Adventure in Eberron: The Mines of King Xanatos

[The Demented One]

Stormreach! The most fabulous city in all of Xen’drik, renowned for its opulent mansions, its cultured theaters, its great bazaars, its ruthless street gangs, its wholly corrupt political system, and more. It is to this city that the Morgrave Outreach Association has sent you to meet your clients, sending you ahead by various means, each one taking his own separate trip. They’ve provided you each with a simple lodgings to live in until your clients arrive.

Wherever you’ve been living in Stormreach, today is the day your clients have arrived, taking a short airship ride. For those of you who have not been diligently following your Morgrave Outreach Association Mission Calendar and Day Planner (likely most of you), a reminder has arrived to your dwellings, a brief, hand-written note along with a ticket of some sort. The ticket reads: “Meet us tonight at the Laughing Faun Theater. We can discuss the details of the mission during the opera, which I here is quite good. After that, I think we should all go out for dinner and drinks, so we can get to know each other!” The note is signed by a Professor Flamel.

The day passes, and you all make your way to the Laughing Faun Theater. Despite Stormreach being renowned for its cultured theaters, this looks to be more like a warehouse than an opera house. As you all approach the front entrance, you see a wizened old man in a glimmerweave coat, surrounded by four youths–an attractive blonde half-elf girl, wearing a elegantly made dress; a dour looking, pale skinned boy, wearing a black overcoat; a enthusiastic looking young man wearing formal, but poorly fitting clothes; and a well-groomed shifter, wearing a full tuxedo and a top hat. Your clients.

“Hello there, boys!” the older man, presumably Professor Flamel, exclaims, waving at you as you approach. “Ready for some theater?”

[Winged One]

John Grot
John had been following his mission calender, since he would much rather be earning some money than living off what he got for pawning his thieves' tools. The note surprised him; after having to pack up everything useful that he usually kept at home, being sent to Xen'drik on a ship where he got almost lethally seasick, and then being informed that he wasn't even going to leave on the job or even start preparing right away, John had thought that Morgrave Outreach was made up entirely of inconsiderate *******s.

"Is it as good as we have back in Sharn?" John asks the old man with a friendly smile. He is a very short human man, with a somewhat unhealthy pale complexion, gray eyes, and scarlet hair. He is dressed in very sturdy black boots, brown leather breeches, a dark blue long-sleeved shirt with gray gloves, and a light blue cloak. The aforementioned outfit is absolutely covered with pockets, only a few of which are full, including the inside of the cloak. He is also wearing a sort of black cloth bandoleer with 2 sticks about the right size for wands in, with room for about 10 more and also about a dozen potion-sized vials besides. Also of note is the backpack on his back, the scrollcase strapped to his side, a wide belt with 3 moonstones which has several pouches, one of which has draconic representations of Onatar, Aureon, and Boldrei in a circle woven into it, a white, curly sort of ball and chain with triangular points on the ball(it looks vaguely elven in design), and a reasonably sized crossbow with an odd sort of wide wheel with exactly fifty notches that run the entire length on the grip. His neck sports a golden chain with 3 small spheres on, and also a symbol of the Sovereign Host that is clearly painted wood, albeit without any flaking paint. About the only concession his outfit makes to the fact that it's an opera is a monocle on a golden chain with a golden mount on his ear and the fact that he is immaculately clean. It's not his fault and they wouldn't pay me if I shot him even if it was, it's not his fault and they wouldn't pay me if I shot him even if it was... "Sorry I'm not dressed for an opera; I wasn't really expecting to attend one here."

Everything in his inventory that's listed as being at home is in the lodgings you mentioned rather than his apartment in Sharn.
Are we going to get an OOC thread?

[The Demented One]

"No problem, no problem! This isn't Sharn, they'll let you into the opera here no matter how we're dressed; the students just thought it would be nice to dress up. Some of them, at least. I take it from your, well, preparedness, that you are a fellow artificer? Pleased to meet you." the old man says, reaching out to shake John's hand. "But let me introduce us. I am Professor Flamel, and these are some of the Morgrave Academy's finest students. The lovely Miss Sophia Atwood," he says, indicating the half-elf girl, who smiles and giggles self-consciously. "Here we have Anton Ilyvavich, a talented young abjurer from Karrnath, and Edward Ralegh." he says, pointing to the pale-skinned Anton, who nods a respectful greeting, and to the bright-eyed Edward, who gives a wave. He turns to the shifter, and says "Lastly we have Mr. Jones, who's the one that had the idea for this whole expedition."

[The_Snark]

Baruk d'Kundarak

The secod of the group to arrive is a dwarf. Tall for one of that race, which means still shorter than all but the most diminutive of humans, the first thing that jumps out upon meeting him is his width. If one were being uncharitable, one could call him stocky, or squat; and while this would technically be accurate, it does not really describe the air of weight (both literal and figurative) the dwarf gives off. His hair and beard are both a deep brown; the hair on his head is receding, leaving a shining forehead exposed, but his beard is still full, running midway down his chest. The dwarf is wearing a finely woven dark red shirt and dark brown breeches, both well-embroidered and quite evidently formal wear. Despite the dwarf's bulk, both are immaculately fitted—so much so that a sharp eye might note a trace of what might be some form of armor underneath the shirt. The dwarf bears a golden chain wrapped about one forearm, ending in a wristwatch that dangles an inch or so from the arm. His dark eyes peer keenly out from under craggy brows.

Right now, the dwarf wears a polite smile that appears to hold some genuine warmth as he bows. "A pleasure to meet you all, sirs, madam." His voice is moderately deep, with a rolling accent. "Baruk d'Kundarak, at your service."

[Winged One]

John
"Likewise, Professor. I'm John Grot." John says, shaking the offered hand. "Good to meet you all." He addresses the students, his smile turning genuine. Baruk seems to surprise him. "And you too, Mr. d'Kundarak."

[pingcode20]

((Oh, in case it isn't clear, Mr. Bones is almost constantly under a Disguise Undead spell.

Also, do I need to make a Know(Old Fogey) roll?))

Irmaet the Black
Third to arrive was what certainly looked like a necromancer out of the story books, apparently chastising the blank-faced bodyguard following slightly behind and to the left of him.

"...And what on earth possessed you to bring the axe? This is an opera! Put it away!"

The bodyguard clicked and scraped apologetically, much to the surprise of the people around the duo, who took a step back almost in unison.

"Did you remember the tickets? Hold them out to the nice man now."

The sounds of feet and clicking bones slowly advanced up the hallway, their owners finally emerging a few seconds later. Cloaked in a subtly greyish-black robe, with slicked back and a pale wrinkled face, he looked so blatantly evil that most people refused to believe he was evil.

It was lucky for them that in this case he wasn't, though some clerics took issue with his bodyguard, Mr. Bones, who wore a permanently blank stare and, while fully dressed in a long red robe and mithral breastplate, seemed to click and scrape altogether too much for someone on still on the mortal coil.

They usually came out of the encounter smelling of fish.

The one in black looked about, before his eyes settled on Flamel.

"Ah, Flamel! It's been far too long." he exclaimed, too enthusiastically for his dour appearance. He reached out and shook the professor's hand warmly. "I haven't seen you since the war!"

He peered at the assembled group, one hand on his chin appraisingly before proffering his hand to the others. "Call me Irmaet. 'The black' is optional. And this is Osseous Bones, my assistant and bodyguard. Don't mind him, he's not used to speaking."

[The Demented One]

"Irmaet? You mean old Lepeo?" The professor laughs. "By the sovereigns, boy, its been ages since I've seen you." he says, addressing the clearly elderly necromancer as if he were just another student. "I remember having you back in my old artifice classes, you never did learn more than scribing scrolls. Always suspected you were a bit more busy with that Miss Alisa sitting behind you, not that there's anything to be ashamed of that, no sir!" he jokes. "What's brought you into doing mercenary work, my boy?"

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina The Ink

A something arrives soon after the others, at a shuffling, halting pace. The hotel had been grimy, she mused as she approached, with the ground-in patina that hinted at age as well as abuse- but it was nothing to the streets...choked with people, and things, and some that were betwixt the two categories, to her eyes. It was all a bit...noisy, even with the babble of tongues to offset the clatter and fray.

The something is, most likely, human; the frame is human, at least, with two arms, and two legs, and a head. The confusion arises from her dress, which might be considered merely modest, were it not for the fact that the cleavage of small, high breasts and a not inconsiderable amount of leg are visible.
She is veiled, the cloth falling in a wash of deepest indigo across her mouth, and hooded, in the same dark shade. No inch of skin is visible above the neck, and even her eyes are behind owlishly large smoked goggles.
Arguing, once again, against the explanation of modesty for her peculiar headgear, she wears a considerable amount of jewelry; bands of obsidian flecked with sapphire around her arms, fingers glittering with silver rings, and an exquisite rendering of a crown on a delicate iron chain around her neck, its points resembling the teeth of some deep-held beast.
Her cloak, too, is a product of fine workmanship- a simple mantle of deepest navy around the shoulders falling in to the ankles, weighted with pointed emeralds and linked one to the other with an intricate, slithering pattern of silks and ribbons in black, purple, and dark gray.
Despite the ostentation of her dress, she is, it seems, a practicing adventurer-she bears a burnished, silvery roundshield at her back, and strides in her heavy boots as naturally as a noblewoman would in slippers.

All of this is detail. The primacy of the creature that must be called a woman is in her skin.
Each inch glimmers, glows. With her movements, things shift beneath the surface; hard, unyielding. Crystalline. There is a patchwork of scars to meet those unwise enough to ogle her- the marks, one recognizes, of a bodily trespass- an implantation.
It would, no doubt, protect the flesh, for the emerald shards traverse her skin almost completely; but the flesh is already so mortified it is difficult to ascertain why one would wish to. What manner of creature would do such a thing? What manner of creature would accept it?
She speaks.

::Good, good eve, good eve. It is well, to see all of you here, true names and peoples and tales yet to be told, tales baneful and vast and beneficent. The dead sing me thence, to thee, pale archaic shadows of their wants and strange desires, many, more. We will find truth in this the bleak-starred waste, the forest-that-lives? We will find songs, tales?::
Her words are disjointed, uttered, it would seem, in an impossible multitude of voices and tones, male, female, and genderlessly inhuman. Each voice is underlain with the terrible promise of murmurous desire.
It takes a moment to realize no vocal apparatus could speak so- and another to note that her words arrive in the mind, not the ear.

OOC:

Anyone with protections in place against Telepathy is unable to hear Rabina; she is choosing, for the present, to communicate wordlessly.

[The Demented One]

"Ah, and I'm guessing this is...one of the mercenaries, I suppose? That, or the Stormreach Asylum needs to fire its guards." one of the students, the dour Anton, pipes up. The professor hushes him with a gesture, and extends his hand to Rabina. "Good evening, my fair...kalashtar, if I'm not too far off the mark. Hopefully the rest of you will be here soon, the opera's beginning in just a few minutes."

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

::Just far enough, but not too far, too fast.::
The suggestion of a throaty chuckle envelops the words like a blanket.
She takes his hand, talons in the underside of her gloves dragging harmlessly over the skin of his wrists.

::And perhaps I'm just a patron of the arts, the sciences of expression; after all, what is life if not art, if not being by making?::
She makes an aspirational gesture, as if beckoning to the muses.

Her impenetrable lenses are fixed on Anton, and the feeling that there's a smile under her veil is inescapable.

[The Demented One]

"Well, the MOA did give us descriptions of our...protectors...and you seem to fit the bill." the professors says, hastily withdrawing his hand. He steps back a little, positioning Irmaet between himself and the new arrival.

[Winged One]

John
John finds himself staring in fascination at the being Flamel identifies as a kalashtar. What in Eberron, Khyber and Siberys? He thinks. He recovers himself and says "Well, there's no reason you can't be both. I certainly am." This is not the mob of morons I was expecting...

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Vaasth X'Itt

Running down the street, cursing in a language that may drive your normal person utterly mad. "Zaa'zk vhou'r baa'skk!! I'm late! Zaa'zk zaa'zk zaa'zk..." The sound of his boots hitting cobble as he approaches the theater.
He stands exactly six feet tall at full height, with a strangely artistically beautiful body frame and face, as if he was sculpted. His eyes are a strange, alien color of amber with black flecks surrounding(or a part of?) his pupils. His hair is pitch black and slicked back, reaching two thirds of the way between the bottom of his head and the top of his shoulders. His armor is a bit hodge-podge, bits of different armor here and there but making an all-together useful breastplate. On one arm is a pinkish brown tentacle which he tries to keep wrapped around his arm, as if it had a chance for hiding it and a small, purplish black worm kept tightly wrapped around his other shoulder. Over his right eye is a strange tattoo, consisting of a strait line and strange symbols.
He runs in and holds himself up on his knees, panting. "Hey... uh. Don't know if you noticed, but I'm a little late... sorry 'bout that." He stands up and clears his throat, keeping the strange organic mass wrapped around his arm, and the other around his opposing shoulder. "Vaasth, Vaasth X'Itt." He manages to pronounce, despite the apparent impossibility with a normal human tongue.
"Gurgle."
"Quiet."

[The_Snark]

Baruk d'Kundarak

"Likewise, Mr. Grot," the dwarf replies, shaking the artificer's hand with an amicably firm grip.

Baruk keeps his face impassive as the others begin to trickle in, his appreciation for Mr. Grot going up a notch. Stranger things have asked for loans at the bank... possibly. In any event, the dwarf gives a slight bow to the four newcomers. "Good evening, my good sir Irmaet. Mr. Xitt. ...Madam." He settles on the most likely pronoun for the unnamed possibly-kalashtar, and does his best to pronounce the newest arrival's name properly, without a great deal of success.

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina
::It is Rabina, the poet, The Ink, the teller of tales. You may have seen my stories...just possibly, just maybe.::

She turns to the newcomer and his fleshy cohorts, and strokes her own shoulders as she observes him- as if wondering what they might feel like.

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Vaasth observes Rabina as she rubs the places of her own body where he carries his symbionts. He smirks at her and puts on a sly expression. "Hello miss, I see you've noticed my ...accessories." He takes a step closer to her and lets his tentacle whip hang a bit looser.

[Winged One]

John Grot
"Are you sure that's the right word? They look alive, and I swear I heard one gurgle." John asks. He manages to recover just a bit. "So, Irmaet, how come you're dressed like the king of Karrnath in a propaganda piece from the Last War?"

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

The sometime Kalashtar smiles at the tentacle-bearer's comment, and leans forward slightly, as if to whisper.
Within a moment's time, however, her veil moves aside....to reveal, not the femininity of lips, but something quite other. Her necklace seems to be glowing white-hot as the effect takes place.

It is a maw. No other term could be sufficiently dire; it is a thousand-toothed jaw, dusted with what might be fur, or might be tiny spines. The teeth are curved backward- meant to hold, rend, and tear. As the smile continues, one can see tiny flickers of what looks to be ectoplasmic vitriol- coalescing and vanishing constantly, its shapes like those of nerves as they phase into the air.

::They're very nice little friends, little hands, helpers. I like mine better...they keep one's impression sharp, sharp. The personality, the face, the mask; to be kept somber, serious, not a jest, a joke. Weighty and not light.::
She steps back, still hunched in the stance of a hunter. The ghastly visage of her grafted grin slowly retracts, the veil falling back into place.

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

He ignores John's comment about his companions and as he speaks with Rabina his smirk doesn't leave his face, but his eyes indeed widen. "W-how, you are something else, aren't you?" The purplish creature slides down onto his bicep and he pushes it back onto his shoulder. "Stoppit."

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

She favors him with what looks like a full-body smile.
::I am someone, perhaps, or no-one; nothing but what is said, written. Epithets, dirges, songs of the dead, not living, not walking; faded now, shadows. Something that everyone is, no-one wishes, something else.::

She gives a mental cackle-smirk; it's like smelling some sort of irony-based pie.

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Vaasth turns to the rest of the group, still smiling with somewhat wide eyes. "I kinda like her."

[Winged One]

John Grot
She certainly is...pity about her being bat **** insane. John thinks. He raises an eyebrow at Rabina's strange mouth, but doesn't react to it beyond that.
[roll0]
[roll1] might not be applicable if you want to treat them as aberrations instead of magical itmes.

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
"Your third year, and you know it!" replied Irmaet with a smile. "Those were the days... Since all the mess with the war's wound down, I've been getting on and off work as a lawyer - let me know if you ever get into a spot of trouble - but I never really broke into the field. So, here I am."

Irmaet shrugs, shaking his head with a 'well, what can you do?' sort of expression. As his old professor edged behind him, he gave another sigh. When you delved into a school of magic most considered 'taunting death', mad kalashtar were nothing.

That wasn't to say, of course, that it didn't make his hair stand on end.

"Well... Rabina... Pleasure to be working with you. Do you need to see a psychologist? I'm sure the university has someone trained in it."

Somehow, his necromancy would seem to be the last thing anybody would ask questions about. 'Hey, is that thing moving?' 'What's with the creepy lovecraft lady?' 'Oh, hey, a necromancer.'

"Oh, the clothing? In the war I was involved in contingencies against a potential Karnathi surprise attack - every last one of the warmages I trained knows how to blow up a skeleton at two hundred paces in his sleep! Well, a couple of years back, when the war ended, I decided to get myself a Clebdecher, you know, to help me shoehorn myself into Law. She got me talking, one thing led to another, and I left with this robe. Damn fine one, too, and most thugs know not to annoy someone in a black robe." Irmaet shrugged, and smiled. "Besides, everybody expects a lawyer to look evil."

A little idea lit up in his head. When he had some spare change, he would get something enchanted to make the sound of lightning and horses whinnying on command - 'Lawyer', of course.

[Winged One]

John Grot
"Look evil?" John says with a little smile. "Actually, you should talk to the people who wrote the policy on eating people. The way the application form makes it seem like it's written, I could get someone fired for asking me if I want a salad. Figures the one time I see something like that is also the one time where there isn't some moron to use it on."

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Unable to keep his focus, as a creature of chaos might be prone to, Vaasth bring something else up. "So we're here for a show? What's playing? Wouldn't ask... but Ssz'ooll, despite his limited intelligence-" "Gurgle." "Shut up-just loves the theater." he says with a smile.

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
Objection!

Everyone in the room turned around. If there was one thing unmistakable about a Sharnite Barrister, it was that.

"Sorry, force of habit." They returned to their tasks. "Mr. Bones? The Application?"

A copy of the application form materialised in the 'bodyguard's hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Bones." Irmaet took the application and flipped through the pages.

"Ah, here it is. Section 5C: On Alternative Dietary Requirements. 'The Morgrave Outreach Association holds a special-issue "do not ask, do not tell" policy regarding squad members drawing sustenance from living creatures, but strongly encourages the consumption of non-sentient life over the alternative whenever possible.' At first glance, it would appear you are correct. However, as defined in the most recent edition of Wiki's Vocabula, a 'Creature' is defined as 'An Animal or Sapient Being'. While you could argue the finer points of this definition, most salads clearly fall outside the definition of a creature."

Irmaet passed the application back to Mr. Bones, whereupon it vanished back into the pack.

"So... care for a salad?"

[Winged One]

John Grot
"Maybe after the show, but swap 'salad' for 'steak' and it works." John says. "Is it a ****in' law that every lawyer in Sharn has to do that? And I don't mean the local bylaws of the Firelight district." He adds with a wink.

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

Rabina folds her arms petulantly at Irmaet's comment.
::I should think not; our sanity is entirely intact. We are certainly not anything other than sane.::
It's hard to wheedle telepathically, but she manages.

Rabina stands firm when the cry of 'Objection' goes up, and forcefully points her arm outward, as if toward an invisible jury that must be convinced. She looks confused for a moment, then drops the gesture.

[The Demented One]

The professor and the students watch quietly, and, to be frank, somewhat disturbedly as the MOA employees talk among themselves. Sophia clings to Professor Flamel, while Anton and Ed trade sly looks every time Rabina "talks" - until she opens her maw, at which point Ed goes pale, and Anton assumes the look of one who has found a brick in his chamberpot. Jones growls slightly at Vaasth's arrival, but stifles it with his hand, before looking around with a look of embarassment.

"Well, um..." the professor says, hesitantly. "It's called Stagger Lee. Dreadfully bloody show about a rogue Cannith heir who steals a load of wands and flees to Xen'drik. They say it's a true story, but you think we'd've heard of it before, I say. It's an amateur cast, but the good part is, they're all mages of some stripe, so the arcane effects are wonderful. I wanted to go see The Nightmare Bride, but the chil- the students insisted."

OOC for Winged One

Rabina's graft, if that is what it really is, seems like nothing you've ever seen. You've heard of Kalashtar embedding dragonshard crystals in themselves, and that's your best guess as to what it is, but beyond that, you have no clue.

Vaasth's symbionts, on the other hand, are somewhat more identifiable. They're Daelkyr-created aberrations, though they're now native to Eberron. The one on his hand is a tentacle whip, and the gurgling one is a spellwurm.

OOC for Everyone

I love you guys.

[Winged One]

John
"I'm sure it is. You probably just left it somewhere else." John says with a perfectly straight face when Rabina claims that her sanity is intact. John sees the students reactions, and realizes maybe I'm just a bit desensitized. "So, you're not a kalashtar, or oddly dressed, or a person with a bunch of dragonshards in your mouth? Those are all separate from being sane." He perks up as the professor starts talking about the show. "There's a lot of stuff that goes on that we don't hear about, professor. And...well, if you don't want to see blood, you're really on the wrong continent. Are we missing anyone?"

Do you love us enough to give us an OOC thread?:smallwink:

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

The strange purple creature on Vaasth's shoulder reveals it's very strangely human mouth from under it's five finger-like tentacles coming out from around said mouth. It's smiling.
"I don't really care but Ssz'ooll approves..." Vaasth picks his ear with one of his gloved fingers, the tentacle whip managing to wrap partway around his head, "'is place got free food?"

[The_Snark]

Baruk

Baruk watches the others chat with a mixture of bemusement and amusement. His face is not particularly expressive, but the tugging at the corners of his mouth (as if trying not to smile) and the nonplussed blankness of his face are enough to tell his mood, for an observant watcher. "Alas, such things do happen," he comments on the play. "I take it by the fact that we are not yet conducting ourselves to our seats that we are not yet all collected? How many might we be lacking?"

[The Demented One]

"I think there's one more coming, name of Lusca. Battle mage of some sort, I think." the professor says.

OOC:

Yes. (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=4041587#post4041587)

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

"Maybe we should take our seats before he gets here... Don't want to hold things up just because one person is late," He puts arm around Rabina's shoulders, letting his tentacle whip grip her upper-arm some and he smirks, "I get to sit with Rabina."





"Gurg?"
"Technically you will be too."

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

Rabina stiffens at his touch, relaxing only slightly after a few moments. An attentive listener would hear what sounds like multiple tongues whetting a few pairs of lips, under that damned veil.

::Most amusing, trials and travails and woes of the marked; I approve.::

Her voice when she continues is the mental equivalent of being suddenly doused with cold water.
::I do not make use of dragonshards, John Grot. Your...guess, is incorrect. And I am a Kalashtar, but that is not, nor ever shall be, all that I am.::

She gently disengages herself from Vaasth, and folds her arms, then speaks- actually speaks. It sounds like half of her vocal chords, at minimum, are composed entirely of raw steak and piano wire.
"I look forward to the performance."

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
"Ah, but you fail to note that it mentions 'Living Creatures'. Which means that, assuming that the soul of said cow is suitably departed, the steak does not qualify as a 'living creature'." responds Irmaet. "And, er, yes. Judges tend to be elderly, and if you don't yell at the top of your lungs they tend not to notice. It becomes a habit once you're done it for more than a month or so."

The specialist in Postmortem Motivation and Control grinned sheepishly.

"So, Professor, these are the new bloods that need the Moo's help." he said, pronouncing the acronym 'Moo', as he turned to the students. "You'd look at home in the witness stand, I must say. You'd be surprised how odd most of the witnesses are. So, what are their majors?"

[Winged One]

John
"Well, that's what I was saying. Nobody is only one thing. I am a human, an artificer, a seeker of wealth, a smartass, an adventurer, a devout follower of the Sovereign Host, a man who exemplifies some of the less negative human stereotypes, and so many other things that it is simply impractical to name them all." John says. What the khyber is her mouth if it's not a dragonshard implant? I don't know any grafts like that, and it doesn't look like a symbiont like Vaasth's tentacle whip and spellwurm... "Huh. Why didn't you just say they had to still be alive in the first place then?" He asks Irmaet.

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

::You'll have to tell me about them all sometime.::
Oddly, she seems genuinely interested, and her hands are flexing oddly- as if holding an invisible quill.

[Winged One]

John Grot
"Only if you have a way to control minds. There's a few I'm not proud of." John says, turning serious. And one that I know how to become...

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

He feels a bit scorned as Rabina disengages and his right arm makes an almost inaudible sound of agitation. His right arm falls back to his side and the tentacle whip tightens a bit more on it.

"Hrn..."
"I know, be quiet."
"Gurg."

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

::Mmmmm, and perhaps I do. But not now I think, no; not now. Pride is such a...strange thing. Strange, uncanny sliding into role and being.::
Her voice slides between the clear, cold tones of command and the babble of her previous pronouncements.

She glances, slightly, at the symbiont-bearer; it's hard to tell what she thinks of his discomfiture.

[pingcode20]

"Because many salads are served fresh, and unless you are in the habit of having limp vegetables in your salad, their status of living is debatable." shrugs Irmaet.

"Er, Vaasth? Does the thing on your arm need to go to the bathroom or something? We've still got plenty of time before the opera starts."

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

"Uh, no. He's fine." Vaasth says in a monotone, still feeling a bit scorned.

[The Demented One]

Eager for any excuse to avert his eyes from Vaasth and Rabina, the professor turns to answer Irmaet's inquiry. "Well, Anton's an abjuration major, and Sophia's in enchantment. Young Edward's a linguistics major - he's quite a knack for the name-magic the old giants used, so he's been very enthusiastic about this trip. Jones is dual majoring in transmutation and environmental ethics - they didn't have that last one when you were there; all the druids take it. Not many divine magic students there, but we get a few. I was just saying to the new comparative mythologies teacher, Professor Lovem-"

However, Professor Flamel's ramblings are stopped midway, as he seems to go into a brief trance. His eyes briefly lose focus and cloud over, and he seems to mouth a few words. He comes out of it in just a few seconds. "Oh dear. That was a sending from MOA; it would seem poor Lusca's ship never made it. They're suspecting a kraken did it, their mating season did start just recently. Poor Lusca...anyway, they say they're sending out a replacement by the quickest means possible, probably going to teleport him on over. Some priest, I think." He sighs, and bows his head.

"Well, no sense regretting what we can't change. Let's go in to the opera." the professor says, leading the way.

[Winged One]

John Grot
John sighs and follows Flamel in. Such a waste...and I could make things like that nothing more than an irritation...I hate whoever sent me that note so much...

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

"Kraken mating season already? Normally I keep such good track of that..." Vaasth follows Professor Flamel into the theater, making sure to still stay close to Rabina.

[The Demented One]

Before you can even begin to follow the professor into the operahouse, there is a loud bang, followed by the appearance of a cloud of smoke (one of the tell-tale signs of a discount teleportation). The outline of the new arrival can just barely be made out, though the smoke soon begins to dissipate.

[Winged One]

John Grot
"Hello." John says nonchalantly to the dispersing cloud of smoke. "Are you with the escorts for Professor Flamel and his students?"

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

Rabina crooks her head to one side and pulls her cloak tighter, shrouding her form; at the same time, however, she gives Vaasht what is apparently supposed to be a reassuring pat on the arm. The patchwork of glittering emerald beneath her skin, and the claws built into her gloves, rather spoil the effect.

A minor coruscation of energy builds around her head momentarily- subsequent to which a shadowy, insubstantial sphere materializes, just within the edge of the cloud and opposite the waiting group.

OOC:

Utilizing the bend perspective ability of her Caul. Rabina now perceives matters as if her eyes were at the location of her sensor- that is, within the cloud. The effect can be dismissed as a free action, and resumed with a standard action; its maximum duration is one minute.

She also readies an action to manifest energy missile if the newcomer proves hostile. Nothing like good old-fashioned paranoia.

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
"Abjuration, Enchantment, Name-Magic, and a Transmuter. Quite the mixed bag, I must say. When I was your age, I specialised in Life Force Manipulation, myself. Don't think there's many students stepping up for that these days." he says, sizing up the students. He pauses as he looks at Sophia. "Careful with the Enchantment, girl like you could get in a lot of trouble if you're careless with it."

It was fairly well known among those who were at the university when Irmaet was studying there that his mother had been put to death before he was born for abuse of that particular school of magic.

"Well, the University has certainly diversified since I left."

Irmaet waited while Flamel took the call, and seemed less than enthusiastic about a priest arriving. "A priest? Can't say I've had too much of a close relationship with priests. The-"

Mid word, he is cut off by the loud crack, and immediately turns around, coughing, to the cloud of smoke.

"Cheapskates." he manages to mutter between coughs.

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

He looks at Rabina's hand as she touches his arm and a tiny smile appears on his face, though nothing of the rest of him changes at all. Though, when the new person appears it catches him slightly off-guard, but he's instinctively reactive and the tentacle whip loosens and looks capable of being used. His left hand also opens up as if ready to grab the longsword in his belt.

[The_Snark]

Baruk d'Kundarak

Baruk has by this time recovered his equilibrium; exposure to a thing, no matter how bizarre, is bound to dull the effects, and his companions' chatter was fairly mundane. His reaction to the abrupt bang and cloud of smoke is to step politely away from the smoke; it was hardly polite to crowd somebody while they were recovering from the disorientation of being teleported. "Good evening," he says amicably to the still-obscured person. Even if it was, by a freak chance, someone else teleporting to the opera in Stormreach, a little courtesy never hurt.

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

A last minute additon to the Expedition, Thaddius wasted no time in prepairing himself for what he assumed would be a most intriguing adventure. In his haste to leave however, he decided that a scroll of Teleport would be the most economical and reasonable form of travel considering his trunkated time table, and that he was more than capable a caster to be the one to facilitate said travel.

Only, it was just a little out of his reach, and the effects were rather obvious as instead of settling into the location just outside of the Theater he was told to meet the Expedition, he transported himself directly inside. With a bang. And with rather more gusto than he was hoping for considering all of the smoke and such- but at least he was still in one piece (as far as he could tell). Coughing and waving at the smoke, Thaddius steps forward to greet what he could only hope was his new party of companions.

With a slight bow, he grins widely and announces himself,"Good day, sorry for my tardyness- I was only just informed of our scheduled departure time, and it seemed the most perfect moment to make an attempt at a Teleport spell that I've been eyeing for some time. The transportation officient did seem rather peturbed that I took the scroll from him, but I assured him that it would be no problem at all, that I do these kinds of things all the time. Now I'm seeing it might not have been the most appropriate occassion for experimentation," trailing off slightly, he shrugs to himself while trailing off. Shaking his head a bit- clearing his mind, he adds, "Anywho- I am Thaddius d'Cannith, Expert of Artifice and Such from the Forgers Guild of House Cannith, as if you couldn't tell by the name.... Oh, Opera! So what's showing?"

[Winged One]

John Grot
John seems actually offended by Thaddius's introduction, going by the glare. "Mr. d'Cannith, if you can't use a scroll of teleport without this kind of thing happening, you have not business calling yourself an expert. Your ability to use it at all certainly marks you as highly skilled, but having a d' in front of your last name does not make you an expert in your family craft without developing sufficient skills on your own merits." He steps closer to Thaddius to continue his lecture, then starts coughing violently as he inhales the smoke. He even falls to the ground and has to crawl back out of where it is thickest, grabbing a wall for support. This pathetic frail body! I should build a ****ing Keeper's Fang to use on the bastard who tempted me with the knowledge of how to shed it! He thinks as he stands up, still coughing his lungs up. "It's Stagger Lee, by the way. Supposedly based on a true story involving your family. Professor Flamel had to tell me first, though." He adds once the coughing has subsided if nobody has answered Thaddius's question about the opera.

[The_Snark]

Baruk

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. d'Cannith," Baruk says, still standing back from the smoke as it starts dispersing. "I rather hope you will be more cautious for the duration of our work together. Caution and a long life go excellently together." His tone is somewhere between stern and friendly. "Baruk d'Kundarak, at your service. By an amusing coincidence, the opera would appear to center around the tale of a renegade Cannith heir, purportedly a true one. Perhaps you will be able to tell us how much truth there is in it once we've seen it."

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

"How d'you do?" Vaasth grins as he outstretches his tentacled arm. "Vaasth."

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

Cocking his head slightly, he stares rather bemused at the rather angry man. Opening his mouth to say something, he simply furrows his brow and stays quiet- it's hard to tell if Thaddius thinks better of what it is he's about to say or if he simply forgets.

Shaking his head ever so slightly again, he smiles and greets the rest of the group cordially, looking curiously at Mr. Grot every so often to see if he is again going to start with his lectures.

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

Rabina relaxes, and a tiny wave of umbral energy shimmers out of existence around her right hand, even as she raises it to wave lazily.

::Toys, toys, and hands, fingers, dactylic; best to be skilled, expert, as he says, good and confirmed.::

She idly flicks ash-remnants of smoke from her chest and shrugs her cloak back from her shoulders, into cape position.
::Let us hope you are a sweet singer, good patron of arts; better that perhaps than master, dominar of artifice. ::

After an apparently confused shake of the head, she continues, to Flamel-
"Has this....Stagger Lee, been released in Sharn and environs yet? Or is it a native production?"
Her ragged voice is inexplicably resonant with the cultured, nose-in-the-air tonality of a practiced critic.

[The Demented One]

Surprised to here something coherent from Rabina, Flamel responds. "Well, it was produced in Sharn, for a little while, but House Cannith got somewhat...upset about this. There're still a few small theaters putting it on, or so says Professor Ellington in the Drama department, but nowhere public or big."

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

"I see..."
The woman looks as if her eyes, were they visible, would be far away. She manages to give the impression of pensively resting her hand on her chin without actually doing so, then folds her arms again and returns to full normal petulance.

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
"Next time *cough* It would *cough* be more pru*cough*dent to let th*cough*e experts handle it. Ah, the smoke's cleared up." Irmaet fanned away a few lingering plumes, and frowned at the new arrival, apparently a rival of Grot's.

"If you're keen on experimentation, I'm sure I've got a curse on me for you to try on for size."

Irmaet appears to consider bestowing a little lingering fish smell on him, but then thinks better of it, given that he was as likely as not to be sitting with him for the better part of two or three hours. Noticing John's poor health, he motions for his skeleton to go help him. "Mr. Bones, give Mr. Grot a hand with standing up."

The bodyguard politely does so, putting an arm around John to help prop him up.

A surprisingly cold and bony arm.

[Winged One]

John Grot
[roll0]
Take 10 on Spellcraft to identify Disguise Undead from the act of saving against it, or just by detecting it's effects(Mr. Bones is clearly not alive going by touch) for 28(enough to ID a 3rd level spell by rolling a save or an 8th level spell by observing the effects.
Can I get a description of Disguise Undead besides that it's Disguise Self that can be cast on an undead instead of the caster? I don't have a Libris Mortis.
EDIT: What a waste of a natural 20...well, I suppose I should be glad of what I can get.
John accepts the arm as gracefully as possible given the circumstances, using it as leverage to stand back up. He is unable to stop an involuntary shiver from Bones' cold touch, but considering that John knows much more than enough about magic to understand that "Life Force Alteration major" is Weaselese for "necromancer," he isn't surprised. Irmaet seems responsible enough not to let an innately dangerous undead anywhere near someone in as obviously poor health as him, so he isn't really worried either. Recalling that Irmaet had been scolding the blank-faced undead over something that indicated that it has some independent judgment to be in error, he says "Thank you, Mr. Bones, Irmaet."

[pingcode20]

((Disguise Undead doesn't disguise the feel. Merely feeling the arm would trigger automatic disbelief. It's quite literally Disguise Self for Undead, except that it lasts 24 hours instead of 10 mins/level.

Unlike most skeletons, Mr. Bones is fully clothed, and probes at his chest would merely touch the breastplate fitted around it.))

Irmaet the Black
"You're welcome." replies Irmaet, with a warm nod. "If you need help, don't hesitate to ask. Mr. Bones? Help John around if he asks."

The 'bodyguard' clicks in acknowledgement.

"Well, let's go find our seats before there's too many people."

[Winged One]

John Grot
"Thank you. I won't ask for your help unless I really need it." John says, still somewhat bemused by the surreality(in his mind) of an adventurer with manners and a brain. He doesn't go into the theater first, but once someone does he follows them.
Well, the save means that he is unaffected by the glammer and sees Mr. Bones' undisguised appearance. Could I get that(perhaps in a spoiler) by the way, just for reference?

[pingcode20]

Winged One
As you see through the simple glamour, you notice that Mr. Osseous Bones does not look all that different from his disguised form - dressed in an ankle-length purple robe, with a polished mithral breastplate and a pair of gauntlets over his hands. At his left side is a simple longsword, one of the types found in any competent blacksmith's stock. Mr. Bones' Helmet is simply silvered steel, and doesn't cover the front of his skull. All things considered, Mr. Bones looks rather much the same, except for his skeletal neck, the now-visible skull, and the distinct lack of meatiness about him. Even when the two pass through antimagic zones people don't tend to recoil automatically, and the response is usually 'Hey, wasn't that guy's clothing a lot less loose a moment ago' followed by 'Huh, so he is a skeleton!'. Generally, clergymen are the only ones to confront Irmaet about it.

DC 15 Spot
Looking closer, you also notice that the Mr. Bones' forehead is embossed with Irmaet's Arcane Mark (A staff with a serpent entwined around it, it's tail skeletal and slowly progressing to a living snake as it winds up the staff) and some other markings to the left of it.

DC 20 Spot
It also appears that Mr. Bones' skull is spring loaded, for some unknown reason.

The lettering on the skull reads:
Property of Irmaet the Black
Approved Skeleton
Edward "Bloody Edward" D'Maro
23 counts First Degree Murder
27 counts Breaking and Entering
20 counts Theft
Executed 23 Dravago 998YK
Animated 24 Dravago 998YK

[The Demented One]

With all the introductions and (as this is a theater) fore-play done with, the group heads in. The theater is small, with most of its space taken up by a fairly-sized stage. There are about six rows of seats, the once-luxurious velvet cushions now a home to moths and silverfish. As the small crowd comes in, Professor Flamel begins briefing you all.

"I figure the noise from the opera should let us have a nice private conversation. Wouldn't want anyone to overhear." he says. And indeed, there's not many people in the theater - a pair of shifters in the back row, directly behind you, though they'd seem to be far more interested in each other than what some old man is saying; a tall fellow in a worn leather jacket in the front row, listening to the prelude raptly, miming the gestures of a director; a few shifty-looking gnomes, probably discussing their own furtive business.

"Now, this was all planned out by Jones here. He's the one who found all the legends about King Xanatos and compiled them; I'm more or less just a chaperon here, but he asked me to do the briefing. King Xanatos was an ancient giant king who reigned, according to what archaeological evidence we have, during the time of the Planar Wars between the giant kingdoms and an army of beings from outside the world we know, nightmare creatures referenced as quori." he says, pronouncing the last word as if it were unfamiliar and different. "Now, Xanatos did not participate in this war - legend has it that he retreated into his mines, which extended miles into the ground. No one knows exactly what he was mining - adamantine, dragonshards, maybe even raw magic itself - but whatever it was, it gave him a reputation as the richest king ever to walk on Eberron. The purpose of our mission, naturally then, is to find these mines. Your role will be protecting us as we travel through Xen'drik to them, and guarding against any dangers that might still be in the mines."

He opens his mouth again, but is cut off by the opening of the curtains, and the beginning of the opera. On stage, you see the childhood of Stagger Lee, still Lee Wingate d'Cannith at this point. A grey-wigged instructor sings a patter song, going over the laws and axioms of artifice, to the baritone protests of the child artificer. During a brief lull, the professor leans over towards the group, and asks in a whisper, "Any questions?"

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Vaasth sits back in the degraded chair, not minding the vermin that have taken residence in it and listens to Professor Flamel while looking at the stage. When he finishes and asks for questions, he speaks up. "What's the pay?"

[The Demented One]

Waiting for a quieter moment, Flamel responds "Well, it's a lump sum of a thousand for each of you, plus an additional 25 for each day. You're some of the priciest mercenaries MOA's got, but they were willing to give us a slightly cut rate. More importantly, they've gotten the paperwork done for a Writ of Plunder, which means that you're entitled to anything you find in Xen'drik, barring archaelogical relics and contraband."

[Winged One]

John Grot
This is surprisingly well-researched. John thinks as he listens to both the opera and Flamel. "Any chance of an advance?" he asks during the next quiet moment(or the one where Flamel says how much payment will be provided if it lasts long enough).

[The Demented One]

"Well, I'm afraid not. The payment is made by Morgrave Academy, and it's kept in escrow with House Kundarak until we get back. The way it works, if there should be any...unfortunate accidents involving us" he says, with a hushed tone of voice, sweeping his hands to indicate himself and the students as 'us,' "...then the funds required for a resurrection would be withdrawn from your pay."

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
Irmaet, more than familiar with the nuances of this magic (he'd been trying to replicate it for some time, with no success), cocked an eyebrow at his old professor.

"Has it occurred to you, Flamel, that our combined commission falls well short of even the raising of an intact body, let alone a full resurrection?"

Irmaet's tone is deadly serious, as he points out a crucial flaw in their insurance policy.

"I hope you're really on to something, Professor. No amount of money is worth the life of an old friend."

He shakes his head. "What are the supplies you've organised for the expedition?"

[The Demented One]

"Yes, yes, only a portion would be drawn from your pay, Morgrave would back the rest. Or at least, put it up and expect us to pay them back, pencil-pushing goldmongers..." he says, somewhat bitterly. "In terms of supplies...well, I've got a few basic survival dweomers on me - some simple magic items to provide food, water, shelter, and so on. Me and the students have a few scrolls between us and some simple adventuring tools, and we've got a small commission to purchase any other supplies we need."

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

Listening intently, Thaddius pulls a notebook out and scribbles furiously. Nodding and mumbling to himself the whole time, he only stops writing as the words "Writ of Plunder" are spoken. Tapping his writing utensil against his mouth he grins and jots a few more symbols, tallies, and notes. Dog earing his page, Thaddius puts the book back into his coat and looks about the group, "I don't know about anyone else, but the only thing still left unanswered to me is... When do we leave?"

[The Demented One]

As the first act reaches its close, Lee, now excoriated, runs away from his home, carrying a bag of holding full of the powerful and dangerous wands that will become his hallmark. The actor playing the young Lee has been replaced by an adult with a deep bass voice, who ends the act with the "Magic Hand of Chance" aria.

As the curtains close, Flamel turns to Thaddius. "Tomorrow, unless you need to make any further preparations. I've got the route mapped out, as far as you can map anything in Xen'drik, but we have a few...special measures for navigation."

He's cut off by the start of the second act, opened by a chorus sung by a new group of characters, a comical gang of goblins, kobolds, and others that roams the streets of Stormreach.

[Winged One]

John Grot
"Well, I'd like to examine your 'simple magic items', but that's really just my own professional curiosity. And if I screw up badly enough for one of you to die, I should be glad to have it cost me no more than a bit of money. I enjoy the things money can buy me, but having to go on another job is better than dealing with that kind of guilt." John says during the first lull in the second act.

[The Demented One]

In between snatches of the "Back In Town" chorus, as the street gangs welcome Stagger Lee to Stormreach, thinking him to be their returned leader owing to a clever bit of disguise, Professor Flamel responds. "I've not got them on me right now, but I've got some production schema for them somewhere in here." He rummages through his coat, pulls out a few sheets of paper, and hands them to John.

They show the design and creation instructions for each item - a satchel that uses the create food and water spell, combined with a bit of prestidigitation, to produce rations; a tent that can be shrunk down to pocket size through cunning use of the shrink item spell; a few tools, with the same enchantments as the tent; and a few trivial pieces of camp magic, like firelighting rods and everburning lanters. "The real beauty, though, is our compass. I've not got a schema for it on me, but you have to see it to believe it. Very tricky to use, but Anton's been studying it for the last few months."

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

::Babbling rabble, mercenary matters. I am...unconcerned. I like the play, swift rebellion and denial of the tradition, the old tale, to the new tale. And power and swift death on magus-wing, slow, silent. Do take care not to die, children, young guttering flames.::

She glances at the schema, but honestly looks to be paying most attention to the play. Apparently she's not in it for the money- at least, not primarily or only.

[Winged One]

John Grot
"Put it away, if I see it I won't be able to watch the opera." John says. Upon "hearing" Rabina's comment about the "mercenary matters," he adds "I'd say 'bite me,' but I saw that mouth of yours."

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Vaasth, having been focused on the play for the past few moments, but hearing what John said, he leans in toward him. "I'll bite 'cha. Just need a reason to." And he puts on an unnerving, though still somehow dashing smile.

[Winged One]

John Grot
John returns Vaasth's smile with one that is smug instead of creepy and says "Sure, 'cause I really don't get bitten all the time in the course of my job or anything." He exaggerates the sarcasm in his voice a bit to decrease the probability of Vaasth misinterpreting his reply.

[pingcode20]

While a tad late, I'm going to just make some retroactive Knowledge Arcana checks on Rabina and Vaasth. This would represent Irmaet stopping to actually think about it.

[roll0]
[roll1]

EDIT: Well, in Vaasth's case, the two symbionts and the tattoo.

Irmaet the Black
For the last minute or so, Irmaet had been peering at Vaasth inquisitively, his mind having seized upon the curiousity of his... appendages.

"Say, Vaasth, what exactly are your little friends?" he asks, extending an altogether too curious finger towards the coiled up purple thing.

[Winged One]

John Grot
"The one you're poking is a spellwurm, and the other is a tentacle whip. They're Daelkyr symbionts. I think they eat human fingers." John says nonchalantly before Vaasth can.

[roll0]

[pingcode20]

Anything but a 1. Anything but a 1.

[roll0]

Irmaet the Black
"Do they now? How interesting - I wonder how they do that? I don't see any mouths... Although they look poisonous."

For anybody else, his next move would be considered overwhelmingly stupid. But for Irmaet, the spirit of inquiry drove him to prod the spellwurm.

[The_Snark]

Baruk

Bemusement, it seems, is the order of the evening, and this group offers a spectacular special on it. Baruk divides his attention between the play—not particularly entertaining, but he had seen worse—and his companions, who are more entertaining in their way. A more colorful lot would be hard to find even in an abstract artist's collection. This trip will be, mmmm, interesting at the least.

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

At the mention of the various magical items, Thaddius' ears almost seem to... perk up. Leaning in to hear better, he pockets his spectacles and dons an ornate golden monacle. "Now might it be possible for me to have a look at the plans for these items of wonder you speak of?"

[Winged One]

John Grot
"Please, don't do it. I can barely resist taking a look myself." John says.

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
"If it's that worrying, I'll hang on to it."

Irmaet reaches out and grabs the plans from John, and passes them to Mr. Bones.

"Keep them in the bag and don't give them to anybody until the opera is over." he commands his 'bodyguard', who clicks in acknowledgement and stuffs them into the bag of holding.

"Much as I hate to play the Teacher, you can both have a look at it after the opera."

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

"...I can see well enough in the dark, give 'em here..." Vaasth reaches out over a few other people to try and grab the plans himself, despite the restriction to it until after the play(which has become little more than white noise to him).

"Gurgle."
"Don't rush me."

[The Demented One]

As you squabble over the schema, the opera comes to a crashing conclusion, with actors levitating above the stage, illusionary fireballs flying in all directions, and hideous tentacled horrors (actual ones, less expensive than illusions) devour hapless kobolds. As Stagger Lee sings the "King of Stormreach" aria, the curtain closes, bringing the opera to its end.

"Ah, that was good. Professor, can we get some dinner now?" Jones asks. "Yes, I have reservations at the Gilded Griffen. Come on now, let's go." The professor and his students file out of the aisles.

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
Irmaet falls in step with Flamel, Mr. Bones following closely behind. "Okay, you can give them the Schemas now." he remarks, Mr. Bones obligingly giving the others the schemas to fight over.

He was feeling a little hungry, and was looking forward to dinner.

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

Rabina follows the students, murmuring telepathically.

::Such sweet, nice saccharine. Sweet boys, nice, good. Nice to have showed us such a wonderful time.::

The mental voice is deliberately irritating, a purling, mewling hiss of static-filled unction.

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Vaasth's attention is pulled from the plan as he looks at Rabina, the insane chattering and mental chaos as charming to him as a giggle and a wink would be to a normal person. He takes a step to the side and stands right next to Rabina with a smile on his face. "Yes, I wholly agree."

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

As the students and his companions file out of the theater, Thaddius can't help but think to himself that he is in a little over his head. These people seem more insane than useful so far, and the gentleman he disturbed with his arrival was near dying with little more than a haze of brimstone.

Pulling out his notebook he jots down a few lines:

My initial meeting with the Morgrave expedition is needingly curious. They seem to have selected a rather odd hodgepodge of adventurers and miscreants- I can't tell which is which at this point, to attend them on this endeavour into the Mines. While I do have my doubts, I do believe I can provide a modicome of support and assistance to the expedition. As it stands, I will have to redouble my efforts in regards to preparations with utility equipment and supplies.

Also, the theater troops skills with illusion magic were quite astonishing. I must find their illusionist and discover if he provides all spells at ability or if he has constructed any tools of assistance. The fireballs were particularly convincing!

Sliding the book back into it's concealed pocket, he catches up to Mr. Grot and keeps pace, "Sir Grot, I simply wanted to apologize for my rather brash approach at my appearance. There are times that my approach to artifice and the arcane can wield results both terrible and exciting. Unfortunately, I made a misjudgement in how and when to practice my trade and I do apologize at any discomfort or annoyance I may have caused," then with a moments reflection he adds, "I also do have it within my ability to construct any number of apparati that could aid in assisting you should the need arise, believe it or not, I am quite handy!"

[Winged One]

John Grot
John claps at the end of the opera, then takes the schemas from Irmaet's bodyguard and puts half of them in each hand. "Thank you, Mr. Bones, Irmaet, Professor." Once he has thanked everyone who has done something for him, he gives the contents of his left hand to Thaddius and hears his apology. "I can build an Amulet of Health for myself should I find the time, resources, and inclination, Mr. d'Cannith. But thank you for the offer all the same. My real problem is with your claim to be an expert in our craft."

[The Demented One]

"Ah, here we are!" Professor Flamel exclaims, as you come to the Gilded Griffin. It is a large, tastefully decorate building, and as you go in, you find a scene of the utmost class - white tablecloths, fancy meals, candles on every table, well dressed people making small talk. A cute halfling girl stands just inside the door, and she walks up to the professor, asking "Hello sir, will you be dining in the adventuring or non-adventuring section tonight?"

"Non-adventuring, I think." the professor says. The halfling starts to walk, beckoning you. "Okay, right this way please." she giggles. She leads you through a side door, into the adventuring section. It is very much different - no white tablecloths or candelit dinners. It looks more like an alehouse, with a bar, low-hanging (and from the looks of them, frequently swung on) chandeliers, and a motley assortment sitting down to eat. A large blackboard is hung up behind the bar, chalked on it is the message "Next bar fight in 15 minutes. No summoning, no poison, no spiked chains!"

The professor and students sit down at the bar, Flamel warily eying the blackboard. "They must be kidding..." he half-heartedly laughs to himself.

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Vaasth doesn't seem to take much joy in being in the fancier part of the building, glad to find himself in a slightly more familiar environment(but it could use more squids). He sits down at the bar with a smile still on his face, and making sure to reserve a stool for Rabina next to him.

"Calamari, please."
"Gurg." "Prth."
"Fine. With tomato dipping sauce... You two are such kids."

Vaasth looks up at the blackboard when the professor makes the comment about it. "Kidding about a fight? Sounds like fun to me."

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
"Interesting reservations, Flamel. Budget cuts?" remarks Irmaet, taking a seat next to the professor and peering intently at the blackboard. He snaps his fingers, beckoning Mr. Bones to approach with a clicking noise. He stands up and walks around the rest of the group, pointing at the floor and slowly creating a thick white line running 20' around the group, with block letters reading 'EXCLUSION ZONE' at regular intervals.

"Right. Take out the poleaxe. If anybody armed who was not with us at the opera attempts to cross this line you are to stop them." He then raises his voice loud enough to be heard by any potential attackers. "If they persist in entering the exclusion zone, you are to strike them again until they leave the 20' exclusion zone or fall unconscious. Try not to kill anybody. I'd like to have a nice meal in peace."

Mr. Bones takes up a position roughly ten feet behind Irmaet and reaches back into his bag of holding, producing a huge jet black poleaxe, spinning it with a vicious whirl through the air, and bringing it down with an audible thud, before clicking and scraping menacingly.

"I am not in the mood to have my meal disturbed by rowdy adventurers." he says, half to himself and half to the motley bunch around the bar.

Having hopefully guaranteed his safe and enjoyable meal, he opens the menu and orders his meal.

"I will have the House Ghallanda Special. And a bottle of Gatherhold '88."

[The Demented One]

The crowd eyes Irmaet warily. The Gilded Griffin is a popular gathering place for adventurers, but most are rookies or new to the trade, but even they can recognize a threat not worth taking.

"Calamari, coming up." the barkeep, a squat and portly halfling says. He reaches down under the counter, and pulls out a dripping wet squid, about the size of a rat, still writhing and thrashing. He picks up a short, three-forked rod, and points it at the squid, uttering a command word. Almost instantly, the squid explodes in a puff of smoke, leaving behind a plate of fried Calamari, which the barkeep hands to Vaasth. He brings Irmaet a plate of lamb chops and his glass of wine. "What else for the rest of you?"

"I'll have the Chicken a la Karn." Anton says, as he sits down. He turns to Vaasth and Irmaet and asks, "Do you two think we'll have a safe journey? Flamel told us we'd be perfectly safe with the MOA party but I don't really trust him there."

[Winged One]

John Grot
"What's good today?" John asks the halfling, not touching the menu.

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Vaasth turns to Anton when he's spoken to, a bunch of fried squid sticking out of his mouth as he grinds them up with his unusually pointed, white teeth. He feeds some into the mouth at the end of the spellwurm and occasionally putting some into a small tube-like orifice sticking out of the back of his tentacle whip.
He finishes chewing and swallows, "You don't? Something about our little troop you don't trust?" He doesn't seem offended just a little bit puzzled, his spellwurm having just a little trouble chewing his calamari as he speaks.


...

"Well, you should learn to chew better."

[The Demented One]

The halfling looks at Grot with an air of amusement. "Sir, this is a House Ghallanda establishment. We can have any kind of food known to halflingkind prepared within minutes, and all of superb quality.Now, I happen to be quite partial to the-" He breaks into a long string of culinary Halfling, incomprehensible even to native speakers, and then stops. "But perhaps for you, I should just make a grilled cheese sandwich."

Anton gulps, and says "Of course not, no! My father always told me the greatest of men always had one foot in the door to madness, and judging from that, I'm fairly sure you're all great heroes. It's just the whole idea of...well, going into the jungle and then plumbing some ancient mineshaft that's probably full of traps and...I don't know, giant spider constructs or shapeshifting oozes that will eat your face."

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

"Can't say I've ever had my face eaten... though I don't have the wherewithal to defend myself in that right..." He looks thoughtful, as if prodding his own memory. "...But even so, what's a little shed blood anyway? Woman love scars, right? At least the women I like..." He says all this with a smile, baring his squid-piece-covered teeth. His spellwurm still gnawing on the same piece of the meal.

[The Demented One]

Anton blushes, and quickly turns his glance to Rabina for the slighest (and awkwardest) of seconds. "So, um, Mr. Vaasth. What exactly are those...um...thingies on you?"

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

"Oh these? Baai'Zo Kr'ull and Ssz'ooll, they're kind of like my little brothers." The tentacle whip, which was gestured at when 'Baai'Zo Kr'ull' was mentioned seems to be inching around the bar, licking all the alcohol spilled on it and just possibly trying to steel an ale.
"Real prats, too. They're as old as I am, but you'd swear they were 6..."

[The_Snark]

Baruk

"Sadly, you may be correct in your guesses," Baruk says, having ordered steak and Fairhaven wine. "I have no personal experience with their works as of yet, but I understand the giants were great believers in the power of intimidation as a deterrent. As well as a myriad and fascinating array of deathtraps as a secondary deterrent. I confess I am rather looking forward to the challenge—deathtraps are something of a specialty of mine."

[The Demented One]

"Um...so are you some kind of...giant tentacle monster disguised as a human?" Anton asks, at once frightened and extremely awkward. "Not, not that being a giant tentacle monster disguised as a human is a bad thing. My uncle's a zombie, and he's great at family reunions, always gets me great presents..."

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

"Tentacle monster?" He pauses, again looking thoughtful. "Wel-no... No, not a tentacle monster. They were just sorta... in there with me, in mom. Y'know how it goes." A glass bottle of ale finds itself in Vaasth's tentacled arm and the stinger-tip manages to function as a deadly bottle opener. Vaasth takes a drink. "But I'm human. Well... more or less." He feeds the tentacle an extra piece of squid. "Mostly less."

[Winged One]

John Grot
"Would I have asked for your recommendation if I wasn't going to take it?" John asks the halfling in a rather colder voice than he has used so far. "If he was shapeshifted for disguise, don't you think he'd have gotten rid of those teeth and shared it with his brothers?" He asks Anton. An actual question occurs to him, and he asks Vaasth "Wait, what exactly caused them to be your triplets? Did your mother go too near a Xoriat manifest zone, or did the Daelkyr capture her, or what?"

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

"Ah, uh well...hmmaybe." He takes another sip from the bottle looking around at nothing.

[The Demented One]

Anton stares as Vaasth opens the bottle of ale. "That is...so damn awesome." he says quietly.

Professor Flamel and the rest of the students have noticeably moved down the counter during this conversation, quietly scooting their seats. "So...where shall we meet tomorrow before we set out? We should probably get organized, and I have a few permits and licenses from MOA to give to you."

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Vaasth's mouth is a bit too stuffed with fried squid to answer coherently, instead answering quite incoherently, "Marph fff aph ah uh." The spellwurm now trying to reach around behind his neck to get to the freshly opened bottle, but not being nearly long enough to get at it.

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
"Admittedly, I haven't been doing much with regards to actual escort work - I've mostly been on hire as an expert when there's undead to be cleaned out."

Irmaet takes a sip of his wine, and begins to set into his meal. "So what's your uncle's story?" he asks, knowing full well that Karrnath was known for its necromancers.

"You don't look all that old - did he have an accident?"

[The Demented One]

"Oh no, he volunteered. Very devoted to mother Karnnath, so he decided to kill himself, and then get a necromancer friend to reanimate and awaken him. Figured he'd make a better soldier as a zombie, and he did pretty well in the Last War; got promoted up to Captain. He's quite the local hero." Anton says this as if it were completely normal for a man to commit suicide and hire a necromancer in order to enlist in the army.

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

He makes a deep gulp of his food and panders to the spellwurm on his shoulder by giving him a sip from his bottle. "Not a bad way to lose weight, either."

[Winged One]

John Grot
John closes his eyes for a moment, inhales and exhales audibly, and says in a somewhat strained tone "Can we please talk about something else?"

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
"Bit of a foolish thing to do, if you ask me - you'd be surprised how much magical research has been conducted by people who'd rather spend time with a bag of bones than other people into controlling the Posthumously Motivated." replies Irmaet, knowing all too well how large this body is - he'd majored in it and was probably the person most responsible for more than a few warmages being instructed in Greater Disrupt Undead.

It was the spell he was always willing to share.

Irmaet shrugged, cutting another chop and further reducing the wine level in his glass. "Still, so long as he gets himself reposed every week or so, he should be okay. But since John here seems to be feeling ill again, let's move on to other subjects."

[Winged One]

John Grot
"I'm not ill at all, Irmaet." John says. "The conversation is just reminding me of something I'd rather forget."

[The_Snark]

Baruk

"A fine reason to move on in and of itself. Have you ever been to Xen'drik before, Mr. Grot? I have not, and I look forward to seeing how much of what we read of it is true. A great lot of it looks to be exaggeration, and the Host and I both know a great many chroniclers and bards have been making a fortune from selling tales, but there must be something behind such invariably fanciful tales."

[Winged One]

John Grot

"Yes, I've been here once before, but you have to realize that it's a whole continent. It's big, and most parts of it are at least a bit different from the rest of it. These mines could be as different from where I went to as Sharn is from the Demon Wastes."

[The_Snark]

Baruk

"I would imagine so. Doubtless our beloved chroniclers leave out the less exciting parts of it. I suppose we shall see at least a little of it with the MOA," he pronounces the acronym with the ease of one who had navigated bank files full of dpt. names, LN CNL (INFORM URG.), and little notations like "See MM." Dwarven shorthand runes could be incomprehensible even to dwarves, much less hapless embezzlers. "A fascinating organization indeed, if our group is at all representative of them."

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

::Kidding, jesting, I doubt, I am unsure. In the land of my...::
Her mental mutter cuts off with profound swiftness.

"I want the heart of a horse. Raw. For strength."
She sits back, her expression unreadable, mostly because non-visible. The hideous, hissing progress of her voice through innocent syllables seems to indicate she's serious, though.

::Madness is not a door, never a portal, no, a gate; it is a pathway, a road, and a field; one lies in it, dwells, lives, does not just pass through.::
She pauses and giggles, running up and down an octave scale.
::I've never had a face. Perhaps I should ask for one to go with my heart.::

She listens with interest to Anton's story, cooing appreciatively- apparently she approves, though she doesn't really look Karrnathi.

"I suspect this is a land of death as well as a dead land. That is not dead...well. It will not be pleasant, but then where is? I have seen behind the shroud and into the crystal children. This place holds no surprises, only tales."

[The Demented One]

Not missing a beat, the bartender calls back into the kitchen behind him, "Hey, Yola, would you heat up one of the horse hearts? Don't cook it, just get it nice and warm." Within a few minutes, a raw, bloody heart on a plate is placed before Rabina.

Professor Flamel,trying to make himself heard, says "Um, I think we should plan out our meeting tomorrow...assuming you lot don't decide to come sleep with us."

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Vaasth looks back at Professor Flamel when he says that last sentence. "You got rooms? A little inn money would be nice not to spend." He stands up and walks toward him with a smile on his face, "Sir, I'd be honored to sleep in your home."
His spellwurm takes another sip of his ale and makes a small satisfied noise, similar to the sound of churning innards. It's mouth again smiling.

[The Demented One]

"Ah...I mean...well, we do have a rather sizable accommodation, but...oh, I suppose it would be...why me?...fine." Professor Flamel says, trying to mask how much he would prefer Vaasth to sleep as far away from him as possible. Tentacle-covered swordsman are fine bodyguards, but not so good as bedmates.

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

Rabina radiates waves of intense, psuedo-sexual satisfaction, and tears at the stringy, tough meat with her teeth; she lifts her veil, but only slightly. Her real mouth appears to have thin, dark lips, and perfect white teeth filed to points.

[Winged One]

John Grot
"MOA probably has a rule against sleeping with our clients." John says with a wink. "But seriously, if they gave you a big enough place it would save a bit of time in the morning if we stayed there." He shivers a bit from Rabina's telepathic emissions. "Hey, Queen of Xoriat, just how little control do you have over your powers anyway?"

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

Rabina gives a chill, mirthless smile.

::I am not making use of my powers. This is merely...an incidental effect. If I were making use of my true abilities, you would know it.::

[Winged One]

John Grot

"Okay, then how little control do you have over this 'incidental effect'?"

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

Her smile broadens, ever-so-slightly.

::It does exactly what I wish it to. Aren't you enjoying your meal too, tinkerer?::

[Winged One]

John Grot
"Yes. I enjoy eating nothing while the guys in the kitchen take their sweet time making me either something that I know nothing about other than that it's probably really good because I don't speak Halfling or a grilled cheese sandwich." John says sardonically.

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

She blinks rapidly; when her thought-stream continues, it is a hesitant susurrus unlike her usual purr.

::Displacement? Confused. Why..::

She blinks once again, and her tone returns to normal.

::I am...certain you will enjoy it.::

[The Demented One]

At this point, the chef returns with John's meal. It's lavish, the plate decked out with so many condiments, side dishes, and sauces that the main meal can hardly be seen. It is...a grilled cheese sandwich. A grilled cheese sandwich made by a master chef, on whole wheat bred harvesed in the Talenta Plains and baked by the finest bakers, with a dozen of Khorvaire's finest cheeses, and one unique to Xen'drik, melted onto it. Tiny capers cover it, and it seems to radiate waves of sheer deliciousness.

[Winged One]

John Grot
John takes a bite of the sandwich, then closes his eyes and savors it as he chews and swallows. His enjoyment of the sandwich is such that he sends waves of empathic deliciousness through time and confuses nearby telepaths in the immediate past. "This really is fit for a king. No, seriously, King Boranel probably eats food like this. He'd ask for a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner, because he's awesome like that, and he'd get something like this, because he's the freaking king of Breland. I almost want to take back what I said to Thaddius about having a d' in front of his name because of this sandwich." He continues to eat the Sandwich, which is now capitalized for some inexplicable reason, along with the side dishes, slowly so that he can enjoy it fully, though he probably contributes to the conversation in between bites.

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

The strange human-looking warrior's attention is peeled completely away from the Professor during Rabina's psychic emissions, utterly enthralled. His mouth hangs open just slightly until it passes and he shakes his head some to get back his horribly twisted thoughts. "Ah, yes..." His smile returns, this time apparently with a little more real excitement behind it, "You're truly a kind kind man to allow us into your home. How much do your children weigh?" He asks with a strait face.

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
"House Ghallanda don't have their reputation just because of their mark, you know." grins Irmaet, as he finishes his meal.

"I'm staying in the inn down the road from your place. I'll drop by first thing in the morning. Unless you'd rather I stay down in your quarters."

[The Demented One]

The students and the professor finish their meals, eventually. The exception is Anton, who, after watching Rabina eat the horse's heart with a sort of sick fascination, and feeling the subsequent...emanations...doesn't much have the stomach for it. The professor gets up to leave, and then realizes there's a barfight going on. All the participants have been very, very careful to avoid Irmaet's line of demarcation - just overhearing the group's conversation is enough to make most adventurers not want to deal with them. However, the door is about twenty feet away from the line. "Gentlemen, would you care to escort us to the door?" he asks.

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Vaasth shrugs, "Might as well," his spellwurm now seeming to be dangling over his shoulder drunkenly. "You are givin' us rooms and all. Least we could do."

[The_Snark]

Baruk d'Kundarak

"Certainly," Baruk replies amiably, taking the bag from the back of his belt and setting it beside him as he rises. "I believe I, too, will remain in my own accomadations tonight, but I can provide added security if you are for some reason worried about such things." He finally finds what he was looking for in the bag, and draws out a hammer that should not have been able to fit inside the bag, much less without creating a bulge. The haft is over four feet long and made of some solid-looking material (perhaps Aerenal densewood); the head is made of smooth grey adamantine, coming to a rounded point an inch or two across rather than being flat. It is clearly designed to put a great deal of weight and leverage into a rather small area. It is not a hammer one would want to hit one's finger with; in fact, it is not a hammer one would use on anything they wanted to remain intact afterwards.

"Shall we go?" he asks, resting his hammer on the floor and gazing evenly at the brawlers in between them and the door.

[The Demented One]

A silence falls over the bar as Baruk pulls out his hammer. Slowly but surely, a narrow corridor forms through the rabble, leading straight to the door. Those on the edges of the pathway look very, very nervous.

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
"Of course. Mr. Bones? Take up the rear."

Irmaet finishes his wine and meal, and stands to follow behind Flamel and the others, just in front of Mr. Bones who clicks menacingly as the group leaves.

[The Demented One]

Flamel and the students deftly slip behind Irmaet and Mr. Bones, not entirely eager to be in front of the dour mercenary. "Just let you boys go up front, forgive an old man's poor legs..." Flamel says, more to himself than anything.

As Vaasth opens the door, a deep, resonant voice shouts out, "HALT!" A moment of confusion ensues as the party looks for the apparently invisible source of these words, but eventually Vaasth sees it - he just had to look down a little bit. Standing just outside the door is what would appear to be a kobold, hefting a scaled-down greatsword and wearing a breastplate, onto which an emblem of a crossed warhammer and kukri has been painted. Behind him are three other kobolds - one wearing a black cloak and twirling a pair of daggers, one wearing what would seem to be a priest's collar and black suit, along with the profane hectathorpe of the Dark Six, and one wearing a flamboyant red robe and holding a scepter.

"I demand that you halt and surrender, capitalist adventurer scum!" the kobold swordsman shouts out. "You come to our fair city with your filthy foreign lucre and greed-fueled bloodlust, oppressing the proletariat monsters and ruining the local economy! On the authority of the Stormreach Kobold People's Free Socialist Commune, I demand you throw down your arms-"

The black-clad kobold interrupts, "And their filthy foreign lucre, don't forget the filthy foreign lucre." The lead kobold grumbles, and says "I demand you throw down your arms and filthy foreign lucre and surrender, or else feel the wrath of the Stormreach Kobold..uh...Free?" The priest helpfully pipes up, "People's, it's People's next."

"Ahem, or else feel the wrath of the Stormreach Kobold People's Free Socialist Commune!"

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

Vaasth seems somewhat taken off guard by the new addition to his scope of vision, but there are strangers things than these kobolds. Some weirder things... couple. "Really, I'd love to, but this thing's attached to my arm." He unravels his tentacle whip which seems to wriggle slowly on the ground. Vaasth then also draws his longsword, and the clear fluid drips from it to the ground with a hissing noise. "So no."

...

"By the way, how much do each of you weigh?"

[The_Snark]

Baruk d'Kundarak

"Might I enquire why you wish us to throw down our arms and lucre?" enquires the dwarf, whose arms are definitely still within his... arms, and whose lucre in the form of a gold chain and clock is still wrapped about his arms. Wrapped about his physical arms, that is to say, not his weapon.

"So far as I can tell, we are simply attempting to exit this establishment. Perhaps you could present your grievances more clearly, or else allow us to go about our business?"

[The Demented One]

"You capitalist adventurers bring your money to our humble city, spending like only reckless bourgeoisie can! Have you ever seen what happens to a town a week after a party of adventurers has slain the dragon? They collect their loot, spend thousands of gold in the town's shops, and then leave the poor working class to die as crippling inflation sets in!" the lead kobold rambles, as only someone with an economics major can. "We, the valiant Crimson Vanguard of the Stormreach Kobold People's Free Socialist Commune will strike you down so that the same fell fate will not befall our humble city of Stormreach!"

The black-clad kobold adds, "And so we can keep the lucre for ourselves." The swordsman sighs, saying "And so we can keep the lucre for ourselves, as we, being responsible and virtuous champions of the people will safeguard said lucre to prevent it from leading to economic ruin."

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

"HEY!" Vaasth says, suddenly very angry and immediately as the kobold finishes his sentence, "I believe I asked you all a question!" He holds his acidic longsword up slightly higher and tightens his hold on the grip, baring his teeth as he shouts.
Intimidate: [roll0]

[The Demented One]

The lead kobold laughs, and declares, with the air of someone who clearly believes what he is saying is of the utmost importance and thus must be said very, very dramatically, "Foolish adventurer, I weigh twenty...kilograms! You see, we have overthrown the shackles of your imperialistic capitalist Khorvairian units of measurement, and have adapted free, socialist units of mass! Tremble before us! The time for talking is over! Crimson Vanguard, FORWARD!"

As the kobolds surge forward, you ready yourselves for combat.

Baruk's Turn

Initiative

Baruk (20)
Rabina (20)
Mr. Bones (18)
Kobold Rogue (14)
Kobold Warrior (13)
Kobold Mage (11)
Irmaet (9)
Kobold Priest (7)
Dennet (7)
Vaasth (6)
John Grot (4)


Map

http://img151.imageshack.us/img151/6137/battlemapkobolduj5.png

For convenience's sake, I'm assuming you all moved out of the bar. The students and professor are still in it.

V: Vaasth
B: Baruk
I: Irmaet
MB: Mr. Bones
D: Dennet
R: Rabina
J: John Grot
K1: Kobold Warrior
K2: Kobold Rogue
K3: Kobold Mage
K4: Kobold Priest

[Winged One]

John Grot
Once he finishes his meal and Baruk has the crowd cleared, John stands up, draws his crossbow, and flicks the wheel with his little finger so that it moves 71 notches clockwise. With each notch passed, a crossbow bolt appears in firing position with a click, with all but the first replacing the previous one. As all but the last one are identical and the loading all happens in less than the blink of an eye, nothing but the clicks are noticed until the last crossbow, which is painted white, appears.

When the kobolds scream for them to halt, John rolls his eyes. The appears to be a bad move, since it costs him the chance to act quickly.
I rolled initiative, but you seem to have done it first(like my explanation for his losing it so badly?). That's why you're going to get a database error.

[The_Snark]

Baruk d'Kundarak

"We also provide the basis for a very sound tourist industry," replies the dwarf, quite nettled. "I assure you I am quite well versed in economics, and to imply otherwise is insulting. As is your threat of violence." He pre-emptively answers the kobold's insult with a downward swing of his hammer, using the flat of his hammer rather than the point with some regret.

Using Lucky Dice to add to attacks/damage, then hit the kobold. Power Attacking for -2/+4, plus another 4 from items and Cobalt Power. Dealing nonlethal damage at a -4 penalty. For civilization! [roll0], damage [roll1]

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

Rabina

Rabina smiles and draws back her hood; her long, mottled hair, stringy as if from a long time underwater, falls loose, and her face is crisscrossed with a patchwork of scars. This, however, does not draw the eye.

Set into her skull are a number of silver, rune-chased sockets, each about an inch wide. Within them, glistening and shuddering, is what appears to be her brain. The sockets are, unlike her hair, gleaming and clean- it would seem she takes good care of them. Careful inspection would also reveal that the runes are, in fact, composed of gems- solid garnets carved painstakingly into the shape of those alien glyphs.

::NONE are free of their FATE, little WORMS. Foolish, folly, stupid, insignificant! Crush, tear, tear, make tears...::
Underlying her mental voice is a suggestion of the sound of tearing meat, and the scent of blood and charnel earth surrounds her.

On her turn, Rabina manifests Ego Whip, targeting the Kobold Mage.
A series of ghostly shapes flicker around Rabina, rapidly manifesting into tendrils of glistening unlight, actinic and dark at once. When she concentrates her will, they form into ephemeral talons and spring toward the flamboyant reptilian with a hissing noise, as of a thousand serpents crying out to some long-lost, alien god.

[The Demented One]

Baruk's hammer lands resoundingly on the kobold's head, staggering it. Despite Baruk's use of the less lethal end of his hammer, a faint trickle of blood runs down the kobold's nose as it regains its bearings.

As Rabina reaches out to the mage's mind with her ego whip, she feels the kobold successfully resist her mental intrustion. However, despite the kobold's force of will, his willpower is still left damaged by Rabina's intrustion, and he is clearly taken off guard by her psionic attack.

Mr. Bones' turn.

Initiative

Baruk (20)
Rabina (20)
Mr. Bones (18)
Kobold Rogue (14)
Kobold Warrior (13)
Kobold Mage (11)
Irmaet (9)
Kobold Priest (7)
Dennet (7)
Vaasth (6)
John Grot (4)


Map

http://img99.imageshack.us/img99/9664/battlemapkoboldnj9.png

[pingcode20]

Mr. Bones
*Click-click click scrape click click!* goes Mr. Bones, as he steps forwards, raising the humongous poleaxe and bringing it down mightily at the Rogue, and slamming into the floor with a mighty thud, splintering it much to the dismay of it's owner.

[roll0]
[roll1]

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
Irmaet barely has time to move when the battle has already picked up, and quickly yells "Hold it!" at the top of his lungs.

[roll0]

He rushes in between the two groups, and before they can react, asks the Kobolds a simple question, waving aside the portly dwarven banker.

"Wait - before you get into attacking us properly, could I just speak with you for a moment? So to overthrow the capitalist oppressors, you are gathering up as much gold as you can? So can we agree that if there's more gold in your hands, then the people will be better off, correct?"

[roll1]

[The Demented One]

Mr. Bones blow is deftly dodged by the dashing dragon-kin. It's just a matter of stepping a little too the left as the skeleton raises his halberd, and then watching as he brings it down a few feet off its mark. The black-clad kobold makes a sound that might be giggling, and then bounds off, moving acrobatically under everyone's legs.

The kobold rogue pulls up alongside Vaasth, and stabs at the still-unready swordsman with a small dagger. However, despite having perfectly aimed his blow at Vaasth's xov'yarth, a piece of anatomy not shared by humans, the kobold's dagger is rebuffed by the heavy breastplate Vaasth wears.

Next the lead kobold comes up to the aberrant warrior, using tumbling moves similar to those of the rogue. Taking advantage of his partner's flanking, he makes a hand sign to the kobold across from him, and then strikes at Vaasth with his greatsword. The blow hits, and leaves a bloody gash along Vaasth's side (bloody being the word used, as "ichor" lacks an adjective form). (12 damage)

However, that's not the worst of the kobold swordsman's attack. His blow leaves Vaasth off balance, and the kobold rogue, having received the swordsman's hand sign, is ready for this. He makes enough stab with one of his daggers, this time leaving Vaasth with a xov'yarth full of steel. The effect is brutal; Vaasth can feel lines of pain tracing all over his body, and a trickle of blood flows from his mouth. (24 damage)

The kobold mage watches all this and, clearly not eager to become involved in that kind of melee, makes a few passes with his hand a utters a word of power. He rises into the air, and flies up to the level of the rooftops, watching you all with bemused disattachment.

Irmaet then breaks in, calling for a halt to action. Surprisingly (at least, for those who have never seen a barrister of Sharn in action), everyone seems to comply with his order. All eyes are on Irmaet, and as he begins his offer, the swordsman responds, "Well, I suppose so. But don't go about thinking the defenders of justice and the champions of the people can just be bribed! We are virtuous and honorable, and will..." he goes on like that for a while, and the black-clad kobold whispers to Irmaet, "Speak for himself, I'm pretty sure I can be bribed. Wanna check?" The action stays paused, as the kobolds wait on a response from the lawyer.

Initiative

Baruk (20)
Rabina (20)
Mr. Bones (18)
Kobold Rogue (14)
Kobold Warrior (13)
Kobold Mage (11)
Irmaet (9)
Kobold Priest (7)
Dennet (7)
Vaasth (6)
John Grot (4)


Map

http://img135.imageshack.us/img135/7088/battlemapkoboldbc1.png

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
"No, I would not dream of bribing you. But if you carry the money around with you, to keep it away from the capitalists, won't capitalist adventurers do the same thing you are doing to us, and attack you for the money?" asks Irmaet, surreptitiously producing a platinum coin behind his back and allowing the rogue to see it.

"So then, wouldn't it make sense to put the money somewhere safe, where you can store it away from the thieving hands of adventurers?"

Of course, when the obvious response of a secret hideaway comes up, he quickly puts a stop to such ideas.

"Ah, but what are adventurers most famous for? That's right - finding treasure and stealing it! But, of course, there is one place that no adventurer will attack."

He approaches the center of the fray slowly, and motions to Baruk.

"It just so happens that Mr. Baruk here can arrange a special account, so you can keep the money out of the hands of adventurers, and on top of that he can offer you 5% interest every year on the gold stored in the bank, compounded daily, meaning more money in your hands and out of the bourgeoise adventurers."

[roll0]

[The Demented One]

"You make an interesting proposition, lawyer. However, I have a counter-offer of my own: Father Tuk, get them!" The kobold priest, hearing this, rolls up the sleeves of his suit to cast a spell, but not before Irmaet sees the rogue wink at him with a crocodile-like eyelid.

Father Tuk clears his throat, throws up his hands, and proclaims "The POW-AH of the DAHWK SIX com-peyels you!" A wave of darkness rolls out from his hands, washing over you. You feel as if pure evil is wracking your souls, like a hand clutching your heart (for those of you whose souls aren't already evil, that is...) (Irmaet takes 3 damage; Baruk takes 3 damage; Vaasth takes 3 damage; John takes 6 damage; Thadius takes 6 damage; Rabina is unaffected.)

Thaddius's Turn

Initiative

Baruk (20)
Rabina (20)
Mr. Bones (18)
Kobold Rogue (14)
Kobold Warrior (13)
Kobold Mage (11)
Irmaet (9)
Kobold Priest (7)
Thaddius (7)
Vaasth (6)
John Grot (4)


Map

http://img145.imageshack.us/img145/9600/battlemapkoboldko5.png

[pingcode20]

Irmaet the Black
"Well, I tried." shrugs Irmaet. All things considered, the battle was going well. "The 'Pow-ah of the Dahwk Six compels me? Interesting. 'Father Tuk: Association with an unlawful pantheon.' You may wish to note that I am currently uncompelled."

Irmaet looks back at the swordsman.

"Your offer is quite intriguing... selling your priest? Deal. Mr. Bones! Father Tuk is now the property of the Morgrave Outreach Assocation - please subdue him at the earliest opportunity so we can get his papers filed."

Irmaet flips the platinum piece apparently towards the swordsman, but quite deliberately past the rogue.

[Shiny, Bearer of the Pokystick]

OOC: Going to go ahead and post next round's action so as to not slow down combat due to work schedule.

Should intervening actions not invalidate such, the following occurs:

Rabina begins bleeding out torrents of raw mental potence; her mental monologue growing increasingly fragmented. Each of her skull-sockets sprouts an orb of juddering lightning, a deep violet in color, like a berserk will-o-wisp.

::Mine, mine to possess, uncompelled, unshaken, folly, endless FOLLY, BLEEDmine, mine.::

The orbs, in their turn, streak hair-raisingly close to her allies before impacting on each of the Kobolds with perfect accuracy, leaving behind trails of afterimage on the unfortunate retinas of all present.

Manifesting Energy Missile Augmented by 3PP [Total cost 6PP]
Damage
[roll0] [Rogue]
[roll1] [Mage]
[roll2] [Warrior]
[roll3] [Priest

Save DC increased by 5; check to overcome power resistance at +2 bonus, if applicable.

[Winged One]

So, the kobolds are getting owned?:smallwink:
[roll0]

[The Demented One]

OOC:

John successfully identifies the kobold's spell as unholy blight. He also recognizes the logical reason for why Rabina wasn't affected...

[pingcode20]

I take it Irmaet auto-cleared that then? He's got a Spellcraft minimum of 27.

Also, premoving for next round.

Mr. Bones
Mr. Bones clicks in acknowledgement of Irmaet's fresh orders, and raises his poleaxe and this time tries to smash Father Tuk in the face. He doesn't move, given that the poleaxe has a 10' reach.

[roll0]
[roll1]

Irmaet the Black
Suppressing the cringe of the unholy blight, Irmaet decides to just make an example of Father Tuk.

"I suppose I'm just wasting time. Come on, Father Tuk, you're making an embarassment of yourself."

He produces a a banana he picked up earlier at the bar, and makes sure the priest can quite clearly see it. Then he pointedly begins to peel the banana, not in gross motions like normal, but in thin strips.

As he does so, Father Tuk's skin attempts to remove itself in similarly tiny strips and, barring a DC 23 Fortitude save, rendering him helpless and blind for 10 rounds and suffering a -2 penalty to all checks for the next [roll2] minutes.

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

I'm also making my move.
Vaasth spills his internal fluid from the hole in his... organs and the look of agony is on his face. "MOTHER F[censored]KER!! THAT HURT, YOU LITTLE BASTARDS!!" He turns his facial expression into anger now. "You don't know what you just did!" He the holds his tentacle arm up to his face, letting the tentacle fall to the ground and it begins to writhe more feverishly. In between his hand and his face crackles entropic and almost imperceivable colors and things not yet named and from this raw entropy shapes a mask. The mask looks as though it were designed by the most insane of Daelkyrkind and is covered in twisted runes and it's mouth covered in pointed and exposed teeth. The whites of his eyes additionally turn black as the night and his pupils begin to shift within his yellow irises as though bubbles rising to the surface of water.
"See how you little bastards like it!!"
First he swings his longsword into the warrior kobold in a wide arch and swinging it back around to the rogue, and with the momentum the tentacle whip swings at the warrior kobold again.
Losing Punishing Stance to gain Controlled Demon Stance. Str rises by 6, Con rises by 4. HP increases by 20, attacks increase by 3, with +3 to damage as well. AC decreases by 2.
Sword Attk 1: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1] + [roll2] Acid
Sword Attk 2: [roll3]
Damage: [roll4] + [roll5] Acid
Tentacle Attack: [roll6]
Damage: [roll7] and Poison [roll8]Dex damage, Fort DC 18
Edit: Forgot to include I get 10 temporary hitpoints because of the supernatural rage.

[pingcode20]

If we haven't completely died, DMented One, could you just NPC Derwood so we can keep moving?

[Krimm_Blackleaf]

If we haven't completely died, DMented One, could you just NPC Derwood so we can keep moving?

Second. But also filler.

[The Demented One]

Thadius clasps his hands around a small gem drawn from his pocket, and begins to into mystic formulae. As he does, all of you feel tendrils of magical energy wrapping around you, forming a protective cocoon of mystical energy. (Everyone gains a +3 deflection bonus to AC, which lasts for 10 minutes.)

Vaasth lashes out like a man possessed, all three of his attacks hitting. The warrior's armor bubbles as the acid from Vaasth's sword burns through it and scalds the scales of the kobold beneath, and the kobold rogues wails as it corrodes his flesh. Vaasth's tentacles successfully slips into the warrior's armor and jabs into his flesh, but he seems unaffected by its poison.

John's Turn

Initiative

Baruk (20)
Rabina (20)
Mr. Bones (18)
Kobold Rogue (14)
Kobold Warrior (13)
Kobold Mage (11)
Irmaet (9)
Kobold Priest (7)
Thaddius (7)
Vaasth (6)
John Grot (4)


Map

http://img145.imageshack.us/img145/9600/battlemapkoboldko5.png

[Winged One]

John Grot

John grimaces at the touch of the Unholy Blight. Guess being such a selfish bastard comes in handy sometimes. Easing back away from the kobolds, he makes an open palm, curls up him fingers, and murmurs in Draconic "Imbue with new attribute: enhance vitality of wearer." As he mutters, some kind of energy crackles between his fingertips, and her taps his palm to his holy symbol. The difference is noticeable immediately, even though it only consists of his palor seeming like he doesn't get enough sun rather than that he's dying of some disease that strips color from his skin. As an afterthought, he takes a translucent silvery sphere out of one of his pockets. Normally he'd taunt the kobolds, but he seems to want to do something with that sphere before he starts the taunting.

Free action: five-foot step(no real movement this round so it's allowed) off the bottom edge of the map so he's out of the kobolds' threatened areas.
Standard action: use Bear's Endurance infusion on his wooden holy symbol.
Move action: take out Psychoactive Skin of Ectoplasmic Armor for use next round.

[The Demented One]

OOC
John can't take a step back; the taven wall is right behind him. Would you like to change your actions for the round, or just carry one without the 5 ft. step?

[Winged One]

John Grot
Due to the tavern wall behind him, John just does his best to not get taken out by opportunistic kobolds while he's "casting" his "spell" rather than actually getting out of the way like he'd prefer to. He also puts his crossbow on his belt after twirling the dial back to where it is unloaded rather than taking out the sphere.
He's using that Bear's Endurance defensively then.
[roll0] That's a 22 if this edit eats the roll.
Can he equip a psychoactive skin without having it in hand and just have it ooze out of his pocket instead of over his arm? It's a standard(mental) action anyway, of course, but this way it'll free him up to take out his morningstar.

[The Demented One]

OOC:
The psychoactive skin is fine.

Baruk's Turn.

Initiative

Baruk (20)
Rabina (20)
Mr. Bones (18)
Kobold Rogue (14)
Kobold Warrior (13)
Kobold Mage (11)
Irmaet (9)
Kobold Priest (7)
Thaddius (7)
Vaasth (6)
John Grot (4)


Map

http://img145.imageshack.us/img145/9600/battlemapkoboldko5.png

[The_Snark]

Baruk d'Kundarak

Baruk decides he has been civil quite long enough, and he steps to place the kobolds' apparent leader in between him and Thaddius. Not that the artificer was likely to try to hit the kobold in the back, but the kobold didn't know that, and it wasn't much fun to have a mage behind you, either. The point of his hammer swings low at the kobold's leg, trying to bring him off balance, and Baruk rapidly brings the hammer back for a second blow.

5-foot step to the left for flanking. Attacking the warrior kobold, same as before, but without nonlethal damage and with flanking; Baruk gives himself +1 to saves this round. First attack: [roll0], damage [roll1]
Second attack: [roll2], damage [roll3]

[Derwood]

OOC:

Sorry- there was a misunderstanding on my part! Woops!


Thaddius d'Cannith

With his back against the wall, Thaddius draws a short wand of spun copper and silver with a fire opals set evenly along the length from his quiver and takes aim at one of the Kobolds. Furrowing his brow for a moment, he mutters a selected number of phrases


Quick Draw Wand of Magic Missle [7th] (Caster Level +2 for Wand Mastery = 9th level, 5 missles)
UMD roll: [roll0] (+17 UMD, +2 for using a device I know how to craft)
Damage: [roll1]