Prophecy's Edge - IC

[3SecondCultist]

"Prophecy's Edge"


Prologue - The Weapon (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N1d8Lylko-c&list=PLhqqvo3y1qZ1srt0PRvAf_OE-rgsMT6qe)

The Machine had been working for days now, its infernal chorus echoing up from the stairs and into the workshop on the level above. Nall had long since grown accustomed to the noise, although he was typically used to hearing an accompaniment of screams as it was fed hungry souls. Not today. Today the metal endures. He tapped his right temple – as he did every so often – enjoying the feel of his gloved fingertip meeting the steel plating in his head. Some years ago, his Master had granted him the gift of sleeplessness, and now Nall bore its mark proudly. It was proof that he had risen above humanity, by ridding himself one of their most basic necessities. The banded copper ring on his left finger forgave him the need to eat or drink as well, which made him all that much more efficient. He had a generous Master indeed.

Turning back towards his workbench, Nall examined the handiwork of the past several days. The sword was almost as long as he was tall; its hilt hung over empty air at the far end of the bench. The blade itself was made of smoky purple quartz, which looked opaque from afar but when one got up close, the imperfections in the gem revealed themselves as coils of inner darkness. Nall knew well enough not to ask too many questions about where the crystal had come from: his task had only been to forge the sword according to Master's exact specifications. It wasn't only the dimensions and the balance of the weapon that needed to be perfect, either. The spells and incantations that Nall had woven into the sword hadn't been easy to find. At first, he had lamented that he would not be able to complete the project, but by the time he found the framework for the spell lattice that he needed, Nall had realized that the magics actually complemented and harmonized with the weapon perfectly.

All in all, it would make a fine addition to the weapon that Master was making in the cavern downstairs.

"Making the final touches, I presume?" Nall hadn't heard anyone approach, hadn't heard the whisper of cloth or the tread of foot on stone, but sure enough, there was his Master when he turned around. Whereas the tinker had turned pale and haggard from spending all his time underground – not that he could even remember the last time he'd been concerned enough to check a mirror – his Master's face was quite handsome, sporting a neatly trimmed dark beard and wearing a silver circlet over his brow. His clothes marked him out as somebody with wealth and status: a rich merchant, or perhaps a noble. He presumably had other holdings, urgent matters to attend to. And yet here he was, taking the time to check up on Nall and his projects. He had a considerate Master indeed.

"Ah - yes, of course Master! As you can see, the gal-galvanic properties of the deep crystal have bonded well with the en-ench-enchantments I've woven into the blade." Try as he might, Nall failed to keep the stutter out of his voice. He would berate himself at length for his weakness later – his Master was very particular about how he was to be addressed. "I've add- added both the offensive and defensive spells, as you said. The sword has already proven itself exemplary, per-perhaps even my best work ever!"

"Very good." His Master leaned over the blade, his reflection cut between violet shadows as he stared down into the polished facets of the greatsword. "This will do nicely. Come along now, Nall. It's high time you got a chance to see what we've been working towards this whole while." As he indicated to Nall that he should bring along the sword, the Master was already heading to the portal down into the basement.

The air in the stairwell was hot and heavy with smoke, as though the two of them were stepping into a forge that had not been properly fumigated. Nall found that he could barely see well enough to put one foot in front of another, nearly missing his step several times on the way down. If his Master was bothered by any of it, he gave no sign. In fact, his pace had quickened as the two of them descended down through nearly thirty feet of packed earth and stone. The weight of the sword threatened to overwhelm Nall, but he said nothing. To falter in his errand was to fail the Master, and that would not do. Besides, the artificer's mind was already racing with anticipation, guesses and theories spinning off from his addled brain into oblivion at breakneck speed. At long last, the Machine had met a host that could withstand it. Who was down there? Who was to be his Master's next weapon?

When they reached the landing, Nall could see the whole scene. The Machine was positioned on a raised dais of stone, dominating the center of the chamber. From afar, it looked more like a coffin than an instrument of creation. The horizontal 'bed' was nearly ten feet long, a frame of black steel surrounding its upper half to cage the subject within. Inside, hundreds of magically automated blades, saws, drills, hammers, and other implements of transformation were hard at work. From the bed, hundreds of and wires ran across the laboratory floor, to the glowing tanks and arcane repositories surrounding it. Thick smoke spilled up from its inner workings, completely shrouding the chamber’s ceiling and muting the soft lights of the everbright lanterns. The Machine had been originally conceived to drain power from souls, but Nall had seen fit to make a few upgrades of his own. The sound of screeching metal on metal was intolerable down here, and yet Nall found himself shouting over it.

"Should we shut it down now, Master?" His Master paused for a moment, considering the creature that was trapped inside. It had made no move to escape, no attempt even to blunt out or express its pain in any sort of way. For all they knew, it could have easily been asleep inside. But Nall suspected otherwise. Whatever was in there, Master would not already seen fit to rid it of the need for such things. He had a sagacious Master indeed.

A nod was all he needed. The tinker dropped the greatsword awkwardly on one of the side tables as he clambered over to the lever on one of the side tables near the left wall. With both hands, he pulled the contraption down. The hellish orchestra tapered off, and the silence that was left in its place was perhaps even more deafening. Nall shook his head slightly, to try and get rid of the ringing. It persisted all the same. He made a mental note to ask Master for the supplies to build something to block out irritating or distracting sounds the next time he needed to concentrate. Still, now was not the time for such requests. As his ears adjusted to the quiet, he heard his Master ask him to pull the second lever.

With a series of slow clanks, the Machine began to rise. The various tools had already folded themselves into the cage, which was even now being automatically tilted up to a near-horizontal position, leaving only the outer bars from the subject inside. In all the smoke and half-dark, all Nall could make out was its hulking outline, and a faint azure glow from within the contraption. And yet he could hear its movements; a terrible mechanized grinding as it shifted its weight experimentally. Master was already there, the crystal blade carried in one hand as though it were a paperweight. With his free hand, he pulled off the lock from the Machine's door and swung the cage open. That's when Nall saw the creation for the first time. It's beautiful, was his first thought, followed closely by how would I kill it? A list of possible – and improbable – methods flooded his brain, but Nall actively stopped mid-thought to watch as his Master presented the greatsword hilt first to the being in the cage.

"You have your assignment." The Master's voice was calm, even in the face of the monster before him. The creation had turned to look at him, bright blue eyes cutting through the chamber's poor light. It took the sword in one hand, fingers closing around the grip like a vise.

It turned to look at Nall and nodded.


The stars were wrong. At least, they weren't the stars that you always remembered. Strange patterns in the skies that looked nothing like Khorvaire's native constellations had begun to appear for weeks. And it wasn't just in Khorvaire, either. Very soon, word came back from other settlements on distant continents - from Stormreach to Io'lokar to the monasteries of Adar - everywhere, the stars had changed their shape, the normally comforting celestial bodies appearing utterly alien the whole world over. It was all anyone could talk about for a little while, the curiosity of the changes above. Already, there were mutterings that the Draconic Prophecy had changed again. But the stars were just the beginning.

Not long thereafter, the magics of the world began to fail. It wasn't as immediate or widespread a portent like the abrupt changes to the heavenly patterns of Siberys, but it was certainly felt by some. The heirs of House Orien and House Sivis were among the first to realize what was happening. Something was blocking the power of their dragonmarks, at least those of their less powerful scions. It didn't take long for the full impact of the effects to make themselves known: any magic used to transport to, summon from, or communicate with distant places or planes had begun to unravel. While whatever mysterious impediments weren't all reaching - the more potent or knowledgeable mages could sometimes circumvent the ward - there were many who believed that the stars and the magic changing were portents, and that there would be more to come.

Across the Five Nations and beyond, fear and doubt began to spread. Countless questions were being asked, at every level of society. What were the strange new lights in the sky? How was their appearance connected to the weakening of certain magics? Was there even a correlation? Would the two fading schools of magic ever return? Many citizens who were living abroad were now cut off from their friends and loved ones, unable to get in touch with the people they cared about. And of course, there was the political, military, and economic fallout. Armies stalled on the borders of nations, suddenly unaware of orders being given hundreds of miles away that now needed to be delivered via mundane couriers. House Orien's Transportation Guild and House Sivis' Speaker Guild more or less collapsed overnight, their client lists dwindling into nothing, which saw a huge upset in the delicate balance of the twelve dragonmarked houses. In truth, the magnitude of the effects of the stars had only begun to be truly felt, and no matter how much anyone seemed to look, nobody seemed to have any answers.

Until three days ago, that is.

Each of you, through various intermediaries and methods, have received identical summons. A pale while envelope, parchment crisp like the first snows of winter, has made it into your hands in one way or another. Maybe a colleague simply dropped it off, or maybe it appeared out of thin air in a flash of light to fall into your possession. Either way, your name has been written at the top of the address line, so there can be no mistake: the missive is meant for you. The letterhead is simple but elegant, and the wax seal on the envelope is pressed with the tower and crossed scrolls of none other than Morgrave University. Inside, you find the details waiting for you.

To Whom it May Concern,

I hope this letter finds you well. Normally, I do not find myself in direct contact with sources outside the University, but sometimes the situation demands that one go beyond the usual channels. I am writing to you because I know that you are a citizen of this world in your own right, and you ought to know the truth. No doubt you are aware of at least some of the strange and transcendental phenomena that are even now gripping Eberron. But what you might not yet realize is that even as you read this, some of the keenest and most influential figures from Khorvaire and beyond are preparing to convene at Morgrave University to discuss the ongoing crisis. Call it a gathering of the minds, if you will. Know that we at Morgrave have lived up to our founding motto to 'illuminate the forgotten secrets of the past': we have uncovered what might be a key to unlocking this entire mystery. To say more would be too compromising to put in a letter, but suffice it to say that attending would be very well worth your time.

This letter is to serve as an invitation to join us, on the evening of the 1st of Nymm, from the ninth hour until midnight. We at the University have booked off the Commons for that time, and chartered several sky carriages to ferry guests in from across Sharn. Transportation to the city itself is not included. Food and beverages will of course be provided for your comfort. Please note that an informal dress code will be in effect: suitable evening attire includes pants, a dress shirt and jacket, or an appropriate dress or skirt. Although I am not at liberty to divulge the identities of some of the more illustrious attendees, let me assure you that the company will be entirely unparalleled. If you are not interested in saving the world, at the very least you should strive to attend for more self-gratifying reasons. Who knows? Maybe our proposal will still pique your interest.

Until then,

Lord Larrian ir'Morgrave, Master of Morgrave University
And so, three days later - still beneath the alien sky - the vast metropolis of Sharn unfolds before you, a twisted reflection of the unseemly stars above. Whatever road you have taken to get to the City of Towers, it looks like you've made it just in time. The bruised western horizon tells you that there's less than an hour to spare to get to Morgrave University, at the very center of the University District. Whether by getting directions or knowing the way off by heart, it doesn't take you too long to find where you're going. The light shows that glimmer and explode from the top of Dalannan Tower give you an inkling that whatever adventures - no matter how wild or outlandish - you've embarked on in the past, this will probably be the most interesting dinner party of your life.

Wow, that was a long intro post! Sorry, it kind of got away from me there. I wrote the Prologue part out before, but I hadn't intended for the whole thing to be so lengthy. It's a pretty good background for the game, though - I'm pretty proud of it.

Anyway, as those of you who have played with me before no doubt know, I like to spoil things at the bottom of my posts for out of character details. In this case, it's to tell you guys that in your intros, you should try to describe how you got the letter, as well as your entrance to Morgrave for the start of the party. You can make it as understated or as flashy as possible. In a few nested spoilers below, I'm including information from successful Knowledge checks about the University itself that any of your characters can try and make before arriving.

Morgrave University has a resident gynosphinx named Flamewind. This creature was discovered on an expedition to Xen'drik in 996 YK, and she is something of an oracle, spouting cryptic prophecies and odd sayings on a whim.
Morgrave University was founded in 738 YK by Lord Lareth ir'Morgrave. Lord Morgrave was well known as a prolific treasure hunter, a fact that left its stamp on the university as a whole.

Perhaps due to its founder, Morgrave University has long had a reputation for smuggling artifacts from Xen'drik and selling them on the black market rather than displaying them in the museum.
Morgrave University, with its main campus in Sharn, is best known as a place to study Xen'drik. The university is situated in the topmost towers of the University District in the Menthis Plateau in Sharn. It has a questionable reputation as a place that puts profits above academics. Besides the university, the University District holds four well-known theaters, a famous concert hall, and the Sharn Opera House.

The Commons is a plaza atop one of the spires surrounding Morgrave. It's a great place to grab a bite to eat and engage in long, thoughtful conversation, and it offers a nice view of the city.

Scandals regularly surface about the faculty of Morgrave University selling artifacts on the black market instead of displaying them in the museum. Even so, the collection of the Dezina Museum is quite impressive.
Despite the Great Hall of Aureon located on the campus of the university, few people associated with Morgrave are known as particularly devout followers of the Sovereign Lord of Knowledge. Even so, people regularly sleep on the floor of the Great Hall in hopes of receiving inspiration in their dreams.

[n0ble]

6 Hours Ago

She'd not been aware that Adal had been monitoring her mail. So naturally it'd come as something of a surprise when the First Warlord had summoned her to give her the letter. It'd irked Astoira then and it irked her now that it'd been kept from her. Morgrave was a font of knowledge. He should have known better than to keep it from her. . The first conundrum of the evening had already presented itself. Bind them first and deal with the voices while getting ready for the social function? Or get ready first and risk spoiling her attire after binding. Astoria idly wondered if any of the other guests were encountering similar problems as she flipped through her book to the page of the first vestige she desired. The half-giantess shook her head free of the memories as she sketched out a seal on the floor with her chalk. It's not like they could exert any sort of direct influence over her actions. Well-at least not really.

She sat down cross legged in front of the seal, taking care not to knock over the bed she'd overturned. At least the Minister had been kind enough to arrange lodgings for her at the embassy. The least she could do was make her particular brand of magic known to the twins or some other, less forgiving occupant. She laid out the three stones from her implement kit in a triangle around the seal before cutting open the two scars on her palms and squeezing out some blood into the chalice that she'd placed next to the book. She bandaged one hand before placing the still bloody one on the seal. "I call upon the alien might of Zceryll, the Star Spawn (https://sites.google.com/site/wayfinderfoundationofkhorvaire/content/magic/vestiges/6th-level-vestiges/zceryll)."

For a moment nothing happened. You wouldn't be wrong to think that the ritual, whatever it's effect had been, had gone awry. The area in and around the seal filled with thousands of tiny circular mirrors. A beautiful human woman was reflected in all of them, Astoira writ small. Yet something is off about her features. After a few seconds, a scream is carried into the air and the image of the woman changed into a hideous mass of writhing tentacles. The mirrors shatterd, covering the floor with beautiful but alien patterns of glass that even now caused Astoira's mind to hurt and made her nose, mouth, eyes, and orifices bleed black blood. In spite of the sheer alieness of the proceedings and the developing headache, Astoira smiled. It had been right to not get dressed first.

"Yet again we play this tired game, little binder. Yet again you come mewling back to Zceryll for aid." The tentacles quivered amidst the fragments in what Astoira took to be anticipation. "The stars are awry vestige. As such I've little time for your contempt and even less for your words." She tried her hardest to match the contempt expressed by the tentacles but it somehow fell short, "Let us skip the banter, that you may reside once again inside my form." "Ahhhh" the tentacles quivered again while letting out a sigh. "A pact is struck then, and struck well little binder. Though you should know after all this time, the safest place one need reside is in-sanity..." Astoira blinked and the manifestation was gone, the black blood with it. In its place was a cold sickness that lodged itself at the back of her throat. She twisted her arms as the flopped left, then right. Like tentacles. seventy five feet down, there was a man of markedly average intelligence. Astoira flexed her new sixth sense, acclimating to it as she felt the man's intellect. There was yet more work to do.



Your summoning him? Patheti-Be silent, Star-Spawn. Astoira tried to push the cold feeling out of her throat and mind, instead concentrating on the freshly sketched seal in front of her. "I implore Dantalion, most mighty of rulers, Dantalion the Star-Emperor (https://sites.google.com/site/wayfinderfoundationofkhorvaire/content/magic/vestiges/5th-level-vestiges/dantalion), to impart his knowledge upon my mind" Your so very very empty little mind.

It appeared in a flash of red light as a ten foot-tall humanoid, resplendent in crimson and gold robes. The head of the thing wass a massive conglomeration of dozens of human faces—male and female, young and old. A gold crown as big around as a barrel rested on it's brow. Dantalion carried a great tome under one arm, the pages of which held nothing buy empty space and motes that were of the stars above. "The Lady Gerthu returns yet again for use of our potency. What is it that such a beauty could desire from one as grand as ourselves." Each word came from a different face, yet each one sounded magnanimous regardless of age, pitch or timbre. Astoira inclined her head in a modest bow. Even if it was a pre tense, at least he was being nicer than the Sage of Madness. "A convocation gathers, Star-Emperor. Figures of renown are sure to attend. Perhaps you may yet grace them with you-" "You need not even ask, my lady! We would be honoured to grace them with our presence! Let us see how the grandeur of today's so-called rulers compares to that of Dantalion." A new feeling developed in Astoria's stomach, a sort of steady stability that she knew would make her stand a little bit taller. As though responding to it, she felt a face push it's way through her skin as Dantalion entered her body.

Astoira sighed as the last of her vestiges was bound. She bandaged her other hand before using another one to wipe away any chalk or lingering black blood that remained. Now the real work could begin.

Now

The half-giantess stooped under the frame of the sky-carriage and out into the evening. As she walked towards the gates, a wind caught and tugged at her crimson hair, earrings and cloak. Her favourite cloak. You should have gone with the golden dress. It would have complemented your eyes better. Much better. You decry her fashion sense without cause, mad one. Lady Gerthu need not draw upon my knowledge for fashion. Nor yours. . Astoria paid their bickering no mind. Twenty years of binding the same vestiges had nurtured an ability to tone them out if need be. The cloak billowed out behind her, giving the carriage driver a good view of the sun embroidered on the back in gold thread amidst black silk. And, by Astoria's estimation, her rear end, hips and legs.

Despite Zceryll's criticism, Astoria though it went quite well with the black and red dress she'd donned for the nights proceedings. It shimmered an oily read when the light caught it, but otherwise seemed a rather plain black. It left a modest amount to the imagination, coming down to just below her knees. The earrings were rubies, just the same as the ones that studded a black belt wound around her waist. Any irked feelings she had at the vestige's conversation was replaced with an eager anticipation. If only she'd though ahead to bind Naberius instead, perhaps she could have walked into the university knowing more about it. Such doubts only served to fuel the hungry feeling that gestated in Astoira's mind. She walked forward towards the university gates, taking out her letter as she approached."Astoria Gerthu". Zceryll the Star-Spawn. Dantalion the Star Emperor. "Here for the gathering at the university commons."

[Rofltrollcopter]

Early that Morning

Owain was interrupted by the light of dawn creeping through the window. He glanced over at the crib which contained his infant son. Owain sighed; Colin was having more trouble sleeping lately. Colin had stopped teething a while back, and thus Owain wasn't sure what was waking him up. Fortunately for the family, an unintended consequence of his earlier vigilante days meant that Owain didn't need sleep to function. He was able to look after Colin by himself during the night, and thus make sure that Colin's mother got her rest.

After ensuring that Colin was resting soundly, Owain made his way out of the makeshift office and quietly made his way towards the bathroom. A couple of years ago, he and Brianne made the move to their new apartment in the Highwater district of Upper Dura. It felt a bit cramped by Owain's sensibilities at times, but that was the real estate market in Sharn. More importantly it was clean, safe, and in a good neighborhood, which made it a lot nicer then most of the places Brianne had lived. Owain was still stuggling with returning to civilian life. Originally when they moved in, he had wanted to install Wards. Brianne talked him down from it by pointing out they would have been more likely to injure a courier or one of their neighbors then a potential assailant.

Owain hummed to himself as he filled the sink with water. He never ceased to be amazed by what could be accomplished by harnessing Sharn's Syrania manifest zone. Maybe the same principles used to move water around in Sharn's plumbing could also be used to move other liquids or air? He made a mental note to investigate that later. Owain was one of the co-founders of Sharn Common Artifice (a licensed subsidiary of the Fabricator's Guild), a small company which was focused on using Mechanical and Magical principles to create devices to improve the quality of life of the common folk of Sharn. Owain enjoyed his work as SCA's CTO, but he also recognized that his other contribution to the organization was his last name. The Cannith name opened doors in the business world. It wasn't fair but it was just how things were. Owain couldn't change it, but he could take advantage of it.

Now that the sink was full, Owain lathered the cream onto his face and got to work with his straight razor. He paused for a moment, and ran his hand over a slight scar on his forehead. That was were he had carved open his head to graft a portion of a Warforged's Cognition Engine directly onto his brain. Despite the benefits it had offered, he did regret it. He hadn't been in the best state of mind when he made the decision to do the procedure, and he had noticed side effects. He found it harder to switch focus between tasks, and to recall ancillary information. There were a few times when he hadn't returned home for days, and Owain felt guilty about that. It was scary how much influence the graft had on his mind. Maybe if he had installed it differently, he would have accidentally turned off his ability to feel emotions or to empathize with others. That was all idle speculation on Owain's part, and he resolved to spend no more time thinking about it.

After cleaning himself up, Owain returned to his desk where he fidgeted with the mysterious letter. He had been aware of the mysteries going on in the world, but he was still surprised at the nature of the summons. Morgrave University just didn't seem like an important enough institution to be investigating such a matter. He would have expected this to be organized by The Twelve or one of the Five Nations. Also, why would they send it to him? Why not Merrix d'Cannith, or one of the other great powerbrokers of the House?

For a moment, he considered not going. He had already done his part, and he had earned his happy ending. It had taken Owain a while to learn, but he knew that some problems were far too big for one person to fix.

saving the world

He glanced down at his son, and made up his mind.

Present

Owain made his way towards the University grounds. He was dressed in a stylish three piece suit, which was disrupted only by the various magical items on his possession. His freshly shaven face meant that his Dragonmark was on full display. He left his Blasting Staff, armor, and Haversack inside his Portable Workshop, which was neatly folded up inside the pocket of his suit jacket. Those were the only items that just wouldn't work. The other ones he incorporated into his ensemble as well as he could.

He had discussed tonight's events with his wife, and asked her not to come. He didn't feel right trying to tell his wife what she should or should not do, but something about the letter just seemed off to him. Owain waited patiently by the gate while the guards admitted the other guests.


Before Owain shows up to the party, he is going to try and use one of his Heroism Schemas to cast Persistent Heroism on himself

DC 44
UMD:[roll0] (+2 from having Etch Schema, +2 from previous activation)

[CozJa]

Diary of Mr. Panward Dannor, last entries.

Dravago 26th, Korranberg Railstation.

Another Lighting Rail voyage. At least this time is on first class, and hopefully there won’t be a group of thugs waiting for me in Sharn. When doyen Meliser ir’Korran presented me Morgrave’s letter he found it difficult not to laugh. ‘A serious invitation from the smuggies?’ he told me, ‘maybe you can write a comedy book on it!’
I still don’t know what is more annoying: that a Zil, trained from his birth to hide his emotions and deceive people was unable to stay serious, or that he is probably right!
A gathering of minds, at Morgrave ‘University’? I fear I know what kinds of mind I’ll find there… Well, I must admit that Lord Larrian is trying very hard to polish the name of his faculty, but I doubt that will be good material for a book.
Mh… at least It’s first class… and the company looks pleasurable.


Dravago 27th, somewhere between Sterngate and Starilaskur

Miss Faelan ir’Draven doesn’t seem to be the brightest woman I ever met, but at least she has good tastes in food, and knows my books. Master Soldorak seem to prefer his statues to our company, but that’s probably for the best. Oh, and the couches! I never sat in more comfortable, fluffiest cushions.
Anyway, people is slowly going mad those days: asking me if Sivis Messenger Service is ever going to recover like I’m some kind of expert just because I’m a gnome is a very stupid idea. At least I was able to divert attention with the story of my first voyage in the lighting rail, that one time with the Rakshasa Hijacker; it always works, I should make it into a book… or a short story.
Anyway I must be wary: a cup of Bluevine Wine is a good distraction, but you never know when the hand that is giving it wants to stab you in the back.
But if I have to find some time to get to know better that Jorasco healer; Oriens may have forgotten how to travel between dimensions, but they remember to keep pretty faces around!

Dravago 28th, Wroat Stop, night.

I had the time to take a quick glance to master Soldorak’s statues: they are clearly Xen’drik manufacts in nature. And considering that my voyage companion doesn’t look like an appreciative artist, I think I know why he’s going to Sharn. How boring are those smugglers, always trying to hide whast should be brought to light.
But for now it is not my problem,
At least, I have finally got some time to read this book from the library. Bringing those misterious scrolls to ir’Korran has been a difficult task, but this new source of knowledge seems more adaptable to travels.
I should probably take a look at Emeria d’Phiarlan offer for the next book and the screen play, but, as of now, it seems impossible to find another good story to tell.
And those stars… those stars are worring me to no end… may it be that the Morgrave’s invitation got something to do with it? The Morgraves have always been a clever lineage, but It seems strange that those amateurs could find something without the Library discovering it… or the Trust. But as of late Zilargo got a lot of new problems to think about. Well, no use being paranoid about it, I intend to keep relaxing at least until I reach Sharn; don’t want to attract unwanted attention.

And the pillows are so plushy.

Nynn 1st, Sharn, somewhere smelly

After this dinner I must remember to pay a visit to the Gynosphinx, the last I met one, it tried to bury me under a temple! And I don’t know why, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole thing.
Between this outfit, the Lighting Rail and those beggars, I fear I’m going to lose more money than time!

Present

Panward put on a nobiliar dress for the night, foregoing his usual adventurer's equipment (apart from some of his 'tools of the trade'); he left a little tip to the skycoach driver, then entered the gates of the district; approaching Dalanann tower, the gnome reacted with an amazed look "Ok, that's definitely larger than I thought. What are they up to?"
With the company of many questions, Dr. Dannor entered the place showing his invitation. Turned out that was a show worth seeing, after all.

[GameOfChampions]

Jet pounds dust off of his pants as he walks into the City of Towers, quick talking his way past the suspicious city guards at the gate. The young man had spent the last few days backpacking his way down to the city from a nearby job to make it in time, he usually looked somewhat suspicious to figures of authority but right now he looked like a down right ruffian... and that could not do. So after a few quick questions directed some of the better looking young ladies in a nearby market Jet found himself walking into a Ghallanda affiliated inn and walking up to the halfling behind the bar. "Hello friend, I'm in need of some aid. I've just come in from off the road and I have a party to attend at the university in a few hours."

He slides his House badge across the table but more importantly bares his teeth with a friendly smile to show the gold teeth with Ghallada symbols engraved in them tell their own story, a reputation is a wonderful thing to have when you need some quick help. The inns staff had him out of his clothes and into a quick bath before he could say hospitality. Quick as can be the same dusty road stained halfling that had walked in less an hour before was leaving a new man, clean and dressed in stylish close cut clothes ready for a party. He started a casual pace towards the university as he pulled the letter he had recieved a few days prior out of his coat to re-read.

That was part of the reason he had chosen to walk to the party, he wanted some time to re-read and consider the possibilities of this invitation. The more he read it over and the more he thought the more intrigued the diminutive assassin became 'I wonder how they found me? I hadn't made my wear abouts known and had even been trying to avoid detection. Then there's all this mystery wrapped around it.'

His handler, Moras Tann, hadn't cared when he had asked how to handle it. Jet remembered his exact words with a grin 'I don't care what you do with it, you finished your job and you got a few months downtime. Do what you want and keep the house informed if it ends up being important. Don't try to rope me into it if you get kidnapped again though.'

He hears the sounds of the party before he sees it and as he rounds a corner to see the lights and party goers he starts to whistle a jaunty tune as he walks in, tucking the letter back into his coat.

[Starbin]

The druid stood in the clearing, shifting his balance somewhat nervously. He had been chosen by the elders to deliver a message; one that mysteriously appeared by the bedside of Master Lessik. The sigil on the front was the Mark of the Dark Beast, a legend in most parts of the world. However, in recent years, those within the Reaches had learned there was truth to those legends. Sightings of a fanged, clawed monster that appeared from the shadows without warning, attacking those that put the forest in danger. A creature of darkness that served to hide the secrets of the darkest depths of the woods, and served as a warning to young children before bed. "Mind your manners and your father and I, or the soti persvek wer sjachi will steal you away!"

The Gatekeepers knew the truth, of course, as did most of the druidic sects. One could not rise to power as the Beast did and not draw the attention of those who served the Natural Order. His presence initially was tolerated; if he did not disrupt their activities and plans, they would not interfere with his actions. After a few months, he became a welcome force - the 'Beast' often dealt with issues the druids could not deal with. But just because the creature's purpose was often aligned with theirs, it did not mean he was an ally. The Great Druid did not agree or condone everything the Beast did. It was like grabbing a tiger by the tail ... it could serve many a purpose, but the more it grew, the less you could afford to let go. And if you couldn't control it, what then?

The druid felt a shiver run done his spine as the temperature suddenly plummeted in the clearing. He glanced around furtively, fear creeping into his mind. This was not something he had been briefed to expect - he had been told to arrive in the clearing and await the arrival of the Beast. As long as he didn't do anything provocative or threatening, he would survive. Something was coming ... but was it the Beast? If it was, drawing a weapon or casting a spell might sign his death warrant; if it wasn't, inaction might spell his demise. He shivered for a moment, when suddenly a large, dark shape slipped forward from the edge of the trees, sprinting towards the stunned woodsman. The druid stumbled back, crying out in fear, arms raised as the faceless humanoid form advanced swiftly. However, even as the creature closed on the druid, something smaller, but faster, dropped from the trees and leapt forward to intercept the monster. Before the druid could recover, both the nightshade and the other creature were gone, with only a rustling of leaves to mark their passage. After long moments of silence, a single scream ripped through the air, startling the druid.

"To the Dragon Below withthis!" The druid dropped the envelope, intent on running away when he turned to find a tall cat-like figure with black fur and glowing eyes holding a well-crafted spear standing before him. The Beast, in all his terrible glory, loomed over him, blood dripping from his jaws as he panted heavily. Eyes fixed the druid in his spot before they dropped to the object on the ground. Reaching down, the Beast picked up the envelope, gazing at the sigil for a long moment. Even as the druid watched, the Beast became more man-like, the fur fading back and the muzzle shortening, until only a wild-looking shifter remained. The envelope was covered in runes, but the beast ignored them, running a clawed fingernail across the envelope to break the seal and pull out a sheaf of parchment. This was covered in more runes, so many they hurt his eyes. Holding the paper up, he sniffed at it; as he held the parchment closer, a voice spoke in his head, relaying the contents of the letter.

When the voice stopped speaking, the Beast stared at the parchment, the held it close to listen twice more, eyeing the heavens as he did. He had seen the change in the stars weeks before, but not even the sects of the Eldeen Reaches could comment, except vague speculation of some coming event. The Gatekeepers seemed the most knowledgeable, telling those who would listen that something was coming. This letter seemed to confirm that momentous events were afoot. With a deep breath, Kra-jak looked away from the letter back to the druid, who stood frozen like a rabbit in front of a lantern. With a growling voice, he spoke. "Tell your brothers and sisters I have the message. Tell them to maintain their vigil. Tell them I leave tonight." He waited for the man to finally nod before motioning to the man to go. The druid turned and sprinted away, his form changing into that of a lean wolf. Kra-jak looked up at the sky again, the familiar feeling of strangeness still strong. He inhaled deeply, noting that sense of ... wrong in the air. Absently touching the pack strap, he nodded to himself, knowing he had all of his possessions with him. Turning to the woods, he took off, quickly disappearing into the forest like a phantom.

After days of running, Kra-jack arrived in City of Towers. He slipped into the city quietly, head down as he traversed the pathways of the city. Once past the guards, he made his way to the Upper Menthis Plateau, towards the University district. Glancing at his spear, he remembered back to his first visit to Sharn, and Morgrave. He had been seeking information on the lost art of the Serpent's Path. He had found some information, but most of the real knowledge had been lost centuries before. The second time he had come had been less pleasant ...

As he closed on the University, he could feel his hackles rising. He was used to conflict, at home in it, if he was to be completely honest with himself. But this evening looked to be a tougher engagement than he was used to - social interaction. There was a reason he lived in the woods by himself. Steeling himself, he walked forward into the area, standing tall with his head held high. One thing the animal kingdom taught you is that you were either predator or prey, and he would be damned if he let anyone here think of him as the latter. He still wore his pack on his back and held his spear like a walking stick as he strode forward with purpose. He wore a black leather vest that left his scarred and muscled chest exposed, close-fitting pants that were simple and functional, and simple open toed sandals. As he stepped in, he smelled of musk, sweat and the road. Once he had entered the 'party' he made for the best vantage to keep his back covered and watch the events around him. Eventually, he would find the Lord who had sent him the letter ... and find out what all of this was about.

[3SecondCultist]

The party is perhaps exactly what some of you might have expected: the Commons has been completely cleared out for the event, which boasts some impressive looking security in the form of dozens - if not hundreds - of heavily armed and armored Sharn city guardsmen posted at the bridge to the great domed Lareth Hall, as well as the stairwells and at many of the balconies overlooking the city. All of their gear is top notch, and although some of it appears to be ornamental, there is no doubt that the crossbows they carry will pack quite a bit of a sting. In the skies surrounding the top of Breland Spire, at least some of what looked like fireworks from above is actually a small legion of sky mages patrolling the airspace, with armored robes and short cloaks that flap in the night breeze. Each of the sky carriages that approaches is escorted safely down to the red carpet that runs off the edge of the tower by at least one magical attendant, waiting to take an invitation. To a man, the staff and security are polite and courteous, impressing with their manner and leaving the moment before they are an inconvenience on any of the guests. The announcer by the central stairwell up which most of you ascend is more than happy to take your ticket - he's a handsome looking fellow with a salt and pepper beard and a very fine black fitted vest over his dress shirt. His gleaming golden name tag reads 'Orethys'. Each of you are shown into the party, to mingle with the rest of the guests. The great lawns and greens of the Morgrave Commons have been manicured and cleaned, adorned with fabulous looking floral and plant arrangements from no doubt exotic locales.

And as for the guests themselves... Lord Larrian did not disappoint when he promised an 'illustrious' turnout. You see many landed lords and ladies of note arriving in their own private crafts, their sharp tuxedos, robes, and ball gowns flashing in a seemingly never-ending parade of fashions that are practically impossible to track. However, the eyes of the crowd are drawn to the big players, many of whom seem to have staggered their arrival deliberately, the better to have their moment in the spotlight. Every single one of the major Barons of the Dragonmarked Houses has arrived, each with their own small retinue of guards, servants, and house scions. You can spot Baron Ulara d'Jorasco sharing drinks with Baron Esravash d'Lyrandar, the two of them laughing at some unheard joke. Not far away, Baron Merrix d'Cannith and a pair of warforged guard appear in a bright crackle of energy, completely baffling the announcer who tries to relay his presence only for the dragonmarked heir already to have walked away. But the rulers and minds behind Khorvaire's various guilds are not the only major forces here tonight, nor are they even the most powerful. A small fanfare marks the arrival of at least one member of each of old Galifar's royal families. There is Queen Aurala stepping out of her own sky carriage in a stunning blue and gold ball gown that has been sewn with diamonds, a veritable army of socialites in her wake. King Boranel arrives by stair - same as you - his arrival preceded by the appearance of a pair of hulking magebred ghost tigers, his famous traveling companions. Not too far behind, his gaunt looking brother Kor is deep in conversation with a few diplomats. A dark eyed woman in a black dress with a raven plumage along her shoulders is obviously the Regent of Karrnath, Moranna ir'Wynarn. Comparatively, Queen Dannel of Thrane and Prince Oargev of Cyre have smaller retinues, but many eyes stop to follow them all the same.

And then there are the others in the grand congregation who seem to shun the spotlight. Their arrivals are not announced, or perhaps they got here before any of you did. Is that Lord Morrikan d'Kundarak deep in conversation with a pair of rich looking fellows near one of the far railings to the south? What about the other man on the far side of one of the fountains, watching them with a half-concealed glare? Or the quiet but lively argument that brews between a gnome wearing the vestments of a high ranking Sovereign Speaker and a kalashtar in a deep purple robe? And then there's the Moranna again, who after showing up seems to be more than willing to hang back and use her servants as a barrier so she can enjoy a little peace and quiet before the presentation begins in earnest. The Commons has been flooded with the tides of conversation and the clink of glasses, as waiters move through the richly dressed throng serving finger food and flutes of sparkling champagne of various different colors. The orange seems to be largely a tonic, while the blue has a bit more of a kick to it, and the purple is essentially pure liquor distilled into starlight. In the center of the grand park, not far from the fountain that dominates the space, you can see a raised platform that looks large enough to comfortably hold about half a dozen people. The platform is only a few feet off the ground, but it also has a podium covered in cloth in the middle. There can be no doubt that whatever news they're going to give about the current crisis, they will do so from there.

But at the moment, there is nobody arriving to take the stage yet. The various members of Morgrave University have not yet arrived to greet their many guests. It seems they're giving you a few minutes to get acquainted, or are just looking forward to the dramatic reveal. Any of you who have met the scholar adventurers here know that it's probably both.

I'm going to level with you guys - I thought of adding in all of the Knowledge spoilers for this one, but I gave up. There are just way too many factions. I'll go ahead and list the major parties who have at least one attendant here, just in case I missed any in my description above. The groups attending are (in no particular order): the Aurum, the Twelve, all of the Dragonmarked Houses, the Royal Families (Oargev, Boranel and Kor, Aurala, Dannel, and Regent Moranna) of the Five Nations, the Church of the Silver Flame, the Gatekeepers, the Wayfinder Foundation, the Order of the Emerald Claw (and by extension the Blood of Vol), Adar, the Dreaming Dark, the Wardens of the Wood, the Library of Korranberg, the Trust, and the priesthood of the Sovereign Host. Feel free to start mingling with any of the NPCs I've outlined in my post or here, or make up / look up an appropriate representative to one of the organizations if I haven't. I'm giving you guys a bit of an artistic license here. You can also interact with each other... but what am I saying? D&D isn't a cooperative game, you guys aren't here to do any of that nonsense. :smalltongue:

Oh, and I have included a small map of the Commons, in case my setting the scene might have glossed over any of it. Here you go!

http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag75/3SecondCultist94/The%20Commons_zpshoxyncbt.jpg

[Rofltrollcopter]

When Owain made it past the security perimeter, he couldn't help but stare in slack-jawed amazement at the assembled scene before him. The invitation had delivered on its promise, and then some. He didn't think there was an assembly like this since well.... ever. Even the Houses weren't involved in the Treaty of Thronehold negotiations, which would have been the last time the Political leaders of Khorvaire had been gathered in one place.

The more he thought about it, the more this place seemed like a tinderbox. There were so many natural enemies clumped together in one small place. They had the Blood of Vol and the Church of the Silver Flame, the Valenar Elves and the Talenta Halflings, House Phiarlan and House Thuranni... the list went on and on. All it would take would be one fireball, and the next war could very well start tonight. Wasn't there that incident about six years ago, when some nutjob had bombed the Galifar museum in Wroat using a bunch of bound elementals? Owain glanced back at the security cordon nervously. They didn't try to confiscate his portable hole, who knew what anyone else might have been able to sneak by?

Well if the place was going to go to Khyber, there wasn't anything Owain could do about it. The only thing he could do now was try to relax and figure out what was going on. He had a pang of regret, maybe he should have invited his wife to come along. This certainly was a once in a lifetime event. It was too late to do anything about that now. He waved away a servant with a drinks tray, he had been sober for four years and he wasn't about to break that tonight. Owain thought about who to approach. Nominally, Merrix was the closest thing Owain had to an ally here. It would be in Merrix's interest to get Owain up to speed, to avoid accidentally embarrassing House Cannith if nothing else. As for anyone else, they might have heard of Owain if they had payed attention to the news coming out of Sharn. Owain's most infamous moment would have been his involvement in the trial of the former Lord Mayor Cathan ir'Donnel. Owain had given testimony about evidence he obtained through his vigilante activities that showed how the Lord Mayor had used the services of the Tyrants and House Tarkannan to maintain a stranglehood on the city. It had received coverage in the Sharn Inquisitive and Korranberg Chronicle. Owain grimaced when he recalled the events. He didn't care about receiving fame or the lack there of, but there had been writer who had given him the nickname 'Stealheart'. He subconsciously rubbed the scar on his chest beneath his shirt. That comment was too close to home for comfort.

He meandered for about a minute, before he approached the arguing Gnome and Kalashtar. They didn't look like they were associated too closely with the major power blocs, so it would be a good chance for Owain to get his feet wet. Gentlemen. Owain said politely. What brings you out on this fine evening?

[GameOfChampions]

The mischievous halfling enjoyed screwing with the city guardsmen acting as the party guards, he pretended to be trying to party crash as someone who had forgotten his invitation and then on the verge of being thrown out he produced it with a flourish. After pretending to be outraged at his treatment he swaggers past them and starts to head to the party. 'Ahhh that never gets old, taking down the city guard a peg is always a fun way to start of the night. How it continues though is up in the air.'

As he enters into the party he did not need to fake his awe at the massive party full of wondrous decorations and well dressed guests. It was almost an overload for a second but only a second, and Jet quickly makes his way into the party to begin his mingling, and finding some free drinks as well. He does have to actively control his reaction to pick some pockets every time he walks by an overdressed noble who brushes past him without a second glance. He could retire after a night of pick pocketing here... if he could get away with it, but that was not why he was here hence resisting the reflexive twitch his hands make.

He wanders around the party for several minutes before approaching a couple he had seen earlier that seemed to have been having a good time. He makes his way over to where he had seen Baron Ulara d'Jorasco sharing drinks with Baron Esravash d'Lyrandar grabs three drinks that he brings over and presents to the duo while striking up a conversation "Hello ladies, I spotted your beauty and grace across the room and thought that of everyone here you would be the most enjoyable to wile away the hours with. I'm Jet Ordenson, a representative of House Ghalladra tonight."

He grins, showing off his teeth and gives an extravagant bow to the ladies.

[Starbin]

Kra-jak

Upon arrival at the Commons, the Beast had lowered his hood to show the guards who he was. Normally, he would have preferred to keep a lower profile, and go unannounced or unnoticed. However, this was no normal event; and he was here as more than a simple guest. The herald spoke clearly as Kra-jak entered. "Welcoming Kra-jak Black Fur, Shadow Beast of the Eldeen Reaches, Defender of the Natural Order, Savage Maw of the Demon Wastes, Mantled One of the Serpant's Society, Bearer of the Scorpion's Tooth and Chosen Speaker for the Wardens of the Woods."

Kra-jak stood for a moment that the others assembled would see him, then nodded to the herald and moved to join the thongs of the powerful and influential. He passed on the heady intoxicants offered, and waved away any offers of food. He was walked along the Commons, pausing before the Fountain for a time, before continuing his slow walk. After eyeing the groups assembled, seeing which organizations were here, and which individuals were here for themselves, he made his way to the Bridge. Leaning against the side, he peered into the darkness, seemingly lost in thought as others mingled and engaged in conversation. He may be here on behalf of the Great Druid, but it did not mean that he had to fawn at the feet of the great Houses, nor simper and sniff at the heels of the various Lords and Ladies like many of these synchophants.

He would defend the interests and concerns of Oalian, but even more he would represent the Natural Order. Until that became necessary, however, he would avoid the politics and wait for the presentation ... and explanation of why he, Kra-jak, had been summoned.

Sorry there's not more here, but I felt it more important to have a little something ... even if my Eberron Fu is not nearly as strong as my counterparts :smallbiggrin:

[CozJa]

Looking around himself, Panward notices a lot of well-known faces, the house barons, many kings and other very important humanoids; the archeologist writer asks to himself if there's a reserved place for the press, where his friend Holed ir'Setan, the Korranberg Chronicle's director, may be.
Seeing Prince Oargev of Cyre is a good sign for Panward: after all, his presence in this meeting of sovereigns, can only mean that the situation regarding Cyrans is becoming less tense; especially if he can be in the same place as the Valenar and Karrnathian... and Aurala... and the Emerald... wow, how many enemies, for a nation that is no more!


As he walks, he notices the presence of baron Elvinor Elorrenthi of house Phiarlan, "Even her? I didn't talk to her since the demesne of Memory published 'the temple of gloom'!"

The gnome quickly makes his way for the elven matriarch, taking a couple of drinks from a passing waiter, and using his light frame to pass through the numerous guests without many hindrances.

"Her highness! Madame d'Phiarlan! That's Panward Dannor! It's an honor to meet you again!" The gnome offers one of his drink to Elvinor, and starts looking quitely around.
"So, are you here to perform an unexpected Dance of Twenty Shadows, or the meeting has already enough surprises?"
Panward eyes the platform, and jokes with Elvinor:
"Platform... podium, probably scintillating lights... may it be that Larrian and his scholars want to become part of the Hydra's schools?"

[n0ble]

Is this what passes for nobility these days? Hurm. A pity. Astoira's eyes wandered over the arrivals, even as she liberated a glass of tonic from its passing platter. Decisions decisionns. What sort of rancid conversation shall entertain with the sacks of flesh hmm? That woman with the raven dress looks like she'd make an absolutely enthralling conversationalist. The Star-Spawns sarcasm was duly noted as Astoira's eyes caught the pair of ghost tigers next to the king of Breland. Ohhh, him? Heheheh. The carnal delights he could impinge upon our sen-Silence. It is a matter of work, not pleasure. Maybe not for you...

The half-giantess walked as gracefully as she could towards the king, letting her sixth sense pick up on the various intellects amidst the commons. She made a mental note to approach Merrix D'Cannith at some point, for it was very rare that she'd have the chance to speak with such a mental giant again. You call that a mental giant? Why when I was at the height of my power... It was odd that the star spawn was so talkative. And that Dantallion had been more or less silent since arriving. That bothered her but you wouldn't know it by looking at the sorceress. Hurm. She exchanged her empty flute for a glass with the purple liquor and decided that she liked it better.

She did her best curtsy before Boranel. Hmmm perhaps We were mistaken about the nobility in attendance. Are you going to tell him who he stands in the presence of? Regale him with a tale about how I bound the constellations into form, how I conquered! How I slew many a foul beast! Relate unto him the splendour that is me! Dantallion And people said I was crazy... "Your Grace. How fare you on this evening?"

[3SecondCultist]

Astoira

Many, many people part in your way as you make a beeline for the King of Breland. There are a few who don't. One of them is a hulking warforged, who stares you down balefully as though its very gaze could cut you to shreds. For a moment, you think that the great defender Three might attack, but the white-haired king himself waves him off. "That's enough of that, I should think. This woman is not a threat." As the warforged stomps off, Boranel closes the distance. All around you, there are eyes that move from him to you, drinking in the vision of that great dress, your stature, and the sheer force of your presence. The king's old visage cracks into a smile, as he takes your hand. If he's noticed that you stand nearly a full head taller than him, he doesn't seem to care. In fact, for all that your beauty seems physically staggering to some of the onlookers, Boranel radiates a calm presence that makes him look all the more majestic.

"Astoira, it's been too long. Haydith asked about you, you know. She's been ever so eager for her magic tutor to return to Brokenblade Castle, even if only to catch up. We've missed having you around. Come, walk with me." There are no great honorifics in the monarch's tone, no major formalities to speak of. But then again, that's always sort of been his style. "Now, what's this I've heard about you working with Aundair's First Warlord? Adal is not a man to be taken lightly. I hope you're keeping yourself safe over there. Remember that there is always a place for you in Breland."

It's the funniest thing, though - unless your memories have been tampered with somehow, you've never been to Brokenblade Castle, nor served in any official or unofficial capacity to work with Haydith ir'Wynarn. So what game is the king playing?


Indigo & Jet

The table around which all three of the Dragonmarked Barons stand is small enough that each of you sees the other approaching and hears the other's speech. Although they seem to be in separate conversations, one could easily speak over to the other side of the drinks to engage or interrupt one of the others. The Lady of Stormhome titters slightly at Jet's approach, looking him up and down as though he were joking with the bravado. When she realizes he isn't, the half-elf only raises an eyebrow. "You'll have to forgive me, but I'm not in the habit of making an acquaintance with black dogs such as yourself. You'll want to chat with my cousin over there," she says as she nods ever so slightly towards the dark sheer dress and exposed skin of Baron Elvinor d'Phiarlan. The Baron Jorasco looks on impassively, but says nothing, keeping her face guarded. It seems that the declaration of allegiance to another Dragonmarked House alone has but the great ladies on edge slightly.

Indigo has slightly more luck, as the elf in black nods her head to acknowledge his presence. "I was wondering if you would approach me, Panward. As you might know, we are currently in the process of narrowing down the right troupe to put on the theatrical adaptation of 'Raiders of the Lost Ankh'. I was wondering if you had any input you'd like to share as to the casting process?" She does not respond to the speculation about the meeting, but the corner of her mouth turns upward in a sort of knowing half-smile. She clearly has some idea or guess about what Morgrave is about to show the congregation, but she isn't going to share it.


Kra-Jak

As you find your way over to one of the shadowy nooks at the edge of Breland Spire, you find yourself alone for a time. All of the glamour and glitz is perhaps not your style, and looking about, you can see that is true of several others as well. Beyond those who have actual retinues and have decided to cordon themselves off in various corners and balconies, there are a few such as yourself who genuinely seem to be seeking a bit of peace and quiet. Nobody approaches the Shadow Beast of the Eldeen Reaches, after all... but for the first time, you notice there is a woman sitting on a bench not three feet away from where you're standing, busily going through a stack of papers. Odd that you didn't notice her before. By all appearances, she looks like a thin middle-aged elf woman with greying hair and shimmering blue eyes that glow when she looks into a bright light. She's dressed just like a scholar should, with proper - if slightly messy looking - robes, a worn out cloak, a book-bag over her shoulder, a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. As you study her eyes some more, you can see the light previously thought to be in them is actually overlapping them beneath the glasses, as miniature magical patterns flit in and out of existence across her field of vision. She looks at you, surprised in turn to see somebody there.

"Ah, I apologize, I didn't see you there. I'm afraid I don't recognize you, although you bear the mark and heritage of the Reaches." She hesitantly extends a hand in your direction, only for a few of the sheets to go flying. Cursing, she tries her damnedest to pick them all up as she continues to speak. "My name is Valera Irithas, I'm a professor of ancient history here at Morgrave. I'm afraid I'm one of the presenters tonight - you're going to have to bear through me droning on about the various eras of stone. I guess you could say I'll have something of a rocky start." She chuckles at the not-quite joke.


Owain

"And I will tell you again, old friend, that constructivism is a slippery slope! This notion of yours that reflex-patterns of interaction between mortals is all that can be known is inherently dangerous; it precludes an objective right." The gnome sighs and stops to take a sip of the orange wine in the glass by his side, as the tall kalashtar obviously thinks over his words in preparation for a reply of his own. He seems to sigh, as though he's heard this argument before. In fact, you get the impression that these two are quite used to this particular debate. Your arrival prompts him to break off, as both of them stare in your direction. For a moment, there is a curious silence as neither of them is sure who speaks first.

"Joresh, I believe we have company," the gnome says, "please, join us. We were having a discussion on the nature of constructed morality. My name is Ignatius d'Sivis, a Sovereign Speaker here on behalf of my congregation. My companion here is an emissary on behalf of... other forces, forces which I shall not name. It seems foolish to me to call us all here like this, with no obvious threat upon which to focus. I'm not sure that Sharn itself will survive the conflagration if a match is struck here tonight. But pardon my manners, I don't believe we've met before. What is your name, friend?"

[n0ble]

"Grattituide, Three." Astoira bowed her head in respect to the warforged before accepting the king's hand, taking it and rising with a natural grace. Hurm. "Of course your grace. I'd be remiss if I didnt at least check up on a former pupil. Especially one so gifted as Haydith. Has she show a particular inclination towards a particular school or discipline? I would be most happy to nurture such interest on your behalf. It is as they say, the measure of any tutor is the success of those they instruct. Astoira gave the king her best smile before acquiescing to his request of a walk. Dantallion's magnanimous voices reverberated in her head. He is not so foolish as he seems, my lady. I would advise caution in dealings with him, lest he cage us. You advise the sow on what she already knows, foolish one. Some agenda is afoot. She could pick up the irritation in the Star-Spawn's voice that came with not knowing. Part of her felt a bit better for the vestiges having no knowledge of the situation, even as it did little to alleviate her own anticipation.

Astoira tuned them out, letting her ears wander back to the king's words as they walked. "I commend you for your knowledge King of Breland and I thank you for a most generous offer. It is true what you say. My employer is possessed of a rather dangerous character. Knowledgable individuals often are in that regard I think." The first thing you've said that's made any sense at all. She walked for a few more paces before lifting glasses from a tray and giving one to Boranel. The blue this time then hmm? You should watch how much you drink, m'lady. I wasn't aware you were keeping a count, Star-Emperor. "Perhaps you might regale me with a tale of your adventures in Xen'drik, your grace. Stories of home have been foreign to me for quite some time..."

She smiled at the king, looking for all the world like his story was the only thing worth paying attention to. <Your Majesty. I apologize for the subterfuge but this struck me as the best way to truly speak privately. You and I both know I've never been to your castle nor taught your daughter.> It took a modicum of willpower to shut off the telepathy before the vestiges could convey their thoughts to the king. Dantallion took on a rather petulant tone for one of his station. I should like to have words with him, at your convenience Lady Gerthu. Silence, Star Emperor.

[Rofltrollcopter]

Owain stopped for a little bit when he overhead the snippet of conversation between the Gnome and Kalashtar. When he first left the insulated world of the House Cannith compound for the University of Metrol, he would have been fascinated by such an exchange on the nature of ethics. As a Dragonmarked Heir of House Cannith, his previous education had been solely focused on business and Artifice, with the explicit understanding that if he failed to show proficiency in both subjects then he would be groomed for a political marriage. However, now that he had several years of life experience under his belt, he found such discussions to be quite shallow. In his experience when people debated ethics, they seemed more interested in proving their intelligence then finding some meaningful insight into the Human condition. That being said, there was a sincerity in the gnome's tone that showed how personally invested he was in the subject matter.

Owain inclined his head respectfully. Owain.. There was a very slight hesitation, one that would only have been picked up by someone perceptive. d'Cannith. I'm an Artificer based out of Sharn. He connected the gnome's name with the case he had been thinking about earlier. I've heard of your work in the Greysen Bombings incident in the Sharn Inquisitive. That was very impressive. Owain's tone changed from polite courtesy to genuine respect. My wife is a member of the Lower Menthis liturgical council. They were involved in providing care for the survivors of the explosion in Sharn.

Owain's reminiscence trailed off as he recalled the reason why they were here. I don't suppose you or your.. companion. Joresh was it? Owain extended his hand to the Kalashtar. He recalled Ignatius's ominous comment about Joresh's sponsers, but at this point you can swing a cat in the room without intersecting with at least five different plots. Have a better sense of why we were all called here? Would Morgrave actually have discovered something that warrants an event like this?

[CozJa]

As Elvinor quitely smiles without answering, Panward understands that the elf will not explain him anything more "Well, at least I like surprises" He thinks to himself, while sitting and considering the Phiarlan baron answer on his work.
Before speaking again, Panward looks around the table with interest: surely to see three barons sitting in the same place is something rare to see, especially if the rest of the place has even more interesting and powerful people to meet. The colourful retinue of lady d'Lyrandar is surely the most interesting, while Jorasco's whites make an interesting contrast with the black theme of Phiarlan agents. And the other halfling standing with them, looks like he is more interested in the half-elf than in his Talentan compatriots.
Finishing his brief survey of the surroundings, Dr. Drannor decides to engage again in a little chat with Elvinor. After, all, they have business to talk about.

"I know the House of Shadow has many talented entertainers, therefore the choice will be difficult. I heard that Zarzalia d'Phiarlan believes that an elf or human protagonist would be easily well received in places such as Thrane and Karrn; while I must admit that the idea of being impersonated by a human feels strange, I respect her artistic direction; I'm especially curious to see how they intend to render the temple of living sands."
The gnome stops for a moment, sipping from his glass and looking around the place. Thinking at how Zilargo used to live by knowing every secret of everyone present there, and now their power is slowly waning, like the stars above.

"I'd like to be more in touch with the troupe, but all the problems with our messengers are making it increasingly difficult." He leans on his seat, looks at the sky and sighs.
"Ain't it funny? After the war we were all full of hope and expectations... and now something lingers in the heveanly darkness and we don't even know what, or why." He turns again to Elvinor, "At least, I don't know." says, and then drinks again.

[GameOfChampions]

Jet holds his hand over his chest and swoons back "My lady you wound me, Black Dogs are only the friendliest of creatures. If you pet one they'll be the friendliest creatures you've ever met... for the most part. I guess farewell for now my ladys, we never really knew each other I guess."

He spins around a little disheartened, rivalry was all well and good but to be blown off like that was rare in any setting. At the very least he expected them to try and grill him for some information of some sort but this was just sad. However as he approaches Baron Elvinor d'Phiarlan still with the drinks in his hands he mentally shrugs and eyes the women 'Well lets see if I'll strike out once more'

He sweeps forward in a bow while not spilling a drop of the drinks "Hello my lady a mutual acquaintance has directed me towards you and I must say her taste in conversation partners seems to be as refined and elegant as you look. Would you care for a drink?"

[Starbin]

Kra-jak

The beast turned to stare at the woman for a moment, eyes narrowed as he wondered how he had missed this scholar hovering so close. He stared at her outstretched hand for a moment as she introduced herself, not moving until she turned to each for her papers. He reached out for her hand, holding it up to his nose for a moment and inhaling deeply. He looked intensely into her eyes and said in a low voice, half growl half rumble, "Hello, Valera Irithas, professor of Morgrave. I am Kra-jak." Then he raised he hand up and licked the back of it, from the fingertips to her wrist.

Releasing her hand, he reached down to gather her papers and smiled. "Why will this assembly care about rocks?"

Quite the long time to wait for nothing, but there it is!
PS - [roll0]