts his waraxe in his hands at your attempt at diplomacy and continues to wait for a sign from the Thuranni.

Finally after what seemed like hours to you the doors on the other end opened and you see a man walk in, flanked on both sides by a human and female elf.


http://s14.postimg.cc/rm70ea8mp/326px_Elar.jpg

"So these are the intruders that claim to have come to deliver something for me? Interesting." You look at the elf more intently and immediately notice that he is not like the other elves you have met so far. He voice was aloof as if what was transpiring did not bother him. There was also something strange about him, something very sinister.

The other elves bowed in his presence.

"My name is Elar. Patriarch of House Thuranni. Your intrusion came at a rather delicate time but I see that it has been dealt with well enough."

He pauses for a moment, keeping a very even tone during his speech.

"You belong to the Red Wings. The marking on your shields are obvious. But you were not hired by us, so why are you here?"

Just then an elf burst in through the door.

"My lord! We have found the corpses of our brothers on top of the tower!"

"I see." The Baron acknowledged before turning back to you. "Well then... I guess it does not matter why you are here. Blood will be shed for blood..."



Back on the Windray Garantor was keeping his distance from the other crew members and especially from Aran. Thoughts of his master's well-being continued to enter his mind as the prison below seemed deathly quiet.

"I'm sure they are fine. It's only the most well defended prison in Khorvair." Aran laughed as he took another drink from his flask before looking down at the prison with a somber expression. "I wonder what kind of treasures that place holds... know what I mean? There are rumors that they mine Khyber dragonshards deep beneath the prison and the prisoners are used as slave labor."

He took another sip.

"Dreadful business that."
"Surely the 'Hold' is protected from this sort of an incursion...is this a wise ploy on the Prince's part?"

Despite it's mechanical construction, the Inevitable's voice sounded remarkably organic and humanoid.

"Or perhaps it is information on the rare Khyber shards that had Enoch infiltrating the prison in the first place...?"
"Perhaps. Maybe the Thuranni have an interest in it as well..." Aran mused while looking down at the prison.

Suddenly your conversation was interrupted when a loud noise burst through the air.

"What the hell?" Aran asked as he turned to the source of the sound, which was, oddly, above the airship. At first you though it was thunder but then you notice something strange falling directly towards the ship.

A second later it impacts onto the deck.

The Windray shook as the crew tried to get their bearings and you and Liomar grasp the rails to maintain your balance. The new arrival, meanwhile, stood up to full height and smiled broadly.

"Hello ladies!" At first you thought that it was a human but the skin of this creature had the texture of rock and his eyes were like two gemstones embedded into his head. It was obviously male, wearing nothing on its body other than copious amounts of gold and silver jewelry that sparkled in the light of the torches.

"I've come for Deka Tris."
The clockwork centauroid steps forward. "I'm sorry, but I don't know anyone by that name here. Unless...one of yours Aran?"

"No... no. Definitely not one of mine." Aran said drawing his weapon. The figure in the meantime looked at the armed warriors around him and smirked.

"Didn't expect to see an Inevitable on this puny world." The figure crunches his knuckles. "But as long as you don't get between me and the fire genasi I won't need to get... unpleasant. Now then: blackish skin, blazing red hair, hot to the touch. Does that ring any bells?"

Aran leans closer to you and whispers. "He's talking about Bellatrix."
Garantor's eyes widen for a moment before whispering back, "Her? A fire genasi? Her hair certainly matches but not the skin...do you have any idea what she is involved with?"

Turning it's attention back to the bejeweled rock-man, Garantor spoke loudly. "I have not met anyone meeting that exact description. However, you seem to have been drawn here for a reason...a bounty hunter perhaps?" It gestures towards Dreadhold. "Below us is the strongest prison in this realm...perhaps your quarry has already been captured?"
"Who I am?! Bhahahahaha!!" The muscular creature laughs and flexes his arms. "I am the soul of a thousand warriors! The power of hundred earthquakes! Where I go armies of puny mortals quake and soil their pants at my sight!"

"Listen here Mechanus Pup, I am Bella Morte Deka Div! The Meteor!" He smiles a wide grin as a flash of lightning sharply illuminates his features. "So... either you are lying right now and she is hiding on this ship or your are telling the truth and she is down there. I'm going to test both."

There was something about the way he said the last part that made you uneasy as the creature then proceeds to walk towards the steering wheel, completely ignoring all the warriors around him.

"What the hell is he planning to do...???"
"I have little interest in who your are." quipped the Inevitable in return. "If you really must search the ship...well that would up to her current captain." Garantor indicated Aran. "We are currently in the process of rescuing a prisoner for the prison below. I would advise you not to interfere in our operation. If you cared to tear apart the stronghold below however, I am sure we could make use of the distraction. Surely they are no match for the power of one hundred earthquakes..."

Ever the dry wit of a construct...
"You just don't get it do you. I am not helping you..." He said simply as he finally walked up to the steering wheel. "You are going to help me!"

"Stop him!" Aran shouted but it was already too late. The rock giant thrusts the levers by the wheel causing the Windray to take a nosedive. Surrounded by the sudden screams of the crew and the insane laugh of the creature the entire ship begins to fall directly towards the prison below...
Garantor grabs Aran, unfurls his mechanical wings with a cloud -CLACK- and lifts him free of the plummeting sky-vessel...

Aran watches in shock as the Windray crashes into the prison leaving the beautiful airship and part of the prison in ruins.

"No! NO! That ship took weeks to build! Do you know how much money you owe us you dirtfaced *******?!" Aran screamed into the night air seemingly unconcerned that you were carrying him. When you give him an unpleasant look however he looks at you tiredly.

"What? In this line of work this happens more often than you think." He pauses as the first drops of rain begin to fall. "Thats why everyone had a Safewing amulet on them, so they should all be alive... provided they were smart enough to jump off."

"Well I guess you better fly us down there. Let's hope your master did not get caught in that blast."
"So much for the element of surprise." Garantor quipped dryly. "Well anyways, we did need a distraction. Let us hope it will suffice!"

The Zelekhut hoisted Aran upon his back and flew downwards amidst the floating Redwings towards Dreadhold, the brazen outsider smashing it's way before them.
You fly downwards towards the prison and soon the cries of the wounded reach your ears. As well as the sounds of combat.

"Right, I think you should fly off and look for your master. He should be to the south of here." Aran comments as you touch down upon the roof. "I'll teleport back to Regalport lest I be noticed here. If that were to happen then they might realize who is behind this."

"Tell Boryx this: the Windray is gone, but there is a cave about 3 miles south of here if you follow the eastern shoreline. I will tell Rygar to send a rescue party there to pick you up if manage to survive this."
The Zelekhut nodded. "Understood. This Outsider interloper was unexpected and surely the loss of such a fine vessel is to be mourned...but...there is a hidden Order to all things, and perhaps the timing of this destructive distraction may yet be harnessed to serve our purposes. Give our regards to your Prince, regardless."

Once the Hand of the Prince had vanished from his back, Garantor turned his attention to the scene below, observing the destruction wrought by the elemental bounty hunter.


I'm coming Master Boryx. Hold the Line.

[TekHed]

Chapter I: Dreadhold





http://s14.postimg.cc/rm70ea8mp/326px_Elar.jpg

"I see." The Baron acknowledged before turning back to you. "Well then... I guess it does not matter why you are here. Blood will be shed for blood."

"It will be quick..." Elar said as his hand began to reach for the blade and out of the corner of your eye you notice something begin to happen with his shadow...


!!!BOOM!!!

As both sides were almost ready to charge a loud explosion shakes the prison to its core, the resulting shockwave almost knocks you off your feet. Confusion quickly spread as everyone gathered tried to understand what happened.

"The explosion came from the north!" Shouted one of the elves.

The patriarch of House Thuranni looked as though he was hit by a lightning bolt.

"Elven" He whispered with a pale look on his face. "Issara, Iram, Aneria, Gealis come with me! The rest of you, kill these intruders! The fate of the House depends on it!"

With that you see the Patriarch as well as six others quickly run out of the room but still leaving a sizable force for you to deal with. Wasting no time, you spring into action.
"Redwings! 6 at rear, 6 forward!" Boryx shouted. "For Enoch!" The Knight of Daanvi raised his arm, the deadly saw thrower sprouting as it had before with lethal mechanical precision. Aiming directly for the leader in front of him, Boryx unleashed the gears of war...
Boryx was able to react much faster than the dwarf, raising his arm before the guard even had the chance to raise his shield. In a second a lethal cog hit the dwarf in the leg and only his heavy armor allowed him to bear the blow. The second hit the shield directly but instead of being deflected, the saw continued to spin into the shield until finally it cut through and struck directly into the dwarf behind it.

The dwarf flinched and looked at his shield in disbelief, muttering something under his beard before two more saws made their way towards him. This time however the dwarf did not block the attacks statically. With remarkable speed he began moving his shield, causing the saws to hit the curved end and sending them flying into the nearby walls.
The explosion made Bella pitch forward onto her hands and knees and into a three point stance. Her hair turns as blue as her scythe and her shimmering cyan cloak appear again.

"I don't think it needs to be said, but the time for diplomacy seems to has failed," she said. "I do wish we could have settled this civilly."

"You knew this was going to happen, girl," the female voice crooned. "You wanted it to."

Bella gave a half-smile. "I will neither confirm or deny that."

"Finally, it's time for some action!" the male voice cheered. If he had a corporeal form, he would be jumping for joy in it. "All that talking crap was getting on my bloody nerves."

"Quite," Bella whispered, before charging headlong into the fray, Alighieri drawn as the fire of her soul becomes an inferno.
In an instant the halls were lit up by a bright explosion of blue. The four elves elves caught in the blast, naturally evasive as they are, managed to avoid the attacks completely and only one was not fast enough as the blast tore his soul from his body in one hit.

As for the dwarves, while they were less sturdy, they had the advantage of endurance and remained standing even after the attack.
"Gah! Get this blasted harpy offa me!" The dwarf shouted as the elves prepare to focus their fire, unleashing a volley of needles at the fire genasi. One was too close however, letting Bellatrix reach him with her lash, hurting him but not killing him.

The shimmering cloak that Bellatrix was wearing warded her from most of the attacks and the single one that managed to get through did not do much damage to her.

The leader of the defense, seeing that Bellatrix was still alive, cursed and took out his axe.

"Kill them here!" He shouted and swung but the shimmering shield protected Bella once again.

The dwarves, inspired by their leader position themselves at the entrance, ready to stem the tide of advancing enemies. The Red Wings charged, three were swiftly cut down by the dwarven guard, falling to the ground before they had a chance to land even a single blow. But the others managed to break through and one lucky slash felled one of the dwarves.

The ones in the back, had more luck, holding off the assault without any losses.
Lognar roars as The Baron orders their death and rushes forward, shoving past the Redwings and lashing out with his spear at any foe that comes into reach. He spins and thrusts, using both the razor edge and needle point of his Greatspear to sow death among the dwarves and elves.
Lognar charged into battle, swinging his mighty spear in every direction. Claiming the life of an elf and heavily wounding the lone dwarf defending the entrance. Only the leader of the defense managed to block the attack with his shield, holding his ground against the onslaught.
Boryx bulldozes his way through the intervening redwings, prepared to press the attack against the leader dwarf. However he notices a secondary dwarf target to his right and lets loose two gear-saws at point blank range.
The first saw strikes the dwarf directly on the head, killing him instantly. With the second shot Boryx aimed at the leader but he once again managed to deflect the attack with his shield.
"Sorry love, but you won't be getting to do much with that pretty little axe," Bella whispered, a note of excitement in her voice. Her hair and eyes flared up as she whirled and slashed around the important dwarf, Alighieri hunting for fatal purchase while her Soulblade snaked around to his blind spots.
Faced with a whirlwind of attacks the dwarf could not keep his guard up and Alighieri made its way through his neck.

Seeing the last line of defense die, the elves understood that they could no longer rely on range. Each grasped a potion from their belts, drank them and suddenly vanished.

The dwarves and the Red Wing in the meantime continue to battle with the dwarves taking a heavy toll on the mercenaries. The ones in the front quickly run back to reinforce the flank.

Lognar growls as the elves quaff their potions and vanish. "I've played this game before cowards, and I gutted your friends who tried the same." He pulls out one of the daggers he took from the previous elves and stalks about, sniffing the air and lashing out at anything he comes near.
Lognars nostrils flare open as he catches the scent of the elves even when his eyes betray him. Armed with his dagger he ran right into their lines and the very first swing connected with the flesh of one of the elves. But no sooner than that happened the two others made their move, dropping their camouflage to lunge at the barbarian. One dagger was deflected but the other found its mark.

Now without their protection, the elves were quickly cut down as Lognar proceeded to the other end of the room.
"Well the game is afoot now...best we be quick about our mission and get out of here while we can." Boryx announced, even as the Redwings continued to guard their rear flank from the remaining Kundarak guardsmen.

"I will try and locate our target." he added, concentrating on the lines of order all around them. In his mind he imagined Enoch Elestral, the sound of his name, the contours of his half-elven features, feeling for his presence should it be near them.
"Another one, there!" the mecha-knight indicated as best he could, though his perceptions still wavered from his sensing and he could not get a clear shot off. "Stop him quickly!"
"Oh Nine Hells, I'm sick of this," Bella said, polite and genteel as her second sight opened. She drew her crossbow as the magical awareness came to her the knocked bolt caught with a blue fire.

"Say when, Mister Boryx."
A few silent step were heard through the rooms as the elves moved into position ad soon after, Lognar smelled them surrounding him. In an split second afterwards they launched their attacks aiming to kill the one the deemed the most dangerous of all the invaders. But out of the five daggers, only two managed to hit, causing grievous wounds.

The Red Wings in the meantime continue to fight a losing battle against the dwarfs.
Seeing the towering orc warrior surrounded, Boryx let out a booming roar that shook the very walls of the keep in an attempt to distract the Elves even as he charged them. The sound was deafening, reverberating through the bones of everyone in the room. His footsteps struck the floor like thunder and only the Dwarven craftsmanship kept them from being cracked and split asunder. In mid charge, the strange double crossbow forming the mecha-knight's arm retracted and sprouted a small armature that fanned out into a circular glittering razor, which quickly spun up to full velocity and carved into the elf at the end of his run like a harvest turkey.

With a single mighty blow the body of the elf was cleaved in two and the pieces fell lifelessly to the ground. Only four more of the elves now remained.
Lognar grins through a mouthful of blood as the slim elves pricked his hulking frame with their blades. He could feel the strength leaving his muscles now however, and he tried his best to appear unaffected by it. He grips his now blood-slick dagger tightly and in one sweep, tries to gut each and every elf surrounding him.
With a great swing of the dagger and the remainder of his inhuman strength Lognar rips through the elves surrounding him like paper, giving them no chance to attack a second time.
Bella shrugged as her companions made mincemeat out of the elven opposition. "Not so useful without the element of surprise, eh? I wonder if they noticed Mister Lognar slay scores of their comrades who were similarly bunched?"

"If they were, they're fools," the feminine voice said, long silent at Bella's shifting fortunes.

"Serves 'em right," the masculine voice said, "Cowards."

"Oh well, they're dead. A shame." Bella sighed, focusing will back into her crossbow bolt. She rushed to the lip of the corridor the Red Wings had been pinned down in, and pulled the trigger on her crossbow. The blue fire turned the unassuming little hunk of metal into a screaming comet, aimed right for center mass on a human. Which happened to be right between the eyes of a dwarf.
With the battle almost over the three remaining dwarves manage to take out one of the merceneries but with the help of Bella the remaining one managed to claim the life of one of them.
Lognar growls with satisfaction as the elves fall around him, eviscerated. With dagger and spear in hand, he tears off down the hallway towards the remaining enemies. He's truly a terrifying sight, covered with blood and moving with unnatural speed.
As Lognar ran towards the dwarves he disregarded any thought of personal safety, believing himself invincible and forgoing the use of his spear. Before he could reach the dwarves their long weapons allowed them to strike the charging warrior.

But more alarming, the way in which the dwarves wielded their weapons was meant to subdue rather than kill.
Realizing that he is far more ponderous than the lightning quick Lognar, Boryx knows that he cannot close the distance in time to help, and trying to get a shot off at range is very likely to hit one of his comrades engaged in the melee.

Running again at full tilt he yells to Bellatrix. "Quickly! Aid the Orc!"
"I'm starting to like that Orc," the male voice said as Lognar charged headlong from one end of the corridor to the other. The final dwarven contingent had their long weapons ready, and struck true, but the blows didn't seem to faze the Orc. The subtle shifting of their hand positions gave away that wounding wasn't their purpose.

"Well that's bothersome," Bella said to herself, wincing slightly at Boryx's cry. "But when in Baator..." She dashed forth, not as quickly or as bloodily as Lognar, but no less imposing with her ghostly blue light trailing behind her. In an instant, she brought her soul's scythe to bear and aimed to cut down the dwarf closest to Lognar.
Bella's lash pierces into the soul of the dwarf, slaying him in a single blow and now only one enemy remains standing. The dwarf grits his teeth as he looks over the battlefield and realizes his situation.

"I surrender!" He shouts and drops his weapon to the ground as everything becomes silent.
Bella summoned away her Soul Lash and turned her soul's flame down, but not out. She fluffed out her hair and put on her most charming smile.

"Ah, it's good to have a sensible enemy for once, Mister..." she said, giving the dwarf the chance to introduce himself first. Once he responded, she gave a small curtsy. "I am Bellatrix Alighieri, and even though I have personally slain many of your comrades and have no qualms about slaying more, I do not slay those who have surrendered. Would you be so kind as to accompany us?"
Lognar's shoulders slump as the dwarf drops his weapon. He's tired, and it shows. Over the course of a couple minutes, his wounds, once again seal themselves, leaving only the telltale scars. However, severe bruising can be seen over his arms and chest, and it does not fade like the rest. He leans on his spear as the wounds close, and then looks over sharply at Bella.

"Accompany us? Maybe you leave foes alive, but tell me why I should not cut his throat where he stands?" He brandishes the dagger.
Boryx was now upon the dwarf as well.

"It is convenient is it not that you surrender in the 11th hour? And yet you fought so bravely until now? Indeed, tell us why the Orc should not rip your skin and wear it as a trophy? Perhaps you know of a storeroom where my friends might heal the grievous wounds you've inflicted?"
"You are strangers, you wouldn't know how we in the Khudarak operate." The dwarf said, hostility obvious in his voice. "But ever since we agreed to give shelter to the Thuranni it has not been the same. Mind my words, you are gonna get killed in the end. We have every possible defense in this place. Traps, detection, the brilliance of of High Overseer Beyran and even Golems will answer our call."

He smirks.

"Mind you we haven't used them yet because they are only directed to not harm members of House Khundarak and we woudn't want to hurt the blasted elves." He almost spits out the last part. "But if the situation becomes critical, trust me, we will activate them. And then you won't stand a snowballs chance in hell."

"You want to know where you can find healing?" He grins. "Head for the armory. It is north and west of here, a few stories lower. It is the single most well guarded place in this prison."
"And I suppose, being the good defector that you are, that you are going to tell us exactly how to avoid or bypass the detection and security measures..."
"Oh I will." He said with a laugh. "You need to have the Mark of Warding on your skin. A few can also be bypassed with the Mark of Shadows."

He smirked.

"But I doubt you have either."

Even as he says that, you sense that he is not telling you the full truth.
"What aren't you telling us?" Boryx demanded. Before the dwarf had the chance to respond however Boryx cut him off adding, "Look...we have no quarrel with Kundarak. We're only here because a friend of ours was on a mission here investigating the Thuranni presence and was seemingly captured. This is a rescue mission, not an invasion and we'll gladly be on our way. However, it seems that you hold no love for the Elves either. What if we could help you deal with them? Would that be worth more cooperation?"
"The elves caused us nothing but trouble which makes them little better than you." The dwarf spits out, obviously nervous that you managed to catch him on his half-truth. "I don't know who you are talking about but nobody escapes from Dreadhold."
"Unlike the elves, we will be but a momentary nuisance," Bella said, charming and polite even though the dwarf was being quite rude. It was tempting to put the fear of the Nine Hells into him, but more flies were caught with honey and all that. She smiled at the particularly bothersome fly in front of her. "If you aid us, not only will we take our leave with our ally with no harm done to you in particular, but we may be able to help you with your elven problem." Her smile turned a twinge malicious. "If you do not, I fear that Mister Boryx and especially Mister Lognar will no longer be willing to parley. Even I have my limits, I'm afraid, and you've done quite well in testing them."
The dwarf thinks about the offer for a moment.

"Hmpf, like you would ever survive the dangers of Dreadhold." He replied stubbornly, but then looked at you with an evil grin. "How about this... if you manage to get rid of Elar... I could perhaps delay the activation of the golems a bit. Just enough for you to escape."
"Just like you probably thought we wouldn't survive that ambush? Or your leader?" Bella laughed. Wordplay was as fun to her as swordplay, and much less messy overall. The dwarf was a stubborn one, and just dim enough to think himself dangerous. "It pains me to think you think so lowly of us, mister House Khudarak. We accepted your offer of surrender, have tried on multiple occasions to extend the olive branch. As is only proper, dwarven hospitality should be upheld. Yet we have seen none of it from you or your men. It is obvious that you do not trust us, and you take us for fools. Your insulting of our intelligence is an insult to the comrades that fell by our hand, and the warrior of distinction that fell to mine."

She sighed, rolled the kink out of her dominant shoulder. "And your urge to do away with the only sane person in this prison is most troublesome," she looked down her nose at the Dwarf, which wasn't very difficult. "Or rather, I could make it most troublesome if Elar or some still-living important dwarf heard of it. I may not seem as such, but I can be very persuasive when need be."

Bella rocked onto her toes with her hands behind her back, like an excited child. "There would be chaos, the alliance your two factions seem to have would be shattered, and the only certainty would be your head would eventually end up on a very sharp object. If you continue to treat us like we fell off the back of a caravan, then that certainty may come faster than you'd like."

She bowed and gave the dwarf a sweetly evil grin of her own. "But hopefully, that won't be necessary. We shall get rid of Elar, but only if you do us the honor of accompaniment. Unless of course, you do not have the proper Marks to move through your own prison. If that's the case, this conversation was useless and I'm afraid you may be accompanying your comrades in death after all."
"You want me to come with you?!" The dwarf was speechless. His mouth was left open as he looked at the trio around him.

"A-alright. I'll lead you but only if it gets rid of you sooner. By the hells, one prisoner isn't worth this!"
"Your specialized technique and the elves' poison have severely weakened my otherwise stalwart companions. We require healing and restoration. You must have an infirmary and apothecary on site...you will take us there now."


Boryx could feel the tugging pulse of Enoch somewhere below them, so close yet so far in this death maze...
"The only place that has healing is the armory and going there is a death sentence!" The dwarf shouts. "I can show you the way there but not more!"
"Alright then." Boryx stiffened. "Give us the gory details, and I mean specifics, of what is waiting for us in assaulting the armory?"
"About the same what you fought here." The dwarf scoffs. "Though with less elves. Protecting the armory is the duty of Khundarak."

"The armory is located before a wide open space, protected by traps and manned turrets." He said. "First, you'd need to even get close."

Meanwhile, the last standing Red Wing was inspecting the fallen.

"Some of them are still alive. They've just been knocked unconscious!" He said as he stood over a few fallen Red Wings.
"Do the turrets have advanced sensors or magical protections, like the elves did?" Bella asked, "And what manner of traps?"
"No... none of the sort. Normal prisoners usually don't have the means to use magic to disguise themselves." He sighs. "A few do however and for that reason the traps will dispel any magic upon someone trying to approach the armory."

"I said specifics. Location and nature of traps, possible means of avoidance or evasion. Number of turrets and number of troops. Avenues of reinforcement. Do go on..."
The dwarf grits his teeth.

"There are no ways to reinforce! Those that guard the armory will guard it with their lives!" He sighs. "The entrance to the armory is a long hallway that allow those that man the turrets free shots at anyone approaching. There are only two turrets but they are enough to take on any number of unarmored foes."

He looks up at Boryx's armor and grunts.

"Your plate might prove difficult though."

No matter what circumstance, a dwarf will always remain a dwarf.
"And traps? Really now Master Dwarf...if you continue to be reticent in your information, my colleagues will be forced to use other methods to ensure your forthcoming. Or if you would prefer the honorable death to the traitor's shame I'm sure Lognar here has some pent up aggression. We are men and woman of our word...if you assists us you may yet go on with your happily bearded life, or, if you prefer to meet your gods now, that can be arranged. Your choice."
The dwarf shakes his head.

"Were you not listening, human? The entire hallway is the shooting ground. It is filled with traps." He smirks. "As for evasion, only Khundarak members can pass through."
"I've only heard you make mention of turrets. Floor traps? Ceiling? Come now, you can't be as daft as you look... And what happens when we pass by the turrets? What then? We want detail...surely something you dwarves appear to be concerned with."
"If you pass by the turrets, then you are safe." The dwarf grunts. "They can only fire forward. As for the traps... four , maybe six of them. Beh... I forget. It's not my job to look after them."
"Four maybe six of what? Pits? Spikes? Floor tumblers like we experienced before? Spit it out or my green-skinned friend here will proudly wear your skin for a coat while he slaughters your brethren. His moniker of Skinripper is not mere hyperbole..."
"Nay... nothing of the sort." The dwarf shakes his head. "The traps are meant to prevent any magical approach so it either disrupts spellcasting or dispells it outright."

He chuckles.

"Though my brothers might use more mundane methods, such as tar and fire, caltropes and tanglefoot bags. It will really depend on who was assigned to defend it." He said.
Bella gave Boryx a disapproving look; the target was already compliant and further agitation was unnecessary. She had already cowed the dwarf, it just wasn't sporting to stay mean towards him.

"That's quite enough Mister Boryx," she said, turning to the dwarf. "Might we get some information on these brothers of yours; what tools they favor, where their posts are, things of that nature? If any blame should befall you, it would be nice to have someone to shift it towards."
The dwarf shrugs.

"Who knows? As far as I can tell, we are in alert." He grunts out. "So that means that most are mobilized and would not be at their usual posts. We all use standard issue halberds and crossbows, except the overseers and the clerics. They prefer to wield shields."
Bella perked up. "Clerics, you say? Do they have any distinguishing markers; any insignias, special outfits, anything of the sort?"
"There are two.. Father Stuck and Father Furim. They are usally with Beyran but now... I am not sure." The dwarf said. "You can tell that it is them by the holy symbols they wear on their belts."
Boryx let himself be silenced by Bella, who was obviously more experienced in the arts of coercion. Still, he had done his part to soften the way for her.

"Very well then. I think we know what we must do. Unless you have any more questions Trix, I believe it is time for us to go. We have already lingered for too long."

Damn it Garantor, where are you???
The dwarf leads you ahead into the prison, the last surviving Red Wing staying behind to look after his brothers. With someone who knows the way you quickly make progress towards your destination. Much faster than you would have otherwise.

And oddly enough, the closer you come to the armory the closer you feel to Enoch...

"Not long now." The dwarf said confidently as you come to a room leading downstairs. Yet something is troubling...
"Something isn't right here..." he said to the dwarf. "The gauntlet is down those stairs?" he asked.

"Something is amiss, girl," the feminine voice hissed after being long silent, "If I still had your form I would tread carefully."

"I'll say something's amiss; we're trying to do this without making a huge scene!" the masculine voice said. "We shouldn't be getting led around by the nose like a dog, we should be wrecking up the joint! Make a huge party!"

"The lack of speech has atrophied your mind even further," the feminine voice said, "I didn't even think that was possible."

"Now now you two, you've been so civil recently. Don't ruin that." Bella tried to keep the peace in her own head, shaking it off the voices to focus on her surroundings.
"Eh? I see nothing wrong." The dwarf said. "C'mon, we need to move quickly if we are to reach the armory."


Bella put a warding hand up as her eyes and hair flared blue again. "Mister Boryx, mister Lognar, hold. The men aren't as mobilized as our dwarven companion first assumed."

She squinted, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the veiled creatures, then let out a slow, calming breath as she called her cloak to her. "Our hosts are being quite shy again, it appears that veils aren't just the elves' calling card." Her fingers twitched with anticipation; excited by the challenge, the fire in her blood sang for combat. "Be advised."
Bella points out the location of the hidden enemies and the party instantly springs into action.

Lognar roars, his hatred for the cowardly elves growing more with each passing battle. Once more, he shifts his spear into his left hand and pulls out one of the newly acquired daggers. The spear, as formidable as it is, is not the best choice for the close-in fighting taking place. "Cowards!" he shouts, "Corellon will chastise you greatly when I send you to him!" Words alone aren't enough to work up a fury however, so a clear head prevails and he holds back with the group, keeping a close eye on the dwarf-turncoat.
Boryx rushes forward and picks up the dwarf clenching him with a mechanical vice grip.

"Tell them to unveil themselves immediately and toss their weapons on the ground. Tell them like your life depended on it..." To emphasize his point, a slot opened on his modron-arm and out extended a long blade, or what seemed to be in the shape of a blade. It was hazy and translucent like static in the air and it thrummed with a low pulsing.

Inwardly Boryx grimaced. It was a bluff, for surely he would not kill their unarmed captive just to prove a point. But they didn't know that and he felt no need to inform them, what with Enoch's future hanging in the balance. For now they just needed to survive long enough to find him and escape...
The illusory veil drops as the elves realize that you can detect them. Within is a group of five, led by an elven woman familiar to you from the battle not too long ago.

"You." She said in a tone that promised nothing but trouble. "You were supposed to be dead by now! If you yet live... than that means that the crimes you committed against our House are yet unpunished..."

Her mouth twists in viscous snarl more resembling that of an animal than an elf. Slowly she pulls out a wand from her bag.

"Kill them! Show no mercy to our enemies or any hostages they have!"

As she said that you felt an overwhelming surge of chaos intrude into your mind. Two of the elves drink potions and vanish into thin air while the two others rush forward.
"Well Mister Boryx, mister Lognar, here we go again. Mister Dwarf, find somewhere you won't get blood on you."

The screech of chaos knocked something lose in Bella's mind; old plans, old tactics, old memories drilled into her bones. She drew Alighieri and called her Soulblade to her, twitching like a puppet with some of her strings cut. Her face went slack, her eyes went blank, and the light of her soul grew dim. She grit her teeth as the voices in her head screamed; taking the lapse in her concentration as a chance to wrest control fully.

"Mister Lognar, I seem to have been overtaken by an unquenchable bloodlust. You and mister Boryx should take the Elves' rear for safety's sake." Her lips peeled back into a predator's smile as her voice went cold and hard. "That is, of course, if you're still alive after I'm done with you."
Overcome by the hilarity of the dwarf, Boryx drops him and keels over laughing. His voice booms maniacally as his vocal amplifiers thunder his voice across the prison like the bellowing cackle of an enraged dragon.

"You should have listened, mister Lognar."

Bella slides forward like an ill wind, blades at the ready. The discord of her soul keeps her focus broken, making her unable to smite. Nevertheless, she hacks and stabs at Lognar; far from the graceful and precise blows she would use in her right mind.
Lognar looks about fearfully as the insidious tendrils of the elf's spell slip into his mind and dampen his spirit. However, just as he turns to leave, he's struck from behind! Bella's soulblade slams down between neck and shoulder, biting deep. He lets out a howl, and fear turns almost instantaneously into anger, and all urge to flee vanishes. Bella's unexpected assault continues, but anger has set in and dulled much of the pain from her next strikes. Even through his magic-and-rage dulled senses, he knows Bella can't be responsible for her actions, and Boryx standing nearby laughing like a madman only helps reinforce that idea.

He wards off Bella with his spear as he takes a step backwards, then turns and dashes for the elves nearest to him. His attacks lack the bone-shattering force they normally carry, but the strength his anger gives him makes them deadly none-the-less. His spear whirls about, and he brings the heavy blade of the weapon down at the first elf he comes across. He tries to follow through with the momentum and skewer the second elf through the midsection.
The unarmed dwarf quickly realizes that now would be the best time to leave.

Lognar in the meantime swung his heavy spear at the elves, however both quickly weaved away from the path of his strike. The elven leader in the back pointed her wand in the general direction of her allies, giving them a sudden burst of speed.

Before Lognar could react the elves were already within reach. The last thing he sees are the masked faces of the elven warriors and the red of his own blood. Lognar goes down.

"His armor will be impervious to your daggers!" The elven woman said as she pointed at Boryx, remembering well how his armor deflected every single bolt during the ambush. "Bypass it!"

A moment later, four needles flew directly at the human warrior and where they hit, burning acids were released.

"That was great, Bella!" the masculine voice said, much louder than usual, "Now do that for the people we're hired to kill."

"You pudding-minded fool, we do not strike down our allies!" the feminine voice cried, "A wasted ally is a wasted attack."

"Hey, awesome is awesome; if an ally can't handle held-back blows, then sod 'em."

Bella put her head in her hands and shivered like leaves in a windstorm. "Finding target finding target I'm so sorry mister Lognar no targets in range awaiting new orders"
Boryx's cybernetic eyes see red as the Elves attack him becoming invisible. The pain of the acid seeping through his armor as well as the site of Lognar bleeding out upon the ground makes Boryx's attacks wild, no doubt from the mind-corrupting influence of the Sorceress's spell.

Two gears quickly carve up one of the elves that attacked Boryx and wound another. The three that were still standing launched another volley of attacks but only four of them hit.

Suddenly, a wall of rock sprang up and swallowed the elves.
"Oh mister Boryx, you should have ran," Bella said with genuine pity, "That wall isn't real, but it would've helped." Her eyes flare with a dim blue; she goes slack again as she stalks the Mechanus Knight.

"Target acquired."
Hearing Bella's odd tone and her suggestion that the wall is merely an illusion, Boryx charges straight at it. If he manages to pass through what seems like a solid barrier, he will continue all the way into the corner where he will embed himself and take a couple of shots at whatever Elves he can see...
As Boryx charges into the illusions they fade before his presence and he instantly sees the elves as they stand in front of him. He fires two razor-sharp blades but the elf managed to dodge both.

The elven woman curses under her breath and drops the illusion and tries to run up the stairs to help her allies directly. The masked elves step away from the warrior and unleash another volley of needles.
Boryx sent two more cogs into his assailant, then extended his blade of shimmering dust and cleaved into the elf with extraplanar nanotech death.
"Faster, pussycat! Kill! Kill!" The masculine voice urged Bella on, feeling phantom muscles singing with long-lost adrenaline. Bella's movements began to take on a more dramatic flair; still jerky and pulled by unseen strings, but in ways that would indicate a showman puppeteer.

She whirled into a high-low feint; woefully ineffective in her current state but impressive to look at.
Two more elves fall to Borx's onslaught leaving only two remaining. A single assassin and the woman.

"You will not be able to fell him like this!" She shouts. "Hold your fire and let them fight amongst themselves!"

The elf quickly lowers his weapons and steps away from the mechanical juggernaut.
"Damnit 'Trix! What's gotten into you?!!" Boryx yelled with confused anger as her strikes deflected off of his armor.

He pulled his hand back and from the palm sprang a long drill, glittering with modron diamond dust. In his madness he struck to kill.
Bella's cloak did its job admirably, but her halting movements diminished the effect. One of the drill bits hit home, boring a deep gash into her shoulder. The pain was intense, but brought clarity in its torment. Bella scrambled past her confused comrade, the frayed strands of sanity she still had telling her that the elves were also her enemy.

"That...hurt...mister Boryx. Thank you." she managed to stutter before her programming took hold again. "Melee range inefficient. Switching to wide area neutralization."
The elf woman's eyes go wide as Bella releases a torrent of cerulean fire. Taken by surprise, she only managed to cover her face with her arm.

It did not help her, as her blackened bones clattered and shattered into the wall behind her, leaving stains of dark charcoal.
"Gah!" Boryx growled as the azure flame scorched the inside of his armor.

"I don't want to hurt you Bella but you had better snap out of it!"

He stomped over to her, retracting the drill and swapping out his hand for a spinning circular blade. Slicing through the air, the strike connected but just barely deflected off her breastplate. Barely.
After a few more seconds spent fighting, the elven spell expires and the minds of Bella and Lognar clear of her influence. Quickly they put away their weapons as Lognar comes to, unable to stand up from the crippling injuries inflicted upon him.

The elves were dead and the dwarf nowhere to be seen but Boryx felt Enoch. He was close...
"I'm-uh... I 'm terribly sorry about that." Boryx said to his companion, visibly embarrassed. "I'm really beginning to despise this place." He added with a dry mirth. "What should we do about him?[/colo], Boryx gestured at the orc, who yet drew weak breaths. That he was breathing at all was a testament to his great fortitude. [color="#008080"]Took too many hits of the juice, I'd say. I can feel our target...we're very close, but I need us to stick together if I'm going to get us all out of here."

The armored knight began rummaging the elven corpses for anything that might aid them.

"If we get out of here alive, remind me I need to upgrade my armor..."
On the elven corpses you find traces of combat; it seems they have seen their fair share of bloodshed tonight before encountering you. Many of the elves are carrying far fewer supplies than you expected as well.

Still, you managed to find a host of items, which you suspect to be magical but none of them were aimed to heal. Seems like you would need to carry Lognar for now.
As Lognar lies there his wounds begin to seal and burns begin to heal before your very eyes, adding their scars to the many that already mar his flesh. His eyes open, and he looks about groggily. Even though his body looks to be intact, it seems he is unable to bring himself to his feet. "I... I cannot carry myself forward."

"Well then, we'll just have to carry you," Boryx said, slipping an arm under Lognar's armpit and hauling him to his feet. "Easy there friend, we'll get you out of here...we're almost to Enoch, I can feel him. Bella! Give me a hand with him, would you?"

As he looks over the exotic soulborn warrior he noticed she was looking quite worse for wear. Come to think of it, inside he armor, he was pretty cooked himself. "I hear you're a brilliant strategist. What do you make of our odds? If we can make it to the armory I'd say we have a fighting chance, but as worn down as we are, and with our big gun here incapacitated the math doesn't seem to be favoring us today..."
Bella shuddered as sanity returned to her; her fire winked and sputtered out. "Mister Boryx, you're alive...I mean, you're alright. Mister Lognar does seem pretty unhealthy and smells rather charred; did the elves have fire spells?" She went to lift Lognar; tendons screamed and cuts opened in silent protest. She winced and bit her lip so as not to cry out.

"I'm afraid I can't be much help lifting," she said, her knees weak, "Any further fighting and you'd have to be carrying me as well." She sat down to meditate and reconfigure her soul's abilities. That, and moving was more painful than she would like to admit.

She waved off Boryx's proclamations of genius, "Oh, I'm no strategist. The only thing I'm good at is following orders, I'm afraid. That being said, if we ran into another situation like that, it would be quite unfortunate." She rested the back of her head against the cool stone of one of the statues. She needed a sensation to focus on other than intense pain. "You are quite durable,"

"Annoyingly so," the masculine and feminine voices said, in agreement for once. Bella couldn't deny them that; she prided herself on efficiently dropping her targets and Boryx still standing had hurt her ego just a tad. She shushed the both of them, embarrassed at her own arrogance.

"But we do not all share that trait. I believe stealth is the least painful option. I will act as a forward scout; I am the only one of us who can match the elves' invisibility and can be quite difficult to intercept if I wish it so."
Lognar puts his left arm over Boryx's heavily armored shoulder and allows himself to be lifted. He uses his spear like a walking stick, taking some of the load. He listens to the conversation between his two companions, but his attention is fleeting. He's angry that his body has failed him. Has Corellon left him as well?

You continue downward, the Daanvi warrior's scanners honing in on his friend. Suddenly a voice breaks the silence.

"Don't move!" The shout of warning came from above you. Knowing that you would not survive another battle, you raise your hands and expect the worst.

"Oi, Boryx...? Is that you...?" In an instant you recognized that voice. Jumping down from above was the cunning rogue himself, wearing a huge happy grin and followed shortly by two more faces you do not
recognize.

"Not that I'm not happy to see your mug but what the hell are you doing here?"

As it turned out, it was Enoch who had found you instead...


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[TekHed]

Chapter I: Dreadhold



Enoch! Boryx's jaw hit the floor. About time something good happened.

"We're here to get you out of course..." Boryx said as his visor retracted with a hydraulic hiss. "Rygar feared you had been captured and dispatched us to get you out. What the hell are you doing here? We know you're spying for the prince but he was woefully insubstantial on the specifics."

Boryx eyed the other two newcomers with an appraising eye. "and who are they?"
Enoch's smile faded as he traced his fingers along his face wearily.

"You know him?" The man behind him asked.

"Oh... me and Boryx here go way back." He said with a chuckle before sighing deeply. "Damnit Rygar... you are too nosy for your own good..."

"But anyway, let's get some introductions done. This fine fella is Giles and this lovely lady is Aselia." Enoch said with a slightly theatrical voice as he motioned towards his companions.

"The pleasure is all mine." The man named Giles politely returned the greeting. Aselia, however, looked briefly at Enoch and said nothing.

"Yes..." Enoch rubbed the back of his neck. "So are you going to be introducing your companions then?"
"These are two of Rygar's elites," Boryx replied. "The legs belong to Bellatrix and this here lummox is Lognar. As you can see, we're rather worse for wear for from having made it this far. We were on our way for a last-ditch attempt at raiding the armory when I picked up your trail," he added.

"Now...are you going to tell me what Rygar's had you doing in here, that we've risked our necks and paid the lives of many Red Wings to find you? If we're going to die escaping I at least deserve to know why." As Enoch opened his mouth for a retort, Boryx interrupted, hastily adding "...and don't be dodgy! I've really had enough of that today between Rygar, his right-hand man and that bloody dwarf."
Enoch slumps against a nearby wall and sighs deeply.

"Yea... I suppose you have the right to know. But I'll warn you, there is a bit of a tale behind it." He said. "At first I was investigating the Thuranni activity in the Principalities, which has become awfully quiet for the past few months. Rygar provided me with some supplies to investigate the matter further, provided that I could get to the bottom of this. What I discovered was something... unprecedented."

He paused and turned to face you.

"You've probably already seen the alliance between the Khundarak and the Thuranni, but that is just scraping the surface. The fact is, Elar now commands the Thuranni from Dreadhold while the main base of the House in Regalport stands mostly as a facade. It is most likely a trap but I did not know for whom... until now."

He turns to look at Aselia.

"This gal here... she is what Elar has been after this entire time. I don't know why but suffice to say, we should try to get her out of here." He crossed his hands. "We were just heading to the armory ourselves. These two will need the equipment that was stripped from them when they were captured."

Aselia did not bother to listen to the end of the conversation as she climbed onto one of the nearby pathways to keep an eye out for any danger.
"Understood. Are you armed? We have weapons and gear we've taken from felled guards. Also...if that loud explosion earlier was any indication, my Zelekhut will be on it's way. Do either of you have any medicinal magics? My squad is not as fresh as yours..."

Boryx looked at the silent woman. "Want to tell us why everyone is after you lady?"

"And how do you fit into all of this?" Boryx asked of the foppish one.
"Bother, more variables to consider. They look much better off than we are, but one escort mission is difficult enough. Two, and one with long reaching political implications?" Bella put her head in her lap and moaned, "I'm starting to miss the bloodlust. At least that was simple."

"Y'see," the masculine voice said, mocking, "It's much easier when you focus on things that need killing."

"I will admit that this is a tangled situation, child, but it's nothing we haven't dealt with before," the feminine voice said, ignoring its counterpart. "Just follow orders and we'll see this through."

"Whose orders?" Bella asked, "Mister Boryx expects me to have a plan and men like this Enoch fellow are meant to subvert orders, not give them."

She lifted her head; looked pitifully at Enoch. "I suppose you have some dashing plan to dovetail our shared missions?" She sighed. "I'd like to know the timeframe for our untimely deaths."
"Yes I would also like to know why Elar was so interested in you." Giles said as he looked up at Aselia.

Aselia sighted.

"There is no point discussing this matter while our lives are still in danger." She spoke finally. "We need to get to the armory quickly."

Giles smirks but says nothing. He then turns to Boryx.

"As for me, let's just say I'm not a big friend of Elar. I have my own own suspicians as to why he wants this girl but we shall see." He then turns away. "I can sense Darling nearby. We must be getting close."

Enoch finally steps in.

"Alright, here is the plan. We ain't gonna assault that thing head on. In fact, I know a secret entrance that will lead us directly where we want to be." He grinned as he motioned you to follow him. "This prison is full of secret hallways and entrances, not even the guards know half of them. Only one who does is Beyran and he does a good job of making sure that this information does not spread. I was lucky to discover this particular entrance... there we will find all the healing supplies we need."
"Well then, that certainly makes our plan less suicidal..." Boryx admitted. "I agree we should move quickly before the garrison has any more time to rally." he moved to follow Enoch, still propping up the massive orc. As they walked he continued to address the other newcomers. "I expect you'll have a good explanation for what brought you here under my friend's watch..." he said to Aselia. To Giles he added, "And who...or what, is Darling?"

"Oh, you'll see." Giles said dismissively.

As Enoch continues to lead you across the corridors you come across an empty guard post. The actual entrance turned out to be in a small alcove right next to it, which turned out to be a spiraling tight stairway leading downwards. As you descend the sounds of battle grew ever louder, until you can hear the sound of what is most likely the Khundarak turrets.

The stairs finally end and a second concealed door slides open revealing a large room where all the walls are lined with weapons, armor and other equipment. The amount present here would be enough to fill out a small army if need be. Finally your eyes catch a wall labeled Healing written in common, containing copious amounts of potions and wands.

"There are traps here." Aselia said with narrowed eyes. "Let me disable them before we proceed."
"Be careful!" Boryx whispers to Aselia as she climbs into the room to pave their way.

*Just great!* Boryx thought with sarcasm. *Surrounded by another gorgeous alpha female...why can't I help myself?*

Inside his cybernetic mind, Boryx put his palm on his face. *Everywhere I turn, there is another temptation...another strong independent ass kicking babe with legs for days, a body that won't quit and a gleam in her eye that says she's trouble! You really must love danger Boryx...either that or maybe Enoch's rubbed off on you...*

An image of Tatiana entered his mind. *And why should I be having these thoughts...* as he watched the athletic posterior of the alluring Aselia. *...I'm in love with Tatiana!*

A different part of him bubbled to the surface and addressed the first part. *Well the Shifter didn't exactly give you the response you were hoping for...admit it, something was off, she was holding back.*

The first part got defensive, rationalizing *She was just caught off-guard is all, after all I did almost blow her cover at the Siren's Call...*

*Bull****! When is that woman EVER caught off guard. Hell you probably don't even know her real name! Don't lie to yourself...deep down you know she's not in love with you, you're just afraid to admit it. Maybe she's enjoyed her job, but it was still just a job...*

Boryx pushed the inner dialogue away. This was NOT the time to be distracted. He needed to get his mind on something else, so turned away, but that only brought his line of sight directly with Bella's crotch as she stood on the stairs above him.
Asellia and Enoch work for a good five minutes together before finally the traps fall and the party manages to enter the armory. Inside you find various weapons, most of them enchanted. Crossbows, halberds, short swords, long swords, axes and shields of all kinds and daggers. Among the armor were suits of full plate, brigandine and studded leather.

On the rack with the healing items were about 28 wands and 68 potions, though you have no idea what each of them do. Most of them have a different colouring, these are grouped together. There seem to be 5 types of potions here total.

Further into the room is a special alcove holding armor and weapons different from the rest. Aselia and Enoch have no luck disabling the trap protecting it though.

On the far side you notice a giant door, behind which you hear the unmistakable sounds of battle.
Once the all-clear was given, Boryx carried Lognar into the room, setiing him down next to the wall-o-healing. "Conveniently marked." he says, noting the display of potions. "There's still a chance they were mislabeled... just in case, perhaps someone more qualified could inspect them? I'm wary about just guzzling them at random. Hopefully one of them can restore our Lognar here to fighting condition."

When Enoch mentions not to go near the alcove because they were unable to disarm the trap there Boryx replies with a "Let me have a crack at it." Walking over he carefully inspects the mechanism they uncovered, gently probing and testing until he finds what seems to be the best way to bypass it. Finally finding what he was looking for, he calls over to Enoch and Aselia. "Hey I could use a hand here! That's right...just place your hand there on that cog. Good...now Aselia, if you could just keep the tension here while I let go and...keep holding...just another moment...aaalmost got it...just a bit further...annnnd yes! Voila!"
As Boryx unshoulders him, Lognar leans heavily against his spear, gripping it with both hands as he watches Boryx poke and prod at the inner workings of the trap. He shuffles over to the bottles of potions and unstoppers one, inhaling deeply through his nostrils.

As the trap fell the contents of the alcove were revealed, containing a few belts, rings, cloaks and amulets numbering at about 15 each. Among them, however, were a few items that looked different from the rest. Among them was an adamantium dwarven axe that had a reddish tint to its metal, a curved blade resembling those wielding by the talenta halflings though fitted to be wielded by a larger creature and made from flametouched iron, a large tower shield with the emblem of a ram upon it and a finely crafted spear. Bella senses that all these items have a stronger magical aura upon them than the rest.

Lognar in the mean time managed to identify a few of the potions merely by smell. Recognizing the potions of Cure Serious Wounds, Cure Poison and Cure Disease but the smell of the other two was unfamiliar to him.

"So what now?" Asks Enoch as he leans on a nearby wall.
"Now, we loot the place and get the hell out of here!" Boryx answered his friend. "Do you know of any shortcuts to the roof or an outside terrace? If we can get somewhere where the walls are thin enough I can transport us all to safety..."
Bella staggered over to the group of potions and tried to discern them by color and consistency; they all had the same aura to her eyes. She was desperate enough to start chugging indiscriminately, but it wouldn't do to die based on a lack of restraint after what she had just been through.

"If we take nothing else, we should take the axe, the spear, the shield, and that oversized shar-somethingorother," Bella said, appraising the magical weaponry with arcane eyes. She picked up two random potions. "Mister Lognar, can you tell which of these are restorative?"
"Hmmm...that's good Adamantium." Boryx remarked as he appraised the Dwarven waraxe. "Of course we'll loot the good stuff, why else go to the extra trouble of disarming the trap?" he smiled at the Soulborn. "We should take the rest of these accessories and jewelry as well...if nothing else I can sell them for the money to buy the raw materials I'd need to craft something even greater. Upcycling as it were..."

After a moment, with his eye still affixed to the exquisite craftsmanship he is holding he adds off-handedly, "Let me know when you two've got that sorted..."
Lognar gazes at the piles of magical equipment, but he's too weak right now to stack on pounds of loot. He piles the potions together as best he can and names them off as what they are.

"These other two sets, I cannot tell right now, give me a moment." He unstoppers one of the potions from the first, gives it another sniff, and quaffs it. He waits a few moments to discern it's effect, then drinks one from the other unknown pile.
Drinking one of the potions gives Lognar a renewed sense of Vigor and he feels his strength return to him.

There were only three potions of the other type but drinking one of them seemed to yield no effect.
Lognar feels better after drinking only one potion, but he drinks four more, leaving them to split evenly between the three of them.

"These here," he says, motioning with an empty vial at the 15 remaining potions, "These are already bringing back my strength. Enough for 5 each." He scoops a small pile of healing potions into a pouch, but leaves the majority for the other two who can't handle damage as well.

He stops leaning on his spear as the odd bruising begins to fade away, and strolls over to the small rack of magic weapons. He lifts the spear and tests the balance and weight. He thrusts outward sharply, most of the snap back in his strike.

"You say these have strong magic?" he asks Bella. "Stronger than this one?" He hefts his own spear. She nods to him and he replaces his own spear on the rack, bringing the new one along for the rest of the show. He gathers up what rings and belts and cloaks he can and puts them in his backpack for trade once they make good their jailbreak.
Boryx popped the cap off a vial and drank deeply, feeling the soreness leave his muscles. Not feeling like it had quite hit the spot, he drank another, then he gave the remaining three restorations to Lognar and Bella before setting about quaffing healing potions. These he continued to down until the terrible acid burns stopped throbbing and no longer chaffed against the inside of his suit.

"There is another option we might consider...what do you think the chances are the six of us could take out Elar while we're here...do you think the Dwarves would aid us in a mutiny? The one's we met didn't seem too thrilled by the so-called alliance with the Thuranni..." he queried of Enoch. "Of course, we would then have a mark of death upon our backs from a Dragonmarked House of assassins for the rest of our short days..."

While he talked he stashed the remaining healing potions from his share as well as any of the other loot that didn't fit in Lognar's pack...

The shield he strapped to his back.
Bella dove into the potions, chugging two at a time as if she were dying of thirst. The liquid ran down her chin in rivulets, splashed onto her breastplate and got into her hair. She gasped when her body told her it needed air more than magic juice.

"How embarrassing," the feminine voice groaned. It's brows would be furrowed, if it had them.

"Damn shame I can't get the girl to drink like that at the pub," the male voice said with raucous laughter.

"Ahem," she regained her normal poise and calm as the magics took effect. "If our dwarven companion is any indication of his comrades' tractability, I daresay that would be more trouble than it's worth, mister Boryx. I've been an assassin myself, and I'd much rather not have to deal with others in my profession again." She gave a bitter chuckle, "They're bad enough on the clock when you're with them and I know firsthand what they're like when you're against."

She took the oversized halfling weapon, testing the weight and balance with a few drills. She put it in her pack and patted her sword's scabbard. "Don't worry Alighieri, you're as much a part of me as my arms are."
While you were talking among themselves Aselia and Giles both recovered their equipment. Giles in particular seemed quite happy when he recovered what looked to be a small crystal that he quickly put into his pack.

"Why would we need the dwarves?! Why do we need to ally ourselves with any house?!" Giles said loudly as he approached. "We already have our allies! An entire army right behind this door!"

He placed his hands upon the stone and metal doorway leading out of the armory, the sounds of battle still coming from behind it.

"All those that seek vengeance against the houses are behind this door and we have enough weapons here to arm all of them. This is our chance to take the battle to the Thuranni and end them once and for all!" He cast his arms across the room and looks to Aselia. "You know that Elar will not leave you in peace. He has his eyes set upon you and now you have the chance to discover what his true intentions are."

Aselia narrowed her eyes but it was obvious that she was considering the proposal.
Lognar listens more intently now that he can focus his mind on more than simply not collapsing. His face, as far as you can tell, has an uncertain look on it.

"What do we gain from loosing these prisoners? Was our original task not to rescue your friend here?" He motions to Enoch. "As it stands now, we may have angered Elar, but he does not know who we are."

Now his eyes turn to the two newcomers. "I was not sent to retrieve you, and I know nothing of why you are here. Why should we risk failing Rygar to ensure your safety?"
"And how do you know that leaving matters as they are won't harm Rygar's agenda?" Giles said, completely unfazed. "Even if you don't wish to fight him, it might be unavoidable if you want to get out of here."

Enoch exhales sharply.

"He has a point... but if you take out Elar you'll be upsetting the balance of power not just in the Principalities but in the whole of Khorvair." He paused. "Rygar would deny all involvement with this... even if you had no way of knowing what you'd find in this damned prison."

"Whatever you decide, I've got your back in this." Enoch said finally, giving Boryx one of his usual smiles.

Aselia raised her eyes giving a sharp look to those gathered.

"I used to be one of the Thuranni but that was a long time ago. I think it is time I got even with my former House."
Lognar stiffens as Giles subtly implies the orc may be afraid to fight Elar. It takes a lot of the new control he's been fostering to keep himself from running the little human through. He looks away from Giles and over to Boryx.

"Rygar asked me to assist you on your mission. You know my thoughts, so I leave the decision to you."
"I..." Boryx stutters as all eyes turn to him. "Great...since when did I become De facto leader?" He paced nervously.

"Look...if we go after Elar...even if we kill him...it will not bring down the House. We'll be forever hunted. On the other hand...Elar has already seen who we are, so that might be unavoidable anyways. To complicate matters, Giles here seems to think you're the Prize in all of this," he said, directing this last to Aselia. "We have a few minutes of respite, for now at least....I'd say it's time you told us why Elar wants you so badly..."

The golem-knight folded his mighty arms across his chest, awaiting an explanation.
Aselia is silent for a moment but then nods her head in agreement. She brings her hand to her back brushes her clothes aside, revealing a dragonmark unlike any that you have seen before.

"This is the reason." She said finally. "This is the Mark of Death. And I am it's last bearer."


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The elf turns back to you.

"If you are to be my allies in this, then you deserve to know."

It was like a cold wind had blown through the room and an eerie silence settled among the gathered as the truth of the matter washed over them.
Bella's eyes went wide as she saw the mark. She didn't know much about her current location on the Prime, but she knew a deadly complication when she saw one.

"Mister Boryx, mister Lognar, would either of you mind slitting my throat?" she said, deadpan, "Because I've had enough suicide missions for three lives. If it wouldn't trouble the either of you, I'd rather die here, thanks. Less chance of getting my corpse defiled that way."

She turned to her previous companions. "I assumed this was a rescue mission. Since my employer didn't seem to care whether or not the objective lived or died, it seemed more like a smash and grab. Whatever the case, it was supposed to be simple. This is not simple. This is not simple at all. I may be a good soldier, but I will be no one's pawn; political or otherwise."

She bowed to Aselia. "I'm sorry miss, but I cannot allow you to interfere in our mission to this extent. I came her for Enoch; no more, no less."
Boryx inhaled sharply at Aselia's dire pronouncement. His face darkened and he thought for several long moments. Just as the others were about to prod him for inaction, he spoke.

"If that Mark is as she says...there will be no escaping, Bella. Elar will hunt us down just for knowing. Sorry 'Trix, but we're in the **** now. I for one don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. Better to face death head on, here, now, while we have the chance. And...Giles has a point. We have an army of prisoners revolting and the means to arm them. Enoch knows the layout of the prison. All of Dreadhold is in disarray...we're never going to have a better shot..."
A grunt of surprise slips through Lognar's lips as she explains her unique situation. Even him, tucked away in Droaam as he had been, he knew of the significance of such a mark. However, he doesn't agree with Boryx's reasoning.

"You assume they know who we are. All our foes have fallen before us, why don't we take Enoch and leave? Elar will still not know who did this thing."
Boryx looked aghast at Lognar, before remembering his manners and closing his mouth.

"You really did take a beating, didn't you? Have you forgotten? Elar himself was about to strike us all down before that explosion hit. I dare say we are a rather distinctive lot and you can bet if we make it out of here with his Prize, he is going to come looking for us..."
"We can plan for that, mister Boryx," Bella said wearily, "We can put the battle on our terms, or at least buy ourselves some time to ensure the marked missus and our objective are safe somewhere. We have to think about this carefully and rationally. We have a mission to complete, and it has nearly cost mister Lognar and myself our lives. You wish for us to also take on a man who has an army at his beck and call, an army we've had quite the difficulty dealing with, I might add, for a woman. We are not dashing heroes in some bard's tale, mister Boryx. We are, or at least I am, a soldier of fortune."

She unfurled the bandanna she had been using as a tourniquet, no longer necessary after the healing draught. It was half-crusted over with her blood, yet there was still fresh crimson on it. "This is the result of charging in without a plan. This is what valor gets us, mister Boryx. Unless someone comes up with a good plan for how we deal with Elar, I will not deviate from the mission."

He rubs his head. "That was Elar?" He thinks on this for a moment, turning this 'new' info over in his head. Finally, he nods.

"You two are lucky. A year past I would have simply ran you both through and left you for dead, easier that way. I am trying to be better than that." He looks over to Boryx and Bella.

"Loosing the prisoners is good and everything, but we still need to know exactly where Elar is. It won't do us any good to be surrounded once our lackeys die off." He grimaces. "Maybe they'll fare better than the Red Wings."
"Maybe she is right..." Aselia said, quetly tapping her fingers upon the hilt of her blade.

"That we should concern ourselves with our own survival?" Giles finished. "Of course but arming the convicts is only going to aid us in that goal."

"You are talking about me as if I'm not here." Enoch said with a grin. "I am pretty able to hold my own if it gets dicey."
"I should be able to locate Elar within the prison." Boryx answered Lognar. "With all of this chaos the Thurrani will have their hands full. Mark my words...there will not be a better time to strike and something tells me that if we do not...we will live to regret it."

He stopped and considered his two fighting companions. "I can understand your position. You were hired to help me extract Enoch. However...the whole reason he was here in the first place was to discover the secret of the Thuranni...and here she is standing before us. So what? We ditch them? Take Enoch and go? Let's be generous for a moment and say that Elar does deign to let us live out or days in what peace we may find...what do you think will happen to Khorvaire at large if the Head of Assassins gets his bloodstained hands upon the Mark of Death? Enoch...this was your mission...what might be the consequences if we decided to leave well enough alone?"

He turned to the two newcomers. "Giles, you have a point. Regardless of what we choose, arming the prisoners will make the revolt more effective and can only help us in our escape. Aselia...what are your wishes? We did not come here for you, not directly, and I apologize for my brutish companion's blunt delivery, but as you are with my best friend I should think you deserve our consideration in this matter. In any case, we need to decide soon, and act..."
Lognar grunts as Boryx tries to apologize for his words. "You should be glad it was delivered bluntly and not with the end of a sharp spear!" A small uncharacteristic grin slips onto his face though. "Your words make sense Boryx. She seems to be as much a part of the mission as Enoch. I will lend my spear to this task as well."
Aselia is silent for a moment.

"Let us focus on escaping first but if we get the chance to kill Elar..." He hand clenches the grip of her blade. "We take it."
"Subtlety definitely isn't your strong suit, mister Boryx." Bella sighed, rolled her shoulders and stretched the tension out of her newly healed muscles. "I was tasked with aiding you and mister Lognar, so I guess it can't be helped" She adjusted her soul's configuration to an assault pattern with a burst of blue flame. A dim blue nimbus surrounded her, casting harsh and eerie shadows upon her features.

"If you wish for us to go to our deaths, I will follow. But not without incident."
"Never said it was..." Boryx winked at Bellatrix. "I agree with Aselia...escape is our priority, but if we run into Elar we take him out if we can. Now...has everyone loaded up their pockets with the major spoils? If so, I say we open the door and deal with the turrets keeping our army at bay..."
"Quite," Giles responded officiously. Things had moved so quickly since his escape from the prison cells with the elf -- and what a discovery she was! The Mark of Death? Giles didn't know whether to shudder with fear, or anticipation. There was too much going on at the moment to really stop to think, but she could potentially become quite the tool... As for the rest of the newly assembled group, Giles had already appraised them. Whatever his relationship to them might be in the future, for now, they were his ticket out of Dreadhold - and if Elar and the rest of Thurrani were dealt a fatal blow, so much the better.

Giles' face betrayed none of these thoughts. With a glance around the room to make sure that the full complement of magical items had been collected, Giles turned his attention to the door that separated the armory from the clamor of battle outside.
"I am with you." Aselia said in a whisper.
"Right. Let's do this...everyone ready?"

Boryx clamped down his helm, activated the ring that projected his glowing force shield, and readied his gear thrower which snapped open from his mechanical right arm.
"I wouldn't be ready for this if I had all the time on the Prime, mister Boryx," Bella said, calling her burning vestments to her, "But if I really opposed, our new escort would be dead on the floor by now. Might as well."

Bella cocked her thumb back and extended her pointer finger, a blue ball of fire coalesced on the tip. She aimed it at the door, ready to shoot the closest gunner she saw.
"Here we go!" Lognar, who had been waiting turned towards the door's lever mechanism and slammed it open with a single mighty kick...

[TekHed]

Chapter I: Dreadhold


Instantly you see a line of dwarves protecting the entrance to the armory. Like the dwarf described, it was a narrow pathway, but instead of a corridor as you were expecting the walkway is surrounded on all sides by a 20 foot drop, leading to a floor filled with spikes! You instantly spot two massive turrets and two dwarves that were manning them as well as a cleric standing in the back of the bunch. Some of the dwarves have already begun turning towards you, but far, far too slow.

A bolt of soulfire flies from Bella and strikes one of the unsuspecting gunners head on, burning him to a crisp where he stood.
Bella's soulfire flies out of the battered door only moments before Lognar as he rushes out. Whether excited to get back into a fight, or desperately needing to get away from the over-vocal newcomer before running him through was anyone's guess. He grips his new spear tightly, swinging it about and thrusting as he verily strafes the front line of enemies.
By the time Lognar had completed his sweep across the mouth of the corridor, slicing through the nearest dwarves, Giles had taken aim at his own target. His eyes were hard as he raised his hand, palm down and fingers outstretched, and channeled briefly. A thin, pale blue ray, the twin to Bella's own projectile, launched out his fingertips and blasted towards the torso of the dwarven cleric.
Boryx stepped forward and likewise concentrated fire upon the cleric.
Bella whistled as her bolt of agony immediately incinerated a gunner. "Must be a hireling," she said, making sure her cloaking was up again "Unfortunate."

She watched and waited for her allies' strategems to unfold, wanting to do things surgically in case the dwarves had any tricks like the elves.
With a single manifestation a ray of ice hit the cleric square in the chest, causing him to be flung back and into the spikes below. Boryx then swiftly stepped forward and let loose two spinning cogs of death, only one of which managed to pierce through the thick armor of the dwarf.
Lognar charged into through the dwarves in a blinding fury striking left and right. But the dwarves were quicker than the barbarian expected and their halberds struck him before he could get into reach with his own spear. But in less than a few seconds Lognar had left a trail of dead bodies behind him, only the dwarven leader and the lone gunner were able to withstand his blow. Bella was quick to follow up on the orc and a blinding bolt of soulfire launched from her fingers but her hasty action caused the attack to veer in a completely different direction, leaving the dwarf unharmed.

Aselia raised one of the stolen crossbows and bolt, tipped in poison, flew at the wounded gunner but his armor was successful in deflecting the attack. She launched a second volley and this time one of the bolts struck true, his body twitched and then fell silent.

Only one enemy was now left, with barely any strength left in him. But, not willing to surrender, the dwarf tries one desperate attempt to push the orc into the spikes. Deflecting the orc's attack with his shield the dwarf tries to push the orc off the platform but even having lost some of his strength Lognar was still more than capable of resisting the feeble attempt.
"Well, that was anticlimactic," Bella said as she let her bolt of blue fire fly at the wounded leader. "At least you'll die numb, I guess."

With a blue flash the bolt struk the dwarf in the head, ending his life in a single second.

Now you have time to look around the battlefield and you notice many bodies littered along the bridge and impaled upon the spikes below, mainly belonging to the escaped convicts. You also notice that the pathway itself extends for an impressive distance and that parts of it have been greased. However, you do not see any living convicts nearby.

"So what now?" Enoch asks as he walks out of the armory, giving a quick whistle at what was left of the dwarven defense.
"Well, so much for our waiting army..." Boryx remarked dryly. Examining the causeway leading out he added. "If we want to take this exit we should have Bella burn off some of that grease...those spikes don't look very inviting, even for me...would you be so kind?" he asked of the fiery haired assassin.

He took a moment to retract his helmet and gave Giles an appreciative nod. "Good work just now...nice to see you're not afraid of getting your hands dirty. Still, I wish we didn't have to make enemies of Thuranni and Khundarak. I suppose pointy ears over here is worth it though..." Boryx shot a raised eyebrow at Enoch. It was the nature of their relationship, always with the good-natured ribbing.
It wasn't worth the effort to rail against the incompetents and cowards that had made up the would-be force of escaped prisoners, but if it had been, Giles would have been fuming. As it was, he merely scanned the room with an open look of distaste.

Giving up his observation of a particularly gruesome skewering on one of the spikes below, the man brushed off Boryx's compliment. "I should hardly think what any of us just did would count as 'getting our hands dirty,'" he said dryly. He made no effort to return the favor, but merely continued: "As for who our enemies are - well, if wishes were fishes, eh? None of us have any choice in the matter; Thuranni and Kundarak both have set themselves against us." In spite of his disparagement, Giles still managed to convey a sense of good humor about the whole affair.

"If we approach anyone - potential friend or sure foe - I will know. For now, we should keep moving."
"Another trivial task, mister Boryx?" Bella teased as she summoned another ball of blue fire, "You sure know how to make a girl feel important." She blew on the flame, fanning it into harmless wisps. The sheet of flame lapped at the grease, caused it to leap and spark with emerald hues. The inferno of her soul was meant to scorch a man to his core, but she had never actually tried using it to set something on fire the normal way. It was quite illuminating, and she kicked herself for not trying to do so sooner.

"Anything else?" she smiled, "Need me to use Alighieri to open a bottle perhaps? Silver my tongue to convince a bartender you already paid? Or perhaps I can unleash my soul's passion again so we can roast meat."
Boryx was surprised by Bella's playful banter with him...thus far she had been all business. Still she did conjure some compelling imagery.

"Mmm...that sounds delightful actually. I could really go for some roast meat and a cold drink. Care to join me once we're out of this mess? No need to use Alighieri...I can open my own bottles." Sure enough a mechanical contraption perfectly suited to the task snapped out of his arm.

He shot her a knowing glance.

"And...as compelling as your soul's passion is, perhaps it would be best to save it's unleashing for more...substantive activities. Shall we?"

Boryx took a few steps onto the causeway and watched as the fire burned itself out. He cast a suspicious glance around the room. No doubt the traps the Dwarf had mentioned were still active.

"Hold on. Let me search the area for traps..."

Boryx's helmet snapped shut again and he activated the sensors embedded within his optical implants. In his field of vision, glowing gridlines expanded to coat the room, with any suspicious or noteworthy elements being highlighted by the modrons assisting him.
The grease on the walkway burned merrily for a minute or two before evaporating and letting the party pass. Soon Boryx had detected the traps that the dwarf mentioned and if he was not lying, they are meant to target magic rather than any invaders.

A thought crosses your mind to disable them but you soon realize that you will not have the time to to do so...

"HAH! About time I found you!!"

You notice a huge, human-like figure walking less than subtly along the walkway. As it draws closer a few things dawn on you: one is that the skin on this giant was of an odd texture, reminding you of hardened rock and the eyes on his bald head looked like two small gemstones. The second was that there was an absolutely ridiculous amount of jewelry on his body as well as a huge belt with the words "CHAMPION" printed out in gold lettering on his waist.

And third was that other than his jewelry and belt, the giant was was wearing absolutely nothing.

"There you are Deka Tris! I was just getting bored of ripping all these primes to pieces!" Each word was like a bellow as his eyes fixed on Bella and he gives a huge, uncaring grin to the rest of you. "And who are these! More primes?! More worms to crush before I can leave this insignificant little planet?"
"You didn't tell me you already had a boyfriend...Deka Tris is it now?"

Boryx did not like being exposed on the causeway.

"Retreat! Back onto the platform, it's too dangerous to defend ourselves here."

He started backing up slowly and popped out his gear thrower.

"Remember back when we were discussing your soul's passion? Right about now would be a good time for unleashing..."

Bella groaned and brought her vestments to her. "I don't know who you are you exhibitionist berk and I don't really care. You don't look like the talking type so I'll say this simply." Her eyes flashed with swirling colors, meant to entice and entrance the naked wrestling champion, "My name is Bella. I am searching for this Deka Trix person because she's a fake me. Join me, and you'll get to fight her."
"W-what?" For a moment a look of confusion appears on the giants face but then he suddenly shakes it off. "You try to fool me Deka Tris. But I've been told that you've malfunctioned! So I've been sent to bring you back but either your body or just your soul will do!"

He casts his hand to his sides and give a crude laugh as Boryx gives the order to retreat.

"I am Bella Morte Deka Div! The Meteor! Soul of a Thousand Warriors! Power of a Hundred Earthquakes!" He clenched his hands and bulged his muscles. "I am my maker's finest craft and I will prove that nobody in the multiverse can stand against me!"

"Surrender the fire genasi to me... OR I WILL BREAK YOU OPEN!"







Boss Battle

http://s4.postimg.cc/mvzggy6el/Meteor_Colides_With_Planet_Explosion_Widescreen.jp g

The Meteor

Play: Battle Theme! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dpdwY0bNQME)




The appearance of the nude, bejeweled giant prompted a significant eyebrow-raise from Giles. Likewise, he became keenly interested in the flurry of proper nouns that had been bandied about; who were these people? This day had taken turn after turn, surely. His eyes flicked back and forth from Bella to the rock-man, taking in the conversation with a mixture of amused confusion and genuine interest.

The rock-man's final challenge made Giles' eyes narrow. "I haven't the foggiest of what you speak, you oaf. But I never surrender anything."
"A Bella Morte model, huh," Bella whistled, "Gepetto must have taken on some strange proclivities in my absence."

"He also fixed the weakness to compulsions the earlier models had," the feminine voice chimed in.

"Good thing, too; it'd be a shame for such a strong looking guy to get charmed without a fight," the masculine voice said.

"I've had my fill of fighting today, thanks," Bella thought, "This is what I get for complaining about trivial tasks."

She summoned her Soulblade to her and turned her radiance to full blast, bathing the corridor in light. "Hear me, puppet! I am Bella Morte Deka Trix! The Bloody Doll! The Red Death! The Fire that Consumes All!" Her vestments' flames went out of control, forming themselves into a towering blue conflagration.

Her jacket whipped wildly behind her, caught in the vortex of rising air. "I am my maker's only success; you will realize this as you die, conscious of your failure as a warrior and as a tool of war." A bolt of fire shot forth from the inferno as it burst into a staggering display of harmless heat and light. The tower of flames was a simple parlor trick to hide her trusty dazing bolt.

"There, that should keep him distracted," Bella thought as she moved towards him, having cloaked herself with invisibility during the light show.
"Would anyone mind explaining what is going on?" Giles remarked casually as Bella and the rock-man hurled titles at each other. The question was at least partly rhetorical, of course; Bella's flare of blue fire was more than enough invitation for Giles.

Stepping backwards, he followed up her flashy display with a similar projectile of his own. Repeating a gesture he had made only moments before, Giles raised his right arm, but this time his palm faced upwards. With a burst of energy, a fireball appeared in his hand, a brilliant orange to Bella's supernatural blue. With a grunt, he flexed his arm, and the fiery missile rocketed forward, spiraling around itself as it covered the distance between Giles and his target.
The big orc is carrying himself differently again. You can tell the blows from the dwarves have stunted him once more. As soon as the bolts of energy start whizzing past his head and impacting the giant he almost tears off down the catwalk, however, Boryx's words reach him just in time. He begins backing up towards the platform with the armored knight.
Boryx returned the giant's smirk. "You talk too much. Eat it, ugly." From inside the suit his voice had a strange quality, being a mechanicaly synthesized reproduction of his actual words. Boryx sent his reply air-mail towards the rock-man's face in the form of two spinning disks even as he began his tactical retreat. He stopped in front of Enoch, glancing back. "Stay behind me. Fall back."
The giant dodged both spells with almost supernatural alacrity but it was the two gears that managed to pierce his hide. The two projectiles tore into his flesh inflicting grievous bleeding wounds.

The Giant was more than angry now, the rage could be seen in his eyes. Moving like an avalanche he rushed forward until he was right before Bella.

"I know you are here somewhere!"

A fist as large as your head flies through the air yet connects with nothing. But the attack was not done carelessly and the giant immediately retreats into a defensive posture.

Aselia in the meantime casts a spell and vanishes into thin air. Enoch tries to weave his own magic but the rocky giant seems to resist it easily.

"Hm, need to work on my stealth," Bella thought as Div's frying pan fist whizzed past her head, "Probably should have flown."

"Working without purpose has made you soft, girl," the feminine voice hissed, "We used to move silently and kill swiftly, like an incurable plague."

"And now we strike noisily and kill brutally, like a right proper conflagration!" the demon hunter's voice trilled.

Bella shushed the voices in her head and drew Alighieri. "Ah, you're not as stupid as you look," she said, her eyes glinting blue, "Let's see if your defenses are as smart as your senses." She launched into a practiced dance with Alighieri and her Soulblade, slipping his guard at the last moment to recloak.
When Giles' ray missed its target, he made a face - not at the giant's apparent reflexes, but at his own aim, which he might have admitted under great duress had been a bit overhasty and ill-directed.

"Think you can stand against us, do you?" Giles muttered under his breath as he continued a casual retreat. It was time to change tactics. This time, when Giles channeled, there was no gesture, no flashy display of energy. "You lump", Giles spat at the rock-man, and his voice held a deep rumble, a bass echo, that was surely supernatural.

"That's right, honey. Why resort to violence when you can just use your words?" Darling sent, an uncharacteristically cruel streak coloring her tone. She was particularly enamored of this particular power. "How 'bout another go?" Giles smiled to match his psicrystal's tone, and channeled again. "You hollow-mind." The words, and the low roar, seemed to cut through the air.
"Incoming!!! Bella...DUCK!" Boryx yelled, hoping the now invisible Genasi knew to avoid his incoming projectiles. As he fired off two more discs he continued his withdrawal towards the relative safety of the platform.
Bellatrix unleashes the full fury of her soulfire, Aligeri and her Soulblade striking as one. The first two hits caught the Bella Morte off guard but as Bellatrix tried to swing her sword he brought both hands upon the blade and tried to rip it from her hands. But with a quick flick of the wrist Bellatrix pulled the blade from his grip and vanished into thin air.

Two cogs fly through the air as well as a dagger thrown by Lognar but while the dagger did hit, there wasn't even a scratch on the rock-like skin of the giant. And then, he seemed to shudder momentarily, his mind invaded by thoughts not of its own. Like a swordsman Giles readied his mind for the finishing blow but then he felt an uncanny resistance as his power hit against a mental wall and dissipated.

"Nobody messes with my mind!" The earthen man screamed and charged with blinding speed. In a second he was standing next to Giles, easily picking up the human off the ground with a single hand.

"If you will not reveal yourself Deka Tris then I will break your worthless allies first!" With those words he tossed Giles off the ledge and down into the spikes below.
Bella slid two strikes to Deka Div's thigh and Achilles' tendon, hoping to hobble the brawler before he managed to harm her traveling companions. However he only rushed through the pain and took the man she'd just met by the throat. Bella felt no great compassion for her new companion, but he was a part of the group now. As a professional, she had a duty to prevent her personal life from ruining her professional prospects.

"If you want to find me so badly, Div," she said coldly, moving up to catch him in an instant. Her hair and breath brushed past his ear before both blades went for his vitals. "Here I am."
There was barely time for shock to register on Giles' face before the rock-man closed the distance between them - the thing could move! - but thankfully, he kept his wits about him as best he could after the fact. By the time Meteor had released Giles over the spikes, the man was already spinning, whipping out both hands in an effort to arrest his motion. Landing on the spikes was painful, but Giles managed to avoid being skewered outright.

"Worthless?" Giles snarled, already channeling again in an effort to escape the spikes. "We'll see who's worthless when I'm through with you, oaf!" On the final word, Giles' shoulders burst open and a haggard pair of black-feathered wings spread themselves out from his body. In another moment, Giles had taken into the air.
"GILES!" Boryx cried out in shock and anger as the rock-man tossed Giles into the pit. His mind raced for a way to help his ally. There was no way to reach him with the tools he had available and the flight pack designs for the next iteration of his armor were still only blueprints. He sighed with relief then when the (now apparent) psion sprouted a means of escape.

"Monster, you just earned yourself a one-way ticket back to Shavarath!" Boryx quickly sidestepped into flanking position. Out of his palm a 2 foot long drill extended and Boryx plunged it directly into the Meteor's rocky hide
The giant turns towards Boryx and laughs in his face just as the arm of the Mechanus Warrior turns into a drill and with a loud scream as it's thrust directly at the chest. But in the last moment Meteor catches the attack, using his unimaginable strength to hold that attack in front of himself as Boryx strains his systems to the very limit to push through...

"You stink of Mechanus..." The Bella Morte said as he slowly began to push Boryx back, giving a truly terrifying smile. "Just like that Inevitable."

Just as Boryx thought he could no longer hold it, Bella's blades plunge into Meteor which gave Boryx the opportunity he needed. Using the last of his strength he pushed through and plunges his drill into the Bella Morte.

The giant staggers back, a bleeding hole in his chest.

"H-how?... I a-m invinc-c...."

And he falls over.



Combat Over


So this battle was just so nuts. At the end there, I rolled TWO natural 20's to hit, confirmed both threats with a weapon that ignores DR and has a x4 Crit...including Con damage. Still, the enemy build had some kind of last-ditch defense based on grappling/catching a weapon,but he failed it by 1 point!

As a lark the DM ran the battle a second time since we killed him off so quickly, just to see what other tricks he had. Turns out had I not gotten lucky the first time he would have mopped the floor with me. In the second battle, he grappled Boryx such that Boryx couldn't even move, and proceeded to use my character as a bludgeon with which to beat on the other characters. He still went down in the third round though, when Gile's player manifested ego-whip and knocked the Behemoth's paltry 8 Charisma down to 0. So, either way we won, but it just shifted who got the credit. Still, such an exciting fight! I blamed my double-Crit on Dethklock. :smallbiggrin:
With a clumsy haste that spoke as much to Giles' unfamiliarity with his wings as it does to how shaken he must have been, the winged man flapped his way back to the central corridor and landed as gracefully as he could manage. For a moment, he only breathed, collecting himself. Then, with what appeared to be some effort, he looked at Boryx. Anger and shame were mixed with the gratitude in his eyes. Giles did not offer any words of thanks.

The gaze lasted only a heartbeat. Blinking, he turned his attention to the gored rock-man on the ground. "Blow-hard," he muttered, sneering. Satisfied, he regarded the group, all business once more. "We should keep moving. You, girl--you can explain who that was later."
"Like I said," Bella let her Soulblade go inside of Meteor as Boryx's drill pierced him, "Muse on your failure in Baator, Bella Morte Deka Div." If others could hear what she heard, they would know she spoke with the feminine voice's timbre. She cradled his head with her free arm and smirked as his eyes went unfocused. He tried to spit a curse upon all who had felled him, but only managed to burble up blood. Bella kissed his sanguine lips and let him fall, sheathing Alighieri as he hit the ground.

She licked the blood off her lips and the flames of her soul went out, returning her to her normal appearance. "Good show mister Boryx!" she said, far too innocent and serene for someone who had the blood of her enemy dribbling down her chin. "I must say, we do make a good team." She stripped Meteor of his belt and jewelry, undisturbed by the stiffness already setting in. "Let's get out of here before more skeletons start crawling up, eh?"
Boryx snapped his helmet open. "The name is Daanvi." he said to the bleeding corpse. The diamond drill retracted back through his palm and into his arm. "Giles, how are you feeling? You still have those potions from the armory?"

He looked back to Bella as she stripped the fallen of his belongings. "I agree...on both accounts. We make a good team but let's not congratulate ourselves until we're back aboard the Windray. He mentioned my cohort and I'm more than a little concerned." Bella finished her methodical stripping. "Though I too would like an explanation if we make it out of here."

Boryx looked down upon the lifeless body, now completely naked.

"Ain't hubris a mean bitch..." he said with finality and kicked the corpse down into the pit where it landed on several of the barbed spikes.

"Lognar...buddy you doing alright? You look like you got the wind knocked out of you again. Suck down that other restorative and let's keep moving. I'm ready to be done with this wretched donjon."
With the body of the earth giant behind you, you continue to travel forward. The traps dispel any magic or psionic powers that were used yet but it did not matter much as you reached the end and find a bunch of convicts waiting for you. Around fifty it seems, most eyeing you with suspicion.

A tall human walks out towards you, armed with weapons and armor obviously taken from the guards.

"Who are you? You come from the direction of the armory? Speak then, are you friend or foe?"
"Friend or Foe? Really?" Boryx asked with incredulity. "Look at us..." he waved to the rag-tag band of heroes. A towering bloodstained orc. A nondescript half-elf in a hood. A human dressed in inmates garments. A woman dressed the same. A lithe and shapely red-haired warrior. An ornate and heavily armored knight with a axe and tower shield in tow.

"Do we look like Thurrani or Khundarak?"
If he had been alone, Giles would have sulked when the traps stripped him of his wings, but given present company, he took the dispelling stoically. Uncorking a bottle he had picked up from the armory, Giles drained the healing potion from it and the cuts and punctures on his arms closed themselves. Bloodstains were another matter - with characteristic vanity, Giles had only to glance at his clothing before deciding to deal with the mess. The telepath barely exerted any mental energy at all as he forced the contaminants from his garments with ultrasonic pressure. In moments, Giles looked almost good as new.

When the group reached the assembly of convicts, Giles immediately opened his mind to their surface emotions. He took note of everything: their fear, pain, fatigue, suspicion, and anger. It was what he had expected - but there had already been enough surprises that day.

"Friends, at last! We are indeed friends!" Giles cried out in response to the human who spoke, opening his arms wide and giving his best weary smile. The change in his character was startling; gone was the haughty, superior man, replaced with an individual far more convivial and open-faced. "It warms my heart to find another band of fellow prisoners, like ourselves, fighting for our freedom," he continued, a mixture of gaiety and resolve in his voice. "I can see that you brave men and women have been doing everything you can to--" Giles stopped, as though catching himself pontificating. "But now is not the time for condolences - only action! Yes, my friend, we have come from the armory, and defeated the guards there who would have recaptured us. Like you, we have outfitted ourselves as best we can. But there is a great store of weapons and provisions there!"

Giles scanned the rest of the crowd, as though he had not already noticed that they were poorly armed, if at all. Apparently, inspiration had seized him. A fire entered his voice, calling for action. "You must follow us back there, and arm yourselves! If we all band together, surely we can guarantee our escape from this vile Kundarak stink-hole!"

Bella looked at Giles sideways, then whispered to Boryx, "It appears our new companion doesn't realize the futility of diplomacy here." She calmly positioned herself to Giles' subordinate side and crossed her arms.

"Friend or foe? Our actions are probably the reason you've made it this far." With a bored expression she made her chakras glow blue sunlight beside him, bathing the area with her radiance. "We are beacons of triumph. You are in the way."
Giles gave Bella a look when she spoke, giving every impression of a goodnatured man simply caught unaware by a coarser-spoken ally. "What my friend here means to say," he offered gamely, "is that we have indeed done a great deal to aid in the prison break thus far. I should have been kinder to my friends here; in reality, only myself and the elf, there, were prisoners. The rest of my companions are actually members of a rescue party! Since combining our efforts, we have had great successes - as I said, we even took the armory. Surely the wisest course of action would be to band together, all of us, in one great effort to fight for our freedom and destroy this forsaken fortress!"
A slight murmur goes through the ranks of the prisoners. It seems that you words have eased their fears.

"You may not look like our captors but you don't look like prisoners either." The man said as he lowered. "If you really have managed break through that blasted blockade then we are all in your debt."

He gives a slight nod to the others and they quickly rush past you in the direction of the armory.

"So you've come to rescue the prisoners. That's a bold thing to do, nobody has ever been able to escape from Dreadhold before but hopefully, this will change tonight. My name is Khastor and I've been gathering everyone I could find to break this position but were repelled and forced to wait until others could arrive."

"Just now a rock giant made his way through here, he didn't seem to care about us so we've let him pass. Did not want to risk any more lives."

A smaller, thin man steps next to Khastor.

"It was an earth genasi, very rare creature to encounter here on Eberron." He said with a sense of obvious smugness. "He looked like he would fit right in with you, considering your obvious planar influence . It's of no importance though, once Beyran hears that you have broken into the armory he is going to give the order to activate the golems. And then what will you do Khastor? Hm?"

"Well met Khastor," Boryx replied. "Are you another of Dreadhold's political prisoners? You seem to be a man of action and conviction."


"And who are you?" Boryx addressed the little man who seemed to know much.
"Indeed, well met," Giles echoes Boryx. "We too have been hoping to find another group, to strengthen ourselves against whatever Dreadhold may throw at us. Our union is serendipitous indeed. As for breaking out - no one has done it before, but we have never been captured before, eh?" Giles threw Khastor a rakish grin, another calculated move to gain the man's appreciation, or at least trust.

Giles let Boryx's question to the other man stand, but he did not stop himself from adding: "We took care of that lump of dirt as handily as we ousted the guards at the armory. And if we have our way, Beyran won't hear of our victories until it's too late. Either we'll be gone, or he'll be dead."
The thin, black haired man smirks at the suggestion.

"A sound plan. Though much too late I would think." He gives a thin smile. "My name is Caan. A pleasure."

Khastor leans on his halberd.

"You managed to kill that creature? Maybe with your help we will be able to get out of here." The leader of the convicts seemed to liven up at the prospect. "The Thuranni and Khundarak seem to be after their own goals right now but both are going to be a problem if we want to escape."

Suddenly a group of seven bursts into the room, lead by a strange centaur-like creature with horse-like lower body and a human-like upper half. Boryx instantly recognizes his companion Garantor.


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"And an inevitable as well? We are certainly getting all kinds today." Caan remarks as Khastor raises his weapon never having seen such a thing before.
Giles couldn't help but get the impression of a snake from Caan. Something about the thin man's soft movements, or the way he licked his lips. But he hid the feeling well, nodding to the other man when he introduced himself. It was a gesture that suggested brothers-in-arms, one soldier acknowledging another.

Giles was just about respond with some choice words about the Thuranni and Kundarak when the inevitable and its cohort of fighters hustled into the room. Like Khastor, Giles prepared himself for more violence. At this point, he thought wearily, anything was possible.
"Ho Garantor!" Boryx opened his faceplate. "Do not be alarmed. They are with me. Well my friend...if you are here that does not bode well for what has occurred. Report."

The Zelekhut opened it's helmet as well (which like Boryx's opened on it's own mechanism) and now it's fully machine features could be ascertained. "The Windray has been destroyed Master Boryx, flown into the prison by a rather nasty commandeering Earth Genasi. It was looking for one Deka Tris, presumably a relation of Miss Bella here. Of the Redwings and the crew these are all that remain. Aran returned to the Prince. Many prisoners have escaped in the aftermath of the Windray's crash landing and the guards seem disorganized. I see you have found Master Enoch...and more than a few others. We must go quickly now, before the prison can regroup and form an organized response..."

Boryx nods grimly. "Looks like our ride out of here is hosed. Things just got a lot more difficult." He turned to address the rest of the party, although kept Khastor and his brood within his facing angle. "Our airship is gone. Fighting our way to the roof is pointless now. We'll need to fight downward towards the main entrance..."
"This day just keeps getting better and better," Bella groaned, slumping. She was getting sick of fighting, of killing. It was an uncomfortable feeling for a being built and bred for war to have. Going back down into the prison meant more opposition, more bodies, more hassle. She came here to be a bodyguard, not babysitter to a jail break.

She whispered in Boryx's ear, "We don't have time for this, mister Boryx. We have a job to do mister Boryx. I'd rather not go to a basement full of other people's skeletons, mister Boryx."

As all of you reunite more and more prisoners go to the armory to arm themselves and a small force soon begins to gather at your backs.

"If I may say one thing though..." Enoch suddenly speaks up. "Beyran is the one guy in this prison who knows all the secret paths and entrances. He might keep some sort of plan of the prison in his quarters."

Khastor furrows his brows as he thinks about this.

"That is certainly something we can do but it will not be subtle. However the golems and the Khundarak are not our only worries. There has been a lot of frantic movement in the Thuranni ranks and while they have not been actively opposing us they are another problem that we need to deal with."

Caan looked lazily from the sides as everyone continued to forge an escape plan.
Boryx leaned down to Bella and whispered back, "Well we don't really have much choice...unless you have a better plan of escape..."

Then Enoch spoke up.

"Well, that would certainly beat having to fight our way out the main gate. I'm guessing you know the way then to these quarters...perhaps another secret tunnel?"
"Aye, I can lead you there." Enoch said with a nod.

"If you can, find a way to shut down the golems permanently while you are at it. Me and my men will provide a distraction." Khastor said. "But you are also free to take any number of them with you if you wish."
"Thank you. I don't want to weaken your forces overmuch. Ten strong warriors will suffice. Godspeed and watch your backs. We'll do what we can to make it a fair fight. Fate willing, we'll meet again under better circumstances. On that day we will have cause to celebrate."

Boryx waved an arm. "Prisoners of Dreadhold! Redwings! Form up! We're busting out of this keep."
"Indeed," Giles nodded, cursing the exigencies of the situation. Secret entrances were secret exits, and although he would give almost anything to deal a death-blow to one of the Houses, his own life was not on that list. "A small strike force will be the best accompaniment for us; if our intention is to power our way to Beyran's hideaway, too large a company will only bog us down. Far better for the majority to band together - under your capable command, good Khastor - and do what you can to find another way out, up here." Giles extended his hand, gripping Khastor's in a show of camaraderie. "Be strong, my friend. Take no prisoners; the scum who kept us here do not even deserve that." In a lower voice, a voice of confidence, he continued: "If you catch wind of an elf named Elar, pursue him at all costs. He is the mastermind, the cruel Thuranni who has caused us all such pain." Another strong nod, and Giles disengaged.

"Lead on, half-elf," Giles directed to Enoch.
Khastor gives the troop one last salute as he orders ten of the convicts to accompany you. Caan gives a weak parting wave with his bony hand.

Now with a small army at your back, you press forward to decide the fate of tonight encounter. Enoch took it upon himself to lead the way, guiding the group through a few secret doors and avoiding a few potential encounters as you make your way upwards where Beyran's chambers should be.

But on the way you come up on the one thing you were afraid to encounter. In what seems to be a dining hall for the convicts, now littered with their bodies, you see two stone figures standing with two dwarven guards at their sides. The Khundarak golems.

[TekHed]

Chapter I: Dreadhold




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Bella, burnt out (ironic for a Fire Genasi) from fighting and terrible luck, wasn't even fazed at the scene of carnage or the imposing figures of the dread golems. Her cheek twitched into something between a smile and a snarl, her hair catching mottled fire for a moment. Her eyes flared up, then sputtered into a flat, dead stare. She had prepared herself for sweet freedom, for the chance to bask in the contentment that only a sweet orange, solid coin, and the satisfaction of a job well done could bring. Learning that Deka Div had dashed these hopes against the rocks was too much to bear. She didn't bother being charismatic or endearing herself to the prisoners for it was all she could do to keep her rage abated for this moment. Anything that prevented Bella from getting this over with was an obstacle, an impediment that the one once called the Fire that Consumes All was all too happy to burn to the ground.

She was going to make this quick, but no way in Baator was it going to be painless.

She glanced behind her. "Mister Boryx, you've seen sides of me I wish you hadn't, but now you're going to see my unpleasant side. Enoch, Garantor was it, and you with the crystal?" Her body caught fire with killing intent, the flames growling like a deranged animal. "I hope none of you are squeamish."
Giles rolls his eyes when the group happens upon the golems and their dwarven retainers. Couldn't the witless half-elf have avoided them? "Be nice, hun," Darling cooed, her plucky goodwill unfazed by Giles' volatile temper.

As usual, Giles didn't bother responding. Instead, he merely readied himself for what seemed inevitable. If Enoch wanted to lead us through this golem-infested dining hall... At the same time, however, he projected a thought to the half-elf. No sense in walking into a fight like this one if there were a chance to avoid it. "Damn them, and damn you. Is there no other way?" If Enoch turned, surprised to hear Giles' voice in his head, Giles merely raised an eyebrow. The gesture was an impatient challenge: really? that's what you think is important now?

Enoch scoffed.

"Should have figured you for the type." He said as he readied a spell. "There is a way to avoid this battle... if you can fly. Beyran's office is just up there."

The rogue node upwards to the ledge just behind the golems.

"But we need to somehow get passed these chumps first!"

Boryx just smiled back at her. "Don't worry about us Trix...you're hot when you're mad. Just do you your thing..." His helmet closed and he prepared himself for battle.
With the prisoners rallied behind you, you lead the charge against the guards as they brace themselves to stop you before you can get into Beyran's quarters.
Put off by the distance between her and the probable controllers of the golems, Bella cloaked herself and stalked the dwarves; her cloak took her off the ground enough to clear tables and negate the need to mask her footsteps.
Boryx crashed around the corner moving up into a flanking position. Meanwhile Garantor surged forward as both rider and steed, a knight unto himself. He tilted his lance at an angle towards the shoulder of the nearest stone golem.
Garantor charges, but fails to pierce through the thick rock hide of the golem.
As Bella flies over the dwarves they each raise their crossbows but not before Lognar charges into the fray, wielding his new Greatspear in his hand he jumps over the tables and strikes left and right, hoping to fell the dwarves and golems as he felled everybody before.

Aselia vanishes and moves into position to strike as Giles summons wings on his back and flies into the air.

"The we shall fight them from the skies!" He shouted as the Red Wings finally join the battle.

But then, the two golems finally make their move; the one standing closest to Lognar moved towards him and unleashes a barrage of fists upon the orc and while lesser men would have been reduced to dust, the barbarian was still standing. The other moved towards Garantor, but his attack was deflected by the strong armor of the Zelekhut.
Bella steeled herself to spread blood and madness with her blades, only for Enoch's words to completely deflate her.

"It can't be that easy," the feminine voice said.

"We can't make it that easy," the masculine voice yelled. If he had hands and a table, he'd have slammed the former against the latter.

"Sod this," Bella huffed, already more primed for infiltration than grinding combat, "I'll make it that easy." She flew up and over the balcony; if Beyran had the door locked, Bella felt her Soulblade would be a fine enough master key.
With a single push the double door in-front of Bella opens to reveal a bright lit room, containing various expensive furniture and draped in red carpets and banners with the marking of House Khundarak.

This was the right place. But a second after you thought this you are hit by a magical force, causing your body to harden and petrify with each passing moment.
"This is definitely the right place," Bella thought, immediately followed by "Why do I feel like Deka Div?"

Within the space of a breath, she saw her extremities start to turn into stone and immediately launched herself in the general direction of "away" from what arcane power her eyes could see.
"Redwings! Freemen! Aid Lognar! Giles...concentrate fire on the closer one while Garantor and I pin him in. Garantor, you know what to do..."

Garantor nods and it's two wickedly barbed chains lash out, attempting to tangle the legs of the golem and bring it to the ground. Boryx meanwhile fires off two shots before closing in.
With only the two stone giants remaining you quickly swarm one of them from all sides and start to whittle away at it. Garantor attempts to bring it to the ground but finds that he himself was struck to the ground as the golem pummels away on him, the zelekhut taking heavy damage from it's blows.

Lognar in the meanttime unleashes his full fury on the golem closes to him, his blows cleaving huge chunks of the stone guardian but before he knew it, the stone hand of the giant closed around his neck and lifted him into the air.
"Hold on Lognar! We'll be right there!" They needed to end this fight as quickly as possible and that meant concentrating fire. If they made it out of this wretched prison he'd need to have a talk about group tactics with the survivors. Meanwhile they pressed the attack.
The battle continues as you all focus your might on taking down the golem, but only a few strikes manage to penetrate the infused stonework. Suddenly, Aselia appeared next to the golem and with a single blow she drives her blade into the weakest point of the construct.

But it was still far from done, swinging its mighty fists it wailed on the zelekhut and brought it to the ground but his place was soon taken by the convicts that Khastor has promised you.

Lognar meanwhile continued to struggle in the grip of the golem. It wrapped both of it's arms around him, and with a sickening bone-crunching squeeze the orc falls unconscious.
Boryx watched as Garantor went down, crumbled into a dented heap like so much scrap metal. This upset Boryx greatly, not because he had lost a friend...no the Inevitable was comparatively simple technology for the genius prodigal son of Dannvi. Boryx just had no idea how they would be able to lug the armored behemoth back to his workshop for the needed repairs. If only he had brought oils to repair damage this would not be an issue.

He looked behind him to see Lognar collapsed on the ground...fortunately he looked to be still breathing, which meant that he would be good as new in no time. Glancing upward, he saw Giles attempting to attend to Bella, who once again nearly got herself killed with her hot-headed impatience.

Boryx needed to end this fight quickly if they were going to make it out. With the precision of a jeweler and the power of a piston, Boryx aimed for the stone creature's sculpted eyes...
The golem is bombarded with blows on all sides and it does not look like it will last much longer. The drill of Boryx easily pierces its thick hide as Aselia quickly dances away and throws two acid needles that hit upon the golem and begin to eat away at its body. The convicts and the Red Wings continue to strike at the stone, seeking to overwhelm the giant before it can attack but it yet remained standing.

It turns to face Boryx and the mechanus warrior feels one of it's fists connect but he deftly manages to block the other. The second golem moves to assist the first but Boryx quickly stops the attack with his shield.
Boryx returned the golems blows, glad at least that he could draw fire from the remaining mercenaries. Even if they considered their own lives expendable, Boryx refused to. He could only imagine what kind of insanity...or how large of hazard pay, had possessed them to accept such a suicidal mission in the first place. Maybe they owed Rygar a favor...

The drill of the Mechanus Warrior strikes the golem in the chest and brings it to its knees while a flurry of acid needles from Aselia finish it off. The remaining golem struck with both fists but Boryx was easily able to deflect both blows.
Boryx diagonally sidestepped, getting out of the way of the convicts who had come up behind him. As he does so, the palm drill disappeared and the gear thrower snapped back out with a clicking clack.

"Everyone! ...charge!" Boryx circled around the behemoth and fired off two gears at range while the rest swarmed in to hack at the golem.
Boryx let's fly two gears from his arm, both hitting the golem but dealing minimal damage to its stone body. But then, the Red Wings charge to cover the mechanus warrior and the convicts surround the golem from all sides as Aselia continues her assault with the weapons she took from Thuranni.

Then in a brutal counterattack with two mighty punches, the golem slams one of the Red Wings to the ground, where he lies, no longer moving.
Boryx, frustrated for miscalculating, but not wanting to charge in as a sitting duck, fired two more shots before switiching back to the drill...much more effective against the stone. He yelled at one of Kastor's convicts to stand aside so he could get a clear shot at a running charge.
Boryx stepped forward, taking the place of the fallen Red Wing member. The two cogs bounced harmlessly from the golem's thick armor, inflicting no damage to it. Then, as it tried to snatch up the Warrior of Danvii he smashed it's hand with his shield, keeping both his feet on the ground.

With that, everyone continued to pummel on the golem, slowly bringing it down.
Boryx was grateful that the modrons he had bonded with added extra weight and heft to his form, keeping his feet firmly stabilized as he drilled a large gash into the golem's stone hide, making an ugly uneven line across it's torso as the construct swung it's fists wildly.
Everyone continues to wail on the golem but while both Boryx and Aselia inflict heavy damage upon the stone construct it still remained standing, looking almost ready to fall over. With the last of it's strength it lashes out at Boryx and the warrior feels a stone fist connect with his chest, causing him to stagger.
Boryx reeled from the blow, the wind knocked out of him by his armor imploding directly over his solar plexus. Sternum cracked, several ribs, each gasping breath a wave of fire through his body. Once again he was reminded of the blueprints in his workshop awaiting production, but the urgency of rescuing Enoch left no time for upgrades. If they survived...seeing victory nearly upon them, and with a few healing potions remaining, Boryx focused his will and drove the point home...
With a single mighty blow from his weapon, Boryx shatters the stone guardian and it falls to the floor in pieces. A sound that signals to everybody that the battle was over but the worse might still yet come.

Up on the balcony, Giles was tending to Bella's wounds. Channeling a tiny bit of his psychic energy he removed the paralysis binding her body and sighted with relief as he saw the genasi open her eyes.
First things first. Boryx snapped open his helm and then popped the first of several healing potions. Once he felt more or less back to normal he turned his attention to the new recruits, frowning at the mangled heap of his mechanical friend.

"You there, we're taking the wreckage with us, so all hands on deck. Wait here while we find the best path out of this ****-show..."

Not being much of a climber in his armor, Boryx made his way to the mezzanine the long way, being extra careful to check along the way for more traps...
While Boryx made his way up, Giles and Bella were left alone in the room. Aselia quickly joined them by climbing up the wall with a grappling hook while Enoch decided to stick with Boryx.

"Can't leave you alone now can I?" Enoch joked as the two of you run through the corridors. Enoch guiding your way. As you come to the door on the other side you scan the area and find a trap guarding this entrance as well...

In the mean time the others cautiously look around the room. A room adorned with tapestries and lined with a plush carpet. The furniture there was quite expensive and the amount of paper on the desk would show that the owner was quite busy before all of this caused him to leave in a hurry. A great stone pillar stands in the middle of the room, the symbol of House Khundarak inscribed upon it.
Bella would have been more joyful about seeing her allies if she could move. As she was, she just cursed silently at another mistake. Helping to defeat Deka Div had filled her with a false confidence, while her annoyance had made her sloppy. She would have to rein in her emotions more if she wanted to stay effective; today she merely was frozen, the next mistake could prove fatal.

"Mister Boryx, you're alright," Bella said through a jaw locked with petrification and displeasure, "What kept you?"
Boryx laughed at the shoddy work of the Dwarven trapsmiths...he had really expected better of them.

Arriving with the others, Boryx didn't let his guard down for a moment, keeping in mind at all times the reputation of the keep.

"Had to finish off the golems so our forces didn't get decimated." Boryx answered Bella. "Garantor bought it though. I have the men preparing him for transport. It's not the first time he took a death-blow for me either...that's how we met actually. We have a deal: when he breaks I fix him. It's really unfortunate that I didn't brink an oil of repair along...there was just not the time."

He paused in his rambling, returning to the present moment. As powerful and handsome as he was, opening his mouth revealed just how much of a geek he really was, his mind always processing information at a heightened rate.

"Look at you." he quipped back, the tone of his voice making it clear he was only jesting back in answer to the Genasi-construct's dry sense of humor. "I admire your spirit, Trix, but if we're going to continue to work together, I'll need you to start using better teamwork, coordinating fire, working with me to synergize all of our strengths into something more. That is what makes the difference between teams who die and teams who dominate. Oh, almost forgot...Lognar took another nap. HEY LOGNAR! YOU AWAKE YET???"

Boryx looked over the balcony at the men below, some of them forlorn at how inevitably heavy the Zelekhut looked. "You there!"

"Sir!" the Redwing snapped to attention.

"Go slap the orc will you?"

"Sir?"

"Don't worry...he worships elf-gods...he's a right faerie of an orc that one."

"That should get his blood flowing." Boryx winked back at Bellatrix. "Here let me help you up." Strong arms encased in metal hoisted her effortlessly from the ground. and set her gently back on two feet. "Steady now, there you go. Now. Let's take that look you should've had before that leap..."

Boryx set his gaze upon the entrance to the room, and deep within it, allowing his scanners to do their work.
Lognar opens his eyes and snarls but quickly calms himself as he rises from the floor. Many men looking in awe at the boundless stamina the orc seems to have.

As you all gather in the room after Boryx finds and disarms the trap on the other door you begin to search through the room, managing to find a few things of interest.

There is a small journal hidden in the table. Bella senses that it radiates evocation magic. The stone in the center of the room looks like it can be turned in place and finally Aselia discover a secret door behind one of the tapestries yet has no idea how to open it.
"It wouldn't surprise me to learn the secret passageway only opens for those with a Khundarak mark, but I'll take a look anyway. The journal is probably boobytrapped with magic...Garantor could have dispelled it for us...does anyone else know that spell? I'm wary about turning this stone without knowing what it does...Enoch do you have any clues? Where would Beyran have kept the schematics to Dreadhold. I'm ready to get out of here..."

Enoch was busy searching the wall that Aselia had pointed out but try as he might he was unable to discover any sort of opening mechanism nearby.

"Well if there is no detailed plans here then it is most likely either behind this door or on Beyran himself." He said and then turned back to the wall. "Think you might break this door open with that arm of yours?"
She bowed her head as well as she could with her stiffened joints. "I saw an opportunity to quickly and efficiently capture our objective and end the skirmish." She deferred to Boryx, but her voice was firm. "There were... unfortunate contingencies unplanned for, but the theory was sound," she said, "The most dominant team is the one who never has to draw arms." With a little more spite than she had meant to, she stiffly saluted Boryx, then began to search the room. Her movements were stiff and awkward, but she carried herself with wounded pride. Her muscles were creaking and grinding with each motion she tried to make.

She noticed the strong magic radiating off of the journal and groaned. "Probably a fireball trap, or maybe one of those book bombs," she thought. The words got away from her and she spoke her mind out loud. "I have half a mind to trip it and set this bloody room on fire."

"Make that two-thirds of a mind, Bells," the masculine voice said, tense and annoyed.

"Will you two cease your mewling?" the feminine voice said. "It's bad enough that your weakness got us in this mess."
Boryx shook his head. "The most dominant team is the one that makes the best use of teamwork, and that means tight communication. I appreciate your good intention, but it could have killed you and now my Zelekhut is broken. We got lucky this time. Next time, take the time to communicate your actions and get feedback. Now, stow that bitter talk so we can focus on getting out of here."

Boryx nodded his affirmative to his friend and approached the wall. Reassuring himself again that it wasn't trapped, he protracted his drill cog and began to bore through the hidden doorway.
Slowly but surely the wall crumbles to reveal a secret passage. Peering inside you see a small corridor that stretches for about ten feet and houses a small safe at the end.

After you were able to locate and disarm the trap on the safe it was easy to crack it open. Inside you find a bent Rod that has very distinct mechanical parts to it.

As Enoch looks over it he mutters something, barely audible.

"This is a golem control rod..."
"A duplicate?" Boryx asked, turning the rod over to inspect it's craftsmanship. "Otherwise how are the golems being controlled right now?" He stowed the rod onto a cargo clamp on his carapace.

"If there are any schematics to this dungeon, they're likely in that almost-certainly booby trapped book, but I don't see a way to disarm it right now. We should take it with us though... Anyone against a motion to turn that stone and take our chances? I'm out of ideas and frankly, doing anything is better than staying here a moment longer..."
"So you think we should join up with Khastor and the others and try our luck with this rod?" Enoch asked. "Well it certainly beats staying here that's for certain. Are we ready then?"

Aselia and Lognar both shrugged, showing that they were ready long before this.

"I won't lie, I wish we were better prepared." Giles said thoughtfully. "What are the chances we might find someone to reveal what this journal holds without setting off the traps?"

Enoch thought for a moment.

"Other than Beyran himself there might be other mages in this prison. But whether or not we managed to run into them is a whole other story..."
Boryx cleared his throat. "And this stone? I was suggesting we turn it and see what happens, though it could be a very bad idea..."
"No idea, though we could try it." Enoch said bluntly. "I detect no magic on it and we found no traps, so it might be safe and if it's not well... you do the honors."

Boryx sighed and began to turn the stone, which was quite easy despite it looking heavy enough to be stationary. In the end, no matter how much he turned it, there was no effect.

"Well that was a waste of time." Aselia remarked from the side.
"Doubtful..." Boryx answered. "More likely it had an effect elsewhere, and it bothers me that I don't know what that is." He studied the stone for a few more moments, frowning with concentration.
Enoch stands aside as Boryx examines the stone.

After a few minutes a realization dawns on the Mechanus Warrior, this stone... is an opening mechanism. Much like the ones he had seen put on safe boxes but this one was far more complex. By turning it just right clockwise and counter clockwise it was likely that you could open multiple places within the prison but what those places might be you have no clue.
"Well...I've just set something loose. Either that or I closed the doors that were holding the golems before they were activated. No way to be sure, but I doubt the mechanism opens the way to escape so...we'll have to take our chances. Ready when you are people. Let's go find Khastor..."

[TekHed]

Chapter I: Dreadhold


It was time. Time to head out towards the final battle against Beyran and probably Elar as well. With the rod in hand you hope that you will stand a chance at ending this nightmare once and for all.

"Alright! Follow me! I know exactly where Khastor and his men will make their stand!" Enoch said as he lead the party behind him. Up the stairs, towards the upper floor of the prison. The sounds of battle began to grow louder and louder but all you saw during your dash were the mangled bodies of those who were already killed or rendered senseless during this night. At last, you came to your destination.

"This elevator should bring us down to wh--" Enoch began to speak before he noticed a squad of Thuranni guard standing at the doors.

"Damn, this could get ugly..." He said as he redied his weapons. At the center of the group an old gnome raised his eyes and looked at you with ice cold intent.
"Now remember what I said earlier." Boryx whispered to Bellatrix. "We concentrate fire and remove enemies and their attacks from the collective, one by one. Starting with the gnome...if stereotypes hold true then he is the spellcaster and likely an illusionist. Keep spread out, so it's harder to hit us with area attacks."
"Oh really?" the masculine voice said, dripping with incredulity, inside Bella's mind. The feminine voice, for once, shared his sentiment.

"We've spilled more blood than he's ever seen and he dares dictate tactics to us like we're children?" she roared.

Bella bit her tongue, roaring for silence in her own head. Her hair flared wild and angry; she forced it to sputter out.

"...Understood, mister Boryx," Bella replied in a hoarse whisper, as blue wings of flame reached out to cloak her.
The gnome looks at your group until his eyes fall on Aselia. You see him mumble something to the nearby elf but you have a hard time hearing what it is. A second later he teleports from sight as the remaining elves prepare for battle.

"We need to get past them. The elevator they are guarding will lead us straight to Khastor." Enoch said as he drew his crossbow.
"The gnome has gone to warn Elar, Aselia. Let's make this quick." In spite of the range, Boryx sidestepped to get a clear shot and let his blades fly.
"Time to go to work."

Bella sighed and brought her full vestments to bear. Wings of flame leaped and sputtered from her back before being swallowed by a pervasive nothing. Bloodlust, fatigue, and more than a little embarrassment played across her face, though no one could see it.

She stole forward and upward on her gift given wings, drawing both blades under cover of invisibility.
Bellatrix flies forward as Boryx unleashes his volley of attacks, which was unable to kill his intended target. But both Aselia and Giles quickly reacted and both of them drew their two crossbows and fired at the same elf and one of those arrows managed to hit the elf square in the head.

Finally, Lognar himself charged forward, not yet being able to reach the enemy lines as the Red Wings finally arrive at the battle.

"Not a move." Enoch said as he waved his arms together and cast a spell at one of the Thuranni Masters, causing the elf to instantly become rigid and unmoving. However, the rest of them were still very much mobile and pulled out their crossbows.

"Target the flier! I will activate the Golems!" The remaining leader yelled, before shouting a command word into the air. Almost instantly the walls of the room opened up and two golems stepped out ready to fight as a volley of bolts flies towards Bella.
"I hope you know how to use this thing," Boryx said to Enoch, handing off the golem control rod as he advanced upon the enemies standing between them and their escape. "You handle the golems. I need to support Bella and Lognar. Be careful..."

He planted his feet and took better aim this time, letting two blades fly. What no one else (save his cohorts) knew was that his various pieces of implanted technology were actually living Modrons...symbiotic mechanical beings from a plane of perfect mechanical order that orbited Eberron. In this case his weapon cog was busy manufacturing an endless supply of razor sharp cogs, similar to serrated circular saws but with a greater heft. Interestingly this fabrication was not magical, but through some other mysterious means of drawing matter across the planes.
The master elf's words were disconcerting to Bella, the fact that his hired guns were able to strike through her defenses was more so. They were glancing blows, but enough of those would add up.

"Well now, aren't you perceptive?" Bella thought, swooping over the armed battery, focusing on the master elf. "If there's no point in my staying hidden, then..." She pulled herself into a blue flaming bullet and divebombed the master.
Enoch catches the control rod and points it quickly at the golems. Nervously he shouts what he believes to be the command word but the golems remained unaffected.

Boryx took down one elf at range as Bella and Lognar charged into the enemy ranks, Lognar cleaving easily through them as Bella went for the leaders. As soon as her soulblade hit the elf, the golems vanished in an instant, revealing them to be an illusion. The other leader managed to recover from Enoch's spell and retaliated with his own magic, into the mind of his enemies.

The remaining elves fired off their volleys at Bella and Lognar.
Boryx advanced, a juggernaut of ranged destruction, making up for his lack of speed with the ease with which his discs of death carved up his foes from far away.
Bella's soulblade found purchase on her quarry; the cruelty of the blow rendering the elfin master numb. "All yours, mister Lognar," she said with a lilt.

Before she could bring Aligheri to bear, she felt the tendrils of a virus encroach upon her mind again. Her programming glitched, but she kept in her right mind. Unfortunately for the other elf, he had chosen just the right spell to make Bella willingly lose control.

"Not again," Bella's three voices said in unison. "Never again."

Her head went slack, her eyes went dim and cold, and the fire of her soul grew to an inferno. She snapped towards the other master, blades out and hungry. "Target acquired."
Boryx deftly dispatches one of the elf leaders as Lognar goes to assist Bella with the other. Sweeping through the elves as though they were so much paper, he and Bella combined were able to crush the last remaining resistance from the Thuranni.

There was a moment of silence as after the battle ended. The way to the elevator was open as was the final battle against Beyran.
"Is everyone alright?" Boryx asked of his companions.

"What makes you sure Khastor will be waiting for us here...what is waiting for us at the end of that shaft?" he then asked Enoch.

"Make any preparations on our way down. This will be the heaviest resistance we have yet faced. Be ready for anything. You too with that rod old chap..."
Bella let her flames wink out as she and Lognar dispatched the last of the foes. "Weak."

"You're getting prideful again, girl," the feminine voice hissed.

"But you have to admit, those guys were pushovers," the masculine voice said.

"It matters not," Bella said, quieting her mind, "What matters is that after this, it will all be over." She nodded her readiness to Boryx, before turning her attention to Alighieri. The blade was slick and stained with blood, warping Bella's already weary face. She frowned at the unsightly reflection looking back at her.

"One way or another, this will all be over soon."
As the elevator doors opened you noticed that it was spacious enough to fit everyone inside. The sounds of battle were now almost deafening.

"Today is the day we put an end to Dreadhold!" Giles shouted to the prisoners behind him and got their cheers in return.

"Let's finish this." Aselia said as she stepped into the elevator along with the others, stepping aside to let the convicts carry the broken body of Garantor into the elevator space.

"Going down..." Enoch said and pulled the leaver.

As the doors begin to close you see for a brief moment a spire of shadows form in the room behind you and the Patriarch of House Thuranni step through. His eyes lock with yours for a tense moment before the doors closed and you began your descent...


...Lightning is what greeted you.

A bolt arced across the gigantic landscape of the prison block you were now in. As the elevator slowly descends, you see the burning remains of the Windray lodged into the broken walls of the prison and the open cages lined across the walls and the ceiling. But more importantly, in the center you see eight golems plowing their way through the masses of the convicts as a figure engulfed in lighting blasts down one bolt after another from his hands upon the mass of living creatures.

As you finally arrive at the lowest level, the doors open before you. You have only moments before you are spotted.
Summoning the power of his birthright from beneath his articulated armor, Boryx suddenly charged forward with a burst of uncanny speed to rival Lognar, quaking the ground with each thunderous step.
The figure coated in lightning turned to gaze upon you from within its helmet, followed by a booming voice as two golems move to guard the rear. The convicts, seeing this rally forward once more.

The drawf, who you assume to be Beyran, raises his hands, weaving magical patterns faster than your eye can follow as a wall of pure electricity springs between Boryx and his allies behind him, separating the two groups. But the mage was not done, clutching his hand into a fist he gathers the lightning around him and send it directly at Boryx.

After a second, all you can see is light.

"GAHHHHH!!!!" Boryx wailed in agony as the lightning grounded itself through his suit and body. All his systems were scrambled, disrupting his vision momentarily, his body paralyzed by the arcing current. He quickly shook off the pain and regained his focus, searching his swimming vision for a target to counterattack...
The fatigue of constant battle had gotten to Bella, preventing her from moving with the swiftness of a proper killer. Before, such a failing would have gnawed at her hidden pride. But not now; the only thing Bella cared about at this current moment was finishing the job.

"Alright Mister Boryx," Bella said in a weary voice, "We'll act as rear guards for the Red Wings, so we can ascertain the abilities of our targets. Once we know that, we can determine-" The door opened and Boryx burst forth with unimaginable speed, drawing the attention of Beyran. She sighed and cloaked herself as the wall of lightning sprang forth in front of her, then took flight on sapphire wings.

"And he says I shouldn't run off..."
"Spread out! Protect yourselves against his magic!" You can faintly hear Khastor screaming orders to his troops as he leads the attack against the front lines of the golems.

In the mean time, Giles sprouts wings from his back and flies over the wall of lightning energy as Aselia quickly pulls out a wand and activates it, letting her run up the wall. Lognar just laughs and runs right through the wall, the lightning not even seeming to slow him down. In seconds he is almost to the Beyran.

Enoch in the mean time, pulls out the rod you took from Beyran's chambers and takes a deep breath. He quickly shouts a few words and suddenly every single golem in the room stops dead in their tracks.
Boryx was hurt. Bad. There was no way he could survive a second hit like that. But, there was no turning back now, only forward. His choice...all out attack from where he stood, and risk missing with the greater range...or attempt to close the gap more and pick him off with greater accuracy. The Dwarven leader looked heavily armored indeed, so Boryx opted for the latter. It was a gamble, but if he managed to get close enough, his magnetic dustblade would easily carve up the patriarch of House Khundarak. Boryx just prayed Lognar and Khastor's men would keep the heat off of him for a few more moments. The wayward scion of Orien had no wish to die this day. In his mind he found resolve and one thought gave him reason to press onward.

-Tatiana-
"The metal one is badly hurt, his foolhardiness shall be his downfall," the feminine voice said, assessing the battlefield through Bella's eyes.

"In that case, I'll just have to do something even more foolhardy," Bella said, gathering her resolve. Her hair shifted from soulfire tinged blue to its natural red, then harder and brighter into primordial flame. Her vestments did likewise, roaring and crackling with newfound power.

"He's led you naught but astray and you're willing to commit suicide for him?"

Bella shrugged. "It's what I was made for."

A red comet cuts through the night as twin blades seek to cut through Beyran.
Spiraling down from the sky Bella strikes Beyran, nimbly dodging the attacks from the two guards flanking the Warden. Beyran himself raised his shield to catch Bella's soulblade but Aligheieri struck true and in an instant his movement became slow and sluggish, enough to let a single saw blade from Boryx hit him.

But in the second after that, the lightning around him threw Bella away.

"Ugh..." Beyran takes a step back and despite his condition waves his hands together to lift the slow inflicted by Bellatrix and before your eyes the dwarf regained the quickness of his motions. "Defend me while I reactivate the golems!"

He shouted to his guards as pulled out a control rod from his belt, a mirror of the one Enoch was holding and speaks a command word, causing the golems to move again.

"Boryx! You need to do something about the other control rod!" Enoch shouted as Khastor and his allies ran forward.
Boryx didn't reply to Enoch, conserving his energy as he popped open one of his two remaining healing potions. Quaffing the vial in a single gulp, renewed vigor flowed through his body. It was now or never...Boryx charged forward, his cog thrower retracting back into his arm to be replaced with a small flat protrusion ending in a slot. Extending from this slot appeared the hazy outline of what looked like a blade, barely visible as a cloudy distortion in the air.
As Beyran attempts to reactivate the golems he feels his arms no longer obey him. Indeed, his entire body suddenly seizes up as Giles bends it to his will. Only his mind remained clear for a single moment before both Lognar and Bella unleashed their full fury upon him.

In an instant, the dwarf and his remaining guard was dead. Khastor and the other convicts raise a mighty cheer and rush ahead towards you.
Boryx sprung forward and grabbed the second control rod from the dead hands of the former Patriarch of House Khundarak.

"Look alive people! We're not out of here yet...form up on me! Enoch, put these Golems to good use! Khastor...rally your men!"

While the groups converged into a defensive phalanx, Boryx took the opportunity to search Beyran's body for anything that might prove useful...
"I'm afraid Boryx here is right... there is one more enemy waiting for us captain." Giles said gracefully as he floated down towards the ground, right next to Aselia. "House Thuranni is not yet finished."

Khastor furrowed his brow but nodded, understanding what Giles had meant. Soon he was ordering the remaining convicts to take up battle positions.

Boryx in the mean time managed to find a few potions on the corpse of Beyran that he reconized as the ones the group had found in the armory. Enoch approached and took the other control rod from his hands and curses under his breath.

"The rods are only meant to activate and deactivate their golems. Their orders are harwired into their construction. So in short, these things are useless to us." Enoch said as he took a sad look at the remains of the Windray.

Suddenly, a chill seemed to pass through the room and all eyes centered on the elevator, where Elar and three others stood silently.

"So you have managed to defeat Beyran. Not sure if I should thank you or just kill you. But let's talk for now, there will always be time for violence." Elar said in an even voice, seemingly ignoring the carnage around him. "Now then, you have something that I want. I am giving you the option to return the Herald to me and we will all part in good faith. I am even willing to let all the convicts gathered here go. You have all more than earned your freedom."

A soft murmur passed through the rows of the convicts as they listened to Elar.
Boryx's voice boomed across the shattered courtyard, amplified to a thunderous volume.

"Free men of Dreadhold! Believe not the lies of this serpent. He cares not for you, and only his own gain. Take his offer, aye, and you shall taste freedom for a time. But this one seeks dominion over death itself. Mark well my words...should he succeed, there will come a day, perhaps not tomorrow, or next week, but there will come a day when what is sown here today shall be reaped in full, upon the heads of your children and your children's children. Stand with us, see this through to the end, and you will sleep well in your new beds. Or....you can turn your back on all that you have fought for today, and allow this tyrant free reign to abuse others as he has here."

The mechanical knight turned to the convict's de-facto leader. "Khastor! Will you stand with us?"

Turning his full attention back to Elar, Boryx of Breland replied.

"You shall not not take Aselia this day. Not after all I've been put through to get her out."

Boryx popped open one of the flasks he had taken from Beyran and chugged it as a shot, feeling the full power of vitality return to his metal encased body.
Khastor gave Boryx an uncertain look as he glanced over at Elar.

"Now listen carefully, because I will not repeat myself further." The patriarch continued. "You do not seem to understand how precarious your situation is. It does not matter how many of you stand against me, just as it matters little how many mice think that they can slay a giant. To those of us who control this world, your efforts are barely above notice."

He turns to face Boryx.

"You. Have you ever seen the ruler of one of the twelve great houses in battle? I assure you, it will be a brief and bloody spectacle." Elar slowly rests his hand upon the sword at his hip. The human woman, man and gnome all ready their own weapons in turn "So I suggest you run. Run like death itself is chasing after you. Run and do not look back."
Boryx, amplifiers still active, answered to the multitude.

"Do you see? Witness the contempt with which the Houses hold you. I'll second his sentiment...run if ye be cowards, or face death like free men, with courage and honor."
With his optical modifications Boryx managed to spot something strange about the Patriarch. As the burning Windray cast only a single light, the Baron did not cast a single shadow.

Indeed, he had three.

Elar nodded to his companions and as his sword left it's scabbard it was as if the gates of night itself had been opened; darkness poured out around him engulfing all four of them.


Boss Battle

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The Man With Three Shadows

Play: Battle Theme! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UICTaJq0O_U&feature=related)




"Lognar! There! In the center of the darkness..."

The mighty orc, a behemoth even to Boryx's by no means small stature, nodded. His eyes rolled back into his head as he put himself into the trance of bloodlust and rage that gave him strength. Sniffing the air once, twice, Lognar let out a mighty blood-chilling cry and dove headlong into the darkness, swinging wildly at Elar...
"You are mine Elar..." Aselia whispers as she drinks an invisibility potion to quickly vanish from sight.

In themean time, Lognar had fearlessly charged forward, stopping short of the dark wall before him. He gives a sigh of annoyance as he grips his spear in his hand. Boryx in the meantime could see the full picture, the Eyes of the Patriarch centered on him as he waved his dark blade forward and two of his shadows separated themselves from his feet. From them rose more and more shadows until a dozen of them had been summoned.

Then Boryx saw Elar weave a spell together, causing the elf to vanish from sight. The veil of darkness suddenly fell, revealing the monsters inside.
Boryx's cybernetic eyes went wide as he realized what they were up against.


"Lognar, Aselia...fall back! We are not equipped to deal with such creatures! Khastor, is there another way out of here?"
Khastor looks at you with rage.

"You want to abandon us now?" He screams at you.

Giles in the mean time draws the attention to himself. "No! We will end Elar and House Thuranni together!" And as his words echo through the halls of the prison the shadows charge forward.
Boryx shook his head. "Wouldn't dream of it comrade...but there is no way us, or your men will prevail against those dark creatures. We have to fall back, escape...now tell me...is there another way out of this room?"
Khastor swings his magical halberd and pushes away one of the shadows.

"This prison is on the edge of the sea. Only the main gates lead to dry land, the breach of this airship leads only to the water."
"Well then...if anywhere is preferable to here, then it's probably time to use the last ace up my sleeve..."

One of the segments in Boryx's breastplate opened up and he withdrew from within a compact scroll case. He summarily tossed it over to Enoch who caught it deftly out of the air.

"We were supposed to go on our trip after breakfast, but you didn't show, and made me drag my ass into prison...better late than never," Boryx smirked at his half-elven friend. "If you would do the honors, and kindly get us out of here..." Boryx raised his force shield, narrowly fending off the dangerous touch of one of the shades.

"Don't pretend like you don't enjoy my little detours..." Enoch quipped back.

Withdrawing the coiled parchment from within the rather utilitarian casing, Enoch unfurled the scroll and gazed upon the glittering golden letters, still faintly pulsing with the magic of their inscription.

As he read aloud the arcane words therein, a wind sprung up in the courtyard chamber from out of nowhere, accompanied shortly after by great arcs of electricity that shot between the walls and the floor. In a moment, the spell was cast, the parchment crumbled and the crackling coalescing lightning congealed into a single blinding ribbon which rent the very air, tearing open a rift in space to somewhere else.

What lay beyond the portal was a sight few on Eberron would ever see. A great metal spire, rising for hundreds of miles into a mechanical sky was visible, protruding from the ground which was also metal. The entire landscape seemed comprised of massive pistons and columns, and everywhere there was movement as the terrain transformed and shifted, some mammoth machine whose purpose was too immense to imagine. The portal had opened onto a great causeway, lined with enormous statues of warriors wearing armor surprisingly similar to Boryx's own, their great helms fierce and foreboding as they silently stood watch over the grand gate of the Great Inevitable.

What was more, a flurry of commotion could be seen...what appeared to be riders advancing rapidly down the causeway clearly intent on intercepting the rift in space which had violated their domain.


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"Dragon above!" Khastor exclaimed "What is that?"

Boryx grinned. "Reinforcements."
The metal soldiers poured through the rift between dimensions, the sound of steel meeting steel filling the room with each step they took. The humans stepped back to allow them entry as the battlefield seemed frozen in silent revery, even the shades remain in place.

The wall of iron parted and from their ranks emerged a humanoid construct, dressed in rich, golden robes wielding a bastard sword in one hand and a scroll in another.


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"As decreed by the Primus, High Lord of the Clockwork Nirvana. The 26th legion is here to oversee the resurgence of the Black Mark of Eberron, otherwise known as the 13th Mark or the Mark of Death." The mechanical voice paused as it read from the scroll. "Baron Elar, bearer of the mark of shadow and Patriarch of the House Thuranni has been found guilty by the high forces of law in trying to usurp this power for his own ends without cosmic right. As such he has been found guilty and is to be put to death."

A unified chorus of machinery rang out through the room as the metal soldiers fell upon the shadows.
As they poured through the portal, what had at first appeared to be mounted riders revealed themselves to be mechanical winged centauroids, similar to the broken carcass of Boryx's follower...albeit without the latter's intricately segmented armor matching Boryx's own.

The monstrous shadows assaulting the mortals in the courtyard quickly turned to face this new threat...only to realize their life draining caress had no effect on that which was never alive in the mortal sense. With a screeching hollow noise they turned to flee, when the Zelekhuts unleashed their barbed chains upon them. To the Shadow's surprise, the enchanted metal links bit deeply into their nether-substance, provoking an even worse blood-chilling cry of agony. Within moments the path had been cleared for their leader, the menacing Marut, to intercept it's quarry.

The Baron of House Thuranni was no fool...he realized how quickly the tide had turned. He had greatly underestimated the resourcefulness of this band of interlopers, and any further display of arrogance was uneconomical. The assassin's way was to melt away, and strike from shadows another day. Elar raised his hand, preparing to teleport away now that the Windray had breached the thick walls of the keep. Power coalesced, gathered in his mind, and then...nothing. He remained where he was, and the Marut was getting uncomfortably close.

"You have been placed under Dimensional Lock. You cannot flee Baron Elar. You have been sentenced. Death is inevitable."

For the first time since he could remember, the sensation of panic stirred within the Patriarch. With his plans crumbling and his magic failing, ancient animal instinct took hold. He spun around to flee back into the great elevator...and promptly ran face first into an invisible wall of force.

As his vision cleared and the stinging numbness gave way to the throbbing of his broken nose, the towering Marut loomed over him, bastard sword raised high.

"You have been sentenced. Death is inevitable."
Elar stood mute before the might of the inevitables. In the blinding glow of the rift, without any shadows left to walk, he was left with nowhere left to run. Even then, his hands did not tremble as his swords vanished back into their sheaths.

"You have powerful allies." He merely stated. "A shame I did not know about this beforehand."

"You sentence has been decided, Thuranni."

"Are you really going to let him kill me? Do you think that there will be no repercussions?" The Baron posed his questions. "Khorvair is not a simple playing ground. Without me, House Thuranni will scatter and an entire net of agents will shatter, that I have carefully woven into the politics of this continent. Without me, the other Houses will only grow even more powerful."
"Poor Elar. You really had no idea who you were dealing with did you?" The voice, which flowed like honeyed milk, belonged to the winged form of Giles as he alighted softly upon the prison floor, shimmering psi-crystal floating in the air beside him.

"Oh I'm not talking about the exotic lawman. I'm talking about me."

He approached the humbled patriarch, his eyes on fire with a sudden surge of righteous wrath. "I am Giles Maxander d'Tarkanan. I stand on the shoulders of Halas Tarkanan himself. Did you really think there would be no repercussions? As for your Thuranni...it is true you have built quite the network...and it would be quite the shame if it were to scatter before I've finished with it. Therefore, I do not think I shall let it."

As he said this last, his features shifted, his wings melting away, until the Baron of Assassins was looking at a mirror of himself.

Giles-now-Elar leaned close to the original and whispered in his ear. "It will be the Thuranni who strike down the Houses from within, and who will take the blame. Your entire bloodline will be hunted down to the very last and erased from Eberron, and when that is done, I shall turn my attention to the remaining weakened houses." Those were the last words Elar ever heard as the Inevitable's blade descended.

"That's not going to happen Giles." The voice, which boomed like a peal of thunder, belonged to Boryx of Breland, known to some as Boryx the Younger.

With a fluid motion, Giles had removed Elar's belt and with it his swords, palming an indiscernible object at the same time. He stood up now from Elar and faced Boryx and his Inevitable army.

"Ah...ever sharp of hearing are we Boryx. I do so thank you for playing such a supporting role in my escape. You have my gratitude for that, but let me be clear. If any of you attempt to stand in my way, you will fall with all of the others."

Boryx raised his arm to fire a volley but Giles-now-Elar was faster. "So long." Activating the gem he had pocketed from Elar, the usurper vanished into thin air with most of Elar's possessions.

The next moment the sword fell, and with it the head of Barron Elar d'Thuranni, Patriarch of the House.

"That guy is such an arrogant prick." Boryx said to no one in particular.

The Marut's job complete, Elar's henchmen trampled under mechanical hoof, and Giles escaped, the Mechanus army organized back into orderly ranks and began it's retreat through the gate, Elar's corpse in tow to prevent it from being raised.

Many of the convicts stood in shock at the events which had just transpired, and looked to Khastor for leadership. Boryx turned to him. "Well...my business takes me through the Gate with them," a flick of his head indicating the returning robots.

"You could stay here, claim Dreadhold and fortify, but you know Khundarak is going to come for you sooner or later...nobody holds a grudge like a dwarf. Or...you could bring your men along if you like...but all of them, yourself included would be subject to the rule of Law while they are there, and you've just seen what happens to those who try and fight the Law. What do you say?"
Khastor looked around the room at those that still survived and the steel giants that came through the portal. With a dejected look he thew his spear to the ground.

"Aye, it would be a better fate than to stay here." The old general said. "Not all will agree of course... Caan has already managed to escape, the old wizard seemed to have been ready for just such an opportunity. "

"What will happen to us after that? Do you have any plans for when we finish this little venture? Dreadhold still holds a few mysteries that I would like to explore before me and my men make it outta here." Khastor said, resigning himself to whatever may come.
Boryx nodded. "I've heard rumors myself...that Khundarak uses prisoners to mine the Dragon Below for Khyber Dragonshards...do you know if there is any truth to that?"

The Knight of Daanvi cast his gaze across the throng of haggard inmates, then turned back to Khastor. "I don't know what your crimes are, but I didn't come here today to judge, just to rescue my friend. I'll be honest...causing a prison break to fight our way in went against all of my usual principles, but it was the only way, and from what I was told, not everyone present deserved to be here. I did get a shifty vibe from that Caan fellow...but if he causes too many problems he will be hunted down. As for the rest of you, well, I won't lie. The Inevitable's purpose is to punish those who would seek to escape punishment, among other threats to the natural order. Those of you who have been wrongly imprisoned here will be free to go. On the other hand, if the machines sense that some of them should rightly be sanctioned, well, it's hard to escape their notice. Not that I'll have much say in the matter...I'm only a knight, not a Lord..."


**********Fade to Black**********


Roll Credits! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KsS0cvTxU-8)



Chapter End.

[TekHed]

Interlude: Prisoners of Dreadhold

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3,145 years. Most nations do not live as long. It is a lifespan worthy of dragons. Few races have such potential for longevity. Fewer individuals amongst those races actually live to that potential. Most die of disease, famine, violence, and other, similar, fates. For Lenard, it is no miracle that he lived so long. No sudden providence. No good fortune. Nothing so...pleasant. Only scholars of history, as Lenard has become, would know the reason for his longevity. Only they would be so careful as to read the history of Dreadhold so far back, lost to the ages. That story, and Lenards are the same, however. The story of Dreadhold's first prisoner.

Before the reasons for his internment, it's important to know a little more about Lenard. Born oh so many years ago in what would be called Karrnath to loving (from what fragments he can remember so far back) parents, Lenard knew a simple life of contemplative study, bookbinding and archival work. Lenard's life remained quiet and boring, just as he would have liked it. There were those, however, who felt it necessary to change that. That man was the legendary Karrn the Conqueror. A legend marked in history books throughout the land, Karrn was a wise warlord, and surrounded himself with many learned scholars. One such scholar was Lenard.

It is well known that Karrn failed to conquer the other human nations so long ago. What is not known is Lenard's involvement. It was Lenard's fate to be called upon in the Conqueror's time of need for his vast base of knowledge. The young erudite was no stranger to battle, having utilized his tactical knowledge before to his master's benefit. This time, however, his mind would fail him. His assessment and recollection of the land, forces, defenses, capabilities, and ultimate stratagem proved lacking. However uncertain he was, however, Lenard dared not proclaim his ignorance, and instead advised the war-king to the best of his limited ability.

Having barely survived the disastrous battle, and forced back to native Karrnath, the angered king released his wrath upon poor Lenard, eradicating everyone the young Elan knew, from kin to distant acquaintances. There was no record left of the Elan's existance. But, that was not enough. Rather than kill Lenard, Karrn sought a greater punishment. One that would allow, nay force, the aberration to contemplate his failings. On a deserted island North of Cape Far, a stone mausoleum was constructed. Therin, Lenard was cast. Bound and prevented from accessing his spells and powers, the Elan was left to rot. This mausoleum became the cornerstone of Karrn's great prison...the Dreadhold. For the better part of 3,000 years, the mysterious Prisoner 0 was kept. Off the records, bound from nearly all of his mental talents.

In time, the magic of Lenard's restraints faded some. Originally so powerful as to completely drain him of his powers, a thousand years or so in, their magic weakened, allowing the Elan to manifest just his talents, and rarely, at best. Every now and then, however, they worked, letting Lenard contact other prisoners through his powers. So it went for centuries, and centuries became millennia, until one day, the tiniest of cracks appeared...

It came with a rumble. Deep in the confines of his sealed...cell would be the wrong word. It was more an alcove. Barely room to stand. Not enough to fully lie down. It started with a violent crack, followed by the shaking. Finally, the ceiling buckled - he could hear it. A large stone fell from it and landed heavily on his leg, breaking it. Then another, and another, and finally he was fully buried and crushed to within an inch of his life. He knew then, and there that he would be free. One way, or the other. Slowly, he concentrated his mind and focused. It had been so long since he had been able to manifest his dormant talents. He hoped beyond hope that his bands were broken, but to no avail. Not yet.

Straining there in the darkness, he could feel his restraints pushed to their limits by the weight of the crushing stone. He wiggled and shook as best he could to escape their confines. Eventually, he heard one set of the bands pop off. With renewed hope, the elan concentrated once more and was rewarded. He could feel the energy from the environment drain into him. He focused his powers inward, to his psicrystal. Hidden in the one safe place in Dreadhold, his stomach. Together, they channeled their powers into summoning up an Astral Construct capable of digging their way out. Bit by bit, they climbed and dug their way to freedom. At last, Lenard saw something beautiful. So much so that it blinded him. Literally and figuratively. He saw light. With one more burst of power, Lenard shattered the rubble above him and stood, shaky on his feet in the light laughing and crying.




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Childhood

The 'court' of Karrn the Conquerer was a rough sort of place. The king himself was hardly more than a barbarian, after all. It was fitting enough, for Karrn's power was built on sword and spear. But it still made for an uncomfortable group of advisors - a band of such bloody-minded and vicious warriors and soldiers had scarcely been gathered since.

Karrth was desperately out of place in that gathering. In any other age he would have been a fop, a dandy, a mere man of leisure. He had little desire for martial glory, and less talent. The boy wouldn't have even bothered to follow Karrn from Lhazaar Islands into Khorvaire, but as a first cousin to the king's wife, he was given little choice.

He did have some talent at magic, twisting reality with arcane power. While Karrn and his court did have various magicians, on the whole they were shamans and clerics just as blood thirsty as the warriors. Karth, in contrast, generally only wanted a bit of peace, quiet, and comfort.

For the most part, the boy kept to himself; he only appeared before the king on rare occaisions. But after years of doing so, Karrth's distaste for the Conqueror's society turned to contempt. The boy began to voice his opinions, to express his contempt with cruel jokes and pranks. Before long he was even attending every function accompanied by a coterie of imps and elementals which catered to every need.

As Karrth's contempt grew, so did Karrn's irritation. Before long, even Karrth's close family relationship to the king wasn't protection enough, and Karrth found himself immured in the Dreadhold along with others who had attracted the king's ire.

Adolescence

The young mageling found a large chamber in the lower dungeons to make a new home. With little to do but his magicks, he summoned up servants and tutors for himself; he was then trained and taught by otherworldy powers. Before long he had carved himself out a comfortable life in the depth of the prison.

Even better, his penchant for quiet and comfort made him popular with both the guards and inmates. The servants and favors called by Karrth were more than sufficient for his needs, and being able to share out those luxuries made the prison a better place.

As the years went by, Karrth became quite a fixture in the Dreadhold. Kept in perpetual youth by the blessing of outside power, he turned his cells into a warm suite fit for royalty. The guards brought the less important and well behaved prisoners to him, freeing their attentions for the more difficult work. It was a wonderful time for him, really, playing lord and master to those happy to recieve any luxury.

Of course, things changed when Galifar finally conquered Khorvaire. Instead of political prisoners and others that the kings wanted to forget, the prison began to be filled with true criminals. These didn't place quite the same value on Karrth's ministrations that previous tenants had, rather they often attempted to intimidate, steal, and even destroy the things that Karrth had offered.

Without the companionship and entertainment that had been offered by the old, gentle-born condemned, Karrth began to withdraw from prison life. He quit taking responsibility for inmates, and began isolating himself within his chambers. The massive additions being built onto the island stronghold aided him in this attempt, as the passages and chambers he occupied were gradually left more and more unused. Before long, he had been nearly forgotten in the depths of the prison. The only ones who ever saw him were would-be escapees, lost in the ancient passageways. When a servitor found such a lost soul, the inmate would be brought to his court, fed and entertained for the night, then transplanted back into a more well-traveled portion of the jail.

He continued like this for centuries, spending his time on little but discourse with his arcane servitors.

Adulthood

In addition to his lesser servitors, Karrth began to make contact with stronger beings, outsiders and demi-deities of power and knowledge. What he could gain from them was limited, as his resources and knowledge were slight. Despite centuries of gleanings from guards and wealthy prisoners, he had little more than gossip for these great creatures. A few did enjoy the gossip, enough to return gossip and information in kind, if not to trade in actual power or wealth.

And so he stagnated.

It was while he survived thus, spinning his wheels, that he was contacted by an enigmatic power. During a routine summoning, in which he intended to call nothing more than a minor servitor to patrol the nearby caverns, an elemental of near-unimaginable power appeared in his chambers. With the voice of a whirlwind, the thing informed Karrth that it would be taking responsibility for the unchanging conjurer.

And so the teaching resumed.

The deific elemental taught Karrth about the interactions of the astral and elemental planes. It aided his explorations, showing him not only what prowled the tunnels in the immediate vicinity,but also revealed the treasures embedded within the stone beneath Dreadhold. With the aid of a few little elementals and other creatures, soon Karrth had a small trove of Khyber dragonshards to trade away.

His contacts with the Dwarves above were fruitful at first. Surprise that the tales of the lurking mageling were true led the dwarves to trade freely. For a time he collected a truly remarkable amount of wealth inside the dungeons. Unfortunately, soon the image of the enigmatic mage in the depths tarnished into a callow conjurer. Before long the Dwarves realized that not only did Karrth reside in the Dreadhold's dungeons, but he even thought of himself as a prisoner (never mind that none of the dwarves knew who he had been or why he had been imprisoned). House Khundarak took over the mining operations, replacing Karrth's servitors with prisoners. Worse, they confiscated all of his worldly goods and imprisoned him in a more austere cell.

The confiscation was no great problem, Karrth's true treasures were immured in an extra-planar stronghold, but he found himself disconnected from his powers and servants for the first time in millennium. And there he remained until the Dreadhold's recent upheavals...

The Release

Karrth looked up as his cell door opened. A skinny halfling pulled at the iron door, grunting with the effort. The little man was spattered with blood and ichor; some of the blood clearly came from a cut on his chest, but the rest was unidentifiable. Looking into the spartan anti-magic spell where Karrth had spent the last decade, the little halfling bit off a curse. "Get up! It's revolt and I get to kill some dwarves! You a wizard? They put you in here, ya? Come on!"

Karth stood, his once splendid robes shedding dust as he regarded his short rescuer. "Revolt? Killing dwarves? I suppose... what's going on?"

"How should I know? My door opened, I found a knife, and now it's my own little Rampartide."

Karrth stepped out into the corridor, straightening as he left the enchantments that bound his own powers. "Ah, much better... I'm sorry, little one. You are a prisoner no more then? Why bother killing your guards, why not just leave?"

A boom echoed through the hallway, followed by a clash of weaponry and shouting in the distance. "Come on! We have to take the guards or else nothing changes! I'm not going to stay here any more!" The halfling made as though to dash towards the noise, but Karrth reached out and grabbed the little warrior before he could leave.

"I have a better idea, come with me." Karrth led them down the other direction towards an apparent dead end among the vacant cells. Stooping down, he pulled at the edge of a block. With that bit of effort, a perfectly balanced stone door opened in the floor, revealing a staircase down. The halfling's eyes went wide, and he was about to speak up when Karrth began talking again, "Revolt... I'm not sure if that's what's supposed to happen. This place is one of order. A dark order, sure... but still. It told me that the next step is growth. People should not be bringing chaos back, but finding good. We should not revolt, we should find benevolence within the order here. But what to do now...?"

The halfling jumped back in with a shout, "Where are we going! It's out, right? A secret passage to the outside walls? Because the only way I know out is through the dwarves."

"Out? No, no. We can't go out. I need to think, so I'm going back to my cell. My real cell, the one the king put me in, not the one the dwarves gave me."

"King! What king? What are you talking about?! We can escape, we can leave! We can-"

The staircase which had been spiraling down below the mountain opened up into a large chamber. A handful of dwarven guards were binding up their wounds. The source of the wounds was clear enough, bodies of all sorts littered the floor. Hearing the hafling's outburst they all saw Karrth and his friend on the landing. The little halfling recovered from the surprise first, and his cut-off tirade turned into a battlecry in an instant, as he charged ahead towards the dwarves; before they could respond one of the guards was down with a few inches of steel through his eye.

The dwarves clubbed down the halfling quickly, then turned on Karrth, who raised his hands and began backing up, "I'm not revolting. Er, I mean I'm not trying to take over the prison, I'm just going back to my cell. Is that acceptable?"

The guards didn't respond, merely advanced. With a gesture the chamber filled up with a dark fog that thickened until the dwarves had to push to pass through it, and Karrth fled back up the stairs. I think I am part of the revolt, it seems unavoidable now. Poor man, I don't think he wanted much. Actually, I don't know what he wanted. But I know what I want, and they won't let me have it. Isn't that the point of law and order? To give us avenues to obtain what we want? So, if the only way allowed by the order to move forward is to rebel, then rebellion is part of the order.

"Ah! I understand now! This revolution is part of the cycle, to set us free to progress. And now, I must participate to progress!" He shouted into the darkness of the stairwell, and began chanting and gesturing as he climbed. By the time he reached the top, back to his old cell block, he was accompanied by a swirling mass of elementals, mostly rocky forms that merged themselves with the stonework as they moved along with him.

Karth strode down the corridors towards the sounds of fighting. His dusty and ragged robes slapped against his legs as he walked, rather than billowing about him as they should. I'll fix that, shortly, now that I can go back to my own chambers. Fortunately, the dozen earth elementals that swarmed about him were impressive enough. Each fifteen feet tall, they merged and rippled through the stone walls, looking like an avalanche rumbling through the halls.

And then he burst out onto the courtyard. But no one had eyes for him. An army of constructs far more splendid that any elemental had subdued the dwarven and elven jailors, leaving Karrth with nothing to do. Karrth recognized Elar being held near the center of the courtyard. The figures talked briefly, their words unheard amongst the shouted commands of the army spreading through the island prison. A sword came down, and the established order of the Dreadhold ended.

A new order...




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Child of the House

Her mother was Queen Aurala of Aundair. Her mother was Baron Elvinor d’Phiarlan. Her mother was a dead spouse, a spurning lover, an invented ideal. Her mother could’ve been any of the House’s six changelings, among whom names and faces (and secrets) were pooled and shared like water from a well, and even patrons could not tell if the Lady ir’Clarn they were seeing today was the same Lady ir’Clarn they asked for yesterday. Their House being one of expert and obsessive imitation, sometimes the six lost track of who they’d been and who they hadn’t, of who’d done what and as whom.

But Ben – they named her Ben in the style of changelings, whose names are always small and light so as to be easy to drop – always called one of them Mother above the others, perhaps because children always know, or because Mother was especially kind. Or perhaps because the other five were melted people, liquids ready to be poured into the instructions that patrons brought in, pictures or long written descriptions of their heart’s greatest desires, and Mother’s talents put her a step or two away from this fate.

Of course, Mother had to imitate, had to obey a patron’s instructions; but she dared with changing and ink and powders to make little alterations, the nose somewhat higher or the cheeks more flushed than was asked for. Mother made her own marks on what people loved, and was loved all the more for it. “Queen Aurala,” she used to say, making her Grace’s eye colour a brighter blue than was accurate, “doesn’t look the way her admirers think she looks. They have a picture in their head and it’s a bad one, and they’re always wrong about what they think they love about her. If her Grace were to work here for a day, patrons would come to see her and come out saying, what a bad impression of the Queen! But if I can make them love me myself, however little I look like her, they will think they see a perfect replica.”

Ben used to help her put paint around her eyes with a little brush, the deep glittering green being a texture even a changeling’s flesh cannot reproduce. It was there, kneeling beside Mother in front of her mirror, that she learnt a steadiness of hand (and a delicacy she would later abandon).

At a certain age, it became obvious to her that their House was not a House, in the sense of Phiarlan and Thuranni, who took the lion’s share of entertainment services, despite being often half as good as Mother. Their own House was one of chameleonic charisma and talent, a house of art and wit where games of song and dance and wordplay went on for weeks – and, as with all houses such as theirs, a house of secrets spilled onto pillows.

What power the six had over their powerful patrons, they never used – it was only too easy in Sharn to crush a house of changelings – except in the small instance of negotiating the admittance of an elf with very questionable papers into Morgrave University.

Four Extracts from Morgrave University (acquired by Thuranni agents)

A journal entry written by Professor Lorva Lyrriman d’Sivis, who possesses an orb of True Seeing, and enough wisdom to keep a young girl’s secrets.

The changeling has the best and worst qualities of undergraduates. Despite not being exceptionally clever, she has a talent for style and shape that is well-suited – no, essential – to any proper student of the Prophecy. She also has a better hand with the brush than most of my cousins – her handwriting is terrible, but her skill at illustration is remarkable, and she has produced some of the most detailed and naturalistic renders of dragonmarks ever committed to paper. I’ve made her an assistant on my thesis work on the prophetic destiny of the Houses, producing room-sized enlargements of Siberys marks for detailed analysis. On her third try, she managed to wait for the ink to dry before crawling over it to reach the next bit.

On the other hand, she is still an undergraduate, and prone to the kind of nonsense that plagues the young. She can make much better use of her time than marching for warforged rights. Perhaps it’s her changeling nature that makes her so impulsive.


A pamphlet pushed into Ben’s hand while on campus, which she read, laughed at, and threw away almost immediately. Later remembered with great fondness during her imprisonment in the Dreadfort.

THE LAST WAR – FACT OR FICTION? Ever wonder why the War started, after nine centuries of peaceful succession? Ever wonder what you’re really fighting for, who you’re really working for? EVIDENCE OF DRACONIC AGENTS IS EVERYWHERE. We are lesser races to the dragons, our freedom means nothing to them, we are even now being watched, being controlled! Draconic Prophecy? More like, DRACONIC CONSPIRACY.


An impassioned piece in a student-run newsletter (‘Morgrave Mail’), which Ben is very proud of, but knows nobody read. Re-edited as the introduction for a book on changeling history, left incomplete by her capture.

All over Eberron, there are funerals populated by strangers. The mourners do not know each other, do not speak to each other, do not recognise each other’s faces. The coffin is always closed, to hide the smooth silver face. At the end, the mourners scatter to the four winds and never see each other ever again. It is a funeral attended by nobody, or by nobodies, where the dead go silent and unremembered. Such is the way my people live, such is the way they die, a people without history.

And a people without destiny. You know that, in the million signs of Prophecy in stars and text and vision, there is not a single mention of the changeling? We have no homeland to defend, no dragonmark to show, no royalty to serve. We – we and the warforged – are forgotten even before we die. If the dragons call the others the lesser races, we are the lesser lesser races.

More than any other, our race can be whoever we want to be – so why are we always nobody?

A note sent up from the House, in Mother’s hand.

Come at once.

Dreadhold: Year One of Conversations

The last thing she heard was Mother saying, “Take care of her.” Then she woke up in the Dreadfort. She couldn’t tell that immediately, but Baron Elar d’Thuranni let her know – to be clear on the exact vulnerability of her situation.

“You will continue your studies here,” the patriarch informed her, after the shouting and the crying and the pleading has subsided.

Ben did not know up from down. “My…book on changelings?”

He laughed, which hardened her heart, even now. “No. Your work on dragonmarks. There is one particular mark I would like you to draw for me. The information is in there,” he gave a vague wave towards the bookshelves, “Everything we know about the Mark of Death.”

She refused him for a year.

In the first three months, Ben simply sulked her days away. Her cell was well-furnished (better, she surmised, than the cells of those he had no use for) and large enough to pace in, so she spent the majority of her time walking in circles, sleeping, and being fed. She tried writing her book, as she was provided with ink and paper for her ‘work’, but they took away and burnt any page that did not look like a dragonmark.

Every week he would visit, and ask the same question, and she would refuse. It was a comic ritual, in a way, and it amused her to try to place where she’d seen the Baron’s face before – it had a sort of swimming familiarity about it. One night, in the lines revealed on his face by the half-light of the dungeon candles, she remembered.

Baron Elar d’Thuranni was not a man who frequented her mother’s House. To her memory, he’d only come once a couple of years, but consistently, and over all the years she could remember. She remembered Mother getting ready for him, putting on an elf’s face with a high brow and full cheeks, a rosy looking lady.

The first time Ben put on that face for his visit, he hit her, but it looked more painful for him than for her.

The second time, she asked him who the girl was, to have brought a House patriarch to a House such as theirs. “Someone I had to kill once, but hadn’t wanted to,” he said, which could be anyone, going by House Thuranni’s reputation. “Her name was Trysanna.” He smiled, and then the smile disappeared. “Trysanna Paelion (http://eberron.wikia.com/wiki/Shadow_Schism).”

On the fourth month she realised she had a neighbour. The cell opposite hers never had a candle lit and she’d assumed it was empty – but one day, as she’d screamed and smashed her fists against the walls, she’d called out, “Is anybody there!?”

“Yes,” said a dry voice. The imprisonment of a warforged is practically storage – they could stand, unmoving and unspeaking, for years without supervision.

“Why are you here?” she’d asked, once she’d gotten over her surprise. The warforged’s name, bafflingly, was Well.

“House Cannith wishes to extract information regarding one I was previously associated with, the Lord of Blades.”

She wasn’t sure whether it was excitement or fear that ran cold through her blood. She’d heard of the Lord of Blades, of course she had, the whispered extremity on the fringes of those university rallies. “You follow the Lord of Blades?”

“Once, I did.”

She bit her lip. Was he uncomfortable, or just too literal? “Why?”

“We did not wish to be objects. Killing the living made me feel more alive.” Well was not one who would ever need Mother’s services – he knew exactly what he felt, and could articulate it precisely.

Her year was one of such conversations, Elar d’Thuranni and Well, stretched out to fill her time. By the end she was going through the books on the Marks – not because she planned to help the Baron, but to quell the boredom. Though Well was always available and always forthcoming, he had only so many answers as she had questions. He never said more.

Drawing the Mark of Death was like putting two and two together – to make a hundred. Only scraps of information remained of the Mark itself, tiny details around the edges that only hinted at a greater whole. She remembered the way Mother – the Mother who’d given her to Elar – used to read through patrons’ instructions and put the bits together into a face, doing draft after draft on her changing skin. She tried it now, in her mind, imagining the gaps and the bits, how they all fit together. It would be easier if she put it down on paper, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Dreadhold: Year Two of Darkness

At the start of her second year in the Dreadhold, an error occurred in the mining rosters. The guards took the wrong section of the dungeon, dragging her and Well out of their cells, and down and down and down. “It’ll be over before you know it,” said the group coming up, as they passed.

It wasn’t. There was a cave-in.

Ben was a practical girl. The first thing to do was block out the hunger and thirst. She played games of song and wordplay with herself for hours and hours, in the tight darkness of Khyber, and when that finished she began to draw. She took a small shard of rock and scratched drafts and sketches on the sides of her prison; it was too dark to see, but she could feel with her fingers. She used to draw dragonmarks carefully and delicately, like calligraphy, like the ink on Mother’s eyes, but now she knew better – she was in the belly of Khyber, and dragons were harsh and terrible things.

When she ran out of room, she tried changing new drafts onto her skin, but she could neither see nor feel them. So she used her shard of rock instead, on her arms, on her belly, on her legs.

When Well finally crashed through and brought her out, with his metal arms blunted into stumps from digging, she was covered in imperfect Marks of Death that sizzled her silver flesh. The rock she’d been using was a Khyber dragonshard. “Why are you called Well?” she asked him as they went up.

Well’s jaw creaked as he spoke. “During the War, a Brelish soldier hid from me in a well. But he could not climb out, and drowned.”

“He could’ve flown out, if he’d been a dragon.”

“He wasn’t a dragon.”

“Dragons are everywhere,” she told him deliriously, “We are the lesser, lesser races.” Then she laughed until she was sick, and she was sick until she fainted.

Dreadhold: Year Three of the Dragon

The third year, when she was well enough to leave her bed, she began to work on the Mark of Death in earnest. Scars marred her skin in elaborate patterns, throbbing sometimes, glowing others, and she would change into the skin of what she was like before. She didn’t always bother, though, and she always let Elar see what he’d done to her by bringing her here. Please take care of her, Mother had said.

Elar graciously let her write her book so long as she continued her work, but she soon cast it aside. Why not a history of the warforged? Or of House Vol, the Mark of the dead? Or of the Paelion family, or of Elar’s dutifully broken heart? She’d once admired the Draconic Prophecy as a thing of beauty and destiny, but now she only saw the ones it ignored and the ones it ruined. Letting the dragons and the dragonmarked decide all their fates…conspiracy indeed.

“If we get out of here,” she said to Well, her scars drenched with pain and power, “I want to do something big. I want to find out if there is a destiny, and if there is, I want to make sure we’re part of it, and not forgotten. Will you come?”

Well considered. “And if there is no place for our races in the Prophecy?”

“I’ll write us in. I’m very good with ink.”

“I will come.”

At the end of her third year, madness descended on the Dreadhold...

Ben nearly called out to Elar, caught in as she was in the crowd of escaped prisoners, because she could see where he was headed, and wanted inexplicably to say goodbye. It wasn’t affection – he was a cruel and terrible man, who’d ruined her life – but maybe respect, maybe pity, maybe a little of each. But it wouldn’t do to appear to this crowd as an enemy. So she stayed silent and changed, her skin rippling, into a high brow and full rosy cheeks, into Trysanna Paelion.

The inevitable held up its sword. The winged man was taunting him. Baron Elar d’Thuranni, who’d done so much evil to so many, looked love in the eye as he died.

[TekHed]

Chapter II: The Gathering Storm

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A sword came down, and the established order of the Dreadhold ended.

A new order...

Karrth stood mutely in his tattered garments. His elementals faded one by one until he stood alone. He spoke quietly to himself, "Now what? What is the point now?"

"Help me..."

And, if any had eyes to spare for a single dejected prisoner, they would have seen him fall through the stone cobbles and vanish.

He landed softly, poofing into a pile of furs and pillows. He blinked, stunned by the transition and the sudden quiet. His own rooms, he was in his own room - designed by his mind and carved from the ether...

"You had only to ask, Karrth. Welcome back." Coiled loosely on an armchair before the fire sat a massive serpent, apparently covered with a feathered cloak. It's voice trilled like a bird within Karrth's mind, holding warmth and affection like a spring morning.

"Kirbel!" Karth sprung up and launched himself onto the snake, embracing it enthusiastically.

"Karrth, you cannot stay long. You have been away for a longer time than you know, and things have changed. You must move now. Change. You cannot remain locked in this place. If you remain as you are, imprisoned here, you will die."

"Do not waste time. Change your clothes, yes. But then go back out and change your life." With that bit of advice, the Serpent shifted, pushing Karrth back gently. As it shifted, the feather blanket unfolded, revealing vibrantly colored wings. "Go!" The last command echoed in Karrth's mind as the Couatl vanished.

A pack of transparent servants came in, carrying robes and jewelry. In moments, they had removed Karth's filthy clothing and rubbed the dirt away. Before he could gather his thoughts, he found himself standing again in the courtyard; resplendent now as any machine. His clean face was sculpted, perfectly symmetrical but for a slightly quirked eyebrow. Rings, charms and other jewelry glittered - items clearly chosen for shine rather than rich material. His trousers and shirt were of brown silk. A blue tunic covered it, and a heavy cloak made of black feathers lent size and stature. Nothing on him made for a recognizable insignia, but the back of the cloak had a circle picked out in colored feathers - white, brown, blue, and red scattered randomly in the circle.

Even in that short of a time, the courtyard had begun to empty out. The machines had scattered, apparently engaged in sorting through all the inhabitants of the dreadhold. No, not them. Who knows what they want, I can't be sure of change with them... Only one of the notables still remained near the bloodstains that marked Elar's fall, the one wearing the odd segmented armor. Him, and we'll see.

All around was chaos and carnage, until slowly the inevitables wrought order once more. Boryx supervised as the prisoners were pacified, sorted, and prepared for transport back through the Gate where they would be judged by the merits of Cosmic Law.
Karrth hesitated briefly, various emotions and words flitting over his face. Then he somehow... solidified. His posture changed until he radiated confidence, then strode to the armored man. He called out, "Sir! Sir Warrior!"

Getting the man's attention, he introduced himself, "Well met, I presume that you are responsible for this revolution? If so, you have my thanks. I am Karrth anak'Aliw. I have allies, and some power, but..." And Karrth's posture wilted, his shoulders slumped as he focused his attention on the man's boots.

"I am afraid... no. I am very afraid. I must leave, but I don't know how. I need help, something to do, somewhere to go. Can you help me? My needs are few, and I can offer... well, what would you like?"
Boryx looked down at the well dressed man groveling before him. Clearly he was a prisoner, perhaps quite mad from his ordeals. Boryx frowned, though his demeanor was not visible within his sealed helm. This was supposed to have been a quiet stealth mission. Bust in, grab Enoch, gate out. He didn't expect to be called the 'Liberator of Dreadhold' this day, and his intent had certainly not been to foment a revolution. Still...it seemed the high powers of Law had been monitoring the situation. That was the way of Daanvi...each was a cog in a greater machine, each piece knowing only what was needed to perform it's function.

The intimidating helm opened revealing the face within, human, though with strange golden eyes.

"Rise up, Karrth anak'Aliw. There is no need to thank me, and there is nothing I require at this time. If you must know the truth, this revolution, such as it was, was an unintended side effect of my primary mission. All of the remaining inhabitants of the Dread Hold will accompany myself and the 26th legion back to the clockwork paradise of Daanvi. From there you may go wherever you wish. You are free now."
Karth's shoulders shook briefly as Boryx refused the offer of help. He straightened again, and with some effort of will his face again stilled and radiated a beautiful confidence. "Very well. Remember though, should you find something new for yourself."

"So... we go to Daanvi with the mechanicals? Does that mean we are to be judged? Well, my conscience is clear." His head held high, he stepped through the portal.
Boryx had little time to contemplate the sudden exit of the former inmate before he was accosted by yet another ranting figure.


The inevitables didn't know what to do with Lenard at first. He was both a prisoner and not. There were no records of his interment, but he had obviously been imprisoned intentionally. The paradox required less mechanically minded intervention.

"You there! In the armor. Do you fight alongside these clockwork centurions?"

"By the Sovereign Host..." Boryx muttered under his breath.

"These creatures of logic are seemingly confounded by me! Your assistance is required!"

Boryx forced himself to smile. All he wanted to do was strip off his armor and find a hot shower...

"What seems to be the problem?" the Daanvi knight asked.

"I did not commit any crime. They have been repeating the same lines, asking my crimes, and subjecting me to dispelling, truth auras, and such for some time now. I have answered the same question nigh on fifty times now. I am not in the records of the prison because it was built around me. There is no record of any offense because I did not commit any. I am not lying to them and have no reason to do so. They simply do not understand my case." Lenard looks harried, his clothes are destroyed, he's barely able to stand.

"Built around you? And why was that? Come, let us see if we can't get you sorted..." Boryx made his way towards one of the inevitable justiciars.

"I was an adviser of Karrn the Conquerer. Unfortunately, he disliked my advice. It cost him a major battle, and he entombed me in solid stone. The cornerstone of Dreadhold. Thus, no crime, no record, and confused Inevitables. I would hate for my recent freedom to be taken from me through loopholes and misunderstandings. I have important work to be done." Lenard slumps, sitting on a piece of rubble by his feet. He does seem to heal a little bit every few seconds though. His arm no longer seems broken, for instance.

Boryx marveled as the strange man...no not a man, for he bore an aura of aberration...recalled his strange story.

"You must be ancient...several millennia old at least." Boryx noted the rapid regeneration visible not only in the being himself, but also his accoutrements. "I can see now how you've survived for so long, but...it must have been a terrible isolation for you." He paused.

"There was another fellow here who seemed rather out of sorts as well...Karrth I believe was his name. I didn't come here with the intention of breaking anyone out, and what intentions I did have were forced upon me by circumstance and loyalty. I suppose it hadn't really occurred to me until now just how long the sentence might have been for some. I can imagine you'll need to get your bearings in this new world. My resources are stretched somewhat thin at the moment but I do feel a sense of responsibility for what has happened here...intentional or not. I'll help if I can, starting with the problem at hand."

Boryx walked up to a Kolyarut who was overseeing the processing of inmates.

"You there! What is your designation soldier?" The inevitables by and large were nothing if not slaves to procedure.

"Signator" came the voice, surprisingly feminine.

"Signator. This unit here, the one calling itself Lenard, has no record on file present within the facility?"

"No record has been found." came the dispassionate reply.

"And you have subjected this Lenard to your full battery of counter magic and lie detection?"

"I have. Result: inconclusive."

"Right. Well, it looks like you have a lot of inmates left to process here and I know you want things to progress in an orderly fashion. Tell you what...why don't I assume custody of this Lenard and escort him back to Daanvi. I can have the Chronicler check the Akashic Records and make sure his story checks out."

"You will take full responsibility for this unit?"

"Of course."

"Very well. Processed."

And that was that. Soon the two men stepped through the gate into a symphony of color and symmetry. Daanvi, the plane of perfect order, which some call Nirvana...who would have thought it could be so beautiful?


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**********30 Days Later**********

The days passed, turning into weeks as eventually all the convicts were judged by the merits of cosmic law. Many were freed to return home to Eberron, albeit dropped off right back from whence they had been liberated.

Giles had left the group, disguised as Elar himself, of all people. Soon after he sent you a note saying he would use Thuranni resources to keep House Khundarak from investigating Dreadhold. He may pursue his own goals but he still has a certain sense of honor and nobility to him.

Khastor and his men had used the time to fortify the prison once the Clockwork Legions had left. Now finally free, he is considering delving into the underground and using the vein of Khyber crystals to set himself and his men up for life. He also suspected that Caan himself has fled into the tunnels... if so he might find out what happened to the mage. It seems that the old warrior knew something about him that he did not wish to share...

Enoch left the group early and headed for Regalport, saying that he will need to smooth things over with Rygar. He asked that Boryx lay low for a while. He also promised that he would sequester Aselia with Tatiana where she would be safe for the time being while the heroes regrouped and came up with their next moves.

Lognar had returned with Enoch for his hazard pay, while Bella had used the Mechanus Gate facility to head off into the Planes, seeking information about why the Bella Morte had a hard on for her demise.

But more importantly, you were left with the vast riches of Elar... as well as his vast library. There he has collected every bit of information on the famed Mark of Death. So far you have not dared to pursue it but if a Patriarch of one of the great Houses was willing to set up such a scheme just for this, then there might be a reason to look into it.

Finally, troubling news has been coming from the mainland. The army of the Lord of Blades has been gathering in the mournlands and the nations have banded together to repel the invasion. So far it seems like they outnumber the warforged seven to one. Many were predicting a quick and easy victory but if the Lord of Blades has a connection to Boryx the Elder then something does not seem right...

For now, your only worry is to find out more about the people that the Prophecy has led you to...


"Of course I was held innocent according to cosmic law. Do I not follow the cycle? I once acted for my own sake, then I was cast down. I learned to follow the law and to create order, and now I seek to increase freedom within that order." A young-looking man in fine silk robes and rich ermine furs was speaking loudly in the courtyard, despite a total lack of audience or conversational companions.

"This freedom..." the man cut off suddenly. His sculpted face radiated an unnatural symmetry even with brows crossed in confusion. His mouth worked, mouthing words like a litany. Most of those present ignored him as a madman; the Dreadhold possessed plenty of lunatics, after all. Those closest - or at least those most perceptive - could make out a ghostly figure speaking with the man.

"The freedom is not the point. The point is progress, Karrth. You are not here to teach, not yet. You are here to learn. And what have you learned? So far as I can see, you have not learned anything of late," the voice scolded the man.

"I have learned... I don't know what I've learned." His voice got quiet now, though the tenor tones were still audible throughout the courtyard. "I haven't accomplished anything, either. How could I have learned? I was not even responsible for my own release."
Even among the damned, changelings unnerved people.

Ben paced through the ruins of the Dreadhold, taking no form, letting her face remain passive and indistinguishable in its silver smoothness. She let a little of her scars show, too, red and black welts on the sides of her neck. This combination, mutant and mutilation, seemed intimidating enough for her fellow prisoners to avoid her, the kidnapped undergraduate who’d had an enviably comfortable cell. Fear warded off resentment – good.

She’d been nothing to be afraid of, before the Dreadhold, with her mousy elf face and an active effort to make herself as unnoticeable as possible.

Every now and then she had to quash the desire to thank Elar d’Thuranni, whichever hell he burned in now. It was so much easier to forgive him now that he was dead. Just as her cell suddenly seemed so homely, now that the door was broken off – so much so that she kept going back to her old cell, probably the only ex-prisoner mad enough to do so.

She excused herself for it: she was moving the books in her room (no, cell) back into Elar’s main library, up in his tower, the door of which was being guarded very closely by Well. She was under no illusions as to the value of the books Elar had entrusted her with; she could not suffer them to be looted.

The books he used as part of my servitude, she thought, furious with herself, he inflicted the Dreadhold on a young girl. Mother, Elar, Trysanna Paelion – how close trust runs to betrayal.

“Don’t go mad,” she said to the raving man, as she walked across with an armful of dusty tomes. She’d been ignoring him for a good ten minutes now, as her cell had (of course) a view into the courtyard. “It’s over now. None of us were supposed to be here. There was never anything here for us. Just get on with your life.”
Karrth broke into an unearthly smile when the fluid lady approached him. "Ah, but I am supposed to be here. Or I was. Regardless, Karrn had every right to put me here. Wait... Why do you think me mad?"

The ghostly form suddenly snapped into solidity, and a surprisingly high pitched voice trilled into the changeling's mind. "Remember courtesy, Karrth."

Oh! Forgive me, my lady. I am Karrth anak'Aliw, cousin to the Conquerer's family. This is Kirbel, one of my tutors. The elf nodded to her, then faded back into insubstantiality as Karrth made introductions. "May I get you anything? Food, drink? My servants can handle nearly any need."
"I'm no lady," she replied sourly, though the black marks of her scars sunk back into her flesh, "don't worry about the mad thing, after this I'm sure a little talking to ourselves is the least- argh!" A dozen questions flashed through her mind, and she triaged them with a scholar's training in mental incisiveness.

The ghost (Kirbel?) she dropped from her curiosity, remembering her own Professor's inclinations for setting the examination hall on fire - during examinations. It was a solidly reliable generality that all educators were, to one degree or another, eccentrics.

And the rest - well, she was a history student. "Karrn...the Conquerer?" She looked at him all over, but especially at his youthfulness. "You could still be mad. But I suppose I've seen a great deal of stranger things these three years."
"Yes, yes, Karrn the Conquerer - the instigator of this place, and perhaps even this world. He built, people prospered, envy pulled it all down. It's happened several times, with his children building again and again. Of course, I was always an embarrassment to the family; of course they're an embarrassment to me as well." Karrth straightened the embroidered hood that framed his face, smoothing out the blue fringe.

"I find it odd - as often as Karrn's creations have been pulled down and transformed, this place survives yet. Look around you, this is as close as it has ever come to being brought down, and yet other than a few holes in the wall it stands and we all remain. The key-holders have changed, but it still immures lawbreakers. The law has changed, but this place remains beholden to order."

His eyes widened as he spoke, and he turned away, clearly forgetting that Ben was speaking to him. He whistled, and a small air elemental rose out of a briefly opened portal. The little thing brought a book to Karrth's hand, then came to a sort of twitchy quiescence at his feet. He opened the book, and began poring through the tome, muttering to himself. Listening closely, Ben could hear just a few smatterings, "Dreadhold hasn't changed, only grown ... removed from the cycle .... what is the law here ... law... "
Lenard was processed with all of the others. The fact that he was not technically guilty of any crime made the process simple. In fact, he stayed and helped the constructs with his ample knowledge of history and lore. When returned to Dreadhold, he knew not where to go. He sent messages far and wide, hoping that some remnant of his lost life, lineage, anything remained. He waited in Dreadhold for some 30-odd days, encountering various released prisoners, wanderers, and idly picking up the pieces of his former...home.

During the month that followed, Lenard meditated, rebuilt his strength. Accepted his loses of agility, stamina, and prowess. He contemplated his mental growth, his past, the future. He knew not where he would go. Not yet. He had no mortal ties other than his ongoing work. His anthology. The Complete and Annotated Histories of Eberron. It would probably never be fully completed. Still, for an immortal, it was something to keep him occupied. First, he needed to check the facts on the rumors he had heard within the walls of Dreadhold. Then, he would need to visit the repositories of knowledge of each of the major kingdoms. Next...the list went on. Lenard was simply happy to have the freedom to continue his work within the world, rather than removed from it.

During his days of meditation, Lenard noticed something peculiar. There was one face in particular that Lenard recognized, though he doubted his vision (but not his memory). While the men of this strange band moved in to mine, the psion took the chance to accost the individual whom he would have sworn to be dead. In his newly mended (and VERY out of style) robes, he floats over to the strangely familiar Aasimar and speaks.

"A descendant of Karrn? But specifically Karrth? Are you sure Karrth? Anak'Aliw? Karrth Anak'Aliw? Named after your...great, great, great, great, great, great, probably more greats, grandfather I presume?" Lenard stared. Clearly, manners had escaped him over the 3,000 years.
"Ah! Lenard the... yes, I should have realized you'd be here, much like myself. Though I assumed you were dead." Karrth's apparent hesitancy had vanished upon spotting this old-fashioned mentalist, his sculpted visage now radiated a mischievous sort of cold. "I'm not surprised you don't recognize me... I was only fourteen when you advertised the futility of Karrn's plans in that oh-so spectacular manner. I suppose my surname has confused you. I gave up the old forms, OldCommon. So tedious. So I took my sentence as a name."


"'Auran'" Son of comfort, in a better tongue than old Khorvaran. But, yes. Karrth. And I'm not a descendent of those days, I'm a cousin of that easily angered conqueror. Or a cousin of his wife, anyways. Though I think he may have been more justified with you, I was merely irritating to him, you..."

Karrth! A high pitched voice echoed through the minds of all those in the courtyard, silencing Karrth's speech. Karrth froze, then loosened his shoulders. He hadn't realized how tense he was, speaking to Lenard. Old habits are difficult to be rid of, even when they have lain fallow for centuries.

"I apologize, Lenard. I was discourteous. Welcome to our current place. I have been ordered to leave, though I have no destination or purpose. In the meantime, I can offer you better hospitality than is ordinarily available in this benighted pile of stone. In the name of older days, at least."
"You? YOU?! Not a relative? Impossible! You lie! I lived only because I was physically encased in the ruins! I heard whispers of your interment alongside mine at such a young age, but I never thought you would have lived this long. Especially when I stopped hearing your name. I had assumed that another of your relatives annoyed the king. Your kin always made things more important than they seemed." Lenard laughed and stretched. "Of all the people I ever knew, I never thought I'd get stuck in the future with you. Try to not get on my nerves like you did your old 'relative'. Hah. Though...we should compare notes...and...wait...spectacular?! We both know that if I hadn't advised Karrn that I would have been killed on the spot! I did the best I could with the limited knowledge I had. In that...wall...I vowed never again to have faulty information, or act on uncertain terms! Petulant child! Mind your manners!" Obviously, Lenard still thinks of Karrth as the young man he was when imprisoned. He turns to the mortals present.
They know each other, Ben realised, with astonishment, they belonged to the same old world. Details in their conversation began to appear on the inside of her thighs, temporary notes-tattoos that she would pursue later. She could try to piece these mysteries of the past together later, maybe even transfer them to page – The Ancients of the Dreadhold, she mentally titled it. It would be an exciting thing to submit, back in Morgrave.

Was she ever going back to Morgrave? For a moment a terrible fear distracted her – had she handed in her final thesis before being kidnapped? She remembered writing it, but had she submitted it before that faithful trip down the city to Mother? Then the mental shout – Karrth! – jolted her from the familiar absurd panic of academic affairs, and she almost laughed aloud. She wondered what the faculty would make of these two. She wondered whether she’d passed, and whether she had a degree.

The momentary flood of old emotions made her feel both proud and humbled, standing near two people discussing Karrn the Conquerer. Their age and history seemed literally legendary, despite them having been tucked away in the Dreadhold away from the eyes of the world, in that what they knew were now literally legends for everyone else.

But, she thought, flipping absent-mindedly through her book, they have to live in our world now.

“Let’s hope their hearts don’t give out when they see the lightning rail.” She murmured, then bit her tongue for having said it aloud.
"Changeling, child, I have heard of these lightning rails, and even had them described to me. Don't think that just because I'm older than some nations means that I'm senile. I'm as sharp as I was when I was cast into the darkness. Sharper even." Lenard pauses, summoning his own servants over. Distant figures close slowly as the elan continues speaking, two medium sized Astral Costructs with blank features, save Lenard's crest on their heads.

"My annuls are less complete on the subject of the Mournland, and subjects of recent history. In my solitude, I began compiling a complete, annotated, history and atlas of the world. Something to occupy my spare time. So tell me. Tell me where I can find definitive information on recent events since the war. There has been too much confusion of late in the gossip and rumors in Dreadhold."
Karrth erupted into a mirthful laughter even before Lenard finished re-directing his attention to the girl. Wiping tears from his eyes, he spoke to himself as Lenard asked Khybenn about herself, "By the Lords beyond, I had forgotten what fun these old warleaders are. I'm remembering why I got myself in trouble."

"Lenard, I'll give you what you expect, for the sake of old times and greater amusement." With an elegant bow, he gestured to the others in conversation, "May I present the Lady... er... I must confess, I failed to learn your name, or your heritage. If you would, I would love to hear some of your tales. "
Lenard continued to stare at the mortal girl beside him. Honestly, he didn't care about her name. Not unless she could help him in his studies. She didn't seem hostile to Lenard, thus, he waited for her responses patiently. "Well? What information have you for my compilation? Any new trails of mysteries worth following? Anything worthy of an ongoing addendum to my work?"
Ben flushed, feeling several things at once – small, next to Lenard; reprimanded by her elders; and yet oddly defiant. “I am no La-” she began, but stopped herself, thought about it, and declared, “Lady Khybenn d’Paelion. I have no tales or heritage but what I will make for my own. However, I was – once – a member of Morgrave University, of Sharn. Given the recentness of this post-War period, however, you may have better luck finding information in taverns and newspapers than in the academies. Of course, Sharn has the best of both. As for the Mournland, what I can tell you is that ever since the cursed mists settled over Cyre, a warforged has used that plagued land as his base of operation. From what I hear, he has amassed an army of other warforged to begin a war against all organic life. The other warforged who follow him gave him the title 'Lord of Blades.'”

She shifted her weight from one leg to another, battling with herself, before she made a decision. “In the matter of mysteries, however…there is one thing. I was captured and brought here because the Baron Thuranni wanted my services on a project of his.” She lifted up the book in her hands to Lenard, cradled like a baby bird, clearly reluctant to share the task that had been her own for three years. But the Mark was certainly a more contemporary subject to these Karrn-era men than to her. They might be of some help.

“If my memory of ancient history serves me correctly, the legendary Mark of Death was destroyed even before the time of Karrn the Conquerer. But so much is lost to us now that may have still survived in your time.”
"Well met. I am Lenard. Just Lenard. Former adviser of Karrn the Conquerer. I spent the last 3,000 years listening to stories and reading scraps by sparks in the dark, I have no great desire to continue that habit. No, I want to experience the history I have heard about, obtain said information first hand. Live the life that has been granted me again. Until one month ago, I had not seen a single other living being, not to mention the incredible warforged. Though they had been a subject of curiosity to me in my confinement. As with this mysterious Lord of the Blades."

"Sharn seems like it would be a good place to visit for information but...Mark of Death? How do you know of this? It was eradicated several hundred years before my birth. There's no living soul alive with true recollection of it. Only select stories existed in my own time. I, myself, have only one sketch of it."
Ben shrugged, glad to have retained her position of authority on her pet subject, but disappointed at a lack of new information. “Dragonmarks were the focus of my study at Morgrave, and I was…let’s say, compelled by Elar d’Thuranni to study the Mark of Death in particular. I don’t know how he knew about it, or why he chose now to pursue it, but I assume something has changed in its millennia-long dormancy. It looks like a lot of old things are coming back from the dead recently.”

She let that comment sink in for a moment or two, digging in her pockets for a scrap of paper. “I have a warforged friend who was a product of, and a participant in, the Last War. I’m sure he’ll be happy to answer your questions if you care to share your sketch of the Mark. It sounds promising.” But, she thought to herself, probably unreliable. Strange as it seems, older sketches of the Mark were actually more likely to be ludicrously inaccurate – as it faded more and more into obscurity, information about the Mark became more filtered. Recent information was more likely to be from those in the know rather than from excited pilgrims to Aerenal, who'd sketched all manners of circles and scratches for Ben to sift through.
Lenard ignored the comment about coming back from the dead. It probably didn't even register that it was directed at him. "Trade a silly sketch for a trove of knowledge? By all means. I would love the chance to study a war-forged up close. It would greatly help my chapter on them. Though I still have no idea why anyone would care about Maison Vol. I've finished my chapter on it. It vanished from History and bloodlines with Erandis de Vol."

[TekHed]

Chapter II: The Gathering Storm


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Meanwhile, in Mechanus...


“That should do it. You can let go now.”

Garantor nodded and released its grip on the shoulder servo Boryx had been calibrating. The artificer closed the outer casing around and checked the seal, then stood up and stepped back, admiring his work.

The armor was enormous, twice the size of the humanoid version nesting in the next assembly chamber over.

“Truly a work of art.” Boryx remarked.

“Indeed sir. I am touched.”

In spite of its incessant formality, they were, for all practical purposes, childhood friends.

“Oh stop it. For a machine you certainly are sentimental. I need you in top condition for what is coming. Now come on, let’s check the fit. Assembly chamber: Activate.”

At his voice command the circular room came alive as the various modrons comprising it activated, reaching out towards the armor. After much whirring and unlocking noises, the modron arms retracted, pulling the armor apart into the air like a blown-up holographic schematic. The centauroid construct stepped into the center of the chamber and locked it’s hooves into place on the floor, arms outstretched to its side. The modron arms reached forward once more, the armor closing like a flower petal around the zelekhut, encasing it in a layer of hydraulic pistons and cog driven servos covered with a skin of articulated adamantine plates two inches thick.

Garantor stepped out of the chamber, cantering with new power and flexed an arm.

“How does it feel?” Boryx asked.

“How do you humans say…’like a second skin?’”

“Aye, that we do. Now that you’re all dressed for the ball, let me get into my tux.”



Assembly Chamber (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2Bl2WTb9zY)

A minute later, Boryx stepped out of the first assembly chamber, fully upgraded. He had taken his basic carapace, and integrated it completely with robotic systems, creating an intimidating mechanized juggernaut a full 10 feet in height. At the same time he'd taken the opportunity to reinforce his own weapon systems, and numerous features of his ever more cybernetic body.


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A rumbling bass-heavy voice emanated from within. "AND NOW FOR MY NEXT TRICK."

Suddenly the mechanus armor vanished, leaving Boryx standing on the grated floor of the room, dressed as he was before.

“Ta-da!”

Garantor cantered back a pace, raising one of it's forehooves in surprise.

“That…is a neat trick sir. Where did it go?”

Boryx stepped forward and held up his dragonmarked human left arm. A torc-bracelet on his wrist flared with a pale light and Garantor looked closer at the transparent band. Tiny bolts of electricity arced between cogs and circuits barely large enough to be visible.

“The circuit opens into a dimensional micro-pocket.” Boryx said. "This way I'll never be under-dressed for a party, eh?"

“Very cool, sir.”

“I know. But now I’m all done and you know how bored I get when I don’t have any projects.”

“Don’t I.”

“C’mon, grab our gear. Gofer and the others must be rusting with worry by now. I wouldn’t mind seeing Tatiana again either…it’s been too long.”

Garantor grabbed the hyper-dimensional storage canister Boryx had devised and accompanied his partner through the sentient mechanical halls of the Primarch.

“Yes sir. I surmise you are referring to ‘the pleasures of the flesh, sir?’”

Boryx grinned. “Indeed, am I ever. Like you will never know Big-G.”

“A pity.” the inevitable replied with its usual dry acerbity as the pair made their way towards the Gate room.


**********Dreadhold**********

Within the courtyard another Gate expanded in space, white arcs of lightning crackling around the widening iris. Similar portals had been opening every day for the last several weeks, as those denizens of the prime judged innocent were returned to their own realm, ironically to the location of their former enslavement.

Today however, what stepped through was not an ex-convict that any present would recognize. What stepped through first was a zelekhut of the most menacing proportions. It’s great mechanical wings were stowed but smaller facsimiles sprouted from head and wrist, furling and unfurling as it moved. It was encased head to hoof in raiment the likes of which had never before set foot upon the Prime. Strange glowing lights and the occasional arc of violet and golden electricity playing about it’s hooves and limbs cast shadows on the walls, and low humming whirs and clicks could be heard as it moved, punctuated by the occasional hiss of a piston.

The warrior that accompanied it was clearly not one of the former convicts. He was a giant of a man, fully seven feet tall, broad shouldered and with the forge-bronzed bulk of a blacksmith. He was dressed in a popular mode among the Brelish: tight blue trousers tucked into shin high boots. A billowing high-collard shirt was likewise tucked in at the high waisted pants. His left arm, shoulder and pectoral were covered in a kind of one piece glove made of richly embossed leather that fastened with a buckle across the torso like a gladiator’s pauldron. The right arm and shoulder were covered by a mechanical gauntlet matching that worn by the zelekhut, and the right sleeve of his shirt had been removed to accommodate this. A simple blue baldric, embroidered with golden filigree was slung across his left shoulder.

The stranger’s face showed strong handsome features. His eyes however were not human, replaced with translucent lenses, glowing with a golden light from within, scanning the courtyard, missing nothing.

Boryx reflected on all that had transpired. Giles was gone. Bella was off among the planes, hunting her hunters. Lognar, along with the surviving members of the Red Wings had returned with Enoch to seek recompense from his employer. The fiery-haired merc had surprised him with a kiss upon the cheek in that demure yet formal way she had. Lognar had not surprised him at all with a "love-tap" to the solar plexus. Boryx had lost what was to have been his spoils, the magnificent Windray, but at least they had succeeded in liberating his best friend, and escaped with their lives. Boryx surveyed the courtyard, his newly installed visual targeting system scanning and delivering real time range and telemetry directly onto his field of vision. Finally he found a familiar face.

“Khastor! I guess you loved it here too much to leave after all.” He chided. “I don’t suppose vast stores of Khyber Shards and more where they came from had anything to do with that…?” Boryx clasped him on the shoulder.

“I hear there is trouble brewing in the Mournlands. The five nations are overconfident, talk of a massacre. They don’t realize what has been hiding in those mists. I need to warn them, but I doubt they’ll take me seriously.”

Boryx paused, looking the man in the eye. “You never had the chance to tell me who you are, why you were here,” He said. “Care to swap stories over a brew?”
"Aye, I guess I owe you that much." Khastor said as his men continued their work on opening the way into the mines, both of you stood at a high vantage where you could easilly watch them work. "Though I think that you will not be very impressed."

The warrior mused for a bit.

"I once fought in the Last War. I was a general in the service of Breland but it has been a long time now." He sighted. "My only crime was that I had made an enemy that was beyond my ability to defeat. House Lyrandar... I loved this girl once you see, turned out she was involved in House intrigue behind my back and eventually she was found out. I got myself involved even though I knew I shouldn't have and I ended up here."

Khastor is silent for a moment and then cracks his neck from side to side.

"And if you are wondering... last time I saw her was as she was sailing off on a ship to Xen'drik."


"The things we do for women." Boryx mused. "Now that you are free, will you try and find her?"

His thoughts turned toward Tatiana. When last he'd seen her, she'd seemed so distant and uncertain. Could he have been wrong about her? Boryx pushed the thought aside. He would see her when he saw her. For now, he turned his attention back to the man before him.
Khastor gives you an odd grin as he looks back at the pit.

"Aye... maybe I will." He said and it seems like the conversation is over.
"You should." Boryx replied. "You're free now, and I'm sure it's been awhile..."

He let that train of thought go however for he was being rapidly approached by arguably the most eccentric of Dreadhold's charges...
The ancient and the changeling continued their banter regarding history and the mark of death. In spite of Lenard's seemingly surly nature, he had more in common with the girl than perhaps they both realized. At an opportune moment, the aasimar (who had to concede he was an ancient now as well) interjected to excuse himself.

"Well met then Lady Khyben. If you'll pardon my ignorance, I know little of Vol's mark. By your leave..." Karrth had noticed Boryx returning from Daanvi. A few brisk steps had him nearing the man. This time, there was no despair in his stance or face. Rather he wore a small smile and smooth brow.

"Warrior Boryx. Welcome back to our little pit of stagnation. There has been talk... an army similar to yours marches far south of us. Monsters below forced the Kundarak's to stop mining. And we hear rumors that the Mark of Death has resurfaced."

"It has become clear to me that I am supposed to act, but I am still at a loss. I, we, have been told that freedom is a great thing. But it feels to me much like your blade would in my hands. A fine thing indeed, but one that I cannot use. Warrior Boryx, why are you here again? If you have a need, my offer still stands. My powers, my wealth, given freely in return for purpose." His smile widened now, still crooked with a mischievous bent as he continued, "And I have met an old... friend here. He has his flaws, as have we all, but he is as ancient and powerful as I. I feel certain that he will accompany us."
Boryx smiled, and this time it was warm. "I see. Well Karrth, I'm on my way to my workshop in Regalport. Some...personal matters to attend to. If you wish you may accompany me there, I too am few of friends these days."

"Ahem." The imposing zelekhut made a forced cough.

"Present company not included, of course." Boryx slapped his construct cohort's armored flank. Presently, he turned to Khastor. "I'm sure you'll do fine. Let's keep in touch. If you ever need help, I'll do what I can." Boryx clasped the other man's hand and bade him farewell before departing with Karrth from the high rampart back towards the ruined courtyard. Garantor stayed close behind, eyes ever watchful for trouble.

"Regalport... that's that little town to the west of here, on Greentarn, yes? Do you have transportation back there? I've been led to understand that your ride here is no longer available. My services are available, I could fly us and a number of companions there in a day; or even teleport us all. Um... if I teleport us it might be wise to study the city further."

"If I may be so bold, what awaits in Regalport? Other than your workshop. Only... I suspect that wherever I go I am not meant to simply find a new set of chambers to inhabit. And you don't seem meant for sedentary existence either."

When they approached Lenard, Karrth turned his attention back to the older man. Karrth's smile had broadened again, "Milord Lenard, I see you have already met this indomitable soul. Tell me, do you have plans already? Because this one could surely use your knowledge. Who knows? He may even have something for you to learn from his travels."

Karrth went on, his smile fading as though Lenard had already turned them down, "But I understand if you don't want to attach yourself to another again. After last time, I mean."

He turned back to Boryx, "East, yes. I really should study a map before attempting a teleport, or else leave it to another. But a discrete place to set up shop? That I can provide. When you are ready, I will show you my chambers. They are not perfect, but they are certainly more... discrete... than you could possibly find in any city in Khorvaire that I know of. I cannot help you with your personal matters, without an invitation, but I can provide a workspace, should you desire."
"Indeed, with Giles now in control of the Thuranni, Regalport is no longer safe. I need to go close up shop, tie up some loose ends, and personal matters, and then we'll need a new base of operations. I would welcome your aid."
"Indeed, I believe I will take you up on that offer Boryx. Unfortunately for Lady Khybenn d’Paelion, that would mean that she must accompany us as well if she would like to study my information on the Mark of Death." Lenard gestured towards his satchel, and then to Boryx and Karrth. "If the company is permissable, that is."
Karth scowled, then addressed Lenard and the others, "I suppose if you want to travel with us, I can make room for you in my chambers as well."
“Fine by me. As much as I would like to return to Sharn at some point, well...it’s not a problem. For now, I am happy to search for direction, and I’ve never been to Regalport.” There were a lot of familiar unknowns awaiting her back home, one of them being whether it was still her home – and no youth has ever been eager to visit their parents. Besides, she had consumed most of Elar’s papers and books that she could access in the Dreadhold. Some were still magically locked up in safes or hidden in caches, and she suspected some were somewhere down in the mines – these were, for now, beyond her reach and safe enough under Well’s watchful guard.

The rest were probably in Regalport, the public power base of House Thuranni. As she pondered this, however, snatches of conversation floated over to her...

Ben narrowed her eyes, and bent forward to address their liberator. “I'm sorry, who did you say was in charge of the Thuranni?” She felt an inexplicable fury; she’d been naïve to believe the power vacuum would last. Of course. Power shifts in the Houses all the time. She could well be deceiving herself, but she felt like she’d vaguely understood Elar, and by extension his House – the flicker of his three shadows had, in three years of captivity, crossed the line from terror to familiarity. She shuddered to think now of the Shadow Network guided by some other sinister hand. “You speak of the winged man...the one who... He seemed familiar to you. What do you know about this Giles?”

They control us. They always control us.
Boryx suddenly became aware of the changeling. Funny that, even in their natural form they managed to blend in.

He cleared his throat heavily.

"About him. I feel responsible for that, having inadvertently set him free and allowed him to escape. I should have seen it coming, what with the way he talked..."

"Giles Maxander, heir of Tarkanan now has access to the most dangerous network of spies and assassins on Khorvaire...and during a time of mounting war. In the Mournland, the Lord of Blades stirs his armies. The five nations unite against this common foe, overconfident in their odds. They have no idea what horrors amass in the mists. With the nations thus distracted, we know Giles plans to use the Thurrani to commit sabotage against the other dragonmarked Houses. If he times it right, as I'm certain he will, I can only imagine the havoc he will wreak. In addition, there have been rumblings from Khyber...malformed creatures of madness rising up from the netherworld. Amidst all of it, the Mark of Death. Enemies without, enemies within, enemies underfoot, and Death..."

"I'm no dragon, but such ill omens all point to one thing. A reckoning."
Lenard listened carefully. Master shapeshifter in charge of a spy network, armies of the war-forged gathering, omens of peril...He would be salivating...if he salivated. Such chances for chronicling! I simply must be involved, from the start, and get it all down. He paused his thought process..."Mark of Death again? I highly doubt it. But omens of the apocalypse? Again, I doubt their truth, but what additions to my book! If any amongst you remain so steeped in the politics and historical events of this land, please keep me informed. I am sure that my vast stores of knowledge may prove useful."
Ben attempted to conceal her surprise, feeling oddly delighted. Heir of Tarkanan…an aberrant dragonmarked moving against the Houses. The aberrant marked, the fourteenth House, were also dismissed by those in the spotlight of the Prophecy, also a community of outcasts building a life for themselves. She admired them as one of her own.

However, as much as she felt this to be true, and as much as she disliked the power of the Houses, she held her admiration for Giles’s plans in reserve – the man clearly had no trouble moving into the Thuranni power vacuum, and with the fall of other Houses, well. It would not serve anyone’s lot to be ruled over by a tyrant.

“I see.” She held up her hand. “It seems we are about to depart. Just one thing. If we are to explore these rumours about the warforged rebellion, I have an associate here who once served the Lord of Blades. I warn, however, that he may not be forthcoming, and I will not have him pressed – his incarceration here was expressly for the purpose of…information extraction about this subject. We may go speak to him now, or perhaps see if he’d like to follow us.” She turned and nodded towards Lenard. “I believe this gentleman would also like to speak with him.”
Karrth, listening to the turn the conversation had taken, grimaced. He said, "When you said you had personal tasks ahead, I assumed something else. A woman, or something."

Then he smiled, "Very well, but we aught to take this conversation away from listening walls. Besides, who could want to remain a minute longer in this place than is strictly necessary. Follow me, please. This won't delay us unduly, and it will offer the privacy that such things require."

As he finished speaking, a glittering portal opened against one of the courtyard's stone walls. With an inviting gesture, he stepped through and vanished. The little air elemental that had been twirling around his ankles hovered near the portal, waiting for the rest. Those who stepped through felt the lurch of planar travel as they passed under the portal. A bare cave awaited them. The floor was polished smooth though, and the air was warm and dry. A staircase spiraled up into another chamber above, and warm light filtered down.

Karrth was waiting in that chamber above, a goblet in one hand while he reclined on pillows on the floor. "Be comfortable, eat, drink. We won't be listened to here, or bothered."
"Aye, well there is that too." Boryx blushed at the mention of his woman.

The Daanvi knight and his Zelekhut companion were the first through the portal. He didn't say it to the others but if need be he could always open a plane shift himself back to where they started...for in the last month his Dragonmark had surged, now covering nearly all of his remaining human skin save for his face, a Siberys mark in full bloom.

He declined the offer of food and drink, being still somewhat uncomfortable in the presence of all these ex-convicts, even though they had been vetted by the High Court of Law. As he pondered his own emotion he realized he still felt somewhat guilty about the way the turn of events had taken things. These beings were all worthy of their freedom, but what else had he unleashed upon the world in the process?

Rather, he attempted social niceties and instead asked, "So...where have you brought us Karrth?"
"This is my home, Lord Boryx. A little demi-plane I stitched together from astral and etheric power; a bit of materiality, if you will, away from Eberron. This has been my home for centuries now, and I've endeavored to make it comfortable to my needs. For that matter, I would be pleased to make it comfortable to your needs as well."

Karrth gestured expansively, "It would require only a small effort of concentration, and this place is already as secure as any you are like to find in Khorvaire. You are even welcome to further secure your own small place, should you so desire."
Lenard glances around the demiplane mansion. He nods at the ancient and vaguely occult architecture. "A bit darkly decorated for an Aasimar, but quite nice." Lenard stops and ponders something. "That warforged, will it be joining us? Before we depart for Regalport, I would like to speak with it."

The Elan did not sit, did not eat, and barely moved from the main hall. His constructs stand just behind him, silent and still as statues. "Where is your library? I would take up residence there, if I am to spend any time here. Additionally, should we all be traveling together for an extended period of time, I would offer a mark of recall. One that would allow me to summon you to my person. If that would be agreeable?"
Stepping in, Ben cast her eyes around in wonder, and grinned like the schoolgirl she used to be. “I had absolutely no reason for feeling guilty about the comfort of my cell.” She turned towards the elemental, and to Lenard. “Well is at the door of Elar’s library, up in the tower. Tell him Ben desires his presence, and tell him…it’s about his old Lord.” With that, she sat down and began to devour the proffered food, eating as youth often do – quickly, in great swathes, and with very little grace. If she was aware of this, she did not apologise; the Dreadhold kitchens had been awful for three years.
After a brief tour of the pocket-realm's amenities, Lenard's psi-crystal floated back, the stoic Well in tow.

"You wanted to see me, so here I am." The warforged told.
Lenard simply stares. This was nothing like anything he had ever seen. "Oh what wonders away beyond this island...Everything. I must see everything." The elan circled Well before stopping in front of the warforged once more. In his circuit, he took in every detail, from the metallic and wooden sinews, to the scars of battle on the warforged's chassis. Instantly, a notebook appeared from within the folds of Lenard's robes, accompanied with an ancient looking quill. Frantically, the elan scrawled unintelligible notes onto the paper. Despite his desire to speak on the subject of the forges, creation, and most importantly, the Lord of Blades, Lenard is consumed with his writing and will not be the first to speak.
Boryx approached the taciturn 'forged.

"Greetings...Well, it it? I heard you used to serve the Lord of Blades. The man who until recently I knew as my father was excoriated and cast out of House Cannith for working with the Lord. Perhaps you knew of him? His name was Boryx d'Cannith, of Breland. After they flayed him his mind broke and now he is called Boryx the Mad. Would you like to know why? Rhetorical question...it's because he sought to breach Xoriat itself. The last time I or anyone else saw him he'd already made contact with at least one Daelkyr. The Inevitables fear he plans to break the very mechanics of reality."

Boryx, looked into Well's eyes, for if anyone was equipped to read the feelings of a construct it was a knight of Daanvi.
You could almost swear that you saw Well's eyes narrow as you mention the name.

"The Elder. That is what we called him." As he talked, his voice was grim. "Most us do not know of his involvement, only those who were close to the Lord of Blades himself were allowed privy to this secret. The one fleshling among us. There was something unnerving about him but it was a trait that gave us kinship."

"I do not care about the goals of Daanvi or their inevitables. But I heard your name whispered among them. His name." There was a sinister pause. "It does not call back things that I wish to remember. So this is all that I will say."
"Lenard, my journals and notes, such as they are, are in my chambers, through there." Karrth indicates the polished double doors that lead to his personal room. "You are welcome to peruse them at your leisure, or to copy them for your own purposes. I have no secrets within them. If you wish your own study or library, make your wishes known to one of the servants here, and it will be done."

Karrth's conversation with the others was interrupted by the warforged's arrival, and his words solicited a curiousity beyond expression. And, oddly, Karrth felt a welling of sympathy towards this mechanical being that he hadn't often felt before. "Well, you are a fascinating thing, truly you are. Built by the hands of mortals, flawed as a mortal yet possessing mechanical perfection that echoes a Daanviite origin. Why do you not wish to remember? Does remembering weaken you, somehow? I confess that I do not understand how a simple memory might harm a being such as yourself."

"I know that with mortals such as ourselves, a sin or terror confessed is often one expiated. It was true of Lenard here, his great error of pride must be admitted before he can move on. This place is safe, and even the needs of one such as yourself can be addressed here, should you speak them. So speak them."
Ben gulped down a mouthful of wine, watching her new companions interacting with Well. Perhaps she couldn’t speak for the warforged, but she felt that she knew him better than to think that he was suppressing his sins in some way – Well always said what was necessary, and never what wasn’t. Whatever had happened between him and his former Lord, Ben couldn’t see it becoming relevant in the new war, and as such she much doubted he would waste time recounting it.

Herself, she wasn’t bothered. Well had endured much more violent and insidious attempts at information extraction during his time at the Dreadhold – he would reveal what he chose to reveal, and Ben trusted him enough to be happy with that.

She, however, said none of this. She sat, watching, eating.

"Pride? It was not pride that caused me to act in error. I knew then, and admit freely now, that I knew nothing. I had no plan, I could only posture on past occurrences and infer similar battle plans. Had I not acted, I would have been slain, and my family made an example of. Instead, I acted, hoping that my blind wisdom would be enough. As for mortality? I am far from mortal, farther than you Karrth. Well, yourself, and myself, may well exist forever should no force see fit to destroy us."

The aberration then turns to the construct before him.

"Memory can only strengthen. Learn from mistakes, hardships have lessons to teach. Use them to prevent their repetition. Please, if you can, tell us what you know of this Lord of Blades."
Well looked heavily at the Aasimar but his face remained a mask of ice. Only his eyes changed slightly, showing something new within them.

"The Elder shared our bloodlust, our insanity. For he himself had embraced it." He paused. "For a long time he took a favor to my ability to kill and I was glad to perform my duties. From aberrations to fleshlings I killed all and reveled in the sensation. As time passed the killings had less and less purpose, it became a game of who lived and who died."

"One day, the Elder gathered a group of five other warforged and ordered me to kill them." He paused ominously. "I did not rebel as you might have thought. I carried out my orders and continued my service for many more weeks until the Elder had grown scared of me. Like the others, I was rounded up and another was ordered to kill me. So I fought."

There was another long pause.

"I continued to kill even after I escaped the Mournlands, until I was finally captured and brought to this prison. Here I stayed in the darkness for many years, with nothing but my own thoughts to keep me company.... until Ben found me."

"Killing did not make me more alive. Same for those of us who still serve the Lord of Blades." Well said. "I do not know what the Elder wants but the armies in the mournlands are just a distraction. We are seen as expandable."
Karrth nods at the warforged's words. In truth, they mean little to him, though his brows move and eyes widen at the places that eyes are supposed to widen. The spark of sympathy seems to have died before it began; and yet intrigue lies within. "So the Elder - your father, Lord Boryx? - worked for the warforged while weakening them. Or at least weakening those who become threats."

"So, this bloodthirsty one seeks to break the cycle - change our reality." Turning back to Boryx, "You seek your father? To stop him, I imagine? Lord Boryx, can you kill your father?"

A pause... then Karrth comes lively again, wiping away the moment with a sweeping hand gesture. "It doesn't matter. Defending the cycle of reality is as good a purpose as any. If you intend to chase this, I'll follow. As I said, I am more than a mere prisoner."
"He's not my father." Boryx replied. "Though until recently I'd always known and worshiped him as such. Turns out my scheming succubus of a mother was working against him for longer than he realized...were he my true father it would have been the Mark of Making, and not of Passage that etched itself upon my dermis. As far as I know he's not aware of my mother's marital indiscretion, which I may yet be able to turn to my advantage."

Boryx paused, looking to Well.

"It's true what you say. To the Elder, the Forged were always toys to tinker with. I fear however that he has moved beyond mere artifice. As dwarves forge metal and stone, the Daelkyr forge flesh and bone. When last I saw the Elder it appeared he was attempting to unite the two crafts..."

"Melding constructs and living...? "Sounds painful and unnatural. It seems that the Elder wishes to undo this world? That, I cannot stand for. Though my reasons may be selfish, there is so much I haven not seen and experienced of this plane. Not to mention my annuls of lore are incomplete. There is much threatening this land at present, and much to record. Pondering where to start is troubling to me. For once, time does not seem to be my ally." Lenard's voice and thoughts undermine his stoic countenance.
Boryx considered the words of all present, though Well's last continued to ring in through his mind.

"So then...three fronts. The Mournlands, The Usurper of Shadows, and the Dragon Below. Well here says the Mournlands are a distraction and I'm inclined to agree with him. Giles poses a threat and is certainly not going to waste any time in setting his schemes in motion. Khyber beckons, and with the Daelkyr below, I'm almost certain that is where the Elder is hiding, but whether he is connected to what is happening here, under Dreadhold, I cannot say. I'd follow that lead certainly...only I'm afraid that when...if...we returned we'd not find Khorvaire as we'd left her. At the very least, we ought to warn the other Houses first. The Thuranni have always been dangerous, but they have kept the tenuous balance out of enlightened self-interest. Giles won't be content with that. Neither will the Elder."
"I concur. Warning the other kingdoms is paramount. Karrnath cannot stand alone against the threats presented. It will need allies once more, and not against the Lord of Blades. Though, I must wonder, even if he is a distraction, he would cause a great deal of harm if not dealt with. The nations are holding him in check at present, but what if they had to focus elsewhere? A two pronged attack, even with one lesser foe and one greater one, would still prove disastrous." Lenard is worried that he is all too right.
Ben moved to stand next to Well. She didn’t touch him, or say anything, because neither would be meaningful to him – but she stood with him. Turning back to the discussion, she nodded to concur. “In that case, it seems we need to get to a city and rejoin civilisation – I believe we were discussing Regalport? So long as we can find some way of contacting the higher-ups of nations and Houses, and convince them of the danger.” She tapped her chin in thought. “Isn’t House Thuranni based in Regalport? Elar couldn’t have been the only powerplayer in his House – if we shared Giles’s deception with other members, perhaps we could expose him, or at the very least slow him down.”
"Very well...then it's settled. A quick stop, no more than a day or two in Regalport for me to tie up loose ends and then to the strongholds of the other Houses. Karrth, if you'd be so kind as to get us back on Prime, I'll take it from there..."

[TekHed]

Chapter II: The Gathering Storm


1000 YK 15 Vult Mol
11:12 AM
Weather: Sunny
Temperature: -16° Celsius
Wind Speed: 15 Mph

--=--



Light and color floods your senses as the magic of the mark lets go of you, leaving you in a peculiar place. All around you were surrounded by machines, gadgets and gizmos whirling and busing as if they were alive. A few sources of light provided illumination to what was clearly a workshop to a master of his craft but a lack of windows suggested that the owner also does not like to be disturbed...

"Good day, Master Boryx. I am happy to see that you are unharmed." Gofer immediately chimed, the robot butler looking exactly as he was left. "Master Enoch has been asking to see you as soon as you arrive."


http://s2.postimg.cc/715f3wszt/portal2robot.jpg

His servo eyes then fall upon the other people accompanying Boryx.

"Will we be having guests today?"
"Greetings Gofer." Boryx answered the small Modron as it looked up with its glowing blue eye. "That's a negative. Initiate exodus protocol, we're moving shop. Did Enoch say where I could reach him?"
"Affirmative ser," the robot replied, and the workshop was soon abuzz with preparations to move out. "Enoch said to wait for him at the Siren's Call. He will meet you there as soon as possible."

The butter quickly scanned the room and made a few calculations.

"We will be fully ready to move in three hours."
The elan nods, watching the modron and surveying the workshop with interest. "If there is anything I can do to expedite our departure let me know. In the meantime, if you would like Boryx, I can mark any of your constructs, or anyone present, for recalling to my person upon command."
"You'll forgive me if I decline such...intimacies, until we've had more time to establish trust. I'm not keen on being summoned at anyone's whim. I'll need to alert Enoch to our arrival and check in on a friend while I'm there. You all are welcome to join me or stay here and enjoy what meager hospitality I can offer in the time it takes my cohort to finish packing. Truth be told I'm a practical man. You're likely to be more comfortable in Karrth's home than here, but what I have you are welcome to..."
Karrth peers around the workshop, wandering aimlessly around, looking but not touching. The little Modron servant occupies most of Karrth's attention, though the man doesn't let his attention rest in an obvious manner. Not wanting to interrupt their erstwhile host, Karrth speaks to Ben, "Who is this Master Enoch? I feel I've heard the name before, but I confess I don't know his significance. Should we be bringing gifts?"
Ben shrugged, unsure, her eyes on the numerous machines that busily operated around them. Do the Cannith have all of this, too? "I've just escaped from the Dreadhold - this Master Enoch will have to excuse me if I haven't had any time to buy gifts." She stood up straighter. "Boryx, if you don't mind, I'll follow you on your errands. I haven't been much outside of my native Sharn - so I'm as easily lost in Regalport as I am eager to see it."
"A brief mapping of Regalport would do my atlas much good. If you don't mind, I would much like to come along." Lenard took out an ancient looking tome. Most who gazed at it would be not be surprised that it is bound, but rather that it hadn't crumbled to dust entirely.
You spend some time inside of the workshop but soon after everything was said and done you exit from the building and enter into the busy streets awash in the salty winds of the sea. As you walk towards the Siren's Call the weather begins to change, the winds growing more fierce every second until it has become a gale so forceful that it becomes a struggle to even move forward and the sky fills itself with ominous clouds.

Then an arrow lands with a thunk directly in front of your feet.

"Greetings primes! It is with heavy a heart that I must bring you sad tidings for your doom has arrived." A joyous voice resounds around you, alien but distinctly male. "Those that seek to meddle with the powers of the planes cannot be forgiven... indeed the very might of the sky has tracked you down!"

Searching for the source of the sound, Boryx finally spies a speck visible a thousand feet in the air above a point 300 feet across the city. Zooming in he sees a rider in ornate armor, wielding a bow from the back of a magnificent pegasus.

"I am Bella Morte Deka Un! The Whispering Wind, the True Arrow, the Knight of Storms! Would you lend me this dance?"


Boss Battle

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Knight of the Winds

Play: Battle Theme! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UfpUBfF8C3I)
Boryx's cybereyes widened. It created a look of surprise on his face but in reality it was just the lenses focusing upon the distant archer.

"Take cover! Hide! Don't let him hit you with those arrows..." Boryx said to his companions.

Activating his amplifiers, Boryx's voice thundered over the rushing wind, clearly audible to the air genasi...and to everyone within miles.

"I am Boryx the Younger! The Hammer of the Forge, the Bringer of Order, the Knight of Cosmic Law. Who hired you Bella Morte? What jurisdiction do you claim?"
Karrth squints up into the sky...

"Um, as a general rule, I object to arrows..." Karrth raises his hands, and the stone of the houses nearest him mold, growing into thick stone walls. Forming a big corner, the stone roofed over and covered a sizeable area.
The wind whipped Ben's silver hair into her eyes. Annoyed, she shook her head once, and it slipped into a harsh but practical buzzcut. "Now I am less enamored with Regalport," she growled, leaning against the wind, "Geez...over the top much? Who is this guy? What does he mean, dance?"
Lenard is silent as the wind picks up. He looks into the sky and sees the man on the pegasus and ponders both the meaning of the "knight's" words, and the siren't nature. Then, he tests the winds.
The pegasus flies forward as the archer draws back his string and lazily calls down four arrows upon Lenard which were all deflected by the force shield of the psion. If that surprised the rider then he did not show it but soon he brought the bow to his head and began to steady his aim.
Lenard informs the party, telepathically, of some additional pertinent information. "The pegasus is weak of mind and easy to hit. It should be our first target. Beware of its sonic attacks, they are about as potent as a mage's fireball. I would be hesitant to assault it sonically or electrically" Lenard then swiftly manifests another astral construct. It reaches out tendrils and teleports any of the party members who wish to accompany it, Lenard, and his other construct directly under the Knight and Pegasus, still on the ground (or as close to the ground, directly below them as possible).

Lenard then looks up as he sinks into the ground, hoping that he can incapacitate the Pegasus by distorting time itself. Lenard's other astral construct flies up 80 feet.

Lenard's psicrystal takes a pot-shot at the pegasus before the Time-Hop.
The knight seemed to have anticipated such a maneuver as the pegasus simply fans its wings and flies up, leaving him once again out of your reach.
Transported suddenly through space by Lenard's psychic construct , Boryx suddenly found himself standing on absolutely nothing. Fortunately, Grantor deployed it's ingeniously crafted mechanical metal-feathered wings, and Boryx latched on, vaulting into a riding position.

Now safely in flight, Boryx activated the magitech torc on his wrist and in a flash of light his form was replaced by an armored juggernaut.

This suit was different than the former residents of Dreadhold recalled. For starters it was much larger, rendering Boryx a full 3 meters in height. It also resembled the suit worn by the Zelekhut, being more of a construct itself than a traditional suit of armor. It hummed slightly with power being conducted through various circuits cut into grooves upon the surface. Having changed into the appropriate formal attire for "dancing" with the Knight of the Winds, Boryx relayed what he knew...

"I guess he isn't prepared to discuss the specifics of his employment. Alright everyone, listen up! I've heard of these guys. They are an extra-planar mercenary group. If possible we should try and capture him alive for questioning, find out who's hired them. He's an air genasi, so he'll be immune to any air or wind based effects. If he can peg us from that far away you can bet it's not a good idea to let him get a good bead on you."
A sudden dizziness washed over Ben as they teleported, and freefall began to pull her down, sending her heart leaping into her mouth. Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to seek comfort - paradoxically - in her moment of greatest distress, the days inside the belly of Khyber, for the worst possible part of her life had already happened. In the darkness of Khyber, down is up and up is down, and bodies tumble endlessly through the directionless dark.

Her black scars burned their way up onto the surface of her silver flesh, two large spines in particular bursting from her back. She opened her eyes to her wings, and pulled herself out from gravity's grasp, rocketing upwards towards their attacker. Extending her hand, lines burst free from her skin and grew into whirling black thorns, fluttering like malevolent birds into a long wall formation of sharp and spinning blades. The wall grew upwards, heading directly for the knight...
The knight and his pegasus dodge deftly as a wall of blades shoots up into the air, barely missing both of them!

"Try as you might, the sky is my realm!" He said, confident even in the heat of battle.
Karth remains on the ground as the others charge headlong at the knight. With a few waves of his hands Kirbel appeared nearby...

The Bella Morte in the mean time drew back his bow in full concentration upon the elan.

"You are exposed." He whispers as two arrows hit Lenard on the way down and instantly invisible chains anchor him to the plane. A third arrow sought out his construct and the power around it was instantly unraveled, destroying the creation. The forth arrow hit Ben right in the shoulder but the damage was far less severe than it could have been. With a smile he orders his pegasus to fly up into the sky, leaving you to pursue behind him.
Lenard smiles as the arrows come for him. In an instant, he manifests a 10 cubic foot barrier of darkwood between himself and the incoming arrows.
The arrows tear through the barrier like it was not even there and hit their target with uncanny accuracy.

Lenard's body falls limp, still halfway submerged into the ground. His other Astral Construct turns around and Flies over, seeking to aid its creator.

Grumbling to himself about impetuous people charging off into danger totally unprepared, Karrth freezes for a bit. Danger doesn't agree with him, especially after his lack of action for so long. He makes to flee, opening up the portal to his chambers. Before he can dash through though, Kirbel passes through.

Stop, stay, fight. I'll lend aid, Karrth. The elf fades to invisibility, keeping Karrth from running away.
"We need to close the gap." Boryx shouted to his new companions over the wind. "Khybenn...you're up: tag team special!"

Garantor easily pushed through the severe winds with a single flap of it's mechanical wings. Two more flaps brought the Inevitable broadside to the flying dragon-like changeling, close enough for Boryx to reach out and touch her fingertips. For the second time in as many hours, the mark of Passage throbbed to life upon Boryx's body and in an instant, they had nearly covered the distance to the knight. In spite of the danger, Boryx seemed to be enjoying himself, and took a moment to gaze at the wonder of the wide world below. The principalities loomed large upon the ocean while the mainland of Khorvaire spread off in the distance below the clustering clouds...

Ben’s head spun again with the rush of teleported distance. She was starting to enjoy it. “So that’s what the power of a real dragonmark feels like!” The euphoria of the moment seized her as she opened her wings wide, powering through the oncoming wind, dulling the slow sting of pain in her shoulder. As she pelted like a fired arrow towards their enemy, a hum of energy passed around the dark marks now fully uncovered on her body, sending a pulse of red energy up through the lines and into the shifting circular scars around her throat. Silver hissed as the lines climbed up her throat, tracing the lines of her jaw and cheekbones like an exoskeleton until, as she finally closed in, the magic-laden lines touched the edge of her lips, completing the mock-dragonmark.

She released the energy in a breath of black spellfire, engulfing both the knight and his mount.
The black cloud engulfed both the knight and his mount and the effect was immediate. The pegasus thrashed underneath his rider, momentarily losing all sense of the battle as the rider himself looked directly at you. The spellfire swept over him like it was nothing.

"You shalt regret this..."

He pulled forth 4 arrows, knocking them all at once, and aims his bow at Ben. With a quick draw he pulls the arrows back and lets them loose. Three arrows strike Ben directly, while the forth veers off course.
Boryx had to admit he was impressed. Kybenn was no mere changeling, and the marks now visible upon her flesh glowed with a baleful red light before she unleashed the flames of darkness over the Knight.

Deka Un had little time to gloat over his wrathful smiting of the marked changeling before a massive wall of metal filled his vision, the baroque detailing of the mounted mechanus knight contrasting with the elegant lines of the air genasi and his magnificent steed.

Boryx's arm was raised, his hand replaced by a long rotating drill, extending from the complex cylindrical housing Boryx's armored arm had opened into. He examined his choice of targets...man or rider? It was tempting to go for the knight directly, but it was his mobility that gave him his greatest advantage. It was unlikely that the Bella Morta would show any such quarter, and indeed Khybenn's wounds looked grave. Finally Boryx decided to focus on the most dangerous target first. He swung his arm out, drilling into Deka Un's quiver...shattering his arrows into a million splinters.

He then brought the drill down, with some sadness, into the gorgeous flying horse.
The knight smirks and dodges away from the attack, thinking it was aimed at him, yet a moment later he heard the breaking of wood and metal behind him and a rain of arrows falls down towards the ground as his quiver crumbles to pieces. Barely having time to realize what happened the knight tries to veer the next attack away from his mount but his effort prove ineffective as the drill pierces into the side of the winged horse.

Yet while the pegasus showed pain, it did not lose it's balance in the air.
With a touch from Kirbel, Karrth vanished from sight as well. Taking Karrth in surprisingly strong hands, the invisible elfling lifted Karrth up, allowing Karrth to transport each of them into the air below the ongoing battle with the Knight of the Winds.
A crowd has gathered in the streets, those who have cover from the wind look up in awe at the battle that was happening above their heads. Only the flashes of magic across the sky could be seen clearly.

The Bella Morte looked at Boryx with fury, tossing his bow aside, letting it fly to the ground as he pulls out a lance and a shield instead. Both he and his steed resisted the influence of the black spellfire and were ready to fight.

"Do you enjoy the heaven, prime? Let me assure you that you will not stay long. For you do not belong here!" Saying those words he swung with the fury of a hurricane but Boryx deflected each and every blow that fell upon him. The knight seeing this raised his lance to the sky and screamed. "Feel the Storm Rage!"

The pegasus raised it's hooves up and a surge of electricity ran between them. As it brought them down upon the air a deafening thunder clap echoed all around you as waves of sound hit you with the force of a battering ram.
The Daanvi Duo quickly shook off the effects of the thunderclap before Garantor moved up to level the two knights. The Zelekhut lashed out with it's barbed adamantine chains, reaching first to disarm the knight, then to immobilize his mount. Boryx meanwhile altered his arm, the drill retracting and being replaced with a spinning circular gear-saw. He fired twice, the first blade being replaced by a second as soon as it was fired.
The knight deflects both attempts to disarm him, falling into a more defensive posture. With expert skill he directs his pegasus away from one of the chains yet the second scored a direct hit, inflicting a deep wound and binding his mount. Only with a focused effort does the pegasus free itself and with a deft maneuver dashes into the sky.

The two buzzsaws follow after them but one is quickly deflected by the knight with his shield while the other is pierced mid-air with a graceful swing of his lance.
Garantor surged after the fleeing pegasus, withdrawing it's chains and calling it's lance in the same smooth motion. Leveling at the steed Garantor drove the point home, while Boryx followed up with a vicious volley at the Knight of the Winds.
The lance drove into the pegasus but through utterly inhuman effort by the rider the blow that should have killed left the horse wounded, battered, bruised but still able to fight.

"This will be the last step in our dance." The knight said as he sends his mount skyward several hundred more feet. The island of Regalport reduced to a speck. Dashing at blinding speed, at the apex of his rise the knight casts his shield aside and armed with only his lance, jumps from his steed, hurtling towards Boryx with a terrifying momentum.
"Oh, you're going to love my final flourish." Boryx replied with grim determination. "Come at me then..."

Garantor climbed towards the knight at full speed, headed directly towards the deadly lance. To those watching from the ground far below, the two tiny specks hurled themselves towards each other. Just before the lance hit however, Boryx called upon his mark for the third time that day, and, in a flash of blue light, vanished into thin air to appear high above the Knight of the Winds, well within range of the pegasus. Time seemed to stand still for a brief euphoric moment, surrounded by endless blue and the glowing light of the sun and moons, before gravity claimed it's rightful hold once more upon the densely armored scion of Daanvi.

"Skybreak!"

The lance was only inches away from Boryx before he vanished and the blows meant for him fell upon Garantor instead. The lance broke through the hard armor of the construct but the rider was already safe. The knight looked above him in amazement, seeing Boryx in that single decisive moment before everything flowed back into motion. With no more tricks up his sleeve the knight called his mount to catch him, returning to the saddle with quick grace.

"We will meet again some time." He said and placed his hands in front of him. "Plane Shift!"

In a blinding flash, both mount and rider were gone.
Boryx watched as the knight drove the point through where he had been a mere moment before, shattering through his Inevitable companion and breaking the construct warrior fully in half. The two twisted chunks of mechanical wreckage began to plummet to the ground just as Boryx began his own meteoric descent. Boryx enjoyed the weightless sensation even as the ground rose up with frightening alacrity to meet him.

Fortunately Garantor's inert carcass hit the ground in an unoccupied alleyway, taking even more damage but avoiding any loss of innocent life from the adjoining buildings. Boryx waited until the last second to activate the token Aran had given him a fortnight before at the Dread Fort, suddenly stalling his fall mere inches before the jagged remains of his partner and friend.

Boryx worked quickly, scooping up the shell and inner workings of the zelekhut and his gear into the dimensional storage canister he carried with him. The evidence of the battle was soon gone leaving only a deep crater to tell of the construct who fell from the sky. Checking to see that no one was watching, Boryx then activated his ring once more, stowing his mechanus armor and appearing once more as a wealthy man of Regalport.

It took a few minuted but Boryx eventually made his way back to his new-found companions.

"Well...that was an unexpected delay. Good to see that everyone made it through alive," he added noting that everyone had received healing magics. "We'd need to fly back up but I'm capable of tracking him to wherever he's gone to, though that may not be the best idea. The Bella Morte would not take kindly to us busting in on their stronghold, and we'd be fighting on their turf...again. Besides, I've exhausted what few tricks I had hidden up my sleeve just to survive and my cohort must be completely rebuilt. Again. He's never going to let me live this down..."

Boryx turned to Khybenn. "Well young lady...that was an impressive bit of teamwork we pulled off. I doubt any of us would have survived were it not for such quick thinking and action. How did you do that? Your skin I mean...it formed into strange Dragonmarks, almost like...," he bit his tongue; the less people knew about Aselia the better.
Lenar's astral construct flies over to Karrth with its unconcious master. The psicrystal joins it, broadcasting telepathically to the others as they assemble. "My master is not dead, merely unconscious. If you heal him, he will be able to provide more insight into the nature of the enemies we just fought, as well as allow us to track them, should we desire to do so."

The limp body of Lenard looked odd floating in the air beside the Astral Construct. It almost appeared as if the elan was floating in a pool of water rather than the sky.
Karrth, buoyed up by Kirbel and with his elemental trailing behind, floated over to the unconscious Lenard. His wand flickers and wounds begin to close back up. Finally Karrth speaks. "Well, that was interesting. Fun ahead, yes? Better than behind, I suppose. I just don't understand, what was the point? It didn't seem a fight for the joy of the fight, nor do I fathom what we had that he wanted."
Lenard awoke form his slumber and stretched. He looked about, and seeing the calm winds, pensive faces, and sweat-crossed brows, realized the battle is over. In not seeing their foe, he can only assume his defeat or escape, though his crystal informs him of the latter eventuality. Without word, Lenard reaches into his pack and retrieves two items. A small crystal shard, and a large book. He takes the next few minutes to analyze them both, shunning away other interruptions. The elan is completely immersed in his book and lets his psicrystal do the talking for him.
"The winds taste of purple, don't you think, Lenard?" Karrth says, looking over the Elan's shoulder at the tome. As he did so, the little gust of wind that coiled around his feet swept off the ground to scour for any spoils from the battle.
Even after healing, Ben continued to wince, running her fingers over the now-closed wounds where the arrows had stuck her like a pig. The pain had been brief before she’d hit unconsciousness, but it still had been one terrifying moment where everything had gone red before her eyes, the memory of which sent a shudder through her now. It seems that, after her time in Dreadhold, she could quickly get used to anything – she hadn’t often been shot at during her undergraduate days, but she took it as granted now. The world was dangerous.

She turned to meet Boryx’s question, wondering how she would explain it. She didn’t want to go into her time in Khyber – that was certain – the most vulnerable time of her life. “Why thank you, that’s very flattering. Dragonmark? Why thank you, that’s very flattering. But I made this myself.” Ben did a little mock curtsy, somewhat deflecting the question. The scars began to recede from the fringes of her body, most noticeably withdrawing from the ridges of her wings, which collapsed fluidly back into her spine.
Boryx let his question go...if the changeling wanted to play coy, well it's not like he wasn't without his own secrets.

"For now, let's round up what we can of the knight's gear and continue on our way to the Siren's Call. Perhaps Enoch will have some valuable information for us..."

Though he seemed all business, Boryx was underneath all too anxious to see Tataiana. Some parts of him were yet wholly human.




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You find your target as you predicted on the Positive Energy Plane. Bella Morte Deka Un was there and he seemed to be fleeing from a recent battle; you notice that he is without his famous bow and shield. His steed, a bright white pegasus, was badly injured and he was likely here to heal him. The so called knight of the Wind has been Hunting you for a few weeks but now you finally have the drop on him.

It was time to finally end this game. Floating 100 feet away from him in empty space you take the initiative.
"I really should set up a proper family reunion," Bella said under her breath, her daemons running diagnostic checks on her new body. She had gotten in contact with a rogue Maker who, for a nominal fee, agreed to facilitate Bella's rebirth. She felt somewhat off; her muscles didn't sing like they used to. Behind her eyes and within her heart however, the engines of her new power purred. Yet another family reunion would serve as the perfect test run.

Seeing you suddenly appear, the Knight looks at you with surprise. It was obvious you caught him off guard.

Bella waves at her fellow Bella Morte model. "Fancy meeting you here, brother! I merely wish to chat, but..." she swings her hand down like a guillotine and myriad blades spring up to greet the Knight of the Wind. "I simply must have your undivided attention. You'll forgive me, right?"

Behind her back, she breaks one of her own fingers; partially to mitigate the powers of this plane but mostly to trigger her other method of subdual. She channeled the pain into her blazing blue bolt of agony.
"You?!" The Knight did not have time to say much else before The whirling blades instantly shredded the white pegasus, causing the horse to slump and fall from under the rider. However, the knight was far more agile than his mount and quickly dodged most of the deadly steel, moving outside of the range where they could harm him. Bella's bolt stuck true however... but didn't seem to have any effect on him.

"This ends now!!" He says as he pulls out a small hand crossbow and takes aim at you. The bolt hits you dead on which causes him to smile. "Sorry, not in the mood to chat."
"Dispelling Bolts."

Her flight cut out, Bella skidded to a stop; the hissing bolt in her shoulder showed her she was in range of her brother's sidearm. She could feel the skin and muscle strain to knit itself around the bolt; a power within it attempted to cut short her healing as it had cut short her spells. She righted herself gracefully and put up her hands; the broken finger already mended by the plane's power.

"It's a shame, brother, for I truly wish to speak with you. The Crimson Lotus Brigade could use a new member; I have already rehabilitated two of our number shackled by those who follow in Geppetto's footsteps." Her words were sweet with honeyed enchantment,
her determination gave them implacable power. "Stop this foolishness and chat with me."
"No! I h-have b-b-beeeeeuuuuugghhhhhhhhhhh................" His shouting quickly turns to vomiting as the nauseating power of her bolts finally takes hold. Even so he manages to pull out his lance and ready himself for battle as the two of you just float in mid air while the brilliance of the plane swirls around you.
Bella shook her head as her brother began to hurl. "Dreadfully sorry about that, I just needed you to stay still for a moment." She saw him draw his lance and sighed; one of these days she was going to sit down with a member of her family with a proper model number and have a friendly chat. Her "heretic" brothers and sisters had joined her brigade peacefully, eager to avoid being fought, being hunted.

"It's never simple, is it?" A grim smile played upon her lips as irony and battlelust mingled together within her. "I apologize in advance, dear brother." With unnatural speed, she burst toward her brother; Alighieri, her trusty companion, sang as it cut through the energy of the plane...