Portent of Phantix IC

[Sergeant]

The field was a broad expanse of flat land with knee high grass blowing in the morning breeze when the two armies came to a head; the Tower of Misty Peak set overlooking the field on the jagged hillside to the north like some lonesome sentinel. Ranks were formed and horns blown, officers parleyed and neither side could accept the other’s demand to step down.

The battle began with a surge of cavalry followed by a wave of infantry, the archers and mages rained death on both teams from behind their respective battle lines.

You felt your foes weapon enter your body and the flesh tear and open, the warmth of your own blood washing over you and the agony of the pain as you fell to the ground. Then the pain stopped and the world seemed to slow and then everything was gone. You feel yourself floating weightless and hollow with no feeling of your body and no sound or light or dark. Not even a sense of where or when or up or down. Then it begins, you are a small child insulting another but you feel the pain tenfold that they felt. You are a little older and you throw a rock at a young boy and the pain in your head is a thousand fold what he felt. You live your life as an observer through your own eyes, skipping passed the good and the neutral but going through every time you ever caused another pain in what seems like slow motion, feeling the pain you caused tenfold, a hundredfold, a thousand fold. And then you are back on that field bellow the Tower of Misty Peak, watching men fight and die by the tens of thousands and every blow you strike to an enemy screams their pain back into your mind so strong that you are sure your brain is going to explode. Then the blow that sent you here falls, but this time there is no pain, this time the blood flows and the warmth is soothing and you know it is over and you find peace as the world fades from you and the only way you can describe this feeling is to say that it is the feeling of home and being perfectly content.

Then you feel it jerk away and you feel you are falling but you are nowhere and you have no form, no body, no senses, and no idea how you could be falling. Then your eyes open and you exhale a gasp of stale air and suck in a lungful of the putrid stinking air that smells of rotten meat and feces. A crow is startled from where it was gorging on a dead man’s intestines not two feet away. When your hand wanders to the gaping hole in your body, you instead feel a ragged scar, solid and clean like you have had it for years. You actually feel great, well rested and healthy, not a single of the aches and pains you had become accustomed to in life. It is as though your body has been renewed and even improved.

As you climb to your feet you look around the battle field and cannot see the ground, just mounds and heaps of bodies with carrion birds circling over head and gorging among the dead. Many of the bodies are devastated by what you can assume were spells judging by the burns, craters, and dismembered corpses. The Tower of Misty Peak is scorched and blackened as though it were burned but it still stands high over the field, partially obscured by the morning fog that instigated it’s name.

A group of crows start in a few other places and as the air clears of the birds you see four other people standing up among all this death.

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 57; Perception: +16 (Scent)

Snarling with remembered pain, Tangaloor began swatting at the flies flitting about his face even before he opened his eyes. His crawl back to consciousness was accompanied by abominable buzzing and the overwhelming stench of decay, on a level even he had never smelled before. Finally his eyes snapped open, the morning light stabbing at his dilated cat's pupils before they adjusted quickly. His hand froze as it came into focus before him, covered with his own blood. A shame, he thought fuzzily, that I should live while these worthies around me die. Blinking rapidly, he shook his head, and levered himself up. What? What was that?! His own thoughts confused him, the memory of shared pain and vision-granted connections weakening his resolve. Glancing up at the carrion surrounding him, his gaze hardened as he remembered who and what he was. No. I am a midnight blade, he repeated as his grasping hands found the familiar shapes of his tools, their hilts covered in his gore, a crawler in blood, a mantis in wait.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself to a kneeling position to check the wound that was somehow less fatal than he had thought. Did he miss? But no -- there was the ragged hole in his leathers, directly over where he could feel his heart thumping double-time. Tenderly he probed the fur and skin below, and found only an old scar, as though his last memory had happened a decade ago. A reflexive chuckle left his lips, and he tilted his head back to the sky. Mallak! he roared silently in his own mind, I am not worthy, but by your grace I live again! Something about that seemed wrong, as though it didn't fit with the dream he'd just had, but the incongruence was lost on him as he leapt to his feat, twirling his blades faster than he ever had before, exulting in newfound, almost improved life.

His motion startled the carrion birds that had settled all around him, pecking at the unending buffet of dead flesh, and they took off in a huff, offended that their meal had been interrupted. Suddenly he saw that he was not alone among the dead. Other figures were standing, or picking themselves up. He raised his serrated blades defensively, but none seemed hostile at the moment; by the looks on their faces, they were just as confused as he was. He lowered the wicked sabers to his sides, but kept them at the ready as he peered unblinkingly at these fellow survivors.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac had weathered the visions of his minor acts of violence toward other youths, but the experience of his first killing sent him reeling. He wasn't even a knight then, just the son of a horse rancher watching his father be harassed by a gang of criminal thugs. It had been so easy, then, to ride up on his favorite horse, slip a lasso around the man's waist, and drag him behind as he brought his horse to full gallop.

But the vision drew out that dozen seconds into an hour of agony, where the impact of every rock and earthen ridge on the body of his victim felt like it should have been enough to crush him. And from there the killings kept coming: a brigand on the road he had cut down a year later seemed to slash open his soul, and the dozen island warriors who had met their end at the tip of his lance or the edge of his sword each filled him with pain until he felt like he couldn't bear another injury. The agony of the single blow he'd dealt the noble scion who laid him out was a relief compared to the dozen men he'd lanced in this battle, until finally the longspears flashed into view between the enemy ranks and put an end to his pain.

Then came the discontinuity as he was dragged back to his body, coughing and gasping for breath. Hard metal pressed into his side and his ribs, and he rolled over to find that he'd come to rest on top of his lance, which itself had come to rest buried at least a foot into the body of another man. It seemed the spear that had robbed him of his life hadn't robbed his last charge of its momentum.

That was when the stench hit him, and he retched, reaching up to pull his helmet off. Luckily, his stomach was empty.

Morac managed to get control of himself, forcing himself to breath shallowly as he surveyed the scene. "I haven't seen so many bodies in one place since the southern island campaign." he muttered, then thought to himself, No, not even then. He looked around from his place on his knees. Did the Star win this battle, or lose? Did it even matter, after what I've just seen?

Then he looked down at his chest, where the head of a spear had pierced his armor and impaled his heart. The hole in the breastplate was still there, but... all that was behind it was a small puckered scar, like it had been a mere dagger wound that hadn't made it past his ribs.

He turned back at the body of the last man he had killed, said a prayer asking for Carth's protection for his soul, and pulled his lance free. Setting the handle against the ground, he pulled himself up to better survey the field of broken bodies, hoping to catch a glimpse of what had become of his horse, only to see a handful of others also rising from the ranks of the dead.

"Whose side did these people fight on?" he asked himself, watching each of them warily. Then he saw the tower on the horizon, and his eyes widened. "What... happened up there..."

Movement. One of the figures had raised a pair of weapons. He tensed for a fight, but the idea of adding another killing to his tally right now made him feel ill again, and he just shook his head. He didn't see Relentless anywhere on the field, so he figured he didn't have much choice but to deal with these people. If they wanted to kill him, he wouldn't be able to outrun them in his heavy armor.

He strapped his lance to his back, picked up his shield, and began walking toward them.

[Vanerock]

Tumbling through space.... his conscious attached to nothing, only blank space. Then flashed back through childhood. The feelings and emontions passing by like leaves on a river. The despised feelings at the looming future forced into the same pitiful job his family had done for seven generations, then the elation watching his future master's performing at a wedding.
More time passed and a face flashed before him. So familiar. Another apprentice training in his art. The two of then returning to the Five Nations to make their names as performers. Then the desperation of living on the streets. Starving night after night. Then to his first bounty. Time began slowing down around that moment. Up until then, he had felt pain for any wrong he had done, but this moment stuck in his mind. His first kill. He remembered the feeling of running his sword through another. The satisfaction, not of the kill, but of the mastery of his talents. But that was soon replaced. At the time Jaxon had already felt the guilt and pain, but this time it was worse. The guilt became amplified over and over again, mixing with the pain he felt from the man he'd slain. Then again and again. Every life he'd taken through combat, every time he spilled blood, it hit him on and on for what felt like an eternity.
Then he was at the battle again. His skill with a blade had kept him alive, kept him fighting, his companion by his side. He saw the giants wading into the bloodshed, killing indiscriminately. Fear. How could he fight something like that?! The blasts came in fast. Massive spheres of fire and death wiping out dozens each time. Finally it hit him just as before. Burning pain, flames washing over him. Trying to take a breath, and only sucking in fire. His body being engulfed in heat. Then it was gone. Everything felt normal
Death. All he could smell was death. Rot and decay assaulting his scent. His eyes weren't even open yet, and he knew where he was. The only place he'd been in his life where there could be death and decay of this scale. As he opens his eyes he takes in the sight of the battle field. bodies tossed around. Jaxon notices a few people standing around, not making any moves towards him each gathering in the scene as well. He looks at his body, no trace of the burned mess he was. He checks his equipment. Everything where it was. His sword caked with dried blood. Even his dance sword, stuck into the scabbard on his back. He checks his gear carefully, he was forgetting something, he couldn't think what, but there was something. In the back of his mind he just couldn't shake. All of his equipment was there, but he was missing something. Something familiar, something it had been years since he'd been far from. Something..... Something.... Someone...... Erina.....
"Erina!!!!!" He looks around and the bodies around her, and doesn't recognize her face on the corpses. He has to know, did she survive? She was here when it happened. Frantically he begins searching the area.

Perception check to look for Erina [roll0]

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

Khalid awoke with a start as something hard jabbed his face. Staring up at a grey sky, his mind was a jumble of memories and academic knowledge. Where was he? Why was he so damp? Why was he so confused? He quickly added the source of the petulant jabbing to his list of things to figure out. Turning his head, he came face-to-face with a beady eyed black bird.

Corvus corone, he thought idly as his mind worked through a sequence of prime numbers to give itself order, Common Western Carrion Crow, native to the western coast of Balmoth and... Aerianor.

Then everything came into focus as though shutters had been thrown open on a sunny day. He had not expected to die on the damp and muddy fields somewhere in this perpetually grey land but those horses had trampled him quite thoroughly. He still remembered the terrible impacts, the taste of something terrible flooding up his throat. Something he did not taste right now. He had died, had he not?

Suddenly worried by any number of foul and unholy fates, he sprang to his feet and quickly pulled his chain up, not and easy task and every fumble seemed to stretch for an infinity but he eventually got a clear look at the caramel skin of his torso. Despite his bookish regular appearance, his chest was well muscled as befitted a swordsman. What should have been a mass of shredded skin and powdered ribs was a mere handful of puckered scars in the vague shape of partial hooves. They could almost be overlooked save for that they were a few shades lighter than his natural dusky skin tone.

He was alive. Another chance. He could make up for mistakes.

The crow cawed in an annoyed fashion and flapped away, bringing the scholar back to reality. He looked around to the devastation and the others stirring. Dropping his chain sheepishly, he stooped and retrieved his sword. It was a hefty length of steel he wielded in one hand easily. Instead of waving the blade around threateningly, he sheathed it and approached the others cautiously.

He wore none of the insignia of either side openly as he was effectively neutral in the war of succession. He served a higher purpose than deciding upon the next monarch of this land. Still, he knew he was not above these men. Truly, no man was above another.

He bowed lightly to each in turn, greeting them as equals and keeping his hands clasped behind him.

"Ah, peace be upon you, sir knight, and upon you sir... swordsman," he said, greeting the knight and wary catfolk politely. That catfolk had interesting implements and the mind to use them, it appeared. The others were still gathering themselves. "I would wish you good fortune as well, but it seems crass to do so in the midst of so many less fortunate than we."

[roll0]

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

The knight approached to a comfortable distance of about 15 feet before he stopped to regard the two before him, holding his helmet in his right arm with his shield at his side.

"Peace should be enough for now, for me at least." he replied, turning to survey the devastation of the battlefield once again. He winced as he heard another man cry out in bereavement. "I have had my fill of war today, and I hope it is the same for you?" he made the statement a question, casting a glance at each of them.

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 57; Perception: +16 (Scent)

Neither seemed likely to attack, at least not within the next few moments, so Tangaloor peered at each of them for another breath before setting to work cleaning his blades, using the already bloody cloth of his cloak in the absence of anything on this battlefield not caked in viscera. He kept one eye on the one clutching his helm to his side; though the Eternal Star didn't normally paint their armor black, he was clearly some sort of knight and thus likely a problem. With the battle over, though, there was no reason to kill anyone anymore. Anyway, his mind was still working over the strange visions Mallak or ... someone ... had shown him earlier.

"Peace," he said in slightly accented Common, the vowels a bit twisted, "peace will suffice." He darted a glance at the other, the unmarked warrior, and smirked. "No offense will be registered by them; standing on our own two feet is mark enough of good fortune in this place, yes?" Finding his swords as clean as he could make them with the soiled cloak, he slowly raised his blades and left them in fighting position for a moment, a naked threat, before sliding them into the well-oiled sheaths on his back.

Having satisfied himself that the two did not mean to fight, yet, he allowed himself another perusal of the battlefield, and was unsurprised to find another survivor screaming a name and rummaging around in the dead. "Peace is unlikely to hold much comfort for that one, though."

Tangaloor has made Morac his Studied Target for the moment, more out of simple paranoia than any real desire to fight.

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 13 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

Shring awoke with a start, feeling his heart pounding through his body. His paws reflexively moved to his chest, tracing the scar where he had been impaled. After all he had been through, the grotesque environment mattered little to the dark-furred feline sorcerer. His broad shoulders pulsed as he shifted his arms under him, grabbing firmly to a lifeless skull and the shattered armor of a far less fortunate warrior for support, before pushing himself up off the ground. Standing up, the feline looked down at himself, his dark collar draping over his shoulders and crimson kilt falling back to cover his thighs again.

He chuckled madly, tracing the scar on his chest with a claw, before throwing his head back and pulling his arms out, the scar suddenly blazing with an bright indigo light from within. "I'M ALIVE! I'M ALIVE! AHAHAHAHA!" he cackled, lightning bolts firing into the sky from his hands. "And what's this?" he asked himself, looking down and over himself as he felt his arcane might surge from within him. The sorcerer waved his arms in broad, sweeping motions, before thrusting them down to his sides. "YES! YES!" He shouted loudly, his body drifting up from the ground. His forearms suddenly surged with electrical power, forming a mass of lightning between his paws, "and I have UNLIMITED POWER!" He shouted, as the lightning shot out toward the mass of corpses, striking one, arcing to another, further one, before leaping up and striking at an unfortunate crow.

Only after he'd completed the display of his newfound power did Shring look around and notice the others standing around, and he hissed, "This is great! I'm alive, there's a heartbeat under my skin, blood in my veins..." he rambled, flying over to Tangaloor, "And this completely awesome new scar, as well! Talk about a unique trophy!" he grinned to the other catfolk, before turning around in midair. "How does it look from behind? Like it went all the way through?"

Okay - he spent a few seconds/rounds worth of actions - first casting Arcane Mark on his scar, then firing off three of his Electricity Rays, cast Fly, then a Lightning-substituted Burning Arc!

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

The sudden display of magic has Tangaloor's blades back out in an instant as he watches the mage with wide, searching eyes, his breathing quick and even as he prepares himself. Though he hasn't been attacked yet, he begins tracing out the strategies he's been taught for dealing with magic-users; he'd only ever been sent after one before, and that one had died before displaying anything near as powerful as this. His muscles are poised and ready to dive out of the way, and his mind is rehearsing the words and motions necessary to escape.

He blinks at the relatively friendly demeanor, and blinks again when he recognizes another Catfolk. It had been a long time since he had met any other for more than a brief instant, and though he did not feel any sort of instant camaraderie, it does relax him slightly. "Yes ..." he says hesitantly, clearly a bit taken aback, "it went all the way through. Tell me, do you desire peace, like these others?"

I'm just switching to present tense, because I keep having to correct myself anyway.

Tangaloor is not comfortable with displays of electric power from mages he doesn't know, and has switched his Studied Target to Shring, as well as readied an action to Vanish if he is targeted with any spell that forces a Will save. Again: paranoid.

[Sergeant]

Now as you walk among the dead you see that the battle turned into a slaughter ground, there are entire swaths of ground torn apart by spells and arrows pin cushioning everything. It appears as though the "support" lines began to dump everything they had into the melee indiscriminately. But even so, they were also targeting each other as you can see groups of dead bowmen and robed figures pin cushioned with arrows along the East and West flank of the main slaughter field. You would guess that of the roughly 3000 men who fought in this battle that there are well over 2000 still here who will never see another battle.

There are no standards to denote a victory and it appears neither team had the manpower to clear to field, bury and burn the dead, or even do much to loot the bodies. The spells and giants both seem to have done so much damage that you are not sure there would be much of use left. On the ground between the group of you in discussion is a charred corpse whose armor and helm are half melted and partially lay in a now cold and hard puddle around him. Nearby is a Qidorin Giant with a 12 foot long great sword impaled through a horse and rider and the knights lance pierced into the giants chest; the weapons are keeping them propped up like some grotesque monument to the slaughter under the Tower of Misty Peak.

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 13 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

"Cool! I'll have to find a mirror and mark that, too. This sort of scar is one of a kind! I lived, I died, I live again!" Shring grinned, turning back around. Taking a moment to appraise himself, no longer quite as giddy from his resurrection, and the filth of the scene started to set in again. "... I need to clean myself up now..." he grumbled, before gesturing and shouting something, practically blowing his fur and clothing clean with a small whirling cloud of air.

As the whirling cloud went to work cleaning him up, he pulled both arm in front of him, holding them out and forming a translucent ring between them and he started to use it to scan the battlefield. "Now... any magic items lying around this wreckage..."

Presdigitation Time! Followed by Detect Magic

[Vanerock]

Jaxon
AC: 22; HP 68; Perception 8[/QUOTE]

After a few minutes if searching, Jaxon came to the conclusion that she isn't in this area. She might have survived. Or she was incinerated in the blast. There was no way to know. The field had enough bodies, there's no way to know how long it would take, or if he could ever find her among all the dead.


Jaxon looks at the small group gathering. They aren't fighting each other, and haven't attacked me yet. It seems like a good idea to figure out what they intend.

He then checks his blade as clear in their scabbards then approaches the gathering with his hands out to his sides palms facing out. Better not show aggression and get myself killed

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac scanned the group, then glanced down to the hole in his own armor. "It seems that more than one of us bears evidence of what should have been a mortal wound..."
He heard the other man approaching and raised his hand in greeting, his elbow still pinning the helm to his side.
"Ho there, wanderer. I know not the cause for your grief, but I am sorry for your loss."


Perception roll to see if any of the others bear mortal wound scars: [roll0]
Knowledge (Religion) check to see if I can think of who or what could have healed us:
[roll1]
Sense motive check to notice Tangaloor sizing me up: [roll2]

[grumblyarcher]

"It might not be wise to linger. There are creatures that are attracted to scenes such as these far beyond simple carrion beasts. Fell spirits, bodies that walk, eaters of the dead, behemoths of rot. They are things of pain and suffering that would relish the chance to prey on survivors. We should perhaps find a safe haven of some sort," Khalid said, in his own speech accented. He had noted the lack of any attempt to bury the dead and he had read more than one account of the things that followed armies.

"Hopefully we can find such a haven in one of the nearby townships if the fighting has not spilled over into them." He looked around, trying to get his bearings in this muddy killing field. The battle had greatly transformed its appearance, throwing off his sense of direction.

"If I can remember where the nearest scrap of civilization may be."

1d20+8

[Vanerock]

"It might not be wise to linger. There are creatures that are attracted to scenes such as these far beyond simple carrion beasts. Fell spirits, bodies that walk, eaters of the dead, behemoths of rot. They are things of pain and suffering that would relish the chance to prey on survivors. We should perhaps find a safe haven of some sort," Khalid said, in his own speech accented. He had noted the lack of any attempt to bury the dead and he had read more than one account of the things that followed armies.

"Hopefully we can find such a haven in one of the nearby townships if the fighting has not spilled over into them." He looked around, trying to get his bearings in this muddy killing field. The battle had greatly transformed its appearance, throwing off his sense of direction.

"If I can remember where the nearest scrap of civilization may be."

1d20+8

Jaxon
AC: 22; HP 68; Perception +8.

That sounds like a good idea to me. There is safety in numbers, as long as you can trust who you're with." Jaxon sizes up the other survivors. They aren't hostile yet, though I can't tell which side of the battle they were on, I better be on guard. And maybe if I travel with then I'll run across Erina in the next town.

[Sergeant]

A loud noise akin to an animal trumpeting alerts you all to a humanoid figure moving across the plain towards the battle sight. It is gangly and something isn’t quite right about the limbs but its hard to identify what because of the odd shuffling, shambling way in which it walks. It is staying low to ground with both its legs bent and its back hunched but it is also seemingly flailing its arms about. Despite this it is moving toward you rather quickly and there is a grace and coordination to the strange hop, step, shuffle of it’s movement. It also appears to be holding what could be a staff or polearm.

It is still a few hundred yards away and the morning mist is making it hard to make out details.

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 13 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

The sight of the horrific creature causes Shring to immediately make yet another gesture, and speak out strongly, yet unintelligibly, conjuring the invisible, protective sheath of force around himself. As he suspected the creature approaching was neither friendly nor living, he also prepared to deal more directly with it as it approached.

Casting mage armor. If I have at least one more round, I'm also preparing to cast Command Undead on it. This will probably end poorly

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac had shifted his helmet to his shield arm, pinning it to his side as he reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a compass in response to Khalid's proposal.
"This may be helpful to that end."

He saw the movements of the strange creature, watching for a moment before shifting his stance, slipping the compass into his pouch, and re-equipping his helmet.

"What is that thing?" he asks, peering through the mist while he readies a javelin.


Perception to see the creature clearly [roll0]
Knowledge religion to recognize what creature approaches us: [roll1]

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

Seeing that the mage was, at least for the moment, non-hostile, Tangaloor lowers his blades again. Still, there were far too many surprises coming his way, and he was slightly ... agitated. Only agitated. He takes a step back to keep all those moving within his line of sight, and holds his sabers loosely and as nonthreateningly as he could, but left them out all the same. He gives a soft chuckle at the mention of trust. Mulling over a derisive reply, he shifts attention when the trumpeting sound washes over them. Turning to look, he takes in the approaching sight and found himself relaxing somewhat. Here was an unknown, but at least an excuse to remove himself from this group for a moment.

"Speaking of ones you can trust," he says in a low voice to Jaxon as he begins moving for the shadow of the dead giant, "perhaps you should prepare a warm welcome for that." Hoping the ... whatever it was had not spotted them all yet, he holds his blades close and folded himself small behind the massive trunk of a leg, peeking out slightly to get a glimpse of the thing when it broke through the mists.

Tangaloor was not particularly trying to hide the fact that he was eyeing Morac, but even if he was he'd need a roll of 19 to beat that check so let's just say Morac noticed.

He'll attempt a Knowledge(Local) roll to see if he can help Khalid remember what settlements are nearby ... assuming Local can be used for such. [roll0]

He'll then shift his Studied Target to the approaching ... thing ... and use another move action to Stealth from it, behind the standing corpse of the Qidorin Giant. [roll1]

(Of course it is up to the GM whether I can study this thing before I can fully make it out; the ability simply says "an opponent he can see" and doesn't give a rule for concealment.)

[Vanerock]

Jaxon watches the figure approach taking an appraisal from what he could see. It didn't look like anything he had fought before. I guess there's a first time for everything. He reaches to his hip and draws his combat scimitar before proceeding to drop into a low fighting stance.

[Sergeant]

As the oddly moving humanoid begins to emerge from the mist you see it more clearly.

He is tall and lanky with limbs that seem mismatched and disproportionate to each other, he has green gnarled flesh and moves in a shambling but coordinated way staying low to the ground. He is wearing a loincloth and several bands of what could be called jewelry strung with skulls, bones, feathers, and other trinkets around his forearms and calves and his face is obscured by a large wooden witchdoctor type mask painted with a likeness of a skull.

In it's hand it holds a wooden staff with skulls lashed to the top end. As it comes into clearer sight it stops at the edge of the carnage rather than move in to the heaping mounds of death and waves its staff over its head in what appears to be a gesture to get your attention.

The same piercing call as before issues forth from the creatures direction; immediately followed by a loud scratchy, yet surprisingly high pitched voice; "WHATCHA BE DOIN' IN DA MIDDLE AH DAT MESS?"

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac stiffens when the creature speaks, glancing over to Khalid. "Is... is this one of those creatures you spoke of...?" he asks in hushed tones, seeming to put his trust in the clearly more learned man. "What should we do?"

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 13 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

Shring turned to look at the unusual... thing? coming at them. It didn't seem hostile, yet, and it wasn't undead, so he merely folded his arms over his chest, though not obscuring his still-glowing scar, hovering about a foot off the ground. "Being alive, apparently," he unhelpfully answered the creature.

[grumblyarcher]

"Peace be upon you, stranger!" Khalid greeted, turning his chronically polite and friendly manner toward the newest of the new-comers. Putting a hand out to the others to stall any potentially hostile action, he stepped to the forefront of their little group. Making sure to close the distance between him and the hobbling figure somewhat, he smiled and bowed slightly as he had before. Logically, if this man or creature had meant to be hostile towards them, he would have either sought to conceal his presence or struck already. If he was confident enough in his power to attack such a group after engaging them, then Khalid could draw the attention and give the others time to react.

Or, as in many, many cases during Khalid's life, the man was more charitable than he might at first appear.

"I am Khalid al-Behrooz ibn Elaheh bint Roshan," in a more formal setting he would have continued his name back three more generations as was customary but he figured the casual version of his name would do for now.

"My companions and I appear to be survivors of this battle. We were just considering a course of action and putting aside factions for the sake of mutual survival." He stressed the last two words, as much for the others as this stranger. Even as he exchanged niceties with this odd fellow, Khalid's mind was studying him for any potential clues as to who or what he conversed with.

[roll0]

[roll1] (Clues as to religion practiced/identifying undead)

[roll2] (Identifying species of humanoid/origin of accent)

[roll3] (Looking for potentially magical items or effects)

[Sergeant]

"Yah all be knowin' that yah didn't survive da battle. Death be not done wit yah yet; yah be havin' anuder job tah do, ans only yah be capable oh da task."
While talking he is shifting and moving like he doesn't know how to stand still but as he concludes he moves a few feet back and starts a odd dance while singing, you cannot make out words from where you stand around 100 feet away but he is moving in a circle looking at the ground in the middle of the circle as he dances and sings.

Now that you are able to get a good look at him you would guess he is about 9 feet tall were he to actually stand up straight but he is long limbed and gangly. The mask he wears appears to be a piece of wood roughly shaped and painted on one side and simply tied to his head; it reminds you of the stories of witch doctors you have heard about savage races.

[Vanerock]

Jaxon
AC: 22; HP 68; Perception +8.

Lowering his blade and relaxing his stance slightly, "you were here for the battle? Did you see what happened to us? And did anyone else survive?"

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"My friends, I fear it is time to admit something to ourselves. I, at least, know my death should have assured. One does not simply 'get better' from the ministrations of a dozen or so sets of shod hooves," Khalid said to the others, "We are part of something's agenda. This fellow is likely a lay clergyman of Death." You could hear the capital 'D' in the way he spoke the name.

Khalid walked closer to the dancing figure, watching the ritual with interest. If he had the rest of his belongings he would be taking notes about this particular set of practices.

"We could use some insight here, could you perhaps enlighten us?" Khalid asked, agreeing with the light swordsman's line of questioning.

[roll0] (Positive Identification of species)

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac winced as if from a blow as the eastern scholar's words made him finally face the obvious. He wavered a moment while Khalid moved up, the scenes of his death-vision flashing before his eyes.

"Was... Was that punishment for my sins...? Carth's final justice...?" he asked himself, then shook his head.

Morac jogged between the corpses to catch up to Khalid, heading out to the side a little.


Knowledge (religion) to know if my death experience was unusuall. [roll0]

[Sergeant]

While you are addressing the strange newcomer he continues his dance and chant; seemingly oblivious to the questions directed at him. As Khalid and Morac draw closer he stops his dance and a stone table stands before him in the area he was dancing around. The table looks like a 10 foot diameter mushroom of rough hewn stone with a flat top. Around it are 7 smaller versions about half as high and maybe a foot and a half across the top.

Most importantly the table is covered in food, from trays of meat to bowls of mushrooms and three different decanters presumably full of some sort of beverage.

The creature sits on the farthest stool from you and calls out once more, "Gather round, gather round. Eat me foods ans heed me words."

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

He'd known in his newly-reconstituted heart that Mallak hadn't interceded on his behalf, and he'd known with instinctual certainty that he'd been brought back to life, but hearing the scholarly warrior and this trollish shaman speak of it brought the enormity of the situation home to Tangaloor. For a moment, he trembled with fear and confusion, before reschooling his mind to the task at hand. There would be time for a crisis of faith later, when he could return to the elders; for now it was his task to get through it.

Sheathing his blades once more, he stepped out from the shadow of the giant, frozen corpse, surprised past the point of caring to take precautions. "You are having us at something of a disadvantage," he said in a falsely bright tone. With several long strides he crossed to the newly formed mushroom-table (Not something I expected to see in my lifetime, he mused, and I guess I didn't.), seating himself opposite the large green witch doctor. He picked at the food mistrustfully, having sudden flashbacks to half-remembered tales of his childhood, about eating the food of the underworld. "I take it you are presuming to speak for Death, at this auspicious gathering?"

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"And here I am without something to contribute to the meal. You will have to excuse my lack of manners." He, quite promptly, undid his sword belt and leaned it against the table before seating himself. He studied the food with relish, there was little literature on the culinary traditions of trolls due to their marked hostility toward other races and their tendency to consume other races in some instances.

While the surroundings left much to be desired, he did sample some of the arrayed foodstuffs. Spearing cuts of meat upon a knife and savoring a few of the mushrooms before moving to take one of the decanters. Plucking the stopper from the mouth of the bottle, he paused to take a whiff of the contents and hopefully identify just what sort of beverage was contained within.

[Sergeant]

"Death be not able tah enter dis world, as none oh da gods be able tah do. Death do send me tah tell yah oh da task he be givin' yah all."

He takes a slab of meat in his hand and bites it and chews loudly with his mouth wide open. Then pours one of the decanters into the bowl before him to drink it from. The white liquid looks like milk. As you study the food on the table you notice the meat is slightly under cooked and the mushrooms are excessively seasoned, each dish is prepared to be as overly flavored as possible to the point that those accustomed to human cooking would struggle with the potent flavors. They do all appear to be edible though.

"Be not worried oh manners wit me, it be an honor tah be sharin' me foods wit da Emissaries of Death."

Khalid opens one of the other decanters and takes a smell to determine the contents and it smells like someone has mixed a very rough and strong whiskey with a very bitter beer in equal parts.

"Der be no betta way tah become a man dan by drinkin' da Troll Grog." He grins at Khalid, his mouth full of disorderly and sharp teeth visible under the edge of his mask. "Death be not done wit yah yet; yah be havin' anuder job tah do. Phantix must not awake; yah must seek da Prophet oh da Third Eye. Only he be capable oh knowin' what yah must be doin."

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

The knight was definitely following the eastern scholar's lead on this one, feeling entirely out of his depth. He lowers his javelin as Khalid passes in front of him on they way to the table, strapping his weapon to his back and approaching the table, removing his helmet again along the way.

Morac takes a seat at the table and, again following Khalid, hesitantly begins to eat. He is careful to keep his manners, but quickly finds himself ravenous and can barely hold himself back from eating more quickly than would be seemly. As the creature speaks, he listens intently, absorbing the information.

"You're saying Death himself has chosen us for this? That is why we are alive again? Wh-why us? Certainly there are many more worthy among the dead in that battle...?

Knowledge religion to know anything about what he just said: [roll0]

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

Khalid poured himself a touch of the grog, figuring he would need a touch of intoxication before delving further into these matters. His father would have disapproved of his touching of alcohol, they were rather fundamentalist in those beliefs. The days where he was concerned with what they thought of his actions had long since passed.

"Well, sir knight, worth is often a relative value. Our guessing the exact motivations of Death would be much like a fish trying to understand the motivations of an emperor. We can only trust that the omnipresent, ageless personification of mortality has good reasons for trusting us with this task," It was remarkable how eloquent the man could be while steadily trying every dish on the table.

"Phantix, I believe I have heard that name before. A god of destruction, I believe Baliszaz used the rather melodramatic title of 'That Which Ends All Things' to refer to Phantix."

[Sergeant]

"Phantix be da God oh da end oh evertin', if Phantix be set free from he eternal prison den even all da Gods togeder be not enough tah stop he. He will destroy all that be, all da livin', all da elements, even time. He must be stopped an Death be choosin' yah for da task. Da Prophet oh da Third Eye can be found in Flimdale. Dat be da human town south oh here. Da name he bears be Eldon Wainwright."

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

Despite himself, Tangaloor smiled. He was getting onto ground that his feet had trod many times before, he felt. After giving up on the food, finding himself surprisingly short of appetite after being divinely reconstructed, he had settled back on his stool, slouching comfortably against his scabbards as though they were a chair back. He felt satisfied, even a little smug. Perhaps He Who Walks In Blood had not been the particular architect of Tangaloor's return to life, but it was starting to feel like one of the deity's careful plans anyway.

"While I have never had the distinct pleasure of working directly for Death," he said with good humor, eyeing the grog appraisingly, "sending someone else to meet His Divinity is well within my bailiwick." Gathering a cup, he poured himself a generous helping of the strong-smelling drink and took a pull. "So, this 'Prophet of the Third Eye' will be giving us our target, yes? Will his propheting be given to us freely, or will prodding be required?"

[Vanerock]

Jaxon
AC:22; HP:68; Perception:+8

Jaxon relaxes his stance and sheathes his sword in it's place on his hip. He approaches the mushroom table and takes a seat. The food doesn't look too great, but it would be best to eat as to not offend his guest, who seems to be connected to him being brought back from the dead.

"Far be it for me to question being allowed my life back, but I have ask, what made you choose us? Of all the people slaughtered on this field, what makes us special? And since you work for death, do you know if my companion survived this battle? I apologize if my questions come off as rude, this does sound like a very worthwhile endeavour I would just like a little more information."

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 13 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

Shring moved to help himself to the meal, humming a soft tune to himself. "If I had to venture a guess... maybe it was our magic items? We're the only bodies on the field with anything with an aura... unless everyone else's stuff was drained to bring us back..." He was trying to listen to what the witch doctor was saying, but found the accent all but incomprehensible... and he was more interested in eating at the moment anyway.

"Hey witch doctor... what are the words we should tell him?"

[Sergeant]

"While I have never had the distinct pleasure of working directly for Death," he said with good humor, eyeing the grog appraisingly, "sending someone else to meet His Divinity is well within my bailiwick." Gathering a cup, he poured himself a generous helping of the strong-smelling drink and took a pull. "So, this 'Prophet of the Third Eye' will be giving us our target, yes? Will his propheting be given to us freely, or will prodding be required?"
The troll shaman of Death continues to eat with abhorrent table manners and replies with a mouthful of meat; "Death be not in da habit oh tellin' evertin' tah everone. Death did only tell me that me be tellin' yah before. Me be not knowin' what a Prophet oh da Third Eye be; just dat Death be wantin' yah tah find dis Prophet."


"Far be it for me to question being allowed my life back, but I have ask, what made you choose us? Of all the people slaughtered on this field, what makes us special? And since you work for death, do you know if my companion survived this battle? I apologize if my questions come off as rude, this does sound like a very worthwhile endeavour I would just like a little more information."
"Death be dah one choosin' yah, not me. Dah battle was tree days ago an me just arrived when us began dis meal."


"If I had to venture a guess... maybe it was our magic items? We're the only bodies on the field with anything with an aura... unless everyone else's stuff was drained to bring us back..." He was trying to listen to what the witch doctor was saying, but found the accent all but incomprehensible... and he was more interested in eating at the moment anyway.

"Hey witch doctor... what are the words we should tell him?"
"Da stench ah da Qidorin be on dis place, when da Qidorin touch magic it be not magic no more." He says this like it explains everything before filling his bowl with some of the troll grog and taking a big swig. "If Death be tinkin' yah needin' da magic tin's den he be makin' sure dey workin." He takes a handful of something that looks reminiscent of chunky mashed potatoes and smashes it into his mouth with quite a bit ending up on his cheeks and jaw. "Words for tellin' who?"

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac's eating slowed significantly as he satisfied his hunger and began to actually taste the food, and began to grasp the enormity of the situation.

"Three days ago?!" he asks, looking around again. "Do... do you know anything of what happened after the battle?!"

He sighs and shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "Three days... a horse can wander pretty far in three days, if Relentless didn't die in the battle, she could be almost... anywhere..."

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"Take comfort, effendi, in the thought that she is not dead on the field here," Khalid put a companionable hand on the pauldron of the knight. He understood the bond a man could have with a horse. Horses were prized possession back in the Sultanate and while he was not much of a rider, his eldest two brothers fancied themselves as skilled horsemen. "And try some of this grog. You westerners seem to have a fondness for beverages that can strip paint."

He smiled, unrelentingly optimistic despite the surroundings, grim tidings, and foul portents. "So, we have a mission from Death and will be moving in opposition to the minions of what is most often described as a sapient apocalypse. The Prophet of the Third Eye will have our next set of instructions. Inevitably this will likely turn into a difficult task, the likes of which we've yet to experience, my friends. Proper introductions I believe are in order. I will not ask after anything you are uncomfortable sharing."

Daubing the corners of his mouth with a surprisingly clean handkerchief. "I will begin. As I mentioned earlier, I am Khalid al-Behrooz, scholar, formerly of the Great Library of Arshaad, most recently of the Grey Academy. I was here seeking to protect an asset, it did not go well."

[Sergeant]

"Three days ago?!" he asks, looking around again. "Do... do you know anything of what happened after the battle?!"

He sighs and shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "Three days... a horse can wander pretty far in three days, if Relentless didn't die in the battle, she could be almost... anywhere..."
"All me be knowin' oh da battle be dat it was tree days ago and da smell oh dis place be reachin' da forests me call home. Der be tah many tracks oh men and horses for me tah track what were when. Me be not a great tracker dough."


"So, we have a mission from Death and will be moving in opposition to the minions of what is most often described as a sapient apocalypse. The Prophet of the Third Eye will have our next set of instructions. Inevitably this will likely turn into a difficult task, the likes of which we've yet to experience, my friends. Proper introductions I believe are in order. I will not ask after anything you are uncomfortable sharing."

Daubing the corners of his mouth with a surprisingly clean handkerchief. "I will begin. As I mentioned earlier, I am Khalid al-Behrooz, scholar, formerly of the Great Library of Arshaad, most recently of the Grey Academy. I was here seeking to protect an asset, it did not go well."
"Me be Juwan'Tes, da shaman oh Death. Me be returnin' tah me home when dis food be gone, yah all be welcome der till Death claim yah as he do all dat live."

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

"But of course!" chuckled Tangaloor, "our manners must have been tragically damaged by some cataclysmic event! Introductions to all around," he said, gesturing with the now-empty cup in his hand to Khalid as he nodded, "before we set off on this eminently reasonable quest to stop a god."

Staggering to his feet, he swept a bow that was a good bit less graceful than he'd been moving before, somehow managing to pour himself more grog as part of the motion before standing back up. "Tangaloor at your service," he proclaims, "and the most sincere of apologies to Sir Knight over there, but I was a scout for Prince Anderlyn's army. Nothing personal," he continued jovially, "they just happened to be the ones who bought what I was selling. Lucky me."

OOC I'm pretty sure it's common knowledge what Tangaloor's profession is, but IC he's not just going to reveal that for no reason. So, Sense Motive to know he's lying about why he was there! Bluff [roll0]. Also,
He's not as drunk as he's acting.

Also, if you notice his sawtooth sabers, you can attempt a Knowledge (Religion) check DC 25 to know that, in addition to being used by some of the monstrous races, they're the signature weapon of an assassin cult.

[Vanerock]

Jaxon
AC:22; HP:68, Perception:+8

Jaxon looks around at the take and stands up."Well if introductions are in order, I am Jaxon. I was hired on by the Price to join his efforts. Before the war I was working with my companion Erina as performers at the art of Sword Dance as well as taking bounties and other mercenary style work.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0[/SIZE]

Sir Morac took hold of one of the cups, sniffing at it and tilting it back to examine its contents. Then he shrugged, took Khalid's challenge as a test of his manhood, and drank about half of it in one swift session of swallows.

When Tangaloor stood up, Morac's eyes followed him. He had not met many catfolk in his life, and his present company wasn't improving his opinion of the race. One was clearly a mage gone mad with his own power, and the other had seemed wary of him in particular, and something about the way Tangaloor's eyes seemed to drift to the weak points in his armor had just set Morac on edge. And now be had apparently managed to get himself drunk within minutes of coming into contact with alcohol.

But still, he cleared his throat and answered the cat.
"You need not worry about harsh feelings from me on that front. This battle is over, and the war may very well be over as well by now, for better or ill. In any case, we have found ourselves in the employ of a new lord for the moment, one of somewhat higher station, and conflict about our prior opposition would just be unseemly."

He took another large draught of his troll-drink, and continued, standing to give a slight bow.
"You may know me as Sir Morac Noaras, a knight in service of the Order of the Eternal Star, though now apparently in service to Death himself, as well. Huh... Ironic, I suppose..."
He shakes his head and sits down again, contemplating the liquid in the bottom of his cup.

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

"THEN IT IS DECIDED!" Shring shouted, standing up at the table and gesturing grandly, the glowing scar on his chest pulsing with his words. "I am Shring," he introduced himself, claws flashing out and glinting as he spoke his name, his voice giving a ring to it. "Artist! ...of the Arcane!" The sorcerer took to the sky after his... dramatic? ... introduction, and continued to pose dramatically as he spoke.

"We shall assist this knight in the retrieval of his noble steed, then..." halfway through his sentence, the sorcerer learned his flight spell did in fact have a duration! A surprised look briefly flashed across his face as he suddenly descended, but he managed to recover quickly, defiantly landing in a crouch on his feet, almost as though he'd planned it to happen. "Seek out this Prrophet... of THE THIRD! EYE!" He stood up and struck yet another Dramatic Pose before announcing the prophet. "So... shall we be off?"

Turning his back on the group, he hopped down off of the table, and looked over the wreckage of the battlefield. "It is by Death's Grace we live again, a debt we cannot repay. If this mission takes our lives again, it is no cost to us..."

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"For stopping the end of the world a few measly resurrections are a small price to pay. A handful of minor miracles in return for a rather large one. Dramatics aside," Khalid said bemusedly, "We should probably get moving, I would like the opportunity for a proper bath. The miracles were limited, it seems, to life and not hygiene."

He stood and gave the troll shaman a more pronounced bow, "Peace be upon you, honored elder," he said in serviceably in the tongue of the Giants, remembering that trolls spoke a dialect of it. He did speak it as though he had only ever read the language and did not have any actual practice speaking it. Collecting his sword and strapping it back around his waist.

"Gentlemen? Shall we?"

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0[/SIZE]

The black knight nodded, downed the last of his drink with a bit of a grimace, stood up, and gave a bow to their misshapen host.
"Thank you for your hospitality, sir, but it looks like we're about to be on our way."

He turned to his newfound companions and picked up his helm, cradling it above his shield.

"When we mustered for this battle, we gathered in the town of Flimdale and marched north. If we move quickly, we could be there in an hour or so. It would be good to find out what has transpired in the last three days. "

[Sergeant]

As the mismatched band of you begin to leave the field, you notice the drastic change from the fresh air you are now breathing to the putrid, rot-scented air at the slaughter grounds behind you. It makes you wonder how you could have missed the smell before and you begin to become aware of how blood soaked and rancid your clothes are.

The lands to the south are gently rolling plains dotted with little clusters of tightly packed tall skinny trees. After about half an hour of walking you can see a waterway flowing from the eat to the west that looks small enough to be called a stream but large enough some might consider it a river. Either way it looks as though it is probably no more than waist deep with a gentle current. Right on the other side of it are plowed fields with small sprouts just starting to grow and you can see a farmhouse to the west and one to the east. Directly ahead in the distance across the creek is a small cluster of buildings with a single stone tower amidst them; the village of Flimdale is within an hour walk at a quick march.
http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae100/Sergeant_Vist/allgaeu_germany3_codyduncanphoto_zpsegbjwzbu.jpg (http://s961.photobucket.com/user/Sergeant_Vist/media/allgaeu_germany3_codyduncanphoto_zpsegbjwzbu.jpg.h tml)

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

Relentlessly personable, Khalid did his best to spark conversation amongst his new companions as they moved through the misty hills. He peppered Jaxon with questions on his take on the traditions of Sword Dance. Shring got a taste of friendly interrogation as well, Khalid showing a grasp of arcane mechanics far outside what was usual for a man with no magic of his own. A few times, he eyed the twin sabers Tangaloor carried knowingly but did not say anything.

It did not take much to note that Morac was a touch on the introspective and morose side. Taking it all in stride, he did his best to keep both Tangaloor and Morac involved in the conversations despite their tendency to veer into the territory of history and magical theory.

[roll0]

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

Wrinkling his nose constantly, for the first part of the trip Tangaloor was distracted by the sudden intrusion of olfactory distress; he had smelled plenty of death before, but it was almost as though his senses had been heightened somehow. A distinct possibility, he thought, considering a god was rooting around in my body. It would explain the other changes. Between the stench and the scholar's incessant yammering, he could barely think straight, instead adrift in some kind of ... post-resurrection haze, he supposed.

Once they reached the watercourse, he wasted no time diving in, armor and all, leaving only his cloak and sabers on the bank -- it seemed there wasn't time to disrobe and wash the leather properly, so he would have to settle for a brief swim to shake some of the more offending offal off. Finishing in only a few seconds, he rejoined the party with a clearer head, making a few comments and queries on Jaxon's description of his sword dance, slightly intrigued by the idea. Khalid and Shring's conversation he stayed out of, but listened intently to, for any information he could garner on spellcasting mechanics; he possessed some small facility himself, but had virtually no experience with traditions outside of his order. Morac he left alone; it was clear the knight didn't think much of him, and that impression suited Tangaloor's purposes just fine. He was more worried about Khalid; though the man seemed so friendly that Tangaloor could not help taking a liking to him, the scholar did seem to be taking entirely too much interest in him.

Unused to traveling with companions, when they begin nearing the town he ranges slightly ahead, keeping under trees or inside hills' shadows as much as possible, watchful for any sign of trouble. There was a war on, after all, and where battles went, deserters and bandits sprung up in their wake.

Scouting ahead, essentially. Let's say 100 feet. To the extent that stealth is possible he'll be attempting to stealth.

Stealth: [roll0]
Perception: [roll1]

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

"While my magic may not have the... comforts of a bathhouse, it is more effective at cleaning," Shring purred, once again conjuring the tiny whirlwind of cleaning air, and letting it travel to, over, and across his companions, removing even deep-set grime and blood from their clothing, armor, and bodies. Looking down at his kilt, he mused aloud on whether he should keep it as-is to maintain his battlescarred look, repair it, or just ditch it entirely in a megalomaniacal rant about the awesomeness of his body, before conceding that the kilt was too expensive and unique to casually discard.

He made as much conversation with his companions as possible, eagerly discussing magical theory with Khalid, and showing a complete lack of knowledge of magic outside of spellcraft - but an impressive ability to make up absolutely gonzo explanations for even the most mundane phenomena. In an extended conversation, it becomes quite clear he's suppressing the urge to burst into laughter at his own behavior, grinning awkwardly after absurd outburts and particular grandstanding.

Oh yeah - and he does fix his kilt in an impressive display of excessive cantrip abuse.

He's casting Presdigitation to clean the party, Mending to fix his kilt and collar, and Presdigitation, Ghost Sound, and Dancing Lights for dramatic theatrics

[Vanerock]

Jaxon
AC:22; HP:68; Perception +8

As Jaxon travels, he takes a brief assessment of his newly found companions. He decides he enjoys traveling with this group, at least so far. They are interesting, to say the least. He had met a few Catfolk, before, but had never spent an extended period of time with any.

As the conversations carry on, Jaxon enjoys answering questions about Sword Dancing. "When two sword dancers perform the hollow notched swords ring when struck. The way in which the notes are made, creates the story in the mind of those watching. Most often the dance is performed at weddings and the story tells the nature of the engagement of the couple. It requires research ahead of time, not only from the bride and groom's family, but from friends and other relatives. If we ever find Erina, I would be more than happy to demonstrate."

As the group reaches the stream he reaches down and takes a drink from the water. When his clothes are magically cleaned, he is taken aback in surprise. But on examination, he is grateful that he didn't have to find a way to clean himself as far from town as they were.

Perception check to examine the surrounding area: [roll0]

[Sergeant]

As you near the village it comes into better view and you can see that the cluster of buildings is in fact six buildings. Three of them are two story: a quaint inn, a house that might be meant to be a small manor, and windmill with an attached building that might be a granary. The three single story buildings are a smithy with attached house, a shop, and a simple house. Along with these is the single stone tower with the banner of the Order of the Eternal Star flying above it. The tower stands 40 to 50 feet tall and you would guess the base to be 30 feet across.

On the far side of the village appears to be a large number of tents and there are more people moving around in the village than you would have expected.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0[/SIZE]

Sir Morac trudged on, struggling to keep the pace set by his more lightly-armored companions, especially as he was more used to covering these sorts of distances on horseback. He often slipped into his own thoughts and memories, musing about the meaning of what he had seen after his death. Khalid's questions would bring him out of his reveries, and he was quickly coming to trust the scholar as the only sane voice in a world apparently gone mad.

He'd definitely noticed the stench wafting up from inside his armor, and had more than once had to struggle to keep his recent meal down. The water was a tease to him, as he didn't wish to hold everyone up for half an hour while he removed his armor, cleaned it properly, and put it back on again, but when Shring's spell washed over him and swept the grime away, he couldn't hold back a sigh of relief.

"You have no idea how grateful I am for that spell of yours."" he told Shring. "Without it, the townsfolk might have thought a pack of ghouls had invaded from the stench of us."

When they came into sight of the buildings, Morac looked over the town with an evaluating eye. "The banner of the Eternal Star still flies here, so this place at least has not been occupied by the prince, I assume. We need to find someone to ask about what has transpired. I should report in, and see if I can be informed of the latest developments." He turned to his companions, none of which had fought for the Eternal Star. "It would probably be best not to mention our current situation, I think."

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"I take it that apart from you Sir Noaras, we are all irregulars after a fashion. We should not be looked at too closely. These people are likely terrified and more concerned with immediate survival. I have found that civilians in wartime often ascribe to a live and let live mentality," there was a slight change in his voice when he started talking about the civilians. Given his usual manner, it was a distinct contrast.

Khalid, despite his current occupation, was something of a pragmatic pacifist. To him, a war over who gets to sit in the fancy chair is simply not feasible after consider that the very lands and people being fought over were being blighted by this war.

"Whether you want to try and remain anonymous is up to you. Consider that there is a certain freedom in being thought dead but also that having one of our number working with the cooperation of the Eternal Star could also be very valuable."

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

"So... who needs to find someone, and who needs to be found?" Shring asked, "Relentless and Erina, right?"

Without even bothering to wait for confirmation, the feline sorcerer drew upon his magic again, and sent up a stream of four bright lights into the sky.

"WILL RELENTLESS AND ERINA PLEASE REPORT TO THE SHINING LIGHTS ON THE HILL?! I REPEAT! WILL RELENTLESS AND ERINA PLEASE REPORT TO THE SHINING LIGHTS ON THE HILL?! THERE ARE SURVIVORS LOOKING FOR YOU!"

The loud voice blared out from the lights, as though spoken by a whole host, with Jaxon and Morac's voices emulated with the names of their missing companions.

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica (2nd week of summer)
Around Midday

Immediately after Shring's loud and bright display of magics a team of riders break off from among the buildings, 4 men on horses in shining armor with lances held high bearing streamers in the colors of the Order of the Eternal Star. They are making a direct path towards the five of you standing in the field and moving at a swift trot. You would guess less than a minute until they are upon you.

From your current location in the field, you do not think there is any shelter you could reach before they are upon you and the only concealment is the knee high grass. You all know enough of the OotES to know it is against their code to strike a foe who has surrendered but that may not be your intent.
Please roll initiative in case this turns into combat
Initiative:
Lancer SGT [roll0]
Right Lancer [roll1]
Middle Lancer [roll2]
Left Lancer [roll3]

[Vanerock]

Jaxon
AC:22; HP:68; Perception:+8

As the light shines and he hears Erina called he looks at the mage who just made the announcement. I better watch myself around that one, he acts fairly rashly. It could get us into trouble. "Well that would get her attention, if she was here.". When Jaxon sees the riders approaching in the distance he pulls his sword and drops into his stance. It seems my hunch was right.

Initiative: [roll0]

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

Startled from his assessment of the camp and the feasibility of infiltration thereof, Tangaloor snarls at Shring, "What in the hells are you doing? Are you so enamored of your recent death you want to repeat the experience? The mage's previous use of magic to clean him had been surprising but not unwelcome, but this was simply too much; he'd have to distance himself from Shring in nearly every settlement they visited, it seemed.

Glancing at the open field they found themselves in, his mental assessment of the ground was not particularly favorable to their own non-mounted party. He could escape, but doing so would draw even more unneeded suspicion, and possibly out himself if there was a more knowledgeable knight present. With an angry sigh, he kept his blades sheathed and began raising his hands in surrender, also conveniently placing them in the correct positions to cast a spell.

So first Initiative: [roll0]

Assuming that combat has not started yet and he may take such actions, Tangaloor is readying an action to Vanish if he is attacked by one of the knights, and using his move action to Study the sergeant. He takes a five foot step directly away from Shring.

If necessary (I don't think it is but up to you, Sergeant), he rolls Bluff to make it look like he's surrendering instead of preparing to cast a spell. I say I don't think it's necessary because he really is preparing to surrender, just also preparing to protect himself in case that doesn't work out. But: Bluff [roll1]

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"Congratulations, effendi," Khalid say somewhat tersely, "That was perhaps the best example of an utter lack of subtlety I have ever seen or read of."

Once again, keeping with with his unerring politeness in the face of odds he did not turn to run or draw a weapon. They would be quickly run down by mounted foes, irritating an order of knights was not a good idea either, so he put on his best disarming smile and bowed lightly to the knights as though they were favored guests.

"Greeting honored knights. As you may have guessed, we are looking for some friends that we were separated from during the battle."

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

"it didn't seem relevant at the time," said Morac, blinking in surprise. "But my horse is not, in fact, fluent in the human tongue, outside of a specific set of commands.

As the knights rode out to meet them, Morac sighed and walked up to the front, sword arm held up with palm open in greeting. "Well, in any case it seems I will not have a choice about whether to report in about my strange new companions."

[roll0]

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica (2nd week of summer)
Around Midday

As the knights approach they spread out across the field until they are at 15 foot intervals side by side; they also begin to slow as they approach charging range. They have not lowered their lances for a charge yet though.

When Khalid and Sir Morac step forward and Khalid hails them, the knight with chevrons denoting a sergeant on his shoulder raises his shield in a motion that signals a stop and the four riders come to halt roughly 75 feet away. "Lay down your weapons and hold your hands above your head! State your name's, ranks, and affiliation!"

Behind them at the edge of the town you can see a number more mounted knights forming up. There are 5 standing shoulder to shoulder that you can see and it appears more are gathering.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac divested himself of his weapons one by one, laying them down on the ground in front of him. As he did, he shouted back
"I am Sir Morac Noaras, a knight of the Eternal Star, and these are my companions. We were gravely wounded in the battle to the north three days ago, and only recently have we recovered adequately to be fit for travel."

With his weapons arrayed out before him, he rose and held his arms in the air, out wide and open.

"I apologize for the disturbance. Our mage friend was a bit over-enthusiastic about attempting to help us find some that we have lost track of after the battle."


Diplomacy![roll0]

[Vanerock]

Jaxon
AC:22; HP:68; Perception:+8

Jaxon slowly lowers his scimitar and places it on the ground at his feet. He then lays his ceremonial blade down next to it. It would be best to let the Knight do the talking in this situation. No point in declaring that I fought on the opposite side in the battle. This doesn't look like a fight I could win right now.

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

Tangaloor likewise reached slowly to unbuckle the leather straps holding his sheaths crossed on his back, gathering them in a fist with the swords dangling and lowering them gently to the grass. I may have to kill to get these back, he thought grimly, but there was no way he'd be leaving them behind; from his earliest memories of training he had been drilled on not losing these. He only hoped the Eternal Star's honor extended to not stealing passerby's weapons. With a slow shrug he eased back up, keeping his hands in plain sight; their chances of solving this peaceably now probably lay in Sir Morac's hands.

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

Shring gives a dramatic bow as the Order of the Eternal Star approached. Instead of giving any sign of whimpering submission, he stood tall and proud, with his hands on his hips and glowing chest puffed forward. "Greetings, noble knights and friends of Sir Morac!" he greeted them with a flamboyant bow. "My apologies if my attempt to help him find his steed caused an unneeded commotion. I am Shring, arcane artist."

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica (2nd week of summer)
Around Midday

The sergeant lowers his lance with the point directed at Shring. Before he can even get his lance in position the other three have prepared their lances as well.

The sergeant once again calls out to the party, "Sir Morac the Black, I remember you as an honorable knight and I hope you are in the company of honorable men. But if your companions are unwilling to comply; they will be slain."

There are now eight more lancers riding your way and three lightly armored riders with longbows.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

The black knight sighs in exasperation and holds the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. He looks back to the catfolk mage.

"this is no game, Shring. I know you are a powerful sorcerer, but you would not be the most powerful mage I've seen meet a sudden and messy end at the point of a lance. Please, do as they ask."

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"Oh come now, he is a fascinating study in probability and power as they pertains to the Social Contract," he may have been talking about magic again for all the sense his words may have made to the others. The study of sociology rarely made very far past the walls of academia. It was a bit of a goodhearted jab if the others could make sense of the words It seemed having lances pointed his way did little to alter his good humor. In his implacable way, Khalid turned his attentions to the to the sergeant

"Effendi, I am rather certain we would let you parade us through town clapped in irons and hair shirts as long as we were guaranteed a good bath at the end of it." He did not bother inventing a story. He was the kind of person few could help enjoying the company of, but he was an honest one. He had always relied on Salim to do the lying when they got in trouble with the nursemaid.

A pang of worry spiked him. Had word gotten back home yet? Lines of communication from here to Arshaad were dodgy at best. He pushed thoughts about how Salim and... and someone else very dear would react to the news.

No, no, that won't do. Focus ahead Khalid. There are more immediate concerns.

[roll0]

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

Taking his hands off of his hips and raising them above his head, he nodded to the knight, and seemed to grow a few inches taller. "Very well. In the interest of my friendship with Sir Morac, and a lack of desire for conflict with you, I concede. "

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica (2nd week of summer)
Around Midday

The knight sergeant raises his lance and his companions do likewise, he then places his lance butt into his stirrup and the handle in the vertical bracket on the front right of his saddle so the tip is standing straight up and removes his helmet as he guides his horse forward with his legs. He places his helmet between his body and his large shield and halts his horse 10 feet from the party. The other three knights remain at charging distance but their lances are up in a nonthreatening stance.

"I am Knight Sergeant Hackney, you are approaching a camp of the Order of the Eternal Star during a time of war. By regulation 7-3.5 you will be escorted into the camp unarmed and wearing magic restraining manacles to meet with an officer of sufficient rank to judge your status as ally or foe in the current conflict. Failure to comply in full is considered an admission of alliance with the enemy and you will be slain or taken prisoner as seen fit by the ranking knight present. If you are a messenger from the enemy you will be escorted into the camp unarmed and wearing magic restraining manacles to meet with an officer of sufficient rank to accept your message." He reaches into his saddle bag and removes four pairs of manacles, as he pulls each one forth he tosses it to the ground in front of Sir Morac. "Sir Morac, you do not need to be manacled or disarmed. I recognize you and can vouch for your devotion to the Order of the Eternal Star. If your companions would feel better for it I will allow you to carry their weapons. Please apply the manacles to each of them."

The man recites this like a police officer reciting a person's rights, his only emotion seems to be straight faced seriousness and it is clearly a matter of fact concept to him. There is no malice in his voice. You get the feeling that while this man has no liking for you, he is probably extremely trustworthy.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac looks around to his companions. He hadn't expected the manacles, but then he hadn't been the type to make himself aware of every rule or regulation, especially those that would normally have been above his station. He sighs and looks around to his companions.

"Friends, I promise you on my honor as a knight that if you cooperate, I will do everything in my power to see your freedom and possessions restored to you. Knight Sergeant Hackney is an honorable man."

He pleads with them with his eyes, gesturing toward his friend's weapons and waiting for their permission to start gathering them.

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

Despite his earlier candor, Khalid eyed the manacles for a moment. Much like several members of the party, he had been hoping to bypass a formal inquiry into his purpose in the area. He had several papers that explained for him but gods only knew where they were now and sending word to any members of the Grey Academy who could bail him out would take days. If memory served though, he should be listed as a scribe in the personnel logs for the High Queen's forces in this conflict. That could mean everything or nothing in this case. Sadly, Khalid's skills had predisposed him to be a hatchet and not a scalpel.

"Sergeant, as you must be cautious, so must I. Good men can be forced to make mistakes in times such as these. Can I trust that our rights, such as they are as prisoners, will be protected as per regulation 7 subsection 3.7?" Khalid asked. He had memorized the relevant sections of their regulations and codes in case this eventuality occurred.

His question was not an attempt to embarrass the Sergeant, who was just doing his job, but rather an affirmation to himself and an indication to all along the chain of command that there was at least one among their number who knew what they were and were not allowed to do. He did not look at the others, but did undo his sword belt and hand it off to Morac. The blade was surprisingly heavy for such a reedy looking scholar.

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica (2nd week of summer)
Around Midday

Far from being affronted the sergeant actually seems to like having someone versed in regulation and order present. "Regulation seven dash three point seven states that all prisoners taken in times of war or peace will be dealt with humanely and decently as is due all persons not of Evil disposition and provided with fair chance to make their case or cause be known to an officer of appropriate rank and as determined by that officer will be set free and returned all possessions or taken to trial. I can assure you that by following all regulations I will avoid any mistakes on my part or the part of those under my direct command. I do not know why an Arshaadi is so familiar with our codes but I swear to you that you will not be treated unfairly or inappropriately while in my charge."

Once all of the party is manacled the other 11 riders have come up and formed a rank around you roughly 20 feet away; all facing toward the village with their heads turned inward watching the party through the eye slits in their helmets.

Sergeant Hackney then addresses you all further, "I will escort you to meet with Knight Commander Ewald. Follow me." He turns away from you and prompts his horse to a slow walk that could be maintained by an armored man on foot.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

That heavily armored figure did his best to hurry along while loaded down with the weapons of his new companions, moving up to keep pace as close to the Sergeant as he is allowed.

"I'm glad to see that you still live, Sergeant, and that our banner still flies over Flimdale. I feared the worst when I saw what had happened to the tower."

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica (2nd week of summer)
Around Midday

"The tower remains a mystery, everyone's attention was on the battle. The theory that is going around is that a mage on one side or the other launched some sort of fire spell into it; of course all the mages left in our ranks do not take responsibility but I have little doubt the mages fighting for Prince Warren say the same." Even now as he makes conversation the sergeant is matter of fact and straight faced.

"The battle became a slaughter ground and there were so many wandering among the dead that it could hardly be called a battle any longer. Eventually both sides called for the killing to end and those few of us remaining waded back into that boneyard to find survivors, we have healers and so did Prince Warren but they were passing out from exhaustion before it was over. There were so many who could not be saved, men who were already dead but hadn't figured it out for themselves. The spells of mages and crushing blows of giants can do terrible things to a man." At this you could tell he was reliving a very unpleasant memory but his voice barely wavered and he kept his composure.

"No one was alive on that field when the order was given to leave." At this he turns to look at Sir Morac. "No one could survive a wound that would leave that hole in your breastplate either."

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

"These chains are most uncomfortable... it is the strangest sensation, to not see or feel my magic," Shring grumbled as he was clamped. "And you are correct, sir - none of us initially survived, but it was a powerful resurrection. Fear not, though - our hearts beat with life, and blood flows through our veins - a great miracle, and we can explain more to your commander."

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac swallowed as Hackney turned his gaze upon him. He opened his mouth, but it took him a moment to compose an answer: after all, he hadn't really worked out how much of this story it was wise to share.

Then he winced and closed his mouth as Shring vulunteered the information for him. He nodded and added
"It is... well, it's not a long story exactly, but perhaps one that should be shared privately." he answers.

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica (2nd week of summer)
Around Midday

"Then we shall wait for the commander's presence to relate it."

As you enter the town you see that the soldiers are remaining in the camp located just south of town but there are a few knight officers in the town square. The inn does seem to be in use by the knights though and a standard you do not recognize in the colors of the Order of the Eternal Star stands next to the door.

Sergeant Hackney leads you to the inn where he dismounts and hands his reigns to a squire standing by. He then turns to the party and says "Wait here, I will return shortly."

After maybe two minutes he returns; "Knight Commander Ewald will see you now. Sir Morac, you may leave the weapons here and my men will watch them." He then turns and dismisses the 11 knights who showed up after he and his 3; to the 3 he says "At ease, but remain here to keep an eye on the prisoner's effects until I return with word from the commander. Do not touch them."

With that he walks back into the inn.

[Vanerock]

Jaxon
AC:22; HP:68; Perception: +8

Jaxon acknowledges the Knight telling them to meet with the Knight Commander. He then turns towards Sir Morac, "I'll let you take the lead on this"

My character is going to want to keep his previous allegiance hidden to some extent, he is gonna take lead from Sir Morac and go along until I have a specific response. If the commander asks, he will respond with, "I am Jaxon, Sword Dancer from Arshaad."

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"Well lads, that could have gone worse," Khalid said as Morac was led away. He jangled the irons on his wrists idly examining the mundane anchors for the magical effects. He had no actual capability to see the more subtle magical workings or distinguish the exact details of them. It was much like a man deprived of much needed spectacles. He knew all the equations, figures, and laws well enough but knowing how a crossbow works and actually making one are two very different things.

"Excuse me," he called out to the men guarding them, "Any of you gents have pack of cards? My texts and notebooks were all lost in the battle and my mind tends to start running in circles without stimulation." He was trying to stave off certain thoughts and memories. The problem with being gifted with a supremely analytical mind is that it had a tendency to apply itself to things you did not want it to. "I'd settle for a notepad. There a few things that happened today that I'd like to commit to a physical medium before the memories fade."

[roll0]

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica (2nd week of summer)
Around Midday

While Sir Morac is laying the weapons on the ground and Khalid is striking up conversation with the other soldiers, the knights are dismounting. The three who were given the order to stand guard on the weapons tie up their mounts and remove their helmets. The big one is a man nearly 7 feet tall with a thick heavy forehead and a massive jaw, the slender one is actually a woman who is attractive despite the hard look and broken nose, and the last is a man with burns covering the better part of his head. They all chuckle a little at what Khalid has to say. Then the big one responds, "Don't worry little man, you won't be bored. The sergeant may not be long winded in his instructions but he wants the lot of you to go in and see the commander now."

As you walk into the inn, it appears to be a pretty normal common room that has transformed into a command center. Two long tables have been slid together in the middle of the room and on the other side of it a stately looking man not wearing fullplate is flipping a massive piece of paper over on top of numerous other sheets. To his right is a large broadsword laid across the table with a beautiful elaborate handle and sheath. In the corner by the stairs is a large knight in fullplate and helm standing with his arms leaned on the top of a large two-handed battleaxe. There are numerous scroll cases and stacks of paperwork and candles all over the place but it looks as though there is an order to it. Around the walls are all the chairs from the inn, many have items in them.

Sergeant Hackney is standing on the near side of the long table, facing the door to watch your entry with his usual blank expression.

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"Ah, my apologies, I thought he meant Sir Morac only for a moment there. I still mix up certain words of your tongue." Khalid bowed to the commander, favoring a full courtly one over the light courtesy he paid most he met. If it were not for the manacles and mud it would almost seem like he was a visiting dignitary.

While being perhaps the most talkative of their number Khalid differed to Morac in this case. While he had an intimate knowledge of their rules and regulations, knowing who occupied the structure that provided and their tendencies, proclivities, and humor was another thing entirely. He instead occupied himself by looking around the improvised command center.

[roll0]
Can I spot any information that would provide insight into the progression of the civil war?

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac set most of the weapons on his shield to prop them up out of the dirt, and turned to follow the Sergeant. His mind raced with how he would explain all of this, and he suddenly felt glad that Khalid would be there to lend his unlikely story a better aire of credibility.

He approached Ewald and stood at attention, belting out
"Sir Morac Noaras reporting in, Sir."

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

Remaining silent and outwardly respectful, Tangaloor marched obediently to the inn with the others, inwardly assessing the relative merits of different escape plans. There was always the possibility that Morac could talk them out of this ... but then, there was also the possibility that Morac wouldn't want to. All they had binding them was some nebulous quest; the knight's much more entrenched loyalty to his order was likely to win out over that, and so Tangaloor would be left having to explain himself to the enemy.

The antimagic manacles had been unexpected, and made this far more difficult than it needed to be. Given time he could slip most any bonds, but for the moment, surrounded by the Order of the Eternal Star he couldn't do much without drawing attention. That made the currently best strategy for escape a swift offense against the one with the key followed by a speedy vanishing. But "best" didn't mean "good", so he was content to wait until events either gave him a good opportunity, or the situation became more dire.

As they were ushered before the Knight Commander, Tangaloor surveyed the erstwhile common room with only his eyes and nose.. Ah, interesting, he thought as his gaze brushed the pieces of paper. That would explain the continued tenseness of this atmosphere. Surprising these knights are still here. Just my luck. Assessing the room, the chances didn't look much better; but at least the commander himself was unarmored. Last ditch effort could be taking that one hostage, he thought without much hope.

Like Jaxon, Tangaloor doesn't have much to contribute without risking screwing this up immensely, so he's going to remain as silent and cooperative as he can. He makes the Knight Commander his Studied Target.

He's also curious as to who has the keys to the manacles, though. I don't know if it's obvious or not, so he'll just make another Perception check in case. Perception: [roll0]

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Around Midday

The commander inspects you all as you enter the inn turned command center with a patient but very piercing stare. This man is clearly used to picking out every detail of anything he inspects. He then speaks in a calm but strong voice, like a man who knows his words will be heeded so he doesn't need to be harsh or forceful. "One at a time, tell me your name, rank, and affiliation. Once I know who I am addressing we will get into the matter of how you returned from that battle field."

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac turns for a moment to glance over his companions, unsure how they are going to talk their way out of this. He answers simply:
"Sir Morac Noaras, a knight in the Order of the Eternal Star, if you wikl still have me, Sir."

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"Khalid al-Behrooz ibn Elaheh bint Roshan bint Mashid bint Mahdokht bint Ameretat, Professor in Absentia at the Universities of Korlon, Sprocketheim, and Alicar, the Royal Academies of Marcoth, and Zaracule, the Hall of Engineers at Thormakk, the Visitor's Library of Theranada'Adnar, and the Great Library of Arshaad and Associated Scholar in Good Standing at sundry other institutions," Khalid said with relish, getting the opportunity to use all of his titles and name. He had tended to acquire such things before joining the Grey Academy. Many academics were perfectly happy to award you with such titles if you came and spent some time with their students.

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

"Tangaloor," he volunteered in a gruff voice. "Irregular, provisional Private. Mercenary." Mentally he kicked himself for having admitted to his cover on the Prince's side in front of Morac; it boxed him into a corner here, unable to count on the knight to back up any other story.

So Tangaloor is Bluffing: [roll0]

He'll also roll Sense Motive to see if the commander believes his bluff: [roll1]

He'll also also roll Initiative in case this goes south. [roll2]

And he'll expend a use of Martial Flexibility to give himself Shatter Defenses.

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

"I am Shring the Artist... some sort of auxiliary caster... and I was a member of of some sort of mercenary group, though I don't think I ever knew which side I was paid to fight for... can't remember. But... my contract expired on my death." he said, staggering his speech as he tried to remember anything prior to his getting stabbed. He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm sorry, but these bracers are making it hard for me to think, and your mustache is making it hard for me to breathe..."

Random Charisma check, because I'm not trained in either Bluff or diplomacy. Though he is telling the truth.

[roll0]

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Around Midday

The commander listens to each introduction and then looks to Sergeant Hackney who makes the faintest adjustment to his normally stoic expression. Looking back to the lot of you, "That was a very long winded way to say you are not my allies. However, I am quite confident you are also not loyal to my enemy." He walks around the table to stand before you. Stopping in front of each of you to give you a visual inspection; his intense gaze clearly lingering on scars and damaged armor where your death blows were dealt. He then returns to the center in front of the party and leans back on the table. "Sir Morac, I have been told you are an honorable man who joined our ranks to restore and boost that honor. Whether you remain a member of the Order is up to you, I currently lack the information to cast any judgement. Please enlighten me as to how five such assorted individuals get up from death, cast off prior loyalties, and become travelling companions."

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac bit his cheek a little as he watched each of his new comrades answer. He knew that a great deal rested on how he answered the commanders questions. He was certainly a bit more guarded as he answered: men of the commander's status had always made him nervous.

"From what we have been told, we were granted remit from our fates by the divine force of death itself. If it were not for the things I experienced, and the state of our wounds, I might not believe it myself, Sir.

Morac shook his head to clear it, the images from his death-vision coming back to him "As I told the Sergeant, it is not a long story. We awoke on the battlefield, saw each other as the only apparent survivors, were visited by a... A shaman or priest of death, and then came here."

Diplomacy![roll0]

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Around Midday

"Was it this death shaman that told you death had resurrected you?" Commander Ewald seems interested and not completely disbelieving, though he clearly sees it as a strange tale. "Tell me of this shaman. Who was he? Did he demand some repayment from you? Why did he believe Death would remit you from the sole purpose he exists for?"

He then looks to Sergeant Hackney. "Send a runner to get Vykonia. I need her input on a few matters. Immediately." At this the sergeant turns and walks out the door.

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"There was talk of a task we were to perform. The-" and here Khalid made a sound somewhat akin to trying to swallow his own tongue, apparently a title of respect in the Troll dialect of Giant, "Belonged to a cult dedicated to the hunting and destruction of the sapient undead."

Khalid looked around the room, considering something or possibly considering some odds. He knew this order of knights relied upon the ability to detect evil intent in the hearts of others in their operations. While he certainly knew some philosophers that would take them to task for it, such a stance was only really effective for seeking out creatures of great evil. Most mortals never achieved that level of corruption. On the other hand, a powerful enough agent could hide the state of their souls through various means.

In the end, the party was dealing with too many unknowns and constant paranoia would isolate them. Nothing could be gained without risk.

"We were asked to move in opposition of agents of the god Phanatix. So yes, only one of us ever wore your colors," Khalid said, tactfully leaving the statement at that, But I doubt Death is much concerned with mortal politics. Death would be concerned with the destruction of all things. Death does not usually take sides but Phantix means the destruction of everything, including Death," the cheer left Khalid's voice as he spoke, leaving behind the quiet intensity that rested at his core. If he had focussed that intensity upon a single calling back in his youth the world might have been a very different place.

[roll0]

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

Phantix, not Fanatics. One is bringing about the apocalypse. The other thinks the apocalypse is always coming... hmm... Phantix Fanatics, maybe?" Shring chuckled after correcting Khalid. "But yes, we have been tasked with saving the world! ♫Broken body built anew ♪ Spirit lingers torn in two♪ Icy fingers grip my heart so cold! ♫ Slave to the new black god there's a hearbeat under my skin♪ Search my electric soul for the hidden man within!♫

"Err... Sorry, got carried away there... Anyway - yes, I believe it was Death himself that resurrected us - and stopped us from passing on to any afterlife in the first place. Mortal means of resurrection leave the soul weakened, yet, if the others are like me, then what happened at that battlefield has not only brought us back, but made us stronger than ever! ... *cough* ahem... sorry."

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Around Midday

When Shring breaks out into song, Commander Ewald gives him a look the clearly says 'get on with it' and he continues to have a look that clearly shows this is a lot to take in. "So you believe that Death himself pushed you back into the world of the living, strengthened you, and tasked you with stopping the agents of Phantix, and thus the apocalypse?"

Sergeant Hackney walks back in and addresses the commander, "Sir, Priestess Vykonia should be here shortly."

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

The knight grit his teeth as Shring began singing in front of his commander, and sighed with relief when he stopped.

"Personally, Sir, I don't know what to believe. But it all seems too dire to just discount, and the fact that we are standing here after what happened to us certainly testifies to something."

He fingered the hole in the front of his breastplate.

"I have a scar on my back where the tip of the spear came out the other side, after it passed through my heart. It is no lucky circumstance that I still live after that."

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Around Midday

Commander Ewald continues to study the group of you critically while he ponders for a moment. "I can tell this is something you believe and I personally would not stand in the way of a divine plan to stop the apocalypse. However, it will take more than my thoughts on the matter to make a decision in this."

While the commander is speaking a young squire comes in leading a very old, very frail woman. She is wearing the robes and symbols of a priestess of Delahey. She seems to have terrible vision and needs to be lead around to navigate through the door frame. Sergeant Hackney offers her his arm and dismisses the squire with a look and a head nod. The old lady addresses the room, "You demanded my presence Reginald? What is your hurry?"

The commander offers her a curt bow that you aren't convinced she can even see from halfway across the room then responds, "Lady Vykonia of Delahey, no one is a better judge of a man's character than you and no one can see a man's intention as you can. Will you please take a look at these prisoners and share with me your wisdom?"

"Always sending your messengers to order me around then spewing flattery to my face, Reginald. You aught to pursue politics not battles." The old lady is clearly teasing the commander but her voice is strained and weak from age even when she laughs. "Very well, I will take a look at these men for you."

Sergeant Hackney leads the old lady over to you and she slowly goes over each of you. Poking at your ribs, straining to stand as tall as she can and look you in the eye, taking your hands in her frail old ones and examining them, and so on. This is accompanied by many quiet comments such as: "Hmm" and "Interesting..." and softly mumbled prayers.

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"That seems to be the consensus these days, lady," Khalid said after being subjected to her scrutiny after a bony finger jabbed into his side. "Wouldn't do to be boring. I would have died fat and happy back in Arshaad if that were the case." Unconsciously, he rubbed one of the crescent shaped scars that were the only indication of his previous fate.

He knew this whole thing was not some manipulation, the details rested too sharply in his mind. The snap and pop of his ribs, lungs bursting, and the taste that flooded up his throat. He could not shake that taste even after all this. It had all been too anatomical, he could diagnose the damage done by each hoof. Khalid snapped his mind back from the edge and ran it through the first thirty digits of pi, refusing to fall back to that mess.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac shifted a little uncomfortably as the old woman examined him, listening carefully for her words and blushing a little under her gaze.

"What... ah... what do you see?" he asks at one point.

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Around Midday

"Reginald, who are these men? They have been to the other side! Their souls are shielded in some way that I cannot explain, and stranger yet Delahey does not answer my inquiries into them." She walks over to Commander Ewald and puts her hands on her hips and looks up at him. "These men are touched by something beyond the mortal realm. Who are they and why are they being held prisoner?"

The commander looks intrigued at this information, "Well, it would seem your story is supported. Gentlemen, I have further questions but first let us reach an understanding. As I said before I would not stand in the way of a divine plan to stop the apocalypse but I also cannot let potentially dangerous men wander free in this time of challenges. If you will swear to me, on your very souls that Death has returned to you, that you will do whatever is in your power to stop the apocalypse; then I will have the sergeant remove those manacles and we will discuss your course of action over lunch. I am very curious as to what your plan is to pursue this quest you have been given."

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

Khalid looked to the others. They stood to lose a lot more than their souls if this fell apart. Still, perhaps it was his mercantile upbringing as he had been raised on tales of clever and not so clever merchants making foolish deals with one's soul as collateral. Yet here he was, soul already forfeit should he fail in his task.

"As you wish, effendi," he said with a differential bow. "And please, allow me a wash and the honor of preparing at least one dish. It is only proper for the first meal with a host." It was a very old tradition and one of mutual trust. The westerners did not practice such traditions. Khalid had found they were much more fond of proclamations and pageantry than subtle gestures.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Proving Kahlid right, Morac immediately dropped to one knee, like a squire being knighted, and offered a quick prayer under his breath to Carth to hold him to his oath.

"I swear upon my soul that everything we have told you is true, and everything that is within my power I will do to foil the efforts of this prophet of Phantix."

[Vanerock]

Jaxon
AC:22; HP:68; Perception +8

I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to prevent the coming apocalypse. I have been charged with that task, I will see it out until it is complete. Jaxon says. Up until now his life had consisted of him wandering. Even his Sword Dancer training had been part wanderlust. Now he was given a task, a very important one at that. He almost felt as if his life had led up to this point. Though i am still looking for a friend of mine. Her name was Erina, it is highly unlikely, but does there happened to be a female sword dancer in your camp?

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Around Midday

Commander Ewald nods approvingly at each acceptance of the oath and responds to each person as they speak.

To Khalid, "I shall of course allow you a wash and even insist that you seek the blacksmith or the camp armorer for repairs to you damaged gear, that much shall be on the Order. As for preparing a dish, you'll have to take that up with the woman who owns this inn and I doubt she will allow a stranger into her kitchen."

To Sir Morac, "I have faith in you Sir Morac, and in addition I am going to give you a writ explaining that you are on higher orders and cannot be pulled into other duties by any garrison you visit during this quest."

To Jaxon, "Thank you, though I do not know of any sword dancers in Paladia aside from yourself much less in my camp or this village. You are welcome to ask around the troops and see if they know of this Erina."

To the last two, "And what of you, Mage. And you, Assassin? I witnessed your fight with the Marshall General, but I am willing to stay the headman's block if you are willing to stop the apocalypse."

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac does a bit of a double-take as he comes to his feet, looking quickly back and forth between Tangaloor and the Commander.

"The headman, Sir?" the knight asks, alarmed.
"Would he not be a prisoner of war, to merely be held until the end of the conflict or until ransomed? On... on what grounds would he be executed?"

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Around Midday

"Yes, Sir Morac, a normal combatant or 'Irregular, provisional Private. Mercenary.' would be held as a prisoner of war." Commander Ewald is talking as though giving instruction to a student, not in a condescending manner but rather a purely instructive manner. "This man, however, I believe to be a member of the Crimson Mantis, a cult of Mallik that specializes in assassination. During the battle I was fighting alongside the Marshal General's guards and this man seemed to come out of nowhere to attack her specifically. As one of the most skilled duelists the order has ever had she was able to finish the man without any major harm to herself. Tell me, Sir Morac, if I were to have his weapons brought in would it be a pair of serrated scimitars vaguely familiar to the claws of a praying mantis?" He looks to Morac for a look of confirmation then continues. "Those are the signature weapons of the cult's assassins." He now looks to Tangaloor, looking him dead straight in the eyes. "A Crimson Assassin is a disciplined and skilled combatant and one who would be a powerful ally should he be willing to repent and serve a higher cause."

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

Shring looks around, before dropping dramatically to one knee, and planting a fist against the ground. "... Everything he said..." he intoned with dramatic sincerity., using his other hand to point at Sir Morac after he gave his pledge to stop the apocalypse. He couldn't keep his face straight for long, though, and started giggling like a madman. "Of course I am to follow the will of the one who brought me back, to phoil the phantasms of Phantix," he said, as he adopted a more comfortable pose.

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

Caught, he thought resignedly to himself. Well, new life was fun while it lasted. Since the knight commander had seen through his lie he had been preparing for the other shoe to drop, but still expecting to be treated as an enemy combatant and imprisoned. The arrival of the old woman, clearly some sort of seer, had raised his heart rate for a moment, but then he had been imparted the quite interesting information that he appeared to be even better protected from detective magic than before, which raised several new and interesting possibilities.

But now he could no longer pretend. His affiliation was apparently out. Dissembling would seem to do little good here; the commander had seen him, and Catfolk assassins attacking his marshal were not exactly easy to confuse. He dropped his look of feigned obedience and stared right back at Commander Ewald, his expression eerily flat, his eyes glittering.

"It seems ill luck favored me for longer than Death," Tangaloor said unemotionally, "to have you recognize my blades on the battlefield and then bring me here before you. Still, Death it is that brought me back, yes? I doubt I shall repent of the righteous path, and I already served this higher cause before ever I met you," he remarks, not maliciously but with a hint of pride creeping into his voice, "yet if you would have my bond and aid in service to averting an apocalypse, they are freely given. No sane being does not recognize such a greater threat and cast aside pettier squabbles."

Since Tangaloor doesn't know that he rolled a one he will assume that this guy sees through his lies, so he is not going to attempt to lie about repenting. Neither is he lying about doing everything he can to stop the apocalypse, though.

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Around Midday

With the testimony from Shring and Tangaloor, Commander Ewald looks to Sergeant Hackney, "Sergeant, you may remove these men's manacles." He then turns back to you all, "I know I previously proposed lunch but let us instead have dinner. That will give you some time to acquire clean clothes and get your equipment in for repairs before the smithy and quartermaster close up shop for the day. I will have the innkeep have baths drawn for you one hour prior to dusk and we shall dine at dusk in the private dining room here in the inn." It is clear he is used to being in charge and giving orders to soldiers.

He turns to the priestess, "Lady Vykonia, you are welcome to join us for dinner as well. I will explain to you the whole story as I understand it once these men have departed."

Sergeant Hackney has begun walking down the line of you unlocking and taking the manacles.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac takes in a sharp breath through his nose, staring wide-eyed at Ewald, then turning his gaze slowly to Tangaloor. It all clicked together, the cat's stealthiness and his strange serrated swords, and the way his eyes seemed to instantly note the path through the hole in his armor to his heart when he first saw him... something about Tangaloor had unsettled Morac since they had met, and now he knew why.

"I see, Sir..." the black knight mused, thinking If the commander can accept the help of an assassin for this venture, I can hardly do less than he asks of me... he shook his head, the thought failing to take away his ill feelings on the matter.

At the Commander's dismissal, he turned to Hackney as he approached.
"Ah, Sergeant? You may remember that the mage shouted two names from the hilltop when we arrived? One of them was Relentless, my horse, who I did not see with me at the site of the battle. I don't suppose you happened to notice what fate she has come to?"

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Early Afternoon

Sergeant Hackney replies to Sir Morac as he finished removing everyone's manacles, "I would not be able to identify your steed from another horse, Sir Morac, but there were numerous horses rounded up following the battle that had fled when their rider was lost. You can of course check the horse lines in camp and then see the quartermaster or one of the stable hands to reclaim your missing steed." The sergeant then herds you all out the door to the town square.

Once outside he addresses his three knights watching your weapons, "You three are free to go find chow, report back in one hour. We have a patrol." He then turns back to you all. "Feel free to reclaim your weapons, just don't be using them on anyone here in town or in the camp."

[Vanerock]

Jaxon

"Thank you Sergeant" Jaxon says, as he walks to where his weapons are lying on the ground. He first grabs his ceremonial blade, drawing it slightly out of the sheath, checking that it has the notches that indicate the notes by location. Satisfied with it's condition he closes the sheathe around the weapon and straps it to his back. He then retrieves his scimitar, also drawing it slightly to check that it is the weapon he's used to before strapping it firmly to his hip. He then turns to his group "Well I doubt Erina is here, but i would like to ask around for a bit. I understand Sir Morac would like to check for his horse, what do you say we all meet back up here by the end of the day after myself and Sir Morac do our searching, I'm sure each of you has something they could do to occupy a few hours of time."

For when we split up to search, Rolling diplomacy to gather information about Erina, anyone who might have seen her on the battlefield, or if she's in camp [roll0]

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

Tangaloor rubbed his wrists as the manacles came off, surprised but pleased. He allowed his thin lips to quirk in an equally thin smile for a moment. Freedom, and a change of clothes as well? Perhaps Mallik's hand works through these as well, despite their protestations. The smile vanished quickly. Of course, now they know my face, and uneasy allies or no, I'm sure they will be watching. After nodding in assent, he filed out after Morac; seeing no point in pretending indifference, he quickly crossed the room to where their weapons were gathered and retrieved his sabers, looping the leather straps around his back but not cinching them tight quite yet.

He turned to Morac and grinned. "Best of luck in claiming your beast of burden," he said jauntily. "Myself, I am for clean clothes and patched armor, yes?" With that, he strolled from the square in search of the quartermaster.

Tangaloor will take up the knights on their offer of free armor repair, but will not turn over his blades again. He will take them with him to the baths promised, and act as though he is unworried at being surrounded by his mortal enemies. Bluff [roll0]

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

"Indeed, the mage's spell did wonders for the smell, but it doesn't change that I've been in this armor for days." Morac answered, doing his best to keep the blank face of a cardsharp as he spoke to the assassin. He shook his head after Tangaloor turned to leave, resting it in the palm of his hand for a moment, whispering to himself "oh, the company I have fallen in with."

With that he turned to the others still gathered.
"Well, my new friends, I wish you well until this evening. I'm sure we each have business to attend to."

gather info check to try to locate my horse? [roll0]

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Early Afternoon

Moving through the camp you can tell these men are trained and disciplined by the cleanliness and orderlyness of the camp. While asking around you find a number of people who vaguely remember fighting a pair of swordsmen with the style of combat you describe but none know of their whereabouts.

You also learn that no prisoners were taken on either side in the battle. When it was called, both teams withdrew and then re-entered under terms of peace to recover their own wounded.

The quartermaster is easy to find, located dead center in the camp right next to the chow tent where the soldiers eat. Moments after you start talking to the quartermaster a page arrives with a note from the commander and the quartermaster is suddenly happy to provide you with fresh clothes and repairs to gear. His clothing selection is limited as he normally only provides for soldiers.

As you move through the camp you encounter old acquaintances who thought you dead; you can see they have a darker cast to them despite the strong, disciplined front they are putting on. None seem to know of your mount but they happily provide directions to the horse lines. While travelling down the horse lines you come across Relentless, he has some brutal looking scars down the side of his head and neck but they appear to be healing cleanly.

You can hear the farrier working nearby and know that he would be able to help with retrieving your steed and hopefully the saddle and tack that was on him when you were slain.

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

As the party splits, Khalid decides there is a very pressing matter at hand. His disheveled appearance was unacceptable. Khalid was certainly not any kind of dandy but the standards of hygiene back in the Sultanate are much higher than here in the west. The first order of business was a bath, followed promptly by fresh clothes, a shave, and a haircut.

Maintaining a respectable appearance had been pressed into him from an early age. Khalid could still remember how she used to tease him about it.

Khalid inhaled sharply and steered his thoughts away from that subject. For some reason it had been weighing on his mind since his revival. Was some part of him trying to convince the rest that this was a second chance in more than one way? It was foolishness, he would suffer terrible punishments if he returned to the Sultanate and that would only hurt both of them.

Well, it was a matter to be considered another time. For now, he had the very achievable goals of hygiene to pursue.

[Vanerock]

Jaxon

AC:22; HP:68; Perception: +8

After doing a search of the camps and finding no sign or Erina with time still left in the day, Jaxon decides to see what he can find around for food. Not being too picky, but it is about time to grab a bit. He makes his way to the "chow" tent to see how food is taken care of here.

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

Shring reminds Khalid that the baths won't be available until this evening dusk, but still offers assistance in the meantime. "Now that I have my magic back... did my spell miss anywhere important? It could even style your beard, if you want!" the sorcerer offered eagerly, conjuring a up the magical do-everything-that-isn't-anything force in his paws. "And in case you missed it on the trip, I can also repair minor damage. " He even gave a helpful demonstration, slicing the side of his kilt open, then sealing it shut with his mending spell.

The sorcerer himself was quite comfortable in his current state, given the ease of cleaning and maintaining his light-but-distinctive outfit, and, if Khalid had no desire for his assistance at this time, he fully intended to explore the town and meet all the people... probably drawing quite a bit of attention to himself.

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Mid Afternoon

Khalid discovers that while the only place he can get a bath is at the Inn, there is a public well in the town square where he is welcome to take a bucket for his hygiene purposes. There is no barber in this little town but the soldiers are all very well trimmed to military standards and someone must be keeping them that way.

Jaxon arrives at the Mess Tent to discover a team of camp followers directed by an old Sergeant who has a grandfatherly air to him but is still somewhat stern and straight faced working diligently to prepare dinner for the camp of roughly 500 men. One of the cooks, a plump young women with excessive cleavage, cheerfully tells him that the Mess Tent serves meals "...30 minutes after dawn, at noon, and at dusk. No exceptions. Unless you happen to get on the good side of a cook who can sneak you a bite..." Then she lewdly winks at Jaxon and gets back to work kneading a large mound of bread dough.

Shring provides what assistance Khalid allows him to give and then begins to converse with the locals and soldiers around the town. The soldiers are rather un-talkative, seeming somewhat leery of making small talk with a catfolk of questionable sanity who is clearly magical and proclaiming his magical skill eagerly and avidly. There are only a handful of local villagers in town (seeing as the military camp outnumbers the populace and most of that populace is out on farms) and they are all friendly but clearly awed and caught off guard by the exotic spectacle of Shring. The innkeeper yells at Shring to leave her alone because she is working and the blacksmith seems to be mostly deaf and very focused on his work; currently he is hammering on what appears to be a rather large ax-head.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

The young knight had done his best to keep the anxiety out of his voice as he inquired about Relentless. He had done his best to keep his emotions under control when among the others, if only because it would have been deeply improper to express his worries for the fate of a horse when the Sword Dancer, Jaxon, was missing a loved one. Only now, when he'd parted company with the poor man, did Morac allow himself to express his concern, and indeed tears came to his eyes when he came upon Relentless on the line and his horse recognized each other. He'd reached up to embrace the creature for several moments, before turning to the task of ensuring that she was properly groomed and cared for.

With that sorted out, he heads over to the farrier.

"Ah, my good man, but a moment of your time. I was separated from my horse there on the battlefield a few days ago, and I was hoping you might be able to point me in the direction of her tack and saddlebags." he says, gesturing to Relentless.

Handle Animal check to make sure that Relentless is at 100% [roll0]
Diplomacy to secure the farrier's assistance. [roll1]

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Mid Afternoon

Relentless definitely is not crippled and does not appear undernourished or in any other way harmed beyond the still healing cuts and scrapes down the left side of his head and neck. Those wounds also appear to be just skin deep and someone has already spread an ointment of some kind on them. She is also freshly shoed.

The farrier stops working on the horseshoes he is forging and responds to Sir Morac, "You're going to want to talk to the quartermaster, he has all the items from the recovered horses. As for the horse, go ahead and grab it and take it to him as well. He will need to sign it over to you so it is no longer on his ledgers."

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac nods and smiles, passing the man a copper piece in thanks for his cooperation. He goes back out to bring Relentless around to the quartermaster, to explain the situation and see about reclaiming his belongings and getting his armor repaired.

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Mid Afternoon

After a brief discussion with the quartermaster, Sir Morac is able to retrieve both his beloved steed and the tack and saddle that was on the horse when it departed the battlefield.

As the day progresses you all meet back at the small inn for the baths Commander Ewald promised. The middle aged woman with her hair up in a very conservative bun who introduces herself as "Mrs. Buckley, the Innkeep" leads you to what you think is normally a private dining room in the back of the inn where there are 5 large wooden tubs full of hot water set up. There is also a large barrel of fresh water and a large kettle of water hanging by the fire letting off steam. The long dining table is pushed up against the wall and a single chair is next to each of the tubs. On the chair by each tub is a bar that you assume is soap and a long handle scrub brush. Once you are all in the room the Innkeep addresses the group, "Dinner'll be served in the next room in an hour. If'n y'all need someone to keep pouring hot water for ya I can send in one of the boys."

http://indesigns.com.au/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/Oak-Bathtub.jpg

[grumblyarcher]

Khalid al-Behrooz
AC: 19 | HP: 70 | Percept: 13

"Ah! The best part of my day thus far, madam. If you could, perhaps, be able to provide me a razor as well, this shall truly prove to be a transcendent moment of revivification. My comrades may enjoy the stubbled look of a career soldier or are entirely beyond the need for such a thing but there are certain standards I like to maintain." Without an ounce of self-consciousness, Khalid unlaced his chain and began pulling it off from over his head before starting in on his gambeson as well.

He was so quick about it, it was a small wonder he was able to coordinate his actions while speaking so overly verbosely. From anyone else, such wording might have been somewhat mocking but Khalid was the sort who could make a dire insult sound like good hearted fun, if he had a mind to speak one.

"And yes, hot water, as much as you can provide. I'd sell my sword for plenty of hot water right now." As the padded gambeson came off it became clear that for a reedy looking academic, Khalid had a concerning amount of muscle and bore the scars of hard living much like the rest of them. Much like the rest of them, he also sported the scars that were all that remained from what should have been mortal wounds. His were a series of crescent shaped discolorations that hinted at the attentions of shod hooves across his torso.

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

Dodging around the inn's proprietor, Tangaloor entered in his new, unmarked soldier's attire, with his swords swinging from one hand and his newly mended armor carried carelessly over his shoulder by the other. Reaching a tub close to one of the room's corners, he tossed the armor across the nearby chair's back, almost overbalancing it as he took far more care in setting the blades down, propped against the chair so they're unlikely to be splashed but still in easy reach.

He grinned across at Khalid, and nodded in agreement at the welcomeness of this amenity. "It will surely be a delight to the nose after all of us are truly bathed, not simply fluffed with magic, yes?" Unlacing the plain new clothes, he left them heaped on top of the armor and stepped into the bath, his gray-haired body turning dark as the water suffuses his fur.

Tangaloor generally keeps his own council unless asked, so he doesn't have any pressing business to bring up with everyone. If anyone else wants to discuss conversation tactics before dinner though I'm fine remaining in the bath.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac disrobed, revealing himself almost as thickly-haired as he was thickly-muscled, and enjoyed his bath in a reflective silence. He was not as comfortable as the easterners with the concept of public bathing, but in his years on campaign he had become used to the lack of privacy.

[Vanerock]

Jaxon
AC:22 HP:68 Perception +8

A nice hot bath will be very nice, magic to clean up is convenient I'll admit, but doesn't compare to warm water. Jaxon unstraps his weapons before removing his clothes and stepping into the warm water. Feeling the warm water wash over him he lets out an [COLOR="#FF0000"]aahhh/COLOR]

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

Shring took the opportunity of the baths to check out the scars and physiques of the members of the party, taking note of the different body types. Given his minimalistic outfit, he didn't need much time or effort to disrobe, though he opted to sit beside his tub for a moment, tweaking its contents with a blend of his magic and any available soaps and salts... finishing off by sending a bolt of lightning through the tub, starting a lightshow within giving the room the distinctive scent of ozone before he was content enough to slip into the tub himself... followed by the water trying to rush and roil away from the sheath of force surrounding his body.

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Evening

Shortly after the innkeep leaves a teenage boy dressed like a stablehand enters and keeps the kettle of hot water going and brings buckets of hot water to anyone who waves him over.

After roughly half an hour the innkeep returns and lays a clean shirt and pants on the chairs beside each bath. The shirts are simple but well made white wool and the pants are a rich green wool. With each is also a pair of sturdy wool socks. Before leaving she says, "Lord Ewald is wait'n in the other dining room. It's to the right up the hall. Dinner'll be served in half'n'hour."

When you enter the other dinning room it is identical to the room you just left but the long table is in the middle with the hearth behind the seats on the far side and there are no bath tubs. The room is illuminated by candle wall sconces and a large candelabra with 7 candles in the middle of the table. The table is set for 8 people and Commander Ewald and Priestess Vykonia are both seated at the table already. When you open the door the commander beckons you in, "Please sit down, there is much to discuss."

The Grey Ovals signify the candle sconces.
http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae100/Sergeant_Vist/Dining%20Room_zpsb9t4fxjl.png (http://s961.photobucket.com/user/Sergeant_Vist/media/Dining%20Room_zpsb9t4fxjl.png.html)

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

The sorcerer politely declined the offered change of clothes. As he stepped out of the bath, his body purged the water that had been trapped by his fur and arcane armor. He made something of a show of presenting his original and iconic outfit, changing its burgundy-and-violet coloration to match the white and green wool of the outfits his companions were offered. As he re-girded himself, though the silk-and-velvet kilt brightened up to a gleaming pearl-white with a much more vibrant green trim, and the cloth of his collar also turned to a match, with the silver-and-brass lacing running through it standing out against the vivid cloth. Of course, the high-contrast green-and-white coloration of his outfit clashed horribly with his deep violet fur and shining scar.

Despite the failed attempt at color coordination, Shring now carried himself with a more imposing demeanor and posture as he moved to the dining room, accompanied by four glowing lights around him, though they disappeared after a brief minute. "And I am listening," Shring replied, his voice a deep baritone purr, in sharp contrast to the high-pitched ranting he had previously been ranting in.

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

After drying off from his bath and getting dressed again, Morac arrived promptly at the dinner table, taking his seat across from Commander Ewald and with at least a seat of distance between him and the priestess, whose demeanor unnerved him.

"Indeed," he answered. "I am glad that we seem to have your support in this... venture. I will admit, it was more than I could have hoped for when we arrived."

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Evening

Commander Ewald addresses the group, "I am afraid support is to strong of a word, Sir Morac. I have provided you what aid I can. I would not be able to justify further aid to my superiors. If my faith in your story were stronger and there were some proof of your endeavor that could persuade the Marshal General, then I would put my entire contingent of knights at your back. Alas, that is not the case; you have without question been brought back to this world by some powerful force and you all seem to earnestly believe it was to stop an agent of the apocalypse but your story is still far-fetched and vague." He takes a sip from the glass he has been holding, then looks to the priestess across the table. "Lady Vykonia posed a good question that I also want to hear the answer to. What are your instructions? Where did this shaman tell you to go?"

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

Inwardly grimacing, Tangaloor shook and brushed some of the water from his fur before putting his new clothes on, letting damp spots bloom all over. As this was to be a war council of sorts, he decided he may as well look the part of the scout he'd pretended to be; he took several seconds to buckle his armor back on over the damp clothing, and scooped up his scabbards to once more dangle from his hands.

Entering the dining room and surveying the layout, he grinned, keeping up his false front of confidence. Inwardly, though he had no real plans to follow through, he was debating various means of escape if the situation came to it, and to cover his nervousness, he pulled out the chair next to the old priestess and sat down, letting his swords rest beneath his seat. "I am eager to hear the Order's wisdom on the matter," he said in a friendly tone. "Have you had many direct dealings with Death? I imagine we've had a similar amount of indirect experience." He leaves vague whether he means the two of them individually, the party as a whole, or the Order and the assassins.

After Ewald addressed them, he looked around, his first instinct to dissemble, but it would likely only waste time. "We are to seek someone known as the Prophet of the Third Eye in Flimdale. Perhaps your seeress can aid us in that?" He turns to Vykonia as he lifts his goblet to take an experimental sip.

He makes the priestess his studied target and attempts to discern any reaction she has to the mention of the title: Sense Motive 1d20+15

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Evening

Priestess Vykonia looks perplexed at the mention of the prophet. "A prophet in Flimdale? I feel the locals would have made mention if we had a prophet among us here; there certainly isn't one among the clergy in my entourage." She appears to be thinking hard on the matter and still holds a distinctly confused expression.

Commander Ewald is straight to business though; "Were you told how to find this man? What is he.." Suddenly the commander cuts off mid-sentence as the Innkeep and a teenage girl come in carrying platters and bowls. The girl places a large bowl of salad and a platter with potatoes on the table and the Innkeep places a platter with a two large chickens and a bowl of what you assume is stew on the table. "Will ya'll be need'n anythin' else this even'n?" the Innkeep asks.

[Vanerock]

Jaxon
AC:24 HP:68 Perception: +8

Jaxon finishes with his bath and takes the clothes from the table. He examines the material and decides them to be satisfactory. He dries himself off thoroughly before exiting the room and entering the dining room.

As he enters the dining room, he takes in the environment before deciding to sit at the table in the closest chair to the door in which he entered from, far left on the closest side of the table. As the conversation progresses, he adds in, Perhaps the prophet is hiding his presence from the locals, the Shaman we were greeted by seemed sure that we would find him there. That or the Prophet we seek hasn't arrived yet, either way it will likely be our next destination."

[Pyrite]

Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

"It should be more than adequate, as far as I'm concerned." Morac answered the innkeep's question, waiting for the commander to select for his own plate before tearing off a chicken leg for his own plate.

"We were given his name... I think it was Wheelright?" He groaned and shook his head as he ladled himself a bowl of soup and a plate of salad. "The Shaman wasn't terribly clear, and we weren't in the right state of mind to focus on the mission, considering the circumstances."

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Evening

The commander serves himself a potato and cuts a breast and wing off one of the chickens. He then looks at Jaxon, "I realize you are a stranger in these parts, this little village is Flimdale. Barely a blip on the map and an unlikely place to find a prophet; but then again, I don't know in what sort of place one would find a prophet." He takes a bit of his chicken and continues after swallowing, "Wheelright doesn't sound familiar but I haven't spent much time among the locals."

[Da'Shain]

Tangaloor
AC: 18; HP: 65; Perception: +16 (Scent)

"Wainwright. Eldon Wainwright, I believe it was," Tangaloor corrected. He filled his bowl with stew, then cut himself a chicken leg and began dunking it in, taking small bites. "Our trollish spirit guide was himself unclear as to what a Prophet of the Third Eye is. A pity your knowledge on the subject does not eclipse my own." He pointed the leg across the table at Khalid. Send that one out among the locals, and if this prophet's here I'm sure they'll be happy to point him in the right direction, yes? Suspiciously likeable, he is."

He turned his gaze back to the seeress. "Don't feel too let down. Maybe his prophetly powers haven't manifested yet. Perhaps he needs to die first, like us," he grinned.

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

Shring is pleasantly surprised by the meal - no focus on breads, salad, fruit, or any similar food incompatible with his diet! The potatoes were soft and textured enough to him that they counted as a meat, especially when soaked in stew. Of course, he couldn't resist using his still-active prestidigitation effects to provide convenient effects with his meal, possibly to a distracting degree. Potatoes generally are not capable of levitation. "Whether you think it too strong a word or not, you have already given us all the support you could ask for," he said to the commander. As the others discussed the prophet, the sorcerer smirked. "I could always try calling him."

[Sergeant]

25 Mitica
Evening

"Calling him might not be necessary." Commander Ewald says. "There is a man named Eldon here in town, I do not know his last name but he is a blind beggar who lives in a half burned barn just east of the village. We saw him begging around town and offered him food and better shelter when we set up camp here but he would only take the food."

Priestess Vykonia replies to Tangaloor, "The third eye is an old belief that some druids and shaman of the more savage races still hold to. As I understand it they claim some beings are born with a third eye that grants them vision beyond the physical world; I do not know if this is supposed to be a literal or figurative third eye. I have spent little time studying faiths outside the Etar."

[Pyrite]

[QUOTE=Pyrite;20040570]Sir Morac Noaras
AC: 22; HP 96; Perception +0

Morac peeled the meat from the chicken leg and ate it, considering what was being said.

"Indeed, commander, the support you have been able to offer us has been invaluable. It's clear that things beyond our ken are afoot, so all our little group can do is go where we are led and hope that we are up to the challenge that faces us there."

He turned to Shring.

"I should hope you don't call for him the way you called for my horse, or to call for anyone else by that method, ever."

[Hawkstar]

Shring
AC: 17 HP: 71/71 Perception: +4

"It is always the most unassuming ones who are the most important," Shring melodramatically intoned, making something of a show of preparing to take a bite of a small piece of chicken as the Commander mentioned the beggars. Turning to Sir Morac after the knight criticized his calling technique, he facetiously asked, "Is your grand quest to remove all fun and enjoyment from life?"

Standing up dramatically, Shring turned to leave the dining room. "It is no matter! I shall find ways to amuse myself in spite of your petty, mortal chastisements..." he declared, before suddenly almost completely changing his tune as he took another glance at the table "Oh, wait, there's still a little bit of stew left, and it is most delicious!" The feline sorcerer promptly sat himself back down to continue his meal.