[IC] The City Dreamless

[Plerumque]

http://i.picresize.com/images/2015/05/26/ey0.jpg

The light of the blue flames illuminating the dance hall glimmer in the crystal edges of half-full chalices, wink in the jewels arranged in folds of clothing, and shine in the eyes of the heiress as she spins with another ephemeral suitor, helpless as a moth in her glow. She bows politely to the nobleman as the orchestra of musician-mages end their spells one by one, and vanishes back into the crowd to be flattered and cajoled. Without her as the sun around which all else pivots, one might be forgiven for allowing one’s attention to drift elsewhere- here is the ambassador of the elves, clad in silk too fine to have been stitched by any mortal hand, there a flock of guild representatives courting smirking aristocrats, across the hall a cassocked priest orating to a group of dark-eyed foreigners, though the words of his sermon are lost in the murmur of a thousand other voices.

But these aren’t the only guests of the party, these sophisticates and their cohorts. Anyone who could manage an invitation is here, and everyone wanted an invitation. There are criminal kingpins, hands red from dealing in blood money; paunchy merchants, some still with salt-streaked hair from a long journey overseas; and spies- though they could not be distinguished from any of the others, everyone steps carefully knowing that there are dozens of eyes noting their every move.

Still, it seems even these are not the only factions here in the ballroom tonight, for around the edges of the floor and loitering in the corners are new faces no one can recall seeing before. Their expressions are perfectly genial, and their manner conforms precisely to the elaborate rituals of court etiquette, so they are dismissed as guests of the royals. The only strange thing about them at all, in fact, is that they do not speak, despite seeming like they would be as proficient in blandishments as any other guest. They answer any questions with white-gloved hands, but soon the novelty fades and the fickle patricians drift away, back onto the dance floor or into another one of the social patterns that form and vanish so quickly here, like air currents in a storm.

The conductor turns away from the orchestra after the next song finishes, facing the revelers. In a clear voice that cuts through the chatter as easily as a sharp edge, he announces that this will be the last song for the time being, as the queen will be making her appearance immediately afterwards. The music blazes back up, a grandiose symphony composed for impossible instruments, and people begin to flood back onto the dance floor. It’s the last chance, it seems- for one last swap of dance-partners, one last brokered deal, one last elusive conversation. The heiress even steps back in, skirts swirling around her ankles. Though the ball’s pace has been unhurried, a new sense of urgency arises, and each guest begins to wonder, Have I made the most of the evening?

[Darrin]

Dokar stands at the edge of the dance floor, not quite hiding in a corner, but not quite engaging in the festivities. He exchanges a few pleasantries, but keeps the conversations short, slowly working along the edges of the crowd, perhaps searching for something.

A silver raven slips in through a high window, glides over the dancers, and alights on Dokar's shoulder. If anyone else notices the avian's entrance, they politely ignore it.

"Keisoku," Dokar greets the bird with a slight growl. "As I expected, your reputation remains unstained with any hint of punctuality. I am here, as bidden. Have I suffered enough indignity to earn an explanation?"

Keisoku tsk-tsks at the half-orc. "And as I expected, your reputation remains unstained with any hint of patience. All in good time, my dear Dokar. Aragenthia would not have requested your attendance if she had no need of your services."

"And if I were to ask you what these services might be," says Dokar, "you would give me your standard vaguely cryptic answer devoid of any meaningful information?"

"Well, if you insist... *ahem*. The moon removes her mask at midnight. The breath of snakes carries both poison and wisdom. Don't eat any of those little white cakes, some idiot put nuts in them. Ooo! Are those olives over there?! Sorry, if you'll excuse me... but seriously, you're at a party, you snaggletoothed slughead! Why don't you get out there and dance?" Keisoku launches off of Dokar's shoulder before he can snap off a retort.

Dokar stews a bit, but then decides he's sulked enough... might as well try dancing.


The heiress even steps back in, skirts swirling around her ankles. Though the ball’s pace has been unhurried, a new sense of urgency arises, and each guest begins to wonder, Have I made the most of the evening?

Dokar sees his chance. Weaving into the crowd (two squares forward, diagonal, 5' step to the left, two more squares then diagonal, Tumble check to avoid the AoO from the fat Baron Hrogarth, spin, duck serving tray, one more diagonal), he matches his steps with the music, and times it perfectly, appearing at the heiress' elbow just in time for a brief pause in the music. Dokar smiles, giving Lord Valgard an eyeful of his sharp, prominent canines. "May I cut in?"

Valgard is too flustered to muster a formal objection, and Dokar takes advantage of the hesitation to take it as consent. If the heiress objects to the sudden change in partners, she hides it behind a bright smile. After all, if it's attention you're after, there's nothing that tops being seen out in public quite like being seen out in public with the wrong sort of people.

"Dokar! I didn't think I'd see you again after that little incident at my uncle's hunting lodge. What brings you out into polite society?" she asks.

"Grandmother insisted," explains Dokar, adding silently in his head, although she didn't necessarily explain. "Besides, that old windbag Valgard still going on about his hippogriffs? You looked like you were about to drop from boredom. If you want to render a horse airborne, I can think of a dozen other much more interesting methods than slapping a pair of wings on them."

"Oh, please don't! If you make me laugh in this corset, I'm likely to stab myself quicker than Pelor's healers can put me back together."

"Well, we can't have that. Perhaps you'd prefer one of your new chaperones, the ones with the white gloves? Not likely to get any jokes out of them. Seriously, though... are you expecting some sort of trouble? Or are these attendants royal matchmakers, determined to see you rescued from the unspeakable horror spinsterhood?"

[OMG PONIES]

From behind thick lenses of glass, Dr. Julius Mordenstein watches the party. One of his eyes is dull, lifeless, and never seems to blink; the other blinks so much as to unsettle folks. As such, this tuxedoed man in the corner is surrounded by a fine cloud of nothing. Nobody approaches, no conversation is held, and no laughter titters through the air. He stands in stark contrast to the scene around him--a marble sculpture in the middle of an impressionist painting. Dr. Mordenstein preferred it this way, as it allowed him to tend to his work.

"Fascinating, Petal..." he muses to nobody in particular. "The patterns!" As he mutters to himself, he sketches diagrams and equations in the diary he keeps. The man writes furiously, and at times one of his notations overlaps the other...not that it matters much. To any learned observer, Julius' diary was full of little more than the ramblings of a madman. But to him, he was creating a new science--the mathematics of life. The conductor's voice is hardly enough to raise an eyebrow from Julius. While others began to lament an end to the party that had not yet arrived, Julius eagerly awaited the moment so he could return to his laboratory posthaste.

[dysprosium]

Elle Flotte de Pied never thought that she would one day be at one of these high class functions, let alone be present for the Queen herself! As an azurin child in a prodominantly ignorant human community, she always had to run to safety. Run from those who called her a "blue eyed demon." Run from those who would hurt her physically or emotionally.

Those times are long gone now since she had her Three Visions of Ehlonna. The First would introduce Elle to the faith and Ehlonna's clergy. The Second asked Elle to become one of Ehlonna's Runners. The Third asked her to bring Ehlonna's Love to everyone, especially those who would spurn it.

Elle hoped that she would be able to present her case to the Queen about the recent incursions into the Grand Forest that was supposed to be free from settlement. Elle was to find out if the Queen knew about these men who claimed more and more of the Grand Forest in her name. Previous communications had been rebuffed, probably by low level bureaucrats that did not care about such things. But tonight Elle would be able to ask the Queen personally, even if informally. Of course Elle did not really know what she would do if the Queen was actively going back on the former King's word . . .

Elle's gown was not nearly as grand as most of the ladies' gowns were but was lovely nonetheless. It was green like the Grand Forest she was representing. "Oh, Elle," she muttered to herself, "what are we going to do?"

At least Elle didn't feel as out of place as she did when she first arrived. There were plenty of attendees that were most definitely not from the Royal Court. What was this night going to be about? She probably should find a dance partner for this last number.

[Plerumque]

Dokar

A few faces turn, mouths creased in jealousy, as the heiress laughs. "Oh, what they should think if you suggested as much to them! It is as if you would say a river dolphin's purpose must be to grow tulips." The music speeds up, and at the maestro's gesture the air fills with the hum of bees. The heiress twirls Dokar and dips him, supporting his weight for a moment as she leans close and whispers intently, "Can you smell it in the air? Taste it in the music? Something is coming."

Dr. Mordenstein

As the doctor leans against the wall, a woman with a precarious hairstyle and pince-nez balanced on the bridge of her nose emerges from the crowd, wineglass clutched in hand, though it's tilted so as to let the last drops drip from the edge and stain her ruffled dress. "Sir," she asks, eyes darting from side to side in a flushed face, "have you seen Margot? She was just here, I swear."

Elle

A long-haired young man approaches Elle as she deliberates and bows shallowly. "Good evening, mistress Flotte de Pied. Myself and Audrei here were wondering if you might do one of us the honor of the next dance. Alas, I fear Audrei is afflicted by a terrible shyness- ah, you see, he's vanished again." The young man turns to face the crowd, arms akimbo. "Well, let me tell you, Audrei, a rose that waits too long to bloom may find its petals rim'd with frost." He says the last line in an odd tone, voice rising and falling. "Lady Ambassador, may I have the pleasure?"

[OMG PONIES]

"One shouldn't swear, milady," Julius chides without looking up, "without knowing precisely what you're committing to. I learned that one the hard way..." The doctor doesn't turn his attention from his book for a long moment, until he realizes his nonanswer wouldn't dispatch the debutante. "I haven't seen her myself," he says, both clueless and careless as to who Margot was or is. "Perhaps she off and died?" Julius returns nonchalantly to his scribbles. Saying that Julius was a bit off-putting was like calling a rainstorm a bit wet.

[Darrin]

Dokar
A few faces turn, mouths creased in jealousy, as the heiress laughs. "Oh, what they should think if you suggested as much to them! It is as if you would say a river dolphin's purpose must be to grow tulips." The music speeds up, and at the maestro's gesture the air fills with the hum of bees. The heiress twirls Dokar and dips him, supporting his weight for a moment as she leans close and whispers intently, "Can you smell it in the air? Taste it in the music? Something is coming."


Dokar quickly surveys the ballroom again, and then gives the heiress a hard look. "Let me guess... it has tentacles?"

Skill Check, Knowledge (Arcana): Any weird magical ritual or cultist shenanigans going on that I might notice?
[roll0]

Skill Check, Knowledge (The Planes): Any weird outsiders or extraplanar cultists doing something that I might notice?
[roll1]

Skill Check, Sense Motive on the Heiress: Do I recall her being this strong/assertive? If not, could there be some sort of possession/doppelganging going on?
[roll2]

[Plerumque]

Dokar Jaggedfang

The heiress giggles, intensity vanishing as she twirls back a few steps with skirts frothing. "Of course not. Tentacles are so last season. Everyone's been wondering about the new fashions, of course, but the designers are so hard to reach." She ***** her head as the music continues, shifting through an intricate symphony of honey and pollen to a lower, deeper melody like the beating of a massive heart. The left side of the orchestra raises their arms and gurgled gasps cut through the air. "It's so rare to find musicians today who truly know their art," the heiress remarks, and slips into a slow waltz.

Dr. Mordenstein

"That must be it!" the matron exclaims, eyes round. "You know Margot, she's always doing that kind of thing. It's odd, though... too early in the week for that, I thought. You never can tell with that girl, I suppose." She stumbles a few steps closer, and her breath smells of something sourer than wine. She reaches out a hand in thanks and freezes. The glass drops from her other hand and shatters into glittering splinters, and she lets loose a yowl like a trapped cat. No one seems to notice.

[dysprosium]

"Well, good sir," Elle says politely as she gives a curtsy. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am but I am afraid that you have not introduced yourself."

[assuming here that he does introduce himself] Elle holds out her arm to be escorted onto the ballroom floor. While turning she sees the half orc that Taylek had mentioned before, one of his tribe mates? (Is that a word?). Elle wonders who else is here that she may know of . . .

Elle lets her gentleman lead during the song, "Please, tell me what brings you to this gala."

[Plerumque]

The youth smiles at Elle. "Of course. You know my friend here, of course. My name is Audrei, and we are here as emissaries - as, I understand, you are as well." He grips Elle's elbow and leads her into the thicket of bodies. "The Widow was invited, but has asked us to attend on her behalf. The situation back home is dire - tensions are on the rise, and she may have to declare war on the sky if they do not abate. You could say that negotiations have been... stormy." He favors Elle with a thin-lipped smile and guides her forward.

[Darrin]

The heiress giggles, intensity vanishing as she twirls back a few steps with skirts frothing. "Of course not. Tentacles are so last season. Everyone's been wondering about the new fashions, of course, but the designers are so hard to reach." She ***** her head as the music continues, shifting through an intricate symphony of honey and pollen to a lower, deeper melody like the beating of a massive heart. The left side of the orchestra raises their arms and gurgled gasps cut through the air. "It's so rare to find musicians today who truly know their art," the heiress remarks, and slips into a slow waltz.


Dokar is at a bit of a loss with what to do with the heiress [OOC: Creb, Custodian, do you want to cut in?], but now that she mentions it, what *is* going on with the orchestra? Since when did gurgling harmonize with anything? Shifting with her into the waltz, he twirls her over in the orchestra's direction to see if they are doing anything outside of the typical range of 'unusual' for musicians (which, admittedly, is kind of broad to start with). To keep the conversation going, he offers, "Yes, a surprisingly distinctive performance, although I must say with the Queen's attendance I would have expected a more traditional programme. Still, can't have Her Majesty getting bored now, can we? Particularly as she was supposed to spend this last fortnight vacationing up on the coast... poor dear, always getting dragged back into court politics. So, what's got a burr up her bustle now?"

Skill Check, Listen:
[roll0]

Skill Check, Spot:
[roll1]

[Plerumque]

"You would ask me to disclose the news before Her Majesty's official announcement?" The heiress goes wide-eyed in affected shock. "The words could no more pass my lips than I could step out the window - and fall." She smiles again, showing gleaming teet. "But I may tell you this: there is no cause for sorrow, nor anger, nor fear. It is the Queen's greatest pleasure to disclose, and she would not have missed it for the world thirteen times over." As they circle around the edge of the dance floor, Dokar notes the appearance of the musician-mages in their formal cloaks, embroidered with indecipherable sigils that note their role in the orchestra. Hands are outstretched, fingers flexing and dancing in the air as the faintest glimmer of magic swirls in motes around the intangible threads of spellwork.

[Darrin]

"You would ask me to disclose the news before Her Majesty's official announcement?" The heiress goes wide-eyed in affected shock. "The words could no more pass my lips than I could step out the window - and fall." She smiles again, showing gleaming teet. "But I may tell you this: there is no cause for sorrow, nor anger, nor fear. It is the Queen's greatest pleasure to disclose, and she would not have missed it for the world thirteen times over."

Dokar tut-tuts dismissively, a sour face briefly tugging at the edges of his face. "I am such an ignoramous, I failed to make myself properly understood. I would not presume to ruin the Queen's announcement! My heart aches to hear it from her very lips. I was merely inquiring if you knew of anything bothering the Queen that she would not announce? Surely you must know something... but I am just a horrible quidnunc, fishing for gossipmonger morsels. Pay no mind to me."

[Plerumque]

The heiress laughs again. "Very well," she says, tugging Dokar away from the orchestra. "But I shall repeat: it is her greatest pleasure, with no cause for ill will. Beyond that I may say no more. But if it is gossip that you look for, I am happy to oblige. I have had many lessons in such arts. An example," she says, pointing out a portly man standing outside the fray, apparently amusing his younger companions with a startlingly accurate impression of a wild turkey. "His Lordship is rumored to have recently donated well over half his considerable fortune to a project for extracting sunbeams from cucumbers." Another few rotations brings the heiress to point out a rakish gentleman wearing an unpleasantly purple suit. "The Duke of Albia. He's recently been put on trial for committing a vile act of incest with one of his siblings. A most lurid affair, especially as he has none."

[OMG PONIES]

Dr. Mordenstein

"That must be it!" the matron exclaims, eyes round. "You know Margot, she's always doing that kind of thing. It's odd, though... too early in the week for that, I thought. You never can tell with that girl, I suppose." She stumbles a few steps closer, and her breath smells of something sourer than wine. She reaches out a hand in thanks and freezes. The glass drops from her other hand and shatters into glittering splinters, and she lets loose a yowl like a trapped cat. No one seems to notice.

"I'm sorry?" Dr. Mordenstein says, though "confused" may have been a better word. The woman either had a deliciously morbid sense of humor, wasn't listening to Julius' words, or something nefarious was afoot. In all his days, the good doctor had never met once someone who shared his droll wit, so that was out straight away. Likewise, Dr. Mordenstein wasn't used to being ignored, and as such wrote off that possibility as well.

Left no other option, he defaulted to the third: something was wrong. What others would call "unhealthy paranoia" Julius had always called his modus operandi, after all. Even more so, a grown woman shouting in fear would be enough to disrupt most polite company. Why did it seem like everyone at this party was on some strange sort of autopilot? He stares at the woman, looking beyond her face and words deep into her soul. Had he not already terrified her, she would be shaking by now.

As Julius peers at the woman's soul, he looks around the room at the souls of all in attendance to see if anyone was weaving some sort of foul magic through the air.

Casting Detect Magic
[roll0] do I know of anything funky going on?
[roll1] do I sense what this woman's getting at?

[Plerumque]

To Dr. Mordenstein's eyes, the hall is dappled with magical auras. Illusion spells spark and fade between the hands of the musician-mages as they perform their parts in the grand symphony. Jewelry gleams with transmutation and enchantment. Here and there, gentlemen's sabres are edged with evocation, or their fine clothes with abjuration. There are no spells of unusual strength, nor any ensorcellment over the chamber as a whole. As Julius' gaze passes over the hall, however, the genial, wordless men turn and fix him with their gaze one by one. And as he peers through the crowd of the dance floor, the heiress turns from where she's speaking with Dokar and smiles at him.

[dysprosium]

The youth smiles at Elle. "Of course. You know my friend here, of course. My name is Audrei, and we are here as emissaries - as, I understand, you are as well." He grips Elle's elbow and leads her into the thicket of bodies. "The Widow was invited, but has asked us to attend on her behalf. The situation back home is dire - tensions are on the rise, and she may have to declare war on the sky if they do not abate. You could say that negotiations have been... stormy." He favors Elle with a thin-lipped smile and guides her forward.

[OOC: Where are the Perform (dance) ranks when you need them?]

Elle giggles at the pun and begins to dance with Audrei. "It appears that we all have something important to discuss here," Elle starts. "But it also seems like something unnatural is going to happen. I was just reminded of a nursery rhyme that I have not heard since my youth.

"But while I seem a bit uneasy, you Audrei seem to be doing quite well, as are many of the others in attendence," Elle says as she looks around the ballroom. "Do you know something that I am not aware of?"

[OMG PONIES]

Julius had never been a fan of unwanted attention, but it seemed to come part & parcel in his line of work. He arches an eyebrow at all the eyes on him and begins to scrawl further notes in his journal.

[Plerumque]

Elle

"Ah, who can say they have a legitimate claim to know anything?" the man asks. "Why, Audrei was telling me just the other day about a man who convinced his followers overnight that the sun went out. And then, the next morning, it never rose. Belief is a powerful thing, and truth is inconstant as an autumn's fickle breeze. If you fear us, perhaps you will be given a reason to fear us. If not... well, who can say? Nothing is certain." He spreads his arms, as if to encompass the entirety of the chamber. "All of this could just as well melt through your fingers." For an instant, Elle sees the walls of the hall stretching, dripping, puddling on the floor, and then she shakes it off as a trick of the blue light.

The music is slowing, now, the mages returning to mimicking normal instruments one by one. "I believe it is nearly time for the Queen's address," Elle's partner says. "Shall we try and find a good vantage?"

[Amphetryon]

Creb, unused to the crowds and the attention, slides to a relatively shadowed spot near to Dr. Mordenstein and leans in so he can be heard without shouting.

"Something especially noteworthy, Doctor, or just a reminder for later?" He smiles, genuinely curious but not wanting to impose.

[Plerumque]

The conductor brings each section of the mage-orchestra to a halt, until all that remains is a curious piping sound strangely unlike a flute, and then that too is silenced. The applause is thunderous, rising from the dancers and the spectators alike. It continues on as the conductor turns and bows, and throws out a hand. A stage heaves itself up from the dance floor like some great beast and settles. The silken curtains behind it part, drawn apart by invisible hands, and through them steps the Queen.

She is handsome like a marble statue, all gaudy ornament worn away by time. Her dress, too, is of simple white linen, and it sweeps across the wood as she takes a few deliberate steps forward to pause, survey the mass of upturned faces as the heiress makes her winding way through the crowd and up to her side, and finally speak.

The genial men, all around the edges of the room in their white suits and white gloves, speak with her. Each of the dozen mouths moves in perfect unison, and the words that reach the audience are clear, though overlaid with many voices at once.

"Welcome, subjects," they begin, and the crowd is absolutely silent. "It is Our pleasure to see you here at the dawn of a new age. For today we step forward together, in the realization of an ideal that has been the burden of humanity since we realized that we could be more than gaping apes, blinking in the light. Today we will come to embody that more.

"Yet to think that such a thing ought to be done on one's own is mere hubris. Thus, today, We are here to announce the alliance of our city with the Muse of the deep." They pause, as if expecting a gasp of recognition, but the crowd remains silent, though the tension is palpable.

"But let us not tarry long with banalities, when We are at the cusp of Our masterpiece. This city is Our canvas. Glory in Our work." And then the Queen is gone, and the heiress is alone on the stage, only it's not the heiress anymore, because she's stretching, unfolding, blossoming into some long-limbed creature of jagged smile and folded moth-wings, the heiress' grace perverted in every sinuous curve of its body.

The first few moments pass in shocked silence, and then the nobles closest to the stage slough their skin like snakes and the hall breaks into pandemonium. It's all noise and animal terror as people begin to claw at the crowd, tear at the flesh of friends and enemies alike to get away, and the numbers of the writhing dark things grow.

But the genial men are stepping forward at the edges of the crowd, faces frozen in the same polite smile they've worn all through the evening, and their gloves are no longer white but spattered with red, and though the crowd starts to surge higher as people try to turn, it seems there's nowhere to go.

[OMG PONIES]

"Everything is noteworthy, chum," Julius says out of the corner of his mouth in response to Creb just before all Hell breaks loose. Once it does, he adds, "especially this. Are you seeing this, my petal?" The last question seems directed at nobody, but as if in response the air around him coalesces into a ghastly visage of a woman about the same age as Julius. The visage leans to him and, as if kissing him on the cheek, transfers onto his face in a fluid motion. "Yes, that's what I thought at first as well, but I didn't detect any illusion magic at work," he says. To a casual observer like Creb, it seems like only half of a conversation can be heard. The conversation continues as Julius approaches the being formerly known as the heiress with the same polite smile and casual gait as the white-gloved men. "Fascinating..." he mutters to himself.

[roll0] NOW do I know what's going on?
[roll1] How about my familiar?
[roll2] Any kind of religious rite? Also, "The Muse of the Deep" sounds like a religious title...any hits?

[Darrin]

"But let us not tarry long with banalities, when We are at the cusp of Our masterpiece. This city is Our canvas. Glory in Our work." And then the Queen is gone, and the heiress is alone on the stage, only it's not the heiress anymore, because she's stretching, unfolding, blossoming into some long-limbed creature of jagged smile and folded moth-wings, the heiress' grace perverted in every sinuous curve of its body.


"Why that little..." grunts Dokar to himself, "Last season my foot... looks like tentacles are back in fashion." He weaves his way through the crowd as it moves through a different kind of dance. Sticking to the time-honored tradition of, 'when the excrement hits the cooling device, go stand next to the cleric', he makes his way towards Elle. Along the way, he tries to get a closer look at the heiress, one of the nobles, or one of the gloved attendants.

Skill Check, Knowledge: The Planes. Do I see anything that looks like an 'Outsider' type, like Half-Farspawn or Pseudonatural template? Is this 'Muse of the Deep' an extraplanar kinda thing?
[roll0]



But the genial men are stepping forward at the edges of the crowd, faces frozen in the same polite smile they've worn all through the evening, and their gloves are no longer white but spattered with red, and though the crowd starts to surge higher as people try to turn, it seems there's nowhere to go.

Dokar scans the room for the available exits, and notes how many of the "genial men" are blocking each exit. Now which ones really need to be horizontal the most?

[Plerumque]

Dr. Mordenstein

The heiress notes Julius' approach with the same obscure smile that greeted his spellcasting, and unfurls a many-jointed arm to point at him. A few of the dark things break through the outer layer of the crowd, shoving escapees into the deadly arms of the genial men, and reach out to touch the doctor as if in adoration.

Aid Another: [roll0] vs. 10
Aid Another: [roll1] vs. 10
Attack: [roll2](+4). If it hits, make me a Fortitude save, but you can make another Knowledge check with the new information.

Dokar Jaggedfang

There are three exits from the hall: one to the main staircase into the courtyard, one to the balcony fifteen feet above it, and one that leads deeper into the palace. There may also be one behind the stage, through which the Queen disappeared, but if there is it is hidden by the silk curtains. The main three exits are all blocked by one of the genial men.

[OMG PONIES]

"How uncouth!" the doctor cries out as the aberration formerly known as the heiress lashes out at him. "I'm being assaulted!" However, as the strange limb draws near, it does give Julius a better angle from which to study the creature.

[roll0] +2 vs necromancy or death effect, +4 vs sleep/stunning/paralysis/poison/disease effect.
[roll1]
[roll2]

[Plerumque]

Julius feels something burrow into his mind, an alien, eel-like thought that ruffles the course of his mind before settling in a place where he cannot feel it. Something seems to ripple beneath his skin, or perhaps it is only a hallucination. Then the visions come, if only for a moment: not some invasion of his surface thoughts, but something deeper, some primal, ancestral memory that seems to be etched in his skin and bones. He sees oceans, rippling with shadow and chitin as they break across the skeletons of buildings, a monstrously obese man who reclines on a fire-glittering throne as misshapen tumors shift and grow, inch by agonizing inch, across his body, and a cavernous space surrounded by earth on all sides where the only light comes from a creaking lantern held by a vagrant picking through the ruins of glass. She picks up a book, pages pulpy and rot-stained from age, and then turns to look at Dr. Mordenstein. She smiles, again the same smile, and the figment breaks.

[OMG PONIES]

"How precious," Julius says dryly, unimpressed even. His smirk slowly widens to a toothy grin as he unblinkingly stares at the creature of the Void and says, "But you don't scare me, child. I scare you." As he speaks, the ghostly face of an emaciated woman appears over his heart. Her eyes seem too large for her head, and they too stare unblinkingly at the heiress. "You don't take hold of my mind, I take hold of your heart. And squeeze." At his words, even more tentacles burst forth in the crowd, emerging from the floor and enveloping the heiress.

Familiar Actions
Standard action: manifest a Visage over Julius' heart.
No action: Trigger Gaze of Terror on anyone within 30 feet who looks at the visage (Will save DC 13 or be paralyzed with fear for [roll2] rounds.

Julius Actions
Standard action: Defensively cast Evard's Black Tentacles behind the heiress, catching her in the radius.
[roll0]
[roll1] vs any creatures in the radius
No action: Trigger Dreadful Wrath, catching each enemy within 20 feet (Will save DC 21 or be shaken for 1 minute).
Move action: Move within 5 feet of the Heiressbeast, probably triggering an AoO.
Free action: Trigger 5' fear aura (Will save DC 20 or be shaken, Heiressbeast's condition may escalate to frightened).

[Plerumque]

One of Julius' assailants stiffens at his gaze, eyes flickering with malice as it's imprisoned in their own misshapen bodies, but the other two reach out again with fingers trailing over his skin. From the stage, the heiress' eyes narrow as Julius backs up and begins to gesture, and her moth-wings flick out, revealing strange patterns roiling across their surface. The tendrils burst out of the floorboards, but the heiress is ready, and black ichor spatters as she rips apart the tentacles with eye-watering speed. Dozens more of the newly-touched are entangled in the enchantment, however, and the heiress' dainty features curl into a snarl.

The crowd counts as difficult terrain, so together with the stage you don't actually have enough movement to get adjacent to the heiress. You can get within fifteen feet, but it'll provoke multiple attacks of opportunity.

Aid Another: 1d20
Attack: [roll0]

[Darrin]

Dokar tells Elle, "I'm going to try to clear the stairway so people can get out." He ducks and weaves into the crowd, slipping his shortwords out of their sheaths as he does so.

Init: 26

Dokar Actions, Round 1:

Move action: Draw both shortswords and move towards genial man guarding stairway.
Standard action: Activate wand of surefooted stride (Charges: 49). This allows me to move normally through difficult terrain (such as a crowd).
Swift action: activate Travel Devotion (Duration: 10 rounds), continue moving towards genial man guarding stairway. Ideally, I'd like to end my movement about 20' from him.

Tumble check (for any AoOs, if needed): [roll0]

Dokar Actions, Round 2:

Swift action: activate Travel Devotion (Duration: 10 rounds), move at least 20' to a square adjacent to the genial man standing by the stairway.
Full action: Full attack with both shortswords and tail.

Primary1, Shortsword#1: [roll1]
Damage: [roll2] (7d6+1 [cold] damage)

Offhand1, Shortsword#2: [roll3]
Damage: [roll4] (7d6+1 [cold] damage)

Primary2, Shortsword#1: [roll5]
Damage: [roll6] (7d6+1 [cold] damage)

Offhand2, Shortsword#2: [roll7]
Damage: [roll8] (7d6+1 [cold] damage)

Tail: [roll9]
Damage: [roll10] (4d6 [cold] damage)

Tumble check (for any AoOs, if needed): [roll11]

[Plerumque]

The genial man feels sludgy as his skin gives way to Dokar's weapons, a greasy iridescence shining on the steel when the half-orc brings it out. The smile on his face melts and flows, coursing down his face, and as he lifts his arms dark oil soils his pristine gloves and drips down to the floor. He reaches for Dokar in a misshapen embrace as the blue light glistens on his face, and collapses into a wave of dark, slick liquid that spatters the stone of the floor. The last thing to go is an eye, which examines Dokar closely, blinks once slowly, and liquefies.

On the stage, he heiress beats her wings, sending flurries of intricate patterns swirling across them, and rises into the air. Hovering amongst the chandeliers, she tucks the remnants of her skirts about her in a farce of modesty and executes an elaborate bow. One of the windows high above the floor splinters into a thousand fragments of moonlight, though when the shards hit the ground it is with the patter of rain. The heiress hovers for a moment before the aperture, framed by the stars, before vanishing through with the soft susurrus of moth-wings.

Below, the tide of the dark writhing things breaks. The door that leads deeper into the castle is thrown open in the confusion, and several of the dark things disappear through. Others attempt to crawl up the wall and follow the heiress, beating newborn wings with impotent frustration, but still more continue to swallow up the remaining unchanged bystanders in their alien contagion.

[OMG PONIES]

"It would behoove us to collect one of those specimens for further study," Julius calls out to his companions. "Can we try to ensure they don't all leave before extensive observation has been conducted?" He seems detached from the situation and unconcerned for the safety of those in the audience.

[Darrin]

"It would behoove us to collect one of those specimens for further study," Julius calls out to his companions.

Dokar zig-zags toward the genial man to the north. "One specimen, coming up."

Dokar Actions, Round 3:

Swift action: activate Travel Devotion (Duration: 9 rounds), move at least 20' towards the northernmost genial man near the balcony, ending my movement in the square directly to the south of him.
Full action: Full attack with both shortswords and tail. Dokar is attempting to subdue the genial man with nonlethal damage. This incurs a -4 penalty and does not allow any precision damage (he still gets the +4 AC bonus from Improved Skirmish).

Primary1, Shortsword#1: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1] (1d6+1 [cold] damage)

Offhand1, Shortsword#2: [roll2]
Damage: [roll3] (1d6+1 [cold] damage)

Primary2, Shortsword#1: [roll4]
Damage: [roll5] (1d6+1 [cold] damage)

Offhand2, Shortsword#2: [roll6]
Damage: [roll7] (1d6+1 [cold] damage)

Tail: [roll8]
Damage: [roll9]

Tumble check (for any AoOs, if needed): [roll10]

[Plerumque]

The genial man steps smoothly back as Dokar grazes him, black blood welling from the score-lines. He then reaches out to grasp Dokar, body liquid and amorphous as he envelops the half-orc in foul-smelling oil.

Touch attack: [roll0]
Grapple: [roll1]

Sorry, guys, I've been backpacking the last couple of days and had trouble getting a post up before I left. I won't be leaving again for a while, though.

[Darrin]

Dokar's Touch AC is 18, so...

Grapple Check: [roll0]

[Plerumque]

The genial man recedes from Dokar like a wave from the shore, reforming as its immaculate white-suited self. It studies him with an appraising glance and dips its head in an ironic bow.

[OMG PONIES]

Julius ungloves one of his hands, reaching out to the closest genial figure with an emaciated hand.

casting vampiric touch
[roll0]
[roll1]

[Plerumque]

The genial man merely smirks, though blue-glistening oil rolls downs the front of his immaculate jacket at the brush of Julius' hand. He returns the favor by stepping smartly forward and reaching to grasp the aged doctor with gloves stained red and black.

Touch Attack: [roll0]+10=23
Grapple: [roll1]

[OMG PONIES]

Julius grins madly as if mimicking the genial man. "Shall we dance?" he asks as the creature attempts to grapple him.

[roll0]

[Plerumque]

The genial man dips a nod, then sweeps Dr. Julius into a waltz to the tune of the agonized screams rending the air of the ballroom.

[Darrin]

Dokar Actions, Round 4:

Swift action: activate Travel Devotion (Duration: 8 rounds), move 10' back, then 10' forward to trigger Improved Skirmish.
Full action: Full attack with both shortswords and tail. Dokar is attempting to subdue the genial man with nonlethal damage. This incurs a -4 penalty and does not allow any precision damage (he still gets the +4 AC bonus from Improved Skirmish).

Primary1, Shortsword#1: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1] (1d6+1 [cold] damage)

Offhand1, Shortsword#2: [roll2]
Damage: [roll3] (1d6+1 [cold] damage)

Primary2, Shortsword#1: [roll4]
Damage: [roll5] (1d6+1 [cold] damage)

Offhand2, Shortsword#2: [roll6]
Damage: [roll7] (1d6+1 [cold] damage)

Tail: [roll8]
Damage: [roll9]

Tumble check (for any AoOs, if needed): [roll10]

[WhamBamSam]

A cloaked figure with the short regularly-shaved hair of a monk just visible beneath his cowl steps back into the hall, trailed by a floating disc carrying an assortment of trapmaking supplies. Upon surveying the scene an irritated scowl passes over his pointed, clever face. "Can't even get a few seconds to take a piss, can I? Well, no time to whine about it I suppose." In a blur of motion during which the rest of the room seems perfectly still, he sprints up to one of the genial men, attempting to drive a knee into his groin, followed by an elbow to the nose and an uppercut to the gut.

Use my daily Temporal Distillation to take an extra move action and get into melee range with one of the genial men (say the one Dokar's fighting). Tumble to avoid AoOs (I can afford to move at half speed for the last 15ft or so if need be) auto-succeeds at DC15.

Flurry of Blows against the genial man.

Attack 1: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Sneak Attack: [roll2]

Attack 2: [roll3]
Damage: [roll4]
Sneak Attack: [roll5]

Attack 3: [roll6]
Damage: [roll7]
Sneak Attack: [roll8]

If attacks 1 and 2 hit, send the genial man 5ft back with Sun School's Inexorable Progress of Dawn.

[WhamBamSam]

As Nick's knee approaches the genial man, his body appears to flicker, and the blow's path changes slightly.

Backslip to reroll Attack 1:

[roll0]

No more Backslip or Temporal Distillation for Nick today.

[The Viscount]

From the side of the room strides a man who stands out among the partygoers in how plain and, in any other circumstance, commonplace his dress and appearance are. He is still visibly rattled from the scene unfolding, which had stunned him into inaction for the past several moments. His glass slips from his hands, up instead of down to a space above his shoulder, where it tilts back and empties before being flung to the side with a shatter.

Was that necessary, Iblis?

From his shoulder comes a belch and a titter, followed by a whispered response.
Of course not, but look at this mess. One more glass is the least of their worries.

Rashid is clearly not amused as he scans the room for somewhere to direct his action. He spots one of the creatures grappling with a white haired bespectacled man and rushes to strike it. After drawing his sword he drops it, letting it hang from the chain on his back as he pulls out an identical sword to strike again.

Unhand that man!
[roll0] damage [roll1] SA [roll2]

[roll3] damage [roll4] SA [roll5]

Iaijutsu focus [roll6]

Tumble if necessary [roll7]
[roll8]

[Venger]

Skinner sees Nick engage with one of the creatures and flies to his side to assist. He throws open his coat, revealing ghostly blue arms floating before his chest. With a beat of his great, feathered wings, he's by his side, kicking up wind at the genial man.

Hang on! I've got your back!



bluff for wing buffet
[roll0]
+2 circumstance bonus to all attacks if opponent doesn't beat with sense motive

tail
[roll1]
[roll2]

claw1
[roll3]
[roll4]

claw2
[roll5]
[roll6]

claw3
[roll7]
[roll8]

claw4
[roll9]
[roll10]

slam
[roll11]
[roll12]

gore
[roll13]
[roll14]

[OMG PONIES]

Julius looks up from his wrestling with one of the genial men. He smiles nonchalantly, as if he was not currently embroiled in a scuffle with a power from another world, and quips: "Ah, it seems the calvary has arrived!"

[Venger]

Julius looks up from his wrestling with one of the genial men. He smiles nonchalantly, as if he was not currently embroiled in a scuffle with a power from another world, and quips: "Ah, it seems the calvary has arrived!"

Don't worry, doc, we'll get you out in one piece. So to speak

[OMG PONIES]

Don't worry, doc, we'll get you out in one piece. So to speak
Julius looks around at his surroundings, equal parts uncaring and perplexed. "Exfiltration won't be necessary, gents," Julius says cheerily. "At least, not at this point. I'd quite prefer more direct study of these most fascinating subjects..." With that, he reverts his gaze to the wretched creature grasping at him.

[Plerumque]

Together, Skinner and Nick's blows deform the genial man's figure, bowing it outwards before it snaps back into place, dark stains seeping through his shirt and coat. The genial man wavers for a moment more, a haze trembling in the air like heat off of petroleum, and then collapses, no more than a slick spreading itself across the wood—and staining his assailants' hands.

Both of you, make me a Fortitude save.

Dokar's knife-blows sink into the genial man with glutinous slurps, but the genial man smiles even as black oil wells from his gums, stains the crevasses between his teeth. He takes a step backwards, executes a perfect courtly bow, even doffing a fictitious hat, and dissolves, seeping through the cracks between the boards and leaving behind only the residue of a grin on the floor.

The genial man dancing with Dr. Mordenstein, shirt and coat now scored with lines of welling black, takes a quick three-step, twirls under the doctor's arm, and lets go of him. The genial man curtseys, lifting the viscid flesh of his own melting torso in a crude imitation of a woman's skirts, and then he too is gone into the floorboards.

The final genial man considers the scene for a moment, the ballroom splattered with blood and wine and the spilth of his brothers, and steps back from the crowd. Drops the courtier struggling in his grip. He turns, flings out an arm in an expansive gesture—addressing the multitude of eyes, glittering sharp as glass in the torchlight—and collapses as well, drawing into himself and through himself until the last of the genial men is no more.

And then they scatter. The warped, corrupted, afflicted—whatever you might call they who have cast off their flesh—they flood the exits, coursing down into the hallways of the palace, fighting past the crowd of dazed bystanders to skitter down the stairs, clambering with inhuman agility up to the window where the heiress made her escape. They move like liquid, and then there's no-one left but the guests, shaping soundless words of shock and terror, leaning on each other for sudden support and wiping the blood out of their eyes in the blue torch-light of the ballroom.

[Venger]

Skinner wrings the grime off his hands. Ain't something I seen before. How about you boys?


fert serve
[roll0] additional +2 if this is a spell or sla

[The Viscount]

Rashid sheathes his swords as he examines the residue left behind.

And people ask me why I don't get out more. I was about to ask myself if anyone had any idea as to what happened here.

On his shoulder a rat appears from the folds of his robe, somehow seeming to smirk through its long snout as it squeaks through garbled Celestial

<Someone did something very naughty. Looks like an office party from back home.>

[WhamBamSam]

Nick attempts to shake the grime from his hands with a look of distaste on his face. "Yeah, new to me as well. Can't say I'm eager to go in search of more of the things, but if the good doctor needs a live specimen, well, there's no time like the present. I should know."

"Then again," he muses, "we'd have to work out how exactly we plan to keep one from getting away. I don't suppose you can make due with some of their slime for the time being? We've got that in abundance."

[OMG PONIES]

By the time Nick makes his suggestion, Julius is already using an empty wine glass as a makeshift beaker. He scrapes the rim of the glass against the goop smeared on his own clothing, then holds it up to the light as if making a toast to examine it.

[roll0] any chance of identifying said goop?

"You've never seen anything like that before?" he asks the others, sounding a bit incredulous. He continues his wordless study of the goop in the most poorly time reverie before finally looking around the room at the horror on the faces of the attendees. "I don't suppose we have to say something heroic to calm their nerves now, do we?" The petulance is palpable in his question.

[Venger]

Sure hope not.
Skinner sniffs at the remaining liquid.

detect magic on the slime

[The Viscount]

To say something heroic would suggest we solved the problem here, but it seems as if they decided to leave as much as we forced them to.

If it counts, academic lore on the goo. [roll0]

[Plerumque]

As the dark oil drips from your fingers, both of you feel the disconcerting sensation of something moving behind your skin, and then a sharp ache between your eyes, a fragment of a broken-glass migraine that stirs and settles.

The substance reminds you vaguely of something you saw once being sold as a drug in a back-alley market. You were looking for something else, but you can still recall the cracked-teeth smile of the dealer, proffering a vial of something that clung and glistened almost like this. You can remember nothing else, though.

Even under your ensorcelled gaze, the hall looks no different than ever, as if the condition of being splattered by aberrant remains is its usual state.

The only thing that you can think, when you look at the substance slicking your hands, is that you drowned in it, once. You don't know why.

[Venger]

Skinner kneads at his forehead, muscling back the pain.

Ain't feeling right. Any idea what's up, doc? he asks Julius.

[WhamBamSam]

"Gah!" Nick lifts a hand to his head as the pain streaks through it. As the pain subsides, he turns to Julius. "Yeah, I don't know what that stuff did to us, but it didn't feel great. Might not be a bad idea to give us a look over as well."

[Darrin]

Dokar steps away from the residue, wondering if it still counts as a "specimen".

(On the slight chance he may have seen a similar effect before...)

Knowledge: Arcana
[roll0]

Knowledge: The Planes
[roll1]


Dokar sheathes his swords, and looks around the room. In particular, he's looking for any of the heiress' ladies-in-waiting who wasn't turned into goop huddled in a corner babbling about some cryptic riddle, or any mildly annoyed nobles with a glowing exclamation point floating over their heads waiting to berate dim-witted PCs who obviously need to stop dawdling and get started on this whole questing business forthwith.


Spot
[roll2]

[Venger]

Skinner tips his hat to Dokar, recognizing his orcish blood. Evening

[Plerumque]

Examining it closely, the liquid reminds you unexpectedly of wine. A fine vintage, rich and dark as blood, or the sea. A harvest any sommelier would be proud to offer. You are struck with the urge to taste it, suddenly, to slake a thirst you had forgotten, but shake it off.

The huddled bystanders are beginning to rise, now, nobles and tradesmen and clergy helping each other to their feet, class boundaries splintered in the wake of shared trauma, or shared psychosis. A few are going around and bandaging wounds, checking for bruises and breaks, closing the sightless eyes of the mangled dead. There are some who direct bitter glances your way, but most are too concerned with their own wounds and those of their companions to be bothered with spite.

[The Viscount]

Rashid approaches the least shaken and bitter looking noble he can find to ask him about the goings-on.

Does anybody understand what the queen was talking about, or why she vanished?

[Plerumque]

"Course not," says the person you approach, a young woman who'd been playing the wind-through-dry-leaves in the mage-orchestra, and who now seems rather cavalier about the whole situation. "They're always going on about such things, once they go... you know." She twirls a finger meaningfully about her head. "That was a rather dramatic one, though. Even when my old master went Janus, he didn't have such fireworks. But no, I imagine if I knew what she was on about, I'd be mad as her! Imagine." She snickers to herself.

[The Viscount]

Is all the royal family plagued with madness of this sort?

[Plerumque]

"Oh, no, not at all. I've always been glad that we have a remarkably sane royal family. You look at some of the other duchies and, well—it's not pretty. All that inbreeding, I suppose. But right now some of them are beginning to look like remarkably attractive options." The magician glances up to where teeth of glass cling to the frame of the window, and the night's wind whistles through.

[The Viscount]

Rashid thanks her for her time, and steps to a more quiet corner, then glances to the window and whispers.

<See what's out there, Iblis. Stay out of sight and report back to me.>

[Plerumque]

Iblis returns with the news that it seems like a silent night, though there are no shops or homes close enough to the palace grounds that the imp could have seen their lights. The terrors of the dance appear to have slunk into the shadows or otherwise vanished, though the wind seems to have a sharper edge than it did a mere few minutes ago.

[The Viscount]

Rashid returns to the group.

There doesn't seem to be anything out there, though the wind is picking up. Should we investigate further?

[OMG PONIES]

"All of life is but an investigation, an exploration, an experiment," the doctor muses absently as he stares at his wine glass full of goop. "The only question is the subject."


Ain't feeling right. Any idea what's up, doc? he asks Julius.

"If you touched it," Julius says. "Remembering this is like looking through a dirty window or a scratched mirror. Cracked teeth, back alleys, hollow promises, and a few coins. Glistening, clinging, hallucinations--or not, only headaches? This is so close to a substance I recall excepting for the sigmas where it's not. I'm sorry, lads, but I can't quite recall...which may be a failing of my mind or fulfillment of that particular promise. As if everything in our explorations and investigations was worth cataloging. No, some should be expunged--but I begin to bloviate and there are more pressing affairs afoot."

Julius stares down at one of the puddles of goop on the ground and shrugs. Almost as if an adolescent chasing a whim, he traces out a sign and begins casting Speak with Dead, hoping that this puddle of primordial whatever could stand in as a corpse. If not, what a hopeless waste--but life was a grand experiment, after all.

[WhamBamSam]

"More's the pity." Nick fidgets absently and kicks at a bit of detritus on the floor as he watches Julius continue to inspect the slime.

[Plerumque]

Shadows of things half-undreamt, semblances of memory, fragmented stories: these crowd your mind, and speak in overlapping tongues. Through the crests and troughs of this maddening chorus, only one feeling comes through, too disjointed to answer questions or grant understanding, but clear enough in its opaque way: hollow, vacant, marionettes with tangled strings. You wonder, if you followed the strings, where would they lead back to? What ventriloquist spoke through the silence of the genial men? But their remains hold no answers, fossilized in the oil.

[OMG PONIES]

"No answers, only more questions," Julius muses to himself. He raises a finger in his eureka moment and shares: "these were not a cause, merely an effect. If we find their source, we find the true cause. Off we go, puppets hunting puppets."

[Darrin]

Dokar regards the pool of ooze briefly and shakes off the urge to go find a bottle of wine.


"No answers, only more questions," Julius muses to himself. He raises a finger in his eureka moment and shares: "these were not a cause, merely an effect. If we find their source, we find the true cause. Off we go, puppets hunting puppets."

"Puppets have strings." Dokar looks around the room again. "So... anybody see any loose ends?"

More specifically, Dokar is looking for any servant that he recognizes as someone who would be responsible for making sure the Queen or Heiress don't suddenly vanish or transform into abominable flying mothbeasts from beyond the stars.


(And just to be thorough, Dokar casts detect clue-by-four.)

[Plerumque]

Strangely, though the royal family is usually surrounded by a swirl of servants darting in and out to attend them, there are none to be seen among the injured nobles. It seems the only retainers at the ball were the genial men, all others either dismissed or devoured.

[OMG PONIES]

"Puppets have strings." Dokar looks around the room again. "So... anybody see any loose ends?"

Dr. Julius raises a finger to the sky as if about to announce a groundbreaking discovery...but then lets it fall. "Not a one, sorry. You lads see anything?"

[Venger]

Hm. No, I don't see anything. Maybe that's something to look into. It seem strange to you folks there aren't any servants around? Maybe they knew what was comin'. If we don't find nothin' on the roof, maybe we oughta look into talking to the head butler or whatever they got here

[WhamBamSam]

"Or even just a regular butler. We should sniff around and see if any of the normal staff managed to get away from those things. Assuming of course they weren't all replaced ahead of time. Anyone remember seeing normal staff before the commotion started?"

[Darrin]

If we don't find nothin' on the roof, maybe we oughta look into talking to the head butler or whatever they got here

"Ok, Skinner, Rashid, and Nick, give the roof a closer look. Doctor, perhaps I could assist you with a more detailed survey of the survivors. Maybe plot their observations on a graph, and something might stand out? If nothing turns up, then we'll go looking for the Queen, or whatever Lord Sourpants is keeping the throne warm while she's ruminating."

Aid Another (whatever Dr. J does next):
[roll0]

Sense Motive (if anyone attempts to prevaricate around Dr. J):
[roll1]

[OMG PONIES]

"Hmm," Julius muses aloud. "When all the world's a variable, what can be said for a control group? Every single observer in a different stage of shock, all unreliable narrators for the story we all saw but none can tell." He taps his chin a few times and returns to his journaling. "Perhaps we begin by finding anything normal amidst this chaos?"

Without waiting for anyone to agree or dissent, Julius approaches the least-shaken looking rich lady nearby. "Pardon, m'lady," he says with a cheshire grin. "I know it's a difficult time for us all, but pray tell--did you notice anyone who didn't seem aghast at the travesty that just spoiled an otherwise lovely evening?" Assuming stunned silence or a negative reply, Julius continues to poll others in the crowd in like fashion.

[roll0]

[Venger]

Skinner nods to Dokar. Aye aye. You see what you can figure out here,

He tucks Nick's box of tricks under his arm and beckons to Rashid to climb on his back. Hop on

[WhamBamSam]

Nick draws a wand from his belt and fiddles with it as he walks toward the window behind Skinner.

UPD checks to activate a wand of Alter Self to turn into an Avariel Elf. DC20. I can keep trying until I roll a 1.

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

Duration of the wand is 30 minutes.

Nick's face becomes fairer and more angular, his ears extend to pointed tips, and feathered wings sprout from his back.

[Venger]

Skinner raises an eyebrow. Neat trick.

[The Viscount]

Rashid climbs onto Skinner's back, sending Iblis in front to scout ahead outside.

[Plerumque]

You find, after surveying half the crowd, that the vast majority of them have no recollection of anything that happened before the—blood on white gloves, insect wings, surging shadow—of the previous moments. The few who recollect anything that happened prior are all members of the mage-orchestra, and even they can recollect only actions, mechanical motions, and none of the thoughts or feelings behind them. They can remember laughing, dancing, talking, even a few fragments of conversation, but nothing that might explain why, or how. Some shudder at the implications of this, others laugh at it, and still others seem to still not have snapped out of the haze.

[OMG PONIES]

"How fascinating..."

Julius scribbles a few notes in his journal. He pulls Dokar aside and suggests, "I'd doubt that the entire crowd had been drugged, right? Aside from some minor hallucinogens and anesthesia, it seems as if the lot of them are coming out from under some sort of magical compulsion."

[roll0]

Julius casts Detect Magic.

[Darrin]

"Aside from some minor hallucinogens and anesthesia, it seems as if the lot of them are coming out from under some sort of magical compulsion."


Dokar had the same thought. "Hmmm."

Knowledge: Arcana check
[roll0]

[Plerumque]

The effect matches no particular spell you know, and they appear unremarkable under the harsh light of a detect magic spell. It is likely some kind of supernatural effect, you deduce, though not one characteristic of any ritual or creature you know.

[Plerumque]

There's nothing of substance through the window. As you rise, you feel like you're brushing your way through veil after veil. Cobwebs sticky on your skin, and the moon diffuse in a gossamer haze. These are the silks you'll be buried in, and the roof below your feet the boards of your coffin. You strain your eyes, but everything remains just out of focus. Perhaps there's movement in the darkness just beyond the field of your vision, or mocking laughter just an octave too high for you to hear, except as a trembling in your joints. Or perhaps there's nothing, and the creatures have all slunk away, spun their burial-shroud cocoons, to emerge in the light of day. You shiver, not sure if it's the thought or the wind, like razors in your flesh.

[WhamBamSam]

"Well, this is unsettling." Nick fidgets slightly and takes a small wooden disk from his belt. Holding it out he projects a shimmering surface into midair a few feet above the ground.

"Thanks for the hand with my things," he says to Skinner. "You can set them down there. You may have need of your hands in a moment."

[The Viscount]

Rashid glances about suspiciously, trying to blink quickly enough to clear his vision in the wind.

That's putting it mildly.

He utters a few quick whispers in Celestial aimed at his shoulder, and Iblis turns his full focus to the hazy mist that surrounds them.

Iblis uses detect magic on the surrounding area. Also sweep the windows if possible.

[Venger]

Sure thing Skinner sets the box down.

[Plerumque]

No magic glimmers in the haze of the fog, or in the reflections of the windows.

[WhamBamSam]

Sure thing Skinner sets the box down.Nick's eyes flit toward the box as Skinner deposits it. "Maybe I should take a moment to lay a few traps. If there's something lurking up here, a little preparation might go a long way."

[The Viscount]

I suppose, though I'm still not sure there's something here. There doesn't seem to be any magic in the fog

He activates his full powers of perception as he makes a cautious search of the rooftop.

Rashid casts detect fire, as detect evil but any fire or living creature is detected.

[Plerumque]

You recollect the torches of the ball: blue-flickering flame, cool as frosted glass to the touch. No warmth there - no warmth anywhere. To bring a body's heat here, in this place of fluid shadows and impossible light, would be to profane the sacrament of the darkness. If they are here, they are as cold as the wind itself.

[The Viscount]

I can find no heat here, and now that I think there did not seem to be any in the light for the party either. Hmm. Perhaps they have some opposition to it

Rashid kneels on the rooftop, using Iblis's spread wings as cover from the wind as he attempts to kindle a torch, seeing if the bizarre environment prevents it from being lit.

[Plerumque]

The torch lights, though it flickers and gutters in the wind.

[The Viscount]

Then it seems that I have shot my bolt. I detect nothing out of the ordinary here. Perhaps someone else has an idea?

[Venger]

I got nothin'

try detect magic on the roof

[OMG PONIES]

" 'Ordinary' is hardly the word for it, chums," Julius calls up to those on the roof. "Something...more than natural, though not magical. Most fascinating. As to what it is, I'm afraid I'm at a loss, but fascinating nonetheless." Julius resumes scribbling in his journal, odd machinations that make no sense to anyone daft enough to peer over his shoulder. His was an impenetrable world, but one he at least seemed to enjoy inhabiting.

[Venger]

Figure we should hole up somewhere, doc?

[WhamBamSam]

"May as well. Seems we're just wasting time here."

[Darrin]

"Doctor, are there any accommodations available at your chateau?"

[The Viscount]

There's likely safety to be had in numbers, especially with those things running about in the night.

[OMG PONIES]

"Oh, there's always vacancy," Julius says with a bit of a chuckle. "Though safety may be a bit of an illusion. Of course, for your own benefit I'd have to administer some innoculations..." At that, Julius' chuckle broadens to more of a cackle.

[The Viscount]

Experiment gone wrong, doctor?

[OMG PONIES]

Julius arches an incredulous eyebrow. "Hardly," he scoffs. "The world is a dangerous place. Those who study physiks are now saying that there may even be miniscule, invisible creatures in everything we touch, eat, or drink. One gentleman even believes them to live in the very air we breathe! Can you imagine? Whether it's science or sorcery, though, I'd rather mitigate the risk. Wouldn't you?" As he asks the question, he invitingly hoists a large syringe full of a strange, citrus-colored liquid.

[The Viscount]

I have not encountered such an idea in my studies. One would think we could detect them somehow if that were the case.

Rashid eyes the syringe cautiously as he considers an Infernal whisper from his shoulder.
<Why did he bring that with him to a party? Do you think he always has it?>

And which is your solution, doctor? Science, or sorcery?

[OMG PONIES]

I have not encountered such an idea in my studies. One would think we could detect them somehow if that were the case...And which is your solution, doctor? Science, or sorcery?

Julius shrugs at this suggestion. "Perhaps. Not to wax poetic, but what about concepts like love & hate? We cannot detect them, but we believe in their existence and influence solely by observing their effects. As far as science or sorcery, why must the two be mutually exclusive?"

[Plerumque]

The doctor's manor is cloistered at the center of a patch of greenery rare to find inside the walls of the city, the woods previously having shielded the sensibilities of its former occupant from the garish lights of the city, and currently shielding Doctor Mordenstein from the judgmental gazes of his neighbors. The manor itself is thick with dust and aging grandeur, full of empty spaces lent a silver dignity by the moonlight.

The old baron had more than enough beds and moth-eaten coverlets for all, and the night passes uneventfully. There is, though, something peculiar about your sleep only noticed later in reflection—even those who usually dream vividly could recall nothing that might have roused you from the sleep of the dead.

When you awake and step outside in the morning, the wood around you seems to have taken on a particular quality that is difficult to describe. The pale birches seem to have grown crooked in the night, bending like slender fingers. The grass swirls and eddies in the breeze, moving in disunity. Your surroundings are dimly lit, and the sun seen through the tree-tops is slivered, each birch a knife-line. The shadows cast seem deeper than they should be. And from the direction of the city proper, smoke rises into the sky—not in a cloud, but in a thousand thin stitches.

[WhamBamSam]

"Someone would appear to have started a few fires," Nick says flatly. "Should we head out to investigate, or do you suspect that they'll come to us?"

[Venger]

You know what they say: where there's fire...

[The Viscount]

I would gladly head out to find them. A fire is a normal problem with clear solutions, which could not be said for our visitors at the ball last night. I feel like doing something concrete.

[OMG PONIES]

In the morning, the good doctor places his night cap back on the hat rack and exchanges his pajamas for his more dignified suit. There is no valet to dress him any more, and it had been years since his Petal had commented on his good fashion sense or lack thereof. Usually he dreamed of her nightly, but not last night. Instead, all was deaf and blind. While Julius had half a mind to bemoan the lack of a visit from her visage, the other half of his mind was pleased not to suffer through the recurring end to that particular dream.

Instead, he is content to whip up a sparse breakfast for his traveling companions. What he lacked in proteins or fresh produce, he made up for with sheer gusto as he inhaled his food and encouraged his mates to do the same. Stepping out the door of his chateau, the odd tableau is an inviting landscape for the doctor.

With a stretch of his arms toward the sun and a faint yawn, he chuckles and says: "No solution is normal the first time, chums. Let's go make a discovery, shall we?"

[WhamBamSam]

Nick smirks. "I've probably spent too long huddled amongst trap makers. Alright, let's head out. If we need to bring some water along, I can help with that." He taps at the talisman hanging from his belt.

[Plerumque]

The grass crunches underfoot (it's all dead; when did that happen?) as you make your way towards the city proper, where buildings rise and subdivide the horizon, and smoke spears upwards. You happen to notice as you come out from under the canopy of trees that the sun is still julienned like it's been passed through a mandoline.

The walk is silent, almost pleasantly so, for the first portion. Then the whispers start, a soft gibbering on the wind. Musical almost. A chorale in dead languages. You feel that you could almost make sense of it, if you only listened, really listened like you've never listened to anything. But something keeps snapping the thread of your concentration, and the meaning slips through your tendrils. Hands. You mean hands.

You feel something in the shadows of your mind vibrate like a tuning fork, resonate to the whispers. Clamor and chitter like a baby bird. Do birds chitter? Something wet and fluttering, behind your eyes. A second heartbeat. Incubation.
The whispers rise and fall as you get closer to the still heart of the city, yet maintain a steady crescendo. Eventually you are close enough to see what causes them. At the edge of every rooftop, they are there, like gargoyles or wet-cloth scarecrows twisted iron weathervanes, shuddering in the wind. Membraneous wings spread. And they are singing to each other.

Besides them, the streets stand open and lifeless. From far away they look much the same as they ever did, only emptied of the thronging life that would normally have been surging through the arteries of the market district. And the shadows, longer and sharper than normal in the fractured sunlight. The smoke rises from deeper within, though not from any fire you can see.

[Darrin]

"Well, I did not expect that staying at Doctor Julius' place would be less creepy than staying in the city proper. Good move on our part, I'd say." Dokar scans the city streets with a knitted brow. "This appears to be much more involved than just the royal family. Smoke is never a good sign, but it is at least a sign of something. Shall we head in that direction?"

[Venger]

Might find out what's causing all this

[OMG PONIES]

Julius seems in the zone as he scrawls furiously in his notebook. Diagrams of the bizarre gargoyles, as well as a full description of the city fill the pages to the margins. If he even heard the comment about the creepiness of his chateau, he doesn't let on. "Indeed," the doctor murmurs,
"All of this is most fascinating." Looking up for but a moment, he mutters a quick casting of detect magic under his breath and scans the area.

[Plerumque]

A fragment of a memory: something vast and pale beneath you, the ground shifting, opening up in great crevasses Something passing by, receding into the distance, and leaving in its wake a thin melody seeping into the stone. It, too, had sung.

Nothing changes in your vision as you look at the creatures singing on the rooftops. It seems normal that they should be there, right in a way that the rabble in their ignoble flesh never did. The city, too—nothing strange about it, only a realization of a kind of beauty it might have had all along. As if it, too, had molted, and emerged to dry wet wings in the fragmented sunlight.

[WhamBamSam]

Nick exhudes a strange unplaceable scent for a moment. His skin and clothes shimmer briefly then seem to shift in color, mimicking the forest behind him. "I'm going to get a bit closer," he says, then slinks off toward the building.

Manifest Chameleon. Gain +10 enhancement to Hide. 20 minute duration.

Hide: [roll0]
Move Silently: [roll1]

When he reaches the base of the building that the strange creatures are standing on Nick searches for some cover at the top of the roof. His shadow stretches up the roof into the hiding spot, and in a single step he is there.

Assuming there's a suitable hiding spot on the roof where the things are, Shadow Jaunt into it.

[Plerumque]

They seem undisturbed by Nick's shadowy presence behind a chimney; they continue their song, dipping and swooping like a great moth-winged thing itself. As one of them reaches a high note (cartilaginous wind-chimes, plummeting raptor-cry), a long thread of smoke descends from the sky and touches down at the slate of the roof like gentle lightning. It curls over itself at the base in a waterfall's plume, and wavers in the air. They continue to sing.

[WhamBamSam]

Quietly, so as not to draw attention, Nick reaches out from his hiding place to lay a few thin wires, inconspicuous enough to be missed by the unperceptive and rigged to drop a select few items to fall should anyone set them off.

Set Nick at E6. Spend two full round actions setting a Deluxe Drop Trap with three Tanglefoot Bags in D6.

Craft (Trapmaking) [roll0] (Trap has an attack bonus equal to half the check result, and Search DC equal to the check result)

In case new stealth rolls are needed...

Hide: [roll1]
Move Silently: [roll2]

[Plerumque]

They continue their atonal hymn without any reaction to Nick; at one point, a singer's eyes settle briefly on Nick's hiding-place, but they move on after a moment. About twenty seconds later, another gray thread strikes on the rooftop of a building down the street, a ragged seam in the fabric of the air.

[WhamBamSam]

Nick carries on setting traps. Any time now, he thinks to himself.

Set another Deluxe Drop Trap at F6, this one with a Noxious Smokestick, a vial of Alchemist's Fire, and a vial of Aboleth Mucus.

Craft (Trapmaking): [roll0]

Set a Deluxue Arrow Trap from E5 to F5, assuming I can do so without leaving my hiding spot. If not, then just put it at E5.

Craft (Trapmaking): [roll1]

Stealth Skills:
Hide: [roll2]
Move Silently: [roll3]

[Venger]

Skinner sniffs at the air in the direction of the siren's song:


detect magic

[Plerumque]

Nothing changes in your scent as you orient yourself towards the creatures singing on the rooftops. It seems normal that they should be there, right in a way that the rabble in their ignoble flesh never did. The city, too—nothing strange about it, only a realization of a kind of beauty it might have had all along. As if it, too, had molted, and emerged to dry wet wings in the fragmented sunlight.

[Venger]

Don't know what it is, but it ain't no spell Skinner mutters to Nick.

[Plerumque]

They continue their song, thrilling through your veins and making your bones hum in two-hundred-six-part harmony. The chimney is narrow, but provides a shield from the gaze of those rapturous yellow eyes. The soot smudges on your clothes and skin, and you wonder morbidly if perhaps this building wasn't a crematorium, if it's not someone else's burnt flesh you're wearing as warpaint. Meanwhile, their song reaches a crescendo, seething in a thousand insect-wings. More threads of gray smoke plummet from the sky, faster and faster. One lands just inches away from Skinner, and he feels the tension like a coiled spring.

[Venger]

Skinner examines it.

detect magic

[Plerumque]

Just as an incision in flesh reveals not the alien but the truth beneath the surface, so seems this.

[The Viscount]

These smoke columns seem to actively resist any attempts to know them. Iblis, touch it. I'll pull you out if it gets too dangerous.

The imp sneers at his master, thinking he cannot be serious. When he sees Rashid's serious stare, he reluctantly reaches his hand toward the column of smoke.

[Plerumque]

The moment Iblis touches the wavering negative flame, the imp himself wavers, flickers, impossible light streaming off of him and up.

Roll a Ref save for Iblis.

[WhamBamSam]

Nick draws a scroll from his belt unfurling it quietly as he turns to his newly arrived companions.

"Guess there's only one way to know what's going on here. No sense wasting time"

He utters a single word in his most convincing voice, and in a blur, pushes off from the roof of the building, looping around to hurdle at the nearest singer in a barrage of knees and elbows.

Swift action to use a scroll of Swift Fly (successful UPD roll in the OOC thread). Temporal Distilation for an extra move action which I use to loop around to D8. Flurry of Blows on the singer dealing non-lethal damage.

Attack 1:
Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Sneak Attack: [roll2]

Attack 2:
Attack: [roll3]
Damage: [roll4]
Sneak Attack: [roll5]

Attack 3:
Attack: [roll6]
Damage: [roll7]
Sneak Attack: [roll8]

If Attacks 1 and 2 both hit, then use Inexorable Progress of Dawn to push the singer back into the trap, with Nick following after so he can land at D7 when Swift Fly expires at the end of the turn.

If Nick successfully pushes the singer into the trap, it drops 3 tanglefoot bags on the singer.

Tanglefoot Bag 1: [roll9] (touch attack)
Tanglefoot Bag 2: [roll10] (touch attack)
Tanglefoot Bag 3: [roll11] (touch attack)

Each bag that hits forces a DC15 Reflex Save against being glued to the ground unable to move. If at least one bag hits, the singer is entangled.

If Nick fails to push the singer back, he lands on the ground below D7.

[Plerumque]

Iblis seems to mirror as if in heat, then backwards-flows into his body. He flaps back a heartbeat, and reports no unusual sensation to Rashid.

At the same time, Nick grazes past one of them, landing a solitary elbow-blow. It indents, and he feels tackiness on his elbow, a weight, and then it flutters free into a flock of clot-ribbons arcing around him. When he lands, the strands swirl and coil next to him and entangle back into it, and it just stares at him with eyes like alien moons, song silenced.

[OMG PONIES]

Julius emerges from the chimney grinning like the madman that he is. He approaches the creature and manages to reach it just in time for it to discorporate and reform next to Nick. "Oh bugger," Julius mutters to himself before calling down to Nick, "ask if it speaks Common, would you?" Even as he says it, though, Julius' attention is affixed far more on the arcing column of smoke than anything else. He takes out his journal, sketches a few diagrams, and tucks it back into his sack. "Well Rashid," he says, "ask the imp what he experienced. Let's begin our experiment, shall we?"

[The Viscount]

Rashid freezes for a moment, then laughs.

Saw through his veils, eh? Perhaps Iblis is not so stealthy as he may think. I should have expected you wouldn't judge me harshly for working with a creature such as him.

Anyway, he says that he sensed nothing strange, but he is a creature of fire and of a world not ours. He's a fair amount tougher than most humans, as well. There are any number of things he might not find strange. It may still be dangerous to us.

I have a sneaking doubt we should be so lucky that this....thing would speak the Common tongue. Fortunately, I can understand just about any spoken language should the need arise.

He puffs up with pride for a brief instant before deflating again.
Though I can only speak a handful... so the conversation would be one sided. Still, I'm willing to try.

[WhamBamSam]

Nick swears as he touches down on the ground. He eyes the singer before him warily.


"ask if it speaks Common, would you?""Well?" he asks to the strange monstrosity, "does what I'm saying make sense to you, or do you not understand any language besides violence..."

He raises an eyebrow back toward Dr. Julius, "...or perhaps fear?"

[Plerumque]

An intelligence gleams in its eyes as it ***** its head at an unnatural angle. The whispers that come in answer, quiet as water freezing over yet somehow insistent, don't seem to issue from its broken-glass mouth. Know the language of fairy-tales, of nursery rhymes. Of children's dreams and elders' poetry. Your Muse is our inspiration. Should we not know art, we who are none less ourselves? The singer leers.

[WhamBamSam]

"Seems it does." Nick calls up to Julius, trying not to betray his unease. "Still, there's something to be said for letting our fists do the talking." He stares back into the singer's eyes. "You're about to know more about our arts than you'd like. If you're art yourself, then you'll understand our desire to do a more in-depth analysis."

[The Viscount]

Rashid shouts to the creature now that he sees it intelligent enough to talk.

You seem too familiar with the language of old rhymes and stories for children; for you seem to speak in riddle even now. Speak then in the plainness for children, since you know it. What Muse do you claim to be ours that so emboldens you? What reason could you have for placing these rifts in our city? Explain yourself, creature.

[Plerumque]

It laughs like a wet log thrown on a bonfire. The paint does not know the painting, and the tale knows not the telling. When we shed flesh a-splintered and cracked, we learned the secrets of the skies—and it unfurls vast membranous wings—but not the deep. Join us and you, too, shall shed your pretensions and perfections and know the true joy of beauty. It need not take much. Merely lay hands on my sisters. It gestures with one wing towards the rooftops. And then something recedes from its broken face, a dark rolling-back of flesh, and there is the face of someone you know—a respected teacher at the city academy, who throws back her head in witchy laughter, and then evaporates in a scar-line of smoke.

[OMG PONIES]

"Well chums," Julius says with a shrug, "by my calculations I'm the one with the least to lose. For science!" And with that bold proclamation, he sticks his hand into the column of smoke that the imp had touched.

[Plerumque]

For a fracture of a moment, Dr. Julius feels the way the stars must feel: infinitely above, endlessly aware—and burning, burning with the flame of an ineffable Name (the Muse!) the Muse! Bone shows where his fingers brush the gray haze, but he can't tell if the osseous architecture revealed could belong to him, those sawtooth riddles of bone. And then the whole world tenses indefinably around him, and he sees—a street longer than any in the city could have been, lined with Corinthian columns of smoke; a room with soot-blackened windows and amorphous shapes huddled around a single candle; the throne room of the palace, jewels unglittering for lack of light; the center of a concert hall with the heat of spotlights and a hundred expectant eyes.

Make a Ref save. If you fail, roll a d4.

Tally:

Dr Julius: II
Skinner: I
Nick: I

[Venger]

Skinner leaps back from the smoke, springing off the balls of his feet and beating his wings against the ground to blow it from the group.


ref save [roll0]

+4 if vs a magical beast
+2 if vs a spell or sla