When The Voice Whispers IC

[Breten]

The Chapel of St. Dennet, Faithful Atheist stands in Low Town, the section of Flamekeep farthest to the west, and standing barely above the water level of Scion's Sound that surrounds the island city. The Cathedral of the Silver Flame is visible here, like everywhere else in the city, but is just a gleam in the sun, high above on the pinnacle in the middle of town.

No part of Flamekeep can truly be called a slum, not compared to those in such other capitals such as Sharn. Like all areas of Thrane the building and streets are clean neat and orderly. But here the architecture is much more subdued, and the smells of incense from the small chapels is all but drowned out in the aroma of fish and waste from the docks.

The chapel is kept neat, tended to by a single old toothless abbot, but few visitors come here. St. Denneth is an odd saint, and few remember him, despite his heroics at the start of the war. He was raised to sainthood for giving his own life protecting the Keeper of his time from an assassination attempt, despite his well known skepticism towards all things divine.

A faded plaque hanging above the doors reads "Even the blind walk in the light, though they may never see it".

Each of you have come here on your separately and in different ways. The summons you received were urgent, yet you felt compelled to answer for reasons only you know. For one of you it was dreams of an Ancestor that brought you to this barbarian land, for another boredom and insatiable curiosity. Yet another received a letter from an unrequited love, long lost. One of you was drawn here by the promise of adventure, and rumour of an artifact long thought lost to the world, one out of sworn duty to faith, and one by inner impulses you do not yet understand, and wish to get to the bottom of.

You each slip in quietly and unobtrusively. Those who knock on the front door are guided in silently by the Abbot. Others who slip in unobtrusively are surprised to find considerable magic guarding the place, but all of which seems to be inactive.

However you received them the summons they all agreed on one thing. Come alone. Tell no one. Not even other members of the faith should be trusted with this mission. You run the words of the summons through your mind again, wondering if they could possibly mean what they seem to imply. Could it be the Keeper of the Flame herself that summons you? The name was never given specifically, but you are used to intruige, and there is little doubt that these orders come from someone powerful indeed.

You tense for a second, startled at the sudden noise of deep bells tolling, here in the chapel, but all throughout the city as well. It is the call for evening prayer. Here in Flamekeep almost all go to prayer, even those who do not worship the Flame. It is prudent if one wishes to succeed in any area of life to do so.

Before the second ringing of the bell sounds a small door leading from the nave of the church to a office beside the chancel. The man opening the door wears blue and silver ecclesiastical robes, and holds a rod of office in his hands. His garments and and tonsure denote him to be a Cardinal.

"Come in all of you. She will see you now. Please do not make any sudden moves, she is well guarded even if you can not perceive it, and Skaravojen is in a foul temper today it would seem."

The office is much larger than you would expect of dressing chambers, and after a moment you realize this is a smaller chapel in and of itself. At the front in a place of honour hangs a wicked looking Axe, still with dark stains of blood along the handle and haft. Most interestingly there is no religious iconography at all in the chapel, except for a portrait of an elderly female Keeper on one side, and a portrait of a middle aged man in noble clothes on the other that you assume to be Dennet himself.

At the far end of the room you find Jaela Daran, Keeper of the Flame. Ruler of Thrane. She is slight girl, of only 11 years, dressed in a simple grey clothes, and barefoot. Her short brown hair is without ornament and falls to her shoulders, but her grey eyes hold wisdom and sureness far beyond her years. They seem to look through you, and try though you might to hide it each of you meets her gaze only with great difficultly.

Incongruously towering beside the petite girl is a six legged monstrosity with thick grey skin and sharp teeth and horns. Its sinuous tail is twitching, and Jaela is stroking the side of it, for all the world as if the nighmare creature were a kitten. The creature is growling deeply and suspiciously at the party.

Hush now Skar. They will not harm us. I have seen it. They are here to help she says soothingly to the beast.

One the other side of The Keeper sits an older man in Silver and white robes. He still has a fringe of black and grey hair circling his head, and a crimson sash around his waist. He fingers are bedecked with rings, and several wands and scroll cases hang from his belt. He is sitting calmly in a carved wooden chair, but the apparent ease of his body is lessened by the blackwand traced with silver symbols that he is pointing unshakingly at the group of you.

Come inside, others will arrive in the nave for prayer soon, and you should not be seen he instructs calmly.

As you step inside and move forward he holds up his free hand.

That is far enough if you please. We do not mean to be rude, but we must take certain precautions from the Keepers protection.

The priest who ushered you in moves back to stand uncomfortably beside the beastly dragonhound.

Yes, yes. The Keeper has had three assassination attempts on her life already. We can not be too careful.

Five actually. The wizard interjects keeping the wand pointed at the group. Two were not publicized for reasons of security.

The priest glares over at the wizard, and it is obvious that there is no love lost between them.

Honestly I do not know why we are entrusting such...folk with this. If there is a concern we should go to the Cardinals. They will know what to do Keeper.

Jaela turns her grey eyes onto the priest and he falls silent.We have been through this. My decision is made. The Voice has spoken. This crisis must be handled...carefully.

But they are not even believers for the most part! In fact that one..he points an accusing finger at the Valenar elf. Is a worshiper of heathen...

Suddenly Jaela's eyes flash. ENOUGH. YOU WILL NOT INSULT THEM. THE VOICE HAS SPOKEN. THEY ARE HERE BY OUR COMMAND. YOU WILL OBEY US.

The hairs on the back of the neck of even the most jaded among you rise as she speaks, aware that you are hearing the voice of the divine.

The Keeper turns back to you, and smiles.

Sorry about that. Brother Thornton means well, but sometimes can be a bit overwrote when things don't go as planned. I know you are all wondering why i have brought you here. Believe me I would not do so except at the greatest urgency. I have had a vision, a terrible and powerful vision. Not once, but half a dozen times in the last month. Something terrible is about to happen. I am not given to overdramatics, but it may be the end of all that is. A catastrophe as great at the Quori invasions that destroyed the Giant's empire, or the Xoriat incursion that brought the end of the Hobgoblin and Orc empire. But in truth we humans are ill prepared for such a test, divided and fighting amongst ourself. If we face this challenge now, we will fail. I have seen it. The world will end in blood and fire and death, and all the light that is will be extinguished.

The details of this impending danger is hidden from even my eyes. All I know is that you must seek the Eye of the Heavens. An artifact of ancient power and purpose, long thought destroyed. It is the key stopping this danger, though I know not how, or where it may be now.

Also I have seen a face time and time again in my dreams. A catalyst that sparks the storm to come. I know not who he is, but i will show you his image.


She makes a small gesture and the figure of a slender youth, perhaps twenty years old appears before you. He is incredibly good looking, but his gaze is face is serious, and his large blue eyes seem to be looking at something far away. He has short wavy blond hair, stands about 5ft 9. He is wearing simple white robes, like those commonly worn by initiates of several faiths.

We have done extensive divinations to identify him, but none have revealed his location. The only thing we learned is he is called Simeon by some. Whether that is his true name or not we do not know. We have surreptitiously been seeking for someone with his appearance within the religious schools of Thrane, but have not yet been able to identify him.

Jaela looks imploringly at the group. I charge you to find this Simeon and the Eye of Heaven, and do whatever must be done to stop the coming disaster. The church will aid you as it can, but fear some treachery within.So whatever you do must be done with discretion. The balance between the nations is delicate right now, and the treaty of Thronehold teeters on the brink. I can not be seen supporting foreign operatives, and your investigation will take you across Korvaire and perhaps beyond I fear. Know that the favour of the Flame goes with you whatever paths you walk though. I believe....I must believe that it will guide you to success.

Although you are unknown to each other, each of you is among the best in the world in what you do. Wrath is a warrior of great courage and pure heart, even if you ideals have clashed at times with our own, I know your bravery and heart will guard this company through great trials.

Mort is a master of disguise, infiltration and stealth. His skills at getting into and out of places without being seen is almost unmatched in the Nations, and I fear that it is a skill that will be needed many times before this task is done.

Shrikellifash is a Keeper of the Past, and comes from a long and distinguished line of heroes in Valenar and Aerenal before that. He is wise, and can both fight and heal with equal skill. His steadfastness and endurance will protect you all, and I have no doubts he will earn glory fully equal to his ancestors in this quest. Respect him.

Ailea d'Orien will provide your transportation for this journey. The power of her dragonmark will take you swiftly where you need to go, both out of and into danger. Her family connections can also help you move quickly across the continent if need be. And abilities as a Sorceress are potent as well.

Thaddius D'Cannith is one of the leading authorities on Korvaire on ancient relics, and has overseen the excavation or recovery of dozens of items of power in his career. If anyone can find and understand this "Eye of Heaven" it is him.

And finally Alestair Woland, Master Inquisitive. You skills and tracking individuals in legendary. The insight of your mind is extraordinary. And your good heart is well known if little shown. To you I entrust the leadership of this party and charge all of you to listen to him. Though his skills in combat are less than most of you, few men can match him in a battle of the mind.

Time is short and the danger is great. I must leave soon or it will be noticed that i am away. If you have questions please ask them in haste.

[Glawackus]

Shrike goes for his bow the moment he sees the monster at the Speaker's side, but relaxes when he sees that it appears to be her...pet. He relaxes a bit, and then stares at the priest's finger as soon as the man points at him. His eyes travel up the man's arm to his eyes, and although his face is hidden behind the spirit shroud, it seems as if he is grinning at the man. Come, priest, he thinks to himself. I wonder who is stronger.

At the voice of the Flame, however, he has to restrain the urge to drop to one knee. The voice is like that of the Spirits of the Past in his visions--the roar-that-is-not-a-roar. He remembers his training, however, and the weaponmaster striking him behind the knee and yelling at him: The Valenar bow to none! He removes his shroud, and averts his eyes as the girl with the voice of the god speaks.

After listening intently to the information on this Simeon, he glances around at each of the party members. At the mention of him, he prepares himself for the usual screed: Even though a heathen, he will be of some use to us.

After the few words, he maintains his impassive expression. Inside, however, he feels fit to burst. Honor worthy of the Ancestors? Wise? Respect?

Finally, he closes his eyes briefly and then looks down at his shroud, staring at the seal of Arkallal. When he feels that his mind has cleared, he puts it back on, wrapping the cloth around his face. "I have no questions, Your Excellency," he says, looking around at the group. "It has been an honor and a joy to meet you here, today."

[Morituri]

Mort's eyebrow almost imperceptibly arches at the mention of his name. He shrugs it off; she's the voice of a God, of course she knows who he is, but the feelings of awe from before and his already high opinions of the girl do raise ever so slightly. As she breaks off and asks for questions, he dips his head slightly and does a small but respectful bow towards her and her protector.

"Your Grace, we've no need to keep you. Your companions," nodding briefly towards the Mage and the Abbot, "will lend us the details we need to get our start."

His eyes going back and forth between the animal and the Mage, Mort does all he can to suppress a shudder; 5 assassins died before this girl. Even professional curiosity would never let him entertain the idea of tackling that challenge, the fact that he rather liked the Keeper notwithstanding. He'd pass along the word that this was a contract simply not worth taking once he got out of the city, for everyone's sake.

[Uncle_Putte]

Tap tap, tap. Tap tap, tap. Tap tap, tap. Alestair's steps echo off the cobblestone streets of Low Town, in sets of three, from shoe soles and cane. The diminutive, plump man seems preoccupied to the eye of a passer-by, a middle-aged clerk or academic enjoying a walk before the evening prayer yet hardly noticing the pleasantly fiery tint of the evening sun. It isn't until he nearly finds himself bowled over by a pack of young boys, too immersed in their game to notice the unremarkable little man, that he seems to return to the waking world. A genuinely pleased half-smile creeps up his rounded cheek.

Ah, yes. It is too early to worry, all in all. Consider the invitation genuine, and enjoy the stroll. Better to worry when there's something to work with.

For the rest of the walk, the man seems more perceptive, enjoying the sights and sounds - even the smells - of his life-long home city to the fullest. After a while, he reaches the door of the humble chapel. He raises his right hand, and is about to knock on the front door with the knob of his cane, when his hand freezes. After a second of hesitation, his left hand hastily reaches to remove the cap on his head and tuck it down in the nook of his elbow. He raises the cane again - and freezes again.

Oh, nuts.

He takes a moment to fuss with what little hair is left on the top of his egghead, before proceeding to knock again.

Ridiculous. I've barely three hairs left and I still have to stress over them? Oh well... I suppose it's to be taken for granted, considering whose audience I will be attending.

The rest of the ordeal go by swiftly. When first encountering Cardinal Thornton, Alestair bends to a shallow, stiff bow as would be expected, and when entering the chamber, a deeper one to the Keeper. He also acknowledges the apparent wizard as courteously as is fitting, no more or less.

Hm... wizard? That's strange... no, wait... pyromancer, perhaps?

As all guests are finally present, Alestair examines the group briefly and without expression, before finally choosing to stand at the periphery of the lot. He seems tense initially, when the audience begins, but as soon as after the Keeper's outburst he begins to relax. The tension flows away, like water from a swan's back, when details of what must be done start to amount. Something rare and thought long-lost fills the void; excitement. His eyes, while always seeming lazy-lidded, narrow sharply when the Keeper announces his appointment of leadership to him.

Leadership... will they, too, be damned by my lack of perception?

... ah, but such is our task. We are dispensable, and that is our power. It is nothing apart from her irreplaceability that keeps her from seeing to this task herself, the poor girl. So be it. The Flame does not lie, so if things are truly as serious as presumed, I'll be glad to lead a thousand upon thousand good souls to hellfire if it achieves the results necessary.

"I understand and accept your request, your holiness. To you, I have but one request; the others can be fulfilled by your faithful."

He takes a pause to clear his throat, and apparently, to collect his thoughts before continuing.

"I am not delighted to ask this, but as it seems our responsibility is of the heaviest kind, I feel obliged to... Your holiness, I wish you to be aware of the fact that to achieve our objectives, we may have to undertake actions that violate the rights of citizens and the laws or intrests of Thrane herself. It is distasteful, I know, but I cannot smooth out the truth for convenience. To me, it seems as if the situation warrants it - what is at stake outweighs the value of the few for the sake of the many - but I wish you to be the one to decide whether we are to use any means necessary."

He pauses for a moment, brow knitting together above his eyes, then adds;

"Ah, um, but to add - I assure you, there is no-one present that would use such means lightly, to be sure. I will set my life behind my words, if need be, and stand trial for my actions during this task were we to succeed, or survive, in our mission. And, even more importantly, I will not request formal permission to break the law, nor do anything that could lead our doings to be tracked back to you. This is a matter of moral alone; I wish you to make the decision of what rules we play by."

He falls back to silence, waiting for answer with the look of a man waiting judgement.

[Breten]

Your words seem to trouble the Keeper, and please her in equal measure. Both the wizard and the priest look thoughtful at you words.

It is in your hands to save the world. Do what you must Aleistair Woland.

but a second after the pronouncement of the Voice you hear a softer one, one of an eleven year old girl.

But please, be careful and harm as few as need be. What profit it a man to save the whole world, and yet lose his soul?

With these final words the the Keeper nods at you all and smiles sadly. The wizard beside her places a hand carefully on her shoulder and clears his throat.

It is time to go. They will be looking for you soon in the Catherdral. The Keeper nods her head, and the mage takes a step back. Drawing arcane symbols in the air and pronouncing words of power suddenly the Keeper, the Dragonhound and himself all vanish.

Alright, I haven't all day. Thornton announces his arms crosses and the veneer of politeness stripped away in the Keepers absence. Ask me your remaining questions and then be about your quest.

[Nycthemeron]

”Father Abbot”, ushered in through the door Ailae bows to the first the altar and then the Cardinal as she enters the church. She has been here before in fact, St. Dennet is one of her favourite saints, his canonisation emphasising everything that is good about the Church. As he silently leads her to the antechapel she smiles as the evening call to prayer rings out. Only in Flamekeep do the ordinary people pray so much, theocracy one supposes.

As the Cardinal appears Ailae bows once again but looks somewhat stunned after his speech. She and Skaravojen. Her Holiness the Keeper herself is here? Ailae follows the others through to see the leader of her faith within. Immediately she bows her head, speaking under her breath, ”Your Holiness.”

The wizard with the itchy wand finger and Skaravojen don't faze her, on the contrary she has heard of the Dragonhound which protects Her Holiness and is proud of the role her cousins in House Vadalis had in creating it. The wizard, well one such as the Keeper should be fiercely protected, particularly in the less salubrious areas of the Capital. She does seem surprised though to see the cardinal questioning the Keeper, she may be an eleven year old girl and Ailae is fully aware of all the arguments against direct divine communion but when she speaks with the knowledge of the Voice of the Flame, how can the faithful question her.

Then she speaks in that voice and Ailae knows this is not merely important but dire, the Flame is speaking through its mortal representative and she hides here in waterfront chapel with a band of mercenaries. As the Keeper speaks Ailae listens raptly, taking it all in, she is still silent as Alestair makes his pledge but smiles saddly as he does so. At least I see eye to eye with my leader, we few darken ourselves for the good of others.

Feeling the distinctive and familiar pull of teleportation magic she bows to Her Holiness as the Keeper and her guardian take their leave. Turning to the newly curt Thornton she inquires, "At least one of us knows of the Eye of the Heavens but please, may I enquire Your Excellency of what details you know of this Simeon?"

[Uncle_Putte]

Alestair receives the Keeper's decision with calm, but her personal opinion on the matter coaxes a reaction out of him; his expression, while still quite unmoved, softens somewhat.

I forgot... just a kid. A good, big-hearted, faithful kid. What was I thinking, making her decide someone like that? Ah well... live and learn.

He remains silent for a while, apart from tapping the knob of his cane with his index finger in a monotone rhythm. After a while of deliberation, he tucks it under his arm and starts rummaging the inner pockets of his coat, before producing a small, scruffy notebook and a charcoal pen, to which he starts jotting down notes. A while passes, before he finally seems satisfied. He speaks up, as quietly and politely as always.

"Ah. I'll try to be brief. If any of my requests are unfulfillable, please refuse plainly now, so that there won't be any confusion later on."

"Now, for starters - I realize we have an expert on the field of artefacts such as this, ah... Eye of Heavens, no? Um, where was I... ah, yes. But still, I would surmise you have done background research of your own into the subject already. Which we propably would like to have. If not, not a great loss I suppose - the skills we should have, thus all that remains is the legwork."

He pauses briefly again, looks at his notebook, and continues in tone.

"Ah, and secondly, we obviously need some sort of contact to you, our client. I suspect you wish to be kept up to date with our progress, to an extent. If possible, I would like the contact to be as, ah, anonymous as possible - someone outside the government, as such, in case the part about a possible subversion effect in the rest of the theocracy. One idea could be merely a location where to drop off reports, just as well, as long as it's warded and out of the hands of the casual passer-by."

With a moment of oddling more, he continues on his "shopping list".

"And third, come the mundane needs. First, access to a good general library would be of the greatest of help. While I have not had the priviledge to ever ascertain the levels of the Church's collections, I would suspect them to be more than adequate. If you do decide to grant us a pass to it, please use a credible excuse for it - say, that we are conducting research on national history or somesuch. Then there's the matter of authority - I realize this request may, if things go sour, put the one who grants it in jeopardy, but I see it as of enough importance to make it. You see, to conduct investigations properly, there is always a need for authority. We need some sort of a sign of authorization to, figuratively speaking, open doors in society. A letter of permit from someone suitably high in the ecclesiarchy would suffice, I suppose - if we were to wave about a get out of jail free card signed by Jaela Daran herself, we'd likely be the talk of the town in the matter of hours."

Seeming finished, yet not satisfied, Alestair quiets down to wait for the cardinal's decision.

These should be enough... but why do I feel I keep forgetting something? Something important?

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

Thaddius walks into the room and casually observes the surroundings. Upon seeing the massive protector of the young girl, Thaddius pushes his spectacles up from the tip of his nose and ***** an eyebrow.

Now that's something that I wouldn't mind figuring out how it ticks... While in flesh that creature is intimidating... but in Adamantine, it would be downright fear indusing.

Pulling a book and writing utensil out of his bag, he starts making notations. Scribbling quickly, he sketches a quick image of the massive protector and dog ears the page.

As the Keeper begins to speak, he nods at her words and the perceivable tension between the pair that attend her. Like children fighting for their parents attention... Amusing.

Observing each of his companions and their reactions to the Keeper, the pen flies quickly accross the page in a curious shorthand. As the speaches and quaries start to be interrupted with longer and longer silences, Thaddius finally closes his book and returns it to a hidden pocket.

"Well, I do believe the last of the questions that really need answering, are when are we leaving and where do you believe we should be headed first?" Pausing for a moment, he adds, "Your grace."

[Morituri]

Mort hangs to the shadows of the room as the Keeper leaves their presence. He'd met heads of state before, both on a professional and personal basis, but seldom had he felt such a presence before him. Certainly she was a being of power, and also one of extreme kindness. Wonder how long that will last...

As Alestair rattles off his list and comes to a pause, Mort turns and speaks to the detective, "You forgot something. The expense account." Turning to the agents, he turns his head expectantly. "How much?"

[Breten]

The Cardinal sighs at the list of requests.

Yes I was afraid that you would ask for such things. Here is a letter of documentation, signed by myself with the seal of the council of cardinals. It should be enough to gain you aid from local servants of the Flame with a minimum of questions. Use it as little of possible. It can also be used at House Thundarak to access some limited church funds should you have need. Once again such transactions can be traced, so they should only be utilized in great need. If you are caught you will find that this document was taken from the corpse of a killed church courier and we will disavow any connection to you.

Access to the Library here in Flamekeep can be arranged for yourself and those of your party of the Dragonmarked Houses with ease. The rest of your group would be much harder to explain but I trust the three of you will be sufficent for the job needed. We have also arranged access to the Library for you at Morgrave University in Sharn.

The Eye of Heaven is only mentioned in obscure writings and prophecies of dubious nature, all of them heretical. We have not copies of tomes mentioning them here in Flamekeep, but I believe the Library at Morgrave does. The clearest reference is in "Prophecies of the Idol, volume IV" but what good the ramblings of a fallen false god are I have no idea. Infact I believe the Idol Marcephelon is still gathering his cult in Sharn if you wish to question him further.

If you wish to report, and I encourage you to do so frequently you can send us a message through the proxy of Eidelon Expeditions at any House Sivis center. Insturctions for you will be sent through the same.

As for Simeon, we have next to nothing to go on yet. We have unconfirmed rumours that someone who might match his description is residing at St. Athanius' seminary in Aundair....but it is a tenuous lead at best.

Finally I am asked to convey to you that in order to show the appreciation of the Church for your cooperation in this matter and of you with criminal charges in Thrane will are now granted clemency from the Keeper. Further I am to convey to Wrath (whose name he pronounces like it leaves a foul taste in his mouth) that the bounty on you has been lifted and the Keeper has personally removed the name of your mentor from the rolls of the heretics.

(At this the priest looks to be barely holding in rage)

The Keeper does ask that you keep from killing any more priests of the flame while on this mission unless it is considered necessary by Aleistar.

With that I think you have all you need. You best be on your way. If you will excuse me, I feel the sudden need to take a very long bath.

And with that he storms from the room.

[Glawackus]

"It seems that our caretaker has decided to take his leave of us," Shrike says, in a measured tone that could be taken for either jest or seriousness, "unless any of you wish to interrupt his bath. Are we to Aundair, then, or the University? My grasp of the geography of these lands is limited...perhaps we can visit one on the way to the other?" He turns to the sorceress. "You are to have our transport? The famed lightning rail, perhaps?"

He gives a shrug, and adjusts the setting of his cloak, patterned with a pigment in such a way that it looks as if it's been sprayed with mud--or blood. "It is no substitute for a good horse, but I suppose that being called here was unusual enough--riding this magic chariot of the West will be but more of the same."

[Morituri]

Stepping out of the corner, Mort walks calmly to the center of the room and addresses his companions, "Aundair sounds like a waste of time. The priest said it himself; the link is at best tenuous, and based on second hand sightings of an unknown individual. So long as we just have a picture to work on, well..." As Mort waves his right hand in an exasperated motion, his facial features rapidly morph and realign, his hair darkens, and six seconds later the perfect image of Simeon stands before you.

Mort gives a small shrug, "I think there are better ways to spend our time. Sharn's a good city. Good biscuits there, not to mention actual leads."

Mort lowers his hand and glances down to his cloak. He speaks a quick phrase and the robes seem to dim from their vivid blues and silvers, eventually fading to a wholly nondescript grey and brown pattern one would see a thousand times on any roadway. At the same time, his face changes from that of the elusive Simeon and into a slightly youthful man, possibly in his twenties, with sandy brown hair and a million freckles patterned across puffy cheeks and a pinched pug nose.

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae hardens her face as the Cardinal pontificates, bowing to departing cleric as the door closes behind him she shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "Dirty hands stroke a white beard."

As the Valenar turns to her, she holds his gaze before turning dispassionately to the Changeling. "You're obviously right about the possibility for disguise but I feel we can't afford to let anything slip past us," she extends her hand, "Ailae d'Orien." turning to include the others she speaks again. "yes, I am providing our transport to where Mr. Woland," she nods to Aleistair,"sends us all and sorcery, particulally Abjuration, Evocation and Transmutation.

My personal feeling is that some of us should take my private coach on the lightning rail tomorrow morning whilst half of us teleport to Fairhaven tonight, find what we can about the seminary. If we need to go we do tomorrow when I can get us out too, and I'll bring us to catch up with the rail the day after tomorrow at Vathirond."

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

"I would like to have some time in the Library. For all of the knowledge that I have, spending a little time doing some research could never hurt."

[Miraqariftsky]

The swirl of sable that had been slowly and silently building in Wrath's eyes suddenly ebbs away as the priest leaves the room. If he had had lungs with which to sigh, he would have heaved a sigh to drown a storm.

The mithral-plated warforged slowly and deliberately unclenches his fists and straightens his stance, feeling the heat rushing through his inner alchemical tubes fade away into olden cool and calm. Nevertheless, Wrath emits a growl like the grinding of boulders deep within the mountains as he finally dares answer the withdrawing priest now that the risk of truly losing his temper is lessened. "I HAVE NEVER SLAIN AN INNOCENT. Not since I found the Flame's whispers to guide me. Corruption within the clergy is a canker, a rust on the church's blade. I have only ever slain those priests who abused their power and bled the people dry. Sometimes they're worse than the vampires of Vol since they who should actually lead the folk to salvation are actually the ones beating them down the path to damnation"

Turning to Mort, Wrath's eyes seem to darken with vile memories. "Hah. You claim to know aught of Aundair? The folk of the dragonhawk are cunning and should not be underestimated. It was by their hand, albeit indirectly, that the fabled Twilight Company of the Bladesmark was felled"

Gazing at both all of his companions and none, Wrath says, "This is still a war. We must not underestimate anybody and trust only the Flame--- not even ourselves. There are thousands of foes still out there, lurking no longer in the trenches or in the woods but in the shadows of souls of many.

Sir Woland, I place myself at your disposal. Which of us needs most protection? With them, I shall go"

[Uncle_Putte]

Alestair nods ponderously at Wrath, with a sympathetic half-smile on his lips, as if part thankful and part regretful of their show of restraint towards the indignant cardinal.

"Alestair will do, good Wrath, and I've no right to honorifics either. It may not be within my rights - in terms of good conduct - to decide this, but let us dispose of formalities between eachother. We must trust eachother, and to the last drop of blood if things will proceed as I fear they will."

He pauses for a moment, to consider the options at hand, before speaking towards Wrath again.

"As for the matter of protection, I fear it propably is yours truly that most needs protection among us - I have a good military background, but physically I am", he pats his somewhat expanded girth for emphasis "not of optimal capacity."

"And, may I have your attention" he speaks up, in a slightly more audible tone towards the group in general "it may be so that the Keeper herself appointed me to lead, but I should make it clear that I do not belive in the effectiveness of an authoritative structure of command in a group such as ours - we barely know eachother, and it would be easier than anything to overlook one another's resources if making decisions were to be the task of one man. Also, there will most likely be situations where I will not be available for decisions. You are all self-made individuals. I know you have the initiative, drive and insight to make decisions on your own."

He then turns towards Mort.

"This leads us to the main issue - where to go. And it is relevant to my previous point: to be most effective with time, I believe we could try covering several bases at once. Splitting the group will be causing a significant weakening in the group, but for the sake of making a headway into our quest the rewards could be well worth it."

The notebook and the charcoal pen appear again, and he scribbles a few hasty lines down.

"Mmm... let's see. In my opinion, I personally would be best disposed to the Aundair lead - I am, afterall, an expert at finding people. I may require protection, though, and to my embarassment have to admit that having never been abroad from Thrane. Someone with in-depth knowledge of the country or its local religious organizations could be of use as well."

He then turns towards Thaddeus, with a measure of appreciation to his notion.

"I have to admit you propably hit the nail on the head with that - Morgrave university is a target that could yield great deals of information with the least of risk, and there are propably none better disposed to find out what we need than you. I believe firmly that you should make for Sharn, and the Morgrave university. And on the subject of Sharn, I should like to add that the Cult the cardinal mentioned is also a possible lead. I do consider it to be the most risky one - I personally know next to nothing about this Idol business, but as cults go, things could get... ugly. I've no idea who would be the best to take on this one, though. Nevertheless, do not take these as orders - any input you have on these options would be most helpful."

He frowns for a moment, before adding; "Oh, and... it is getting a little late as it is, so I have a bit of a bold suggestion to make. We may be heading for Flame knows what tribulations tonight already, so I should like to take this chance to get to know eachother better, by offering to treat you to a dinner. I know of a very good restaurant nearby, assuming none of you dislike spicy dishes. We can discuss the details well enough while enjoying it, as well."

He then seems to remember Wrath's presence, and a slight look of embarassment appears on his face.

"Er... my apologies, of course... I forgot that you would propably feel a little left out in such a situation. I hope the conversation would make up for not being able to enjoy the food, though."

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae smiles sweetly at Alestair, "Thank you Mr. Woland, I think we are going to get on well. What a lovely idea, lets move off to a restaurant, if you don't mind Wrath?

And despite the necessity of my transporting us, I feel I can help in Aundair, I spent my childhood there and of course my House is based there. On the weakness of splitting the group, it won't be for very long and it shouldn't be too hard to ensure we go in with an escape route, afterall I have one on my skin." She wryly smiles as she points to the tip of her dragonmark creeping up her cheek.

[Glawackus]

"I have had some limited contact with the University of Morgrave," Shrike says, walking around the room. "Not exactly a...foot in the door?...but I might be able to find us someone who could get us into the library. On the other hand, I have no knowledge of Aundair. I go, however, wherever the hunter-of-men needs me," he continues, with a small bow in the inquisitive's direction.

At the mention of the restaurant, Shrike unwinds the shroud from around his head and grins as he pins the large brooch-like symbol to his cloak. "In my home, there are few foods that are not as such. It seems our hunt will be a happy one."

[Morituri]

Mort gives Wrath a long, utterly blank stare as he completes his speech, waiting for a solid fifteen seconds before uttering with not a trace of sarcasm, "Yes."

A half heel spin and Mort's facing the reminder of the group, walking calmly towards them and speaking nonchalantly, "Oh yeah, it could be a disguise. 'Course it could just be some cute blond kid who kinda looks like Simeon too. But if teleporting's to be done, we won't lose any time, I suppose." Pausing and turning a questioning glance to Ailae and Alestair, "I'm no good in Libraries. I'll go with you to the seminary. When we’re done there, how quickly will you be able to reconnect with the group going to Sharn?"

Turning quickly towards Alestair, "Oh, and dinner would be very nice, thank you."

[Miraqariftsky]

Two gleaming slopes of silversteel rise and fall in a ponderous shrug. His left hand reaches to one of the many weapons-harnesses upon his back and brings forth a long-hafted trident.

Hefting it, he brings its butt knocking down on the hard stone pavement and adopts a sterner, more officious demeanour with head high, shoulders back and spine straight. Speaking in the standard sonorous monotone most warforged were made with, he says simply, "I am your bodyguard, am I not? My life under the banners of Deneith was not all about raids into Karrnath..."

Lowering his voice ever so slightly, Wrath adds, "No, no, no offense you've caused. Have I not worked with fleshforged before? I'll stand guard while you all replenish your reserves... conversation though... that'd be a fine liberation from monotony and might well serve to fool foes into thinking that I've lowered my guard..."

The warforged tilts his head to one side thoughtfully, sunlight scintillating off the ghulra, the mystical identifying mark of every one of his kind. Realizing this, the former Deneith unit swiftly straightens so that the sigil on his forehead, peculiarly shaped like a symbol of the Silver Flame is once more in the shade.

Wrath says slowly, "I might have to go hide my ghulra and get a new paintjob before we go to Aundair, though. Some of the older Queen's Guards or Deneith officers might recognize me, 'M-I-A' notwithstanding"

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae bites her lip and looks down at the floor. "Meeting up with you shouldn't be a problem, I should be able to catch up with you at Vathirond or Wroat if we're delayed, very unlikely you'll reach Sharn on you're own.

There is one other thing though. My brother, he, well, he's a researcher at Morgrave," she looks up, her speech faster and stronger, "but I don't want to drag him into this unless its absolutely necessary. In all honesty we don't get along very well," She flashes her eyes at the assembled company, almost like both a challenge to ask and warning not to, "he doesn't approve of 'adventuring' and he's an atheist so our mission won't carry much weight with him, though he does have a great respect for Her Holiness."

[Miraqariftsky]

Leaning forward, Wrath answers ponderingly, "Well... he may not believe in divinity... but look where we are--- St Dennet's chapel... St Dennet, the Faithful Atheist. 'Even the blind may walk in the light, though they know it not'--- wasn't that what the plaque said up front?"

The warforged shrugs again and says, "If you don't want to 'drag' him into this, then don't."

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae stares up into the unblinking eyes of the warforged. "Yes that is what the plaque reads as you well know but his faith is his own business.

And no I'm not going to drag him into my affairs unless it becomes necessary. I'm sure we'll find a way into the Morgrave Archives without Jolti." She turns to the others and smiles beatifically, "Shall we go and eat, I don't know about you lot but I'm ravenous and those of us going to Aundair should leave tonight."

[Morituri]

Mort turns to Wrath, Alestair and Ailae, "If you three have the seminary covered, I will accompany Shrike and Thaddius on the Lightning Rail until the three of us can regroup. If you don't catch our rail at Wroat or Vathirond in a day or so, just meet us in Sharn directly. We'll leave a message in the House Sivis centre in Cliffside of where we're staying."

Walking over to Alestair, Mort nods and motions towards the note left by the Keeper's Protector, "I'll collect coin now to cover our traveling expenses and meet you at the restaurant in an hour. I see no reason for either of our parties to delay getting under way upon our meals completion." Turning to the room once more, he nods his head respectfully and, barring any further questions or actions, exits the building, heading for the nearest House Thundarak to pick up funds for room, board and traveling, and then heads over to the restaurant Alestair spoke of at the appropriate time for the group rendezvous.

[It looks like we're about ready to skip ahead to the traveling section, while at the same time keeping up dinner conversation in the second IC thread. Sound about right to everyone?]

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae smiles at Mort, wrinkling her eyebrows, "Your don't need to pay, I'll call in a favour and have my private coach attached to the morning train. The Flying Galifaran is very comfortable and you can just relax for three and a half days until you reach Sharn."

[Breten]

Teleporting to Aundair

Ailae gathers Wrath and Alestair and reaching out to touch each of them lightly activates her dragonmark, summoning to her mind a picture of the city of Ghalt in Aundair. Homing in on the Astral Beacon there she teleports the whole group in an instant to a small room within House Orien's offices there beside the Lightning Rail station.

As they arrive a small tone sounds, and as they exit through the door they find a minor House Orien functionary waiting for them.

"Greetings Milady. We are honoured by your presence. Is there anything we can do to help you on your journey?"

Within moments the 3 traveler are situated in a horse drawn carriage, and being whisked off towards Athanius Seminary a few miles outside of town.

Aleister
Before teleporting out you take the time to avail yourself of the libraries in Thrane. Although you find no references to the Eye of Heaven you do find some information about Athanius Seminary. It is actually a school and monastery dedicated to Dol Arrah, God of Sacrifice and Honour. The school was founded in 774 YK as a shrine to comemerate a battle by forces of the Galifar Empire against an incursion of monsters from Khyber. Athanius was a priest who lead the forces of good against the tide of abominations from below, and sealed the gateway from Khyber, expending his own life to power the spell. Shortly after the start of the Last War the shrine was expanded into a seminary and monastery in order to train priests, monks and paladins who would similarly be willing to lay their life down, this time at the behest of the new country of Aundair. The monastery was overrun during a Thrane offensive, heavily damaged. The Thranites used it as a forward base for an assault on Ghault, but then disaster struck as magical experimentation gone wrong created the Crying Fields not far away. The Seminary was abandoned, and only after the peace of Thronehold was reconstruction started. Despite this the school is now growing rapidly, and houses over a hundred students and a dozen staff members. The Seminary is strongly pro Aundair, and holds the Queen in high regard. They have a particularly strong loathing of the Silver Flame.



The trip out to Athanius' Seminary takes lest than 15 minutes, and at the sight of a House Orien carriage coming the gates are thrown open and you are admitted without challenge. As you step out of the carriage you find a tall man in the robes of the Sovereign Host rushing towards you. He is dressed plainly, but the robes are obviously of high quality, and a golden, jewel encrusted symbol of the Host hangs around his neck on a fine chain. His hair is dark with flecks of grey in it, but his neatly trimed beard is almost entirely grey. His bushy eyebrows are interupted on the left side by a whitened scar that runs from the top of his eye into this hairline.

Greetings in the name of the Host. We had not expected visitors, but you are certainly welcome here. My name is Tal and I am High Priest here at Athanius' may I inquire about your business here and perhaps be of service?

Although his words are courteous, his expression is intense and a bit apprehensive.

((okay something came up and I need to sleep now...I will do the train part tomorrow))

[Uncle_Putte]

In between his visit to the library and the departure for teleportation, Alestair makes a hurried visit at home to don his 'working gear', lock the place up, and leave his cat and a spare key for the old granny living next door with a request to water the cactus while he's away.

As the coach rattles along the streets of Ghalt, Alestair shares the details of his findings concerning the Athanius seminary. At the end of his explanation, he proceeds with a suggestion;

"As there is likely to be resentment towards officials of Thrane, it could be prudent to present ourselves as if acting on personal intrests. I doubt they are vindictive enough to be disapproving of all who merely happen to be of Thrane. We could pose as being on house d'Orien business, for example, with miss Ailae as our client and I, in the role of a privately hired inquisitive, while Wrath is more than adequate for the role of a bodyguard. I am not the expert among us in the internal affairs of house d'Orien though, unlike you, Ailae - so our motive on digging up on our prey should be left for you to fabricate. We could even get away without resorting to lies, which I would find preferrable - saying that we are researching the results of a divination concerning the well-being of house d'Orien which related to a man of the appearance in question. And wouldn't it be true that impending apocalypse can be credibly considered as counter-productive to good business? Also, we should decide who acts as the front in this case - it would be more credible for the cover story if it were the client, ms. d'Orien, but I believe I can credibly explain my acting as the face in the matter as well."

As the coach grinds to a halt, and it's passengers disembark to greet the elderly High Priest, Aleister introduces himself in his usual, proper and polite manner.

"Alestair Woland, private inquisitive. Thank you for receiving us."

Before going into business, though, he takes care to approach with caution and ascertain the host's attitude.

"My apologies, your grace, for arriving at such a late hour. I hope we have not inconvenienced you, but as our commission requires some haste, we saw it to be worth the risk of approaching you as soon as we arrived in the city."

(Sense motive check, posting the roll on OOC)

[Breten]

Lightning Rail to Sharn

The three of you make you way to the lightning rail station the next morning, and upon presenting your papers you find you are quickly escorted to a luxurious private car within the train. The car consists of a seating lounge, sleeping quarters and a small dining area. You are welcomed on board by a House Orien servant named Nader, a polite and youthful looking half elf with dark hair and but fair skin and grey eyes. He explains to you that the trip will likely take 3 days, but that luncheon will be served at noon. He lets you know that despite the staffs best efforts at discretion word of a private Orien car has spread, and that you have receieved invitation to dine from two other notables on the train. The first is from a gnome representative of the Zilargo govenment named Mayrim Mistydell. The second is an invitation for evening drinks with Bishop Amaundo, who oversees the Tavrick's landing district of Sharn for the church of the Silver Flame.

Nader lets you know that he make arrangements to politely decline either invitation, or set up arrangements to dine with either as you wish. Nader is polite and professional, but it is obvious even as he goes about his duties efficiently that he is somewhat in awe of Shrike, watching him surreptitiously whatever he is doing. As he gets you all settled in and the train begins to move he asks you if there is anything else that you would like in order to be comfortable.

[Miraqariftsky]

VWANGSHK!

Ailae's hand brushes his own in the faintest fashion and the world falls asunder. Wrath feels as if he's plummetting down an unfathomable abyss, darkness and light zipping by in a thousand streaks. Several days' travel whoosh by, the images of the roads, the towns and the fellow travellers sweeping away in a flood of colour and shade.

Suddenly, the feeling of falling ceases as abruptly as it began. The rootlike sinews in Wrath's limbs tense as he half-crouches, raising the trident and readying for battle.

And then... a visible shudder runs through his body as he consciously forces himself to relax once he realizes that this was actually how an Orien Mark works. He stands at ease once more and gazes about in wonder and in worry... Well, well, well... Aundair! What a swift flight this was! And yet... yet why am I getting this feeling of disquiet... like the silence that spreads over a field when raves stalk the skies over enemy banners... or the silence between the unsheathing of a sword and its first stroke?

As they walk, Wrath positions himself some feet in front of his companions and keeps a wary lookout upon all who cross their path. Every so often he doubles back and does a circuit of their group, making sure that nobody is tracking them. "Be on your guard, fleshforged. Agents of darkness lurk in every shadow. There is no sanctuary, there is only the battlefield. You may disagree with me, but "

When they get to the carriage, Wrath balks at the probability of squeezing into so small a space. Pausing for but a moment outside the wain and eying the coachman apprehensively, he then considers the possibility of some trap within the carriage itself.

Resolving himself, he holds up a hand, signalling his companions to wait a tick while he checks the wain within. Wrath then prods and pokes the upholstery with the butt-end of his trident so as not to actually damage the furnishings just in case his suspicions are mistaken.

Satisfied with his examination, he beckons the inquisitive and the heir up onto the carriage, helping them up by the elbows, if need be. Still distrusting the carriage's capacity to hold his formidable frame, Wrath decides to stand at the centre of the wain, with legs slightly spread and knees slightly bent to optimize his stability. Every so often he gazes about into the features of the milling crowds, gauging their potential for aggressive hostility.

Upon arriving at the seminary, Wrath leaps down from the coach and goes about a swift but surreptitious patrol of the proximate vicinity.

When Tal the elderly priest greets them, the warforged's silvern stare darkens into a deep grey for the briefest of instants then fades back to its accustomed hue...

[Morituri]

Mort nods to Nader as he asks about arranging a dinner meeting for the night. Considering for a moment, he says to the servant, "Thank you, we will be dining tonight. We need to speak for a moment, would you wait outside?"

When Nader leaves the cart and the door is shut behind him, "Hmm. Interesting. We'll want to meet with the Bishop soon, to discuss the Idol and such, but Mayrim we may want to dine with first, tonight. One never wants to keep Gnomes waiting. I say we respectfully invite the Bishop to dine in our cart tomorrow for breakfast."

Glancing suspiciously at the door, Mort walks closer to his companions and speaks quietly, "I do not like this; our cover was blown before we were on the train, and a Gnome, a priest, and the Gods know who else know exactly who we are and probably have a good idea why we're here. Once we get to Sharn, we handle our own security, and we do not let anyone, not the Church not the Keeper herself, know where we're staying. Guards up, dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn."

Leaning even closer and speaking even more quietly, "Also, until further notice, my name is Alfred Spangler, and I'm an art dealer from Flamekeep. If anyone asks, we've been hired by the Church to locate several lost pieces of religious art with historical and spiritual significance that were thought lost in the War. We've received word that some of the pieces may have fallen into the hands of unsavory characters, hence our need for secrecy and protection. That sound about right?"

[Uncle_Putte]

After a split-second of considering the options at hand, Alestair proceeds with the conversation more openly.

"As it stands, we are conducting background research on the results of a divination made as of late, concerning certain portents that have to do with each of us, the intrests of house d'Orien included. Part to the case is a young man, by appearances considered to be propably a junior clergyman or student of religion - we've not even concrete information on which deity would be in question - but a person matching of the description was said to having been seen here, in your seminary. I realize there is little information to go with, not to mention it to be strongly subject to interpretation, but I would ask of your goodwill to allow us to inquire whether this young man is part to your clergy, and whether it would be possible to meet him."

Deciding to play things as safely as possible, Alestair decides not to part with the information of whom he is seeking before taking note of how the high priest receives his request.

(Bluff roll in OOC thread)

[Glawackus]

Shrike walks around The Flying Galifarian for some time, examining the furniture, the sleeping arrangements, and eventually gives a satisfied nod and drops some of his things off in the sleeping quarters. He paces around the seating lounge for a bit and eventually sits down "Valenar-style" on the floor. (He notices the half-elf watching him, but keeps his face impassive, allowing himself a small smile once the servant has left.)

"I know little of the gnome lands," Shrike says, speaking softly, "but I am wary of contact with the Flame after seeing the bickering between our employers in Flamekeep. There may be even more dissenting members of the Church looking to do us harm. I would prefer to dine with this Mistydell fellow, or not dine at all."

He nods at the mention of "Alfred", but makes a face. "If necessary, I would be the 'strong arm' the Church would surely send to protect the art once recovered. I am not one for subterfuge, however, and would like to remain mostly silent in our masquerade. In the desert, they say that the lion does not pretend to be a sheep before he strikes."

[Nycthemeron]

Whilst the others flutter around the city collecting their things Ailae heads to the Lightning rail station where she calls upon the local station manager. Dropping what names and pulling what strings she can it turns out that conveniently the next train leaving will not be carrying a full complement of coaches anyway and that it is not hassle to attach The Flying Galifaran to the rail. Ailae thanks the man kindly as she pops into the coach to grab a handful of things, packing changes of clothes, traveling papers and her crossbow into her bag and holstering her wands onto the belt of a stylish new traveling dress she bought in Sharn recently, one with a lovely wide brimmed hat. Well if I am going to have to meet notables.

With the group heading to Sharn safely prepared for, she heads off to meet Wrath and Alestair, once all are ready she prepares herself, brushing her fingers against the pair and summoning her inner power. The astral reflection of Khorvaire passes in but a second as they fall through the grey void, to Ailae it was more than enough time to find the light of Ghalt's beacon and move there in a way few outside House Orien can understand. Once arrived Ailae simply pulls rank on the poor functionary in the Orien office and, once Wrath has checked the coach, they are speeding off into the countryside toward Athanasius seminary.

Within the coach Ailae listens intently to Alestair, nodding as she absently rubs the warmth of her partially exhausted dragonmark. Before she can answer properly the coach crunches over gravel and the trio's coach pulls up outside the seminary, Wrath having leapt off at the gates and made a quick check of things before arriving in time to meet the presiding High Priest. Alestair quickly introduces himself and their mission, in somewhat guarded terms, before the High Priest can reply Ailae smiles enchantingly and steps toward him, shaking his hand and elegantly dropping a small curtsey.

"Lady Ailae d'Orien Your Grace, an honour to meet you. Mr. Woland has already introduced himself, this," she gestures to Wrath, "is Wrath. Mr. Woland has been chartered to investigate this matter, myself to oversee this arm of the investigation and Wrath to provide protection. You must understand that it is not only House Orien investigating this matter, I am given to understand that representatives of a number of other organisations has been contacted. We simply happen to be here for reasons of practicality and haste.

Regarding the young man in question, we do not know how he may be involved in the matter and we certainly would not wish to circumscribe your authority here, simply to be given the opportunity to investigate any possible connexions and," Ailae holds the priest's eyes, "your eminent discretion until the matter is resolved fully."

[Morituri]

Alfred gives Shrike a sincere but friendly nod, saying "In the city, we say that a rat can kill a hound when it's sleeping. But that's fine; you do your thing and I'll do mine. That's why we're both here after all." Leaning back and stretching his neck, he adds in a more conversational tone, "And while your thing may not involve seeing the Bishop, I do believe that my thing will. A moment."

Walking to the door, Alfred opens it to the hallway and addresses the servant, "Please let Sir Mistydell know we look forward to meeting him tonight in his cart, and please send the Bishop word that our schedule is unfortunately very busy with work, but some of us would be delighted to breakfast with him tomorrow morning if it is convenient. Also, please personally see to it that no other individual but yourself has access to this cart while you are on duty. When you are going off duty, personally introduce your replacement to us and give him the same instructions. If there is a situation where another individual wishes access, come let us know beforehand and stay by the door in sight while they are inside. Those will be the procedures for the next three days, and if you could inform your others before their shifts we would be most appreciative. Please let us know when Sir Mistydell wishes our company." Nodding to him, Alfred closes and latches the door, walking back to the center of the room with his two companions.

Clapping and rubbing his hands together, Alfred gives the pair a macabre smile, saying cheerfully, "So. Thoughts on strategy? And what is it the two of you can actually do, relating to this mission?"

[Breten]

Athanius Seminary

The High Priest licks his lips nervously and glances back and forth from the Inquisitive, to the Dragonmarked Heir to the imposing Warforged.

Certainly, Certainly. Anything that I can do to help. Perhaps we should retire to my office where we can talk more privately. But rest assured we will eagerly assist however possible.

He leads you into the main building of the school, and up a staircase and through a heavy oak door into a sitting room. The monastery is simply furnished, with only the minimal religious decoration and iconography, and the furniture is comfortable, but minimalistic in nature. It is obvious this Abbott has not given in to the ostentations of wealth that the power of such a position often leads to. After getting you seated, and calling on one of the initiates to bring in some refreshments (equally simple, yet well excellently made bread and cheeses) He turns to you and asks.

So tell me of this young man you seek, and what the Dragonmarked houses could possibly want with anyone here. I will do what I can to help you in your investigation, but I will not allow any member of our community to be dragged off without explaination.

At these last words his eyes hold a spark of challenge, but his body speaks of hesistance and dread at confronting such well connected individuals.


The Lightning Rail to Sharn

Nader listens carefully to all of Mort's instructions and then nods his head.

"ofcourse sir. I will inform the others. There is one other servant attached to The Flying Galifarian. His name is Elden. He is an older man, nearing retirement, and very efficient in his duties. I will introduce him to you when we trade off duties. All other staff members on the train already know not to disturb anyone on a private car without going through the proper channels. I will inform his worship that you will receive him at Breakfast, and will make arrangements for you to dine with Mr. Mistydale. I believe that he makes it his habit to dine in car 41, where he has a private dining room. I will make all the necessary arrangements and let you know when it is time. "

With that he bustles turns and heads from the sitting room, returning a few minutes later looking quite embarrassed.

"I am pleased to let you know that arrangements are all set for you to dine with Mr. Merrydale this evening at 6. The Bishop sends his regrets that generally he is indisposed at breakfast, but would be glad to meet you either at dinner tomorrow, or for a nightcap after your dinner with Mr. Merrydale. "

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae passes into the room with a sweep of skirt, thanking whoever held the door for her and brushes her skirts before sitting down delicately upon a proffered chair. Smiling at the priest as she elegantly sips a glass of water, she speaks. "Thank you for your hospitality Your Grace. We aren't here to drag anybody off. There is an individual who we believe to be present in your seminary, with your permission we would like to speak to him. If, as our divinations seem to indicate, we have reason to believe he is a threat to the stability of the Houses and Nations we will inform relevant law enforcement agencies." She nibbles demurely on a piece of cheese, "Is that acceptable Your Grace?" Finishing her piece of cheese she looks back to the priest, this time, though her voice carries the same light quality her gaze is strong, attempting to engulf the spark of challenge."We would also like to know if there are any changelings present here, of course it is unlikely that any of them are involved but the opportunity to speak with them would be most welcome."

[Derwood]

OOC:

Sorry for the inactivity. A friend's Grandmother passed and I've been a little unavailable. Things are back on track though, so I should be back on track

Thaddius d'Cannith

At the conclusion of the meeting, Thaddius wastes no time in getting about the city and gathering his equipment. Puzzling through what may or may not be necessary for a few moments, he tosses everything in a travel worn haversack with a shrug, "Luck is nothing but preparation meeting opportunity!"

Arriving at the station, he makes his way to their private car and immediately lays out a handfull of books and sketch pads over a pair of tables. Sharpening his quill he sets to work on a number of odd looking little devices while simultaniously reading through large brass bound books.

[Miraqariftsky]

As Wrath crosses the abbey's threshold, his mithral plating gives an almost imperceptible shudder while his root-wrought muscles spasm for the swiftest of seconds. His crystalline eyes darken with the spiritual pain of that moment when he recognizes the ancient and corrupting taint of an ineffable evil...

What sort of shadowspawn is this...? It is not in the priest... but... in the temple? No... in the soil itself... the land bleeds... But what? How? Why?

But... the... the taint has subsided, barely felt, has it not?

Marching into the halls, Wrath belatedly tries to lighten his step so as not to damage the clearly-well kept floors. I may not know much about fleshforgeds' peacetime structures, but I do know that a clean barracks is a good barracks... well, at least that's what I saw back at Deneith...

Glancing about the rather spartan accomodations, despite his earlier misgivings, Wrath feels both shamed and relieved that his suspicion of the priest was unfounded... However, he still keeps vigilant watch...

At the end of Ailae's speech, Wrath drops a heavy, "Inndeeeed..."

[Breten]

Aundair

The High Priests looks a bit mollified by your assurances, but still cautious.

So can you tell me the name of the person you seek? Perhaps I can help speed your search for him. We have no changelings here that I know of, though you never can tell. My predecesor during the war refused all shapechanging applicants, said they were a "security risk". We haven't had any applicants of the kind since then.

[Morituri]

"Hmm..." Glancing quickly over his shoulder to the other two in the room, Mort gives a mental shrug and decides to just dive in with both feet, saying to Nader, "I would be delighted to meet with the Bishop tonight after dinner for a quick Nightcap. Thank you for your good work, Nader."

Closing the door, Alfred walks to his companions. "Dinner's set, and if no one else will meet with the Bishop I will. He may know something we want to know, about the Cult, about the Idol, about Sharn; and standing up men of his stature is never, repeat, never a wise survival trait. We're going to be on this thing for three days; might as well eat and learn in the meantime."

Striding over to a nearby mirror, Alfred takes a close look at his reflection, studying in minute detail his face and clothing. After considering for a moment, he decides to keep his current face, but 'clean it up' a bit, as it were. His lines grow subtly starker, his hair swirls momentarily before settling back in a sleek professional style, his freckles diminish slightly, and he grows two inches taller. Turning to his clothes, he decides to form his vestments into a smoothly dark burgandy robes with black trim and silvered buttons; the type of robes you'd expect to see on a professional barrister or other businessman on a slightly formal occasion.

Turning back to his companions, he adopts a knowing smile, "Shall we?"

[Glawackus]

"I find that being thought some kind of barbaric warlord keeps me from having to deal with worrying about canceling dinner invitations," Shrike says with a half-smile. He watches Mort shift his appearance and decides to tousle his hair up a little, but keeps his sword and bow with him. "I may trust this gnome, but that does not mean I am willing to put my life in the hands of whoever else may be riding with us this day," he says to no one in particular. "Are we to go to dinner, then?"

[Morituri]

Turning a wide eyed bemused grin on Shrike, Alfred says in a sing-song voice, "You may trust the Gnome?" A pair of thin and blackened blades shoot into Alfred's hand from either sleeve, and he twirls them nonchalantly before him as he continues, "My dear Shrike, I suggested we see the Gnome first because he wouldn't chance poisoning us in his own room." Alfred's hands fold and the blades seem to melt into his clothing, disappearing into the folds as he makes his final preparations for the evening.

[Slight of Hand, taking 20 to conceal the blades.

I'm ready to move to dinner when the rest of y'all are.]

[Glawackus]

Shrike rolls his eyes and proceeds towards the door.

[I'm ready to roll as well.]

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

Taking a few moments to break himself from his work, Thaddius gets up. Looking back to his books and sketches with a sigh, he shrugs to himself. "I do believe I can break away from my work for a moment. This bishop fellow could very well have some information that could be quite useful to us in our present endeavour!"

Taking a few steps away, Thaddius turns around and starts shuffling through his disheveled workspace and pulls his wand quiver from a pile of papers and fastens it to his belt, tying the bottom lace around his theigh and drawing his robe around him. For some reason, seeing his companions prepairing for the worst has him actually practicing caution.

Tousling his hair in the mirror, he decides to tie it back for the sake of the fact that the meetings with the high and fancies in the dining cart will more than likely require just a little more than the nutty professor routine, that tact and diplomacy may very well garner more information than the usual bookworm persona.

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae nods a wistful look in her eyes, "Yes many thought that way during the war, though thankfully such prejudice is changing." Looking back at the Priest she resumes her track, "The individual we're looking for is a slender young human man, extremely fair featured, blonde hair, blue eyes, approximately one hundred and seventy five centimetres in height. The last time he was seen he was dressed as an initiate.

Might there be someone following that description under your care Your Grace, has a man of that description passed through here recently or perhaps he is somehow associated with the seminary in some way?" Ailae keeps her tone light yet inquisitive, friendly yet professional.

[Breten]

Aundair

The Abbots face visibly relaxes at the description of man you are looking for.

Oh you are looking for Simeon! Oh an here you had me worried. Ofcourse Simeon is here, he has practically grown up here since being orphaned as a infant. You may put your minds to rest my good lady, i assure you that Simeon is of no danger to yourself or anyone else. A bit of an odd duck that boy, sometimes he seems to be listening to something, like a music that only he can hear. But he is a gentle soul. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Always listens to what he is told, and pays attention during lessons. When he reached the age of majority he chose to stay with us. He will never be a great cleric, but his heart is good and he helps out however we ask him to. If you really want to talk with him, you can probably find him in the chapel unless he has been assigned some duties. He sits in there by the hour before the icon of Athanius, humming and thinking. Like I said, a strange soul, but a good soul, no doubt about it.

Lightning Rail

The rest of the day passes idly by with little disturbances. The train makes a stop at a station, and then heads on its way again. At 5 to 6 Nader clears his throat from his unobtrusive position by the door of the car.

If you are ready mi'lords dinner will be served soon in Car 41 I will escort you there if you please.

After waiting for you to collect yourselves he leads you through several train cars. After only a few cars he knocks at the entrance to another car. There is a short pause, and than an elderly gnome in simpel grey livery pokes his head out.

Ah so you are here. Excellent. Master Mistydale is expecting you.

You are ushered into a diner car that is tastelyfully decorated but not ostentatiously so. A table is set in the middle of the room, and a middle aged gnome hops off his chair and grins up at you.

Oh wonderful! You are here! I am so pleased to meet you! I can't tell you how delighted I was to have members of house Orien willing to meet with humble old me. You do me a great honour, great honour.

He pauses for a minute, as he takes in the group of you.

But well then, unless I am mistaken none of you are Orien after all. Ofcourse since you were riding in a private Orien car I assumed...but you know what happens when you assume. Oh dear, there I go rambling on. I haven't even introduced myself. Mayrim Mistydell at your service. Please do come in and sit down, the food is ready and Wencles has prepared a feast of us.

He gestures to the table, which you find finely appointed, and servants bearing steaming trays waiting nearby. Another servant is already opening a bottle of fine Aundair wine, and all look to you expectantly.

[Morituri]

Smiling and bowing slightly to the Gnome, Alfred replies, "Sir Mistydell, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and an honor to dine with you this evening." Walking calmly to the table, Alfred continues as he seats himself, "You are right, we are not members of House Orien. Our coach belongs to our companion Ailea d'Orien who is a member, however. She lent us our transport to better facilitate our current duties, and we expect to meet with her either at Sharn or before. It would be our pleasure to introduce you, and we will certainly speak highly of your hospitality."

Grinning a bit wider, Alfred says, "Speaking of your hospitality, the food here smells truly delightful." Turning to the nearest servant, Alfred cranes his neck to peer at the dish, "May I ask what we'll be eating tonight?"

[Miraqariftsky]

The worst of woes is oft where you least expect them. The forces of Khyber work in mysterious ways, Wrath, be always ready..., remembering the words of his mentor, Wrath's grip on the trident tightens ever so slightly.

Making a sound like that of grinding gears in what would pass for a warforged's throat, Wrath replies to the Abbot, "'Doubtless'... indeed. We would much appreciate it if you led us to him, good sir"

[Glawackus]

"Sir," Shrike says, nodding his head stiffly. His eyes flicker around the room cursorily, noting exits...or anything out of the ordinary.

[Spot check, dropping roll in OOC.]

[Breten]

Mayrim nodss and leads you over to the table

Ofcourse! I have managed to acquire the services of an Aundairian chef, so we will be having gold Pheasant stuffed with sparkle mushrooms and rice, and a selection of fruit cremefels for dessert.

((As you look around the room you see there are only two primary exits: the door you came through from the corridor, and one that leads to the kitchens that the servants a bustling through. There is also an emergency hatch in the ceiling, and another in the windows on either side. Using either of those will set off alarms across the train though))

You sit down for the meal, and the food and wine are both excellent, though you find yourself wishing there was more of the food. Mayrim is a polite and entertaining host chit chatting about this and that, gossip of Zilargo and business in Sharn. As the plates of the main course are cleared away he turns to you and says

I hope I won't offend you too much, but I am so curious I must say it. You do make quite the odd group of travelling companions. A lawyer from Thrane, a Keeper of the Past from Valenar, and a noted scion of House Cannith. Whatever could you be doing together in Sharn?

[Uncle_Putte]

Alestair's face, which had been the mask of polite intrest, lightens up to relief, the few wrinkles on his forehead loosening. He nods slowly, before speaking.

"Ah, that is good to hear. The name matches as well - the divination did specify him to being called, or having been called, Simeon. But most of all, it is good to hear that he is a man of gentle and upstanding nature, as it is most likely that we can resolve our investigation without trouble. The chance to speak with him, yes - that would be all we need for now."

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae's face relaxes in time with Alestair's, she exhales, leaning back in her seat. "Excellent, it is extremely gratifying to hear such good news, likely we misinterpreted our divinations or Simeon simply knows some small tidbit which can lead us on in our investigations. I do have one further question though, might I be allowed to cast some simple magics, a detection spell to discern if Simeon is under any sort of magical effect and a dispellation possibly?" She poses her requests as humbly as she can.

[Miraqariftsky]

Still as stone
With steel as bone
Wrath follows d'Orien's lead
And says with grinding voice, "Indeeeed"

Sunlight gleams on trident's tines
As sway they slow, through wary lines
Flashes silver, the gem-hewn eyes
As Wrath thinks through the truth and the lies

This fleshforged Simeon is indeed a blessing
To be so well, so kind, so loving
Is, in these troubled times
A boon beyond the age's crimes

But then... is it too much a boon?
I truly hope that 'tis no mere illusion to be shattered soon
On the other hand, what if he's an instrument
Or mayhap an oracle speaking sooth, to ends yet to be bent?

[Breten]

Aundair

Father Tal leads you through the monastery to the chapel at the heart of the complex. It is here that you see for the first time the full measure of craftwork used in building (or rebuilding) the monastary as spartan, functional design gives away to heavy oaken doors inlaid with bronze work of exquisite complexity depicting the battle of Athanius against the Khyber Horde. The Abbott pushes the door open, and though it obvious weighs a great deal, it swings easily on its hinge. Inside the chapel in suffused with deep red light as the morning sun filters through the stainglass overhead depicting the Passion of Athanius, depicting the ancient priest locked in a mortal embrace grappling with a Ithillid.

The chapel itself can hold probably 200 in its long rows of pews if completely filled, but at the moment only one individual is to be found in the chapel. Simeon looks identical to the picture shown to you previously, a fair and delicate looking youth, with wavy blond hair, wearing the simple robe of an initiate. He is sitting with his back to you, in the very front pew. His head turned somewhat upwards towards the Icon of Dol Arrah suspended in the air above the altar.

The Abbott opens his mouth to call on Simeon, but before he can Simeon speaks, still not turning or showing any sign that he heard you come in.

So you have come. It was just as he said. The Seeker, The Pathfinder and the Souless Saint. Not all of you ofcourse. I knew it would be you. The Broken Knife, the Key Maker, and The One Who Comes Again travel as we seek to the City in the Sky. They will find what the seek there, if they are wise and seek Death. But death comes to us all. Especially here. The music is changing.

Simeon rises gracefully from his chair, his movements almost like a dance, and he turns to look on your little company. His bright blue eyes shine, even in the red light of the chapel, and you realize that he is crying.

I'm sorry. he says looking at the group sadly. But would you be so kind as to please kill me?

[Morituri]

I hope I won't offend you too much, but I am so curious I must say it. You do make quite the odd group of travelling companions. A lawyer from Thrane, a Keeper of the Past from Valenar, and a noted scion of House Cannith. Whatever could you be doing together in Sharn?

Alfred joyfully picks through his dinner, savoring every sip and bite though being cautious to neither stuff himself nor drink more than a couple sips of the amazing wine. Though with joking and small talk, he turns to their host and shrugs his shoulders, replying completely casually, "It's not a big mystery. We've been brought on by the Church of the Silver Flame to locate some religious items and treasures that were lost, either before or during the war. We don't know exactly where we should be looking right now, or truly even what it is we're looking for, but Sharn is as good a place as any to start looking for some clues to help us along the way. The three of us will be spending some time at Morgrave University to help us find our direction." Taking a sip of water, Alfred continues, "The Church doesn't want a whole lot of people or treasure hunters following us around, so they're trying to keep a low profile, hence sending us instead of a dozen Paladins Inquisitors to generally make a mess of things. We're a bit more low profile, and we're trying to stay that way."

Smiling and shrugging, he says, "I think they're embarrassed, really. Don't want people to learn about their 'inner business' when it's completely understandable and reasonable to ask for help. But hey, it pays well enough. This food truly is wonderful, by the way."


Some rolling action...

Spot anything out of sorts = [roll0]
Sense motive of our host = [roll1]

[Glawackus]

Shrike eats little more than his first plateful, and frowns at the mention of the Flame. "Do I enjoy doing all this work for the Church? Not so much," Shrike says. "But after the war, these are hard times for Valenar. Even the millesifax, the children of the sand, must eat. Which I have done plenty of," he says with a respectful nod.

[Breten]

((Mort and Shrike I need Bluff checks from you please.))

You smile as you tell your little cover story, but even as the words form you suddenly feel the subtle but unmistakable presence of someone scanning your thoughts. Pulling on years of training and experience you quickly blank your thoughts, and after a second the mental probe vanishes.

[Morituri]

[Do I get a bonus for never really lying :smallbiggrin: .

Bluff: [roll0]

Does my last Spot roll let me notice anyone in the room paying especially close attention to us with a look of concentration on his face?]

[Miraqariftsky]

Wrath follows the Abbot but keeps to a protective proximity with his two charges, doubling back on a swift patrol every so often. His gaze roams the cathedral's walls and ceilings, its art not lost on even one such as he.

As they pass beneath through the chapel's brazen doors, the warforged's three-fingered fist clenches around the hard haft of the trident in an unfathomable rage. Merely looking on the images of the hordes of Khyber produces a soul-deep revulsion... a fascinated dread and an overwhelming loathing... A thousand upon a thousand horrors from the depths of time, soul-searing, mind-ripping monstrosities roil forth from the bowels of madness and chaos itself. Names for these abominations, these tentacled terrors come to Wrath's mind unbidden--- the tsaretti, the kagge, the aboleths and the illithids... the warforged pauses in midstep across the threshold, slowly doublnig over in an ineffable paroxysm of pain...

...and then his mithral-plated foot scuffs the dust on the other side of the chapel's threshold. For another instant he leans there and all that had passed into him then passes back out without the slightest trace of memory... nothing except a nameless dread of nameless horror.

And then the party comes upon Simeon...

Though his unreadable face shows it not through feckless features, Wrath is taken much-aback by their quarry's pronouncements... his... oracles... Recovering his stance, the warforged paladin advances warily to within five feet of Simeon, all the while putting his huge bulk between the young man and Ailae and Alestair who are doubtless behind him.

Wrath's gaze scans Simeon's stance, his face, his hands and even the soul beneath the shell of flesh. What secrets does this soothsayer hold that the Flame's light has led us thence?

Simeon's words cause Wrath's second hand to take a firm grip on the lower end of the trident's haft. Drawn by forces unseen and unfelt by hands of flesh... or steel in this case... the trident's tines inch ever so slowly, tremblingly towards Simeon's chest...

His gem-hewn eyes flashing with an inner light, Wrath wrenches the weapon away from its dreadful path and slams the ironclad butt down against the cold stone floor. Hard, hollow echoes reverberate through the chapel's halls.

"NO", comes his grinding reply. The "I do not kill innocents nor do I slaughter those who are defenseless. I may have been made to slay but the Flame called me to save. So might it be with you and with us all..."

It was not always so... NO! It's all in the past... before the Flame found me... before Lady Gedram led me to the light... but... but... all that blood spurting... the bones crunching... the screaming and the moaning... that... that irresistible rage... NO! No.

No.

Backstepping with his left foot by a miniscule degree, Wrath gestures with his left hand at Woland and d'Orien and says, "My masters--- Ailae d'Orien and Alestair Woland would greatly appreciate it if you sit with them and answer their inquiries PLAINLY."

Meeting the lad's eyes and only then noticing that he had been openly weeping, Wrath says, "Are you in pain, fleshforged?" Holding up a hand that glows faintly with a divine radiance, he inquires further, "Do you require assistance... Simeon?"

[Uncle_Putte]

The first meeting with Simeon is a shock to the depth of the heartroots for Alestair, and as realization that he is now dealing with matters that may be the most difficult to unravel and interpret ever in his carreer - matters of gods, souls and their effects on mortals - floods through his mind. Along comes a spider, a being of insecurity and fear that everyone carries in their hearts, and it joyfully prances through his conscious mind and tugs and pulls at every rope imaginable to trigger the one reaction a human being's primal instincts hold for situations where one is facing unimaginable danger. Run. Scoot. Flee.

A second passes in worry and fear, before Alestair seizes himself with the one attribute over all others that has made him what he is - self-discipline. First his conscious mind takes a calm side-step out of the emotional torrent, and in this moment seizes what most could be used as a weapon against the most base of reactions. A mental image of an 11-year-old girl, unimaginably powerful and wise for her age, appears briefly, and what of it drives the fear back is not admiration but the naked truth that it is a child with worries in which she has no-one else to turn to. In the face of conscious choice, responsibility over survival, fear bows and exits the stage, with a smirk as if saying "I'll be ready to say 'told you so' when the time comes".

To the outside, Alestair seems for a moment distinctly surprised, even disturbed. But that passes before Simeon can even end his premonitions, and a look of weary compassion sets in.

"Now, now, good friend.", he utters under his breath in his usually quiet, lilting voice, while slowly laying his hand on Wrath's arm "I can relate to how you feel, yet likely not as strongly considering your strength of faith - but this man is most likely victim of circumstance, and in need of help of a different kind."

He takes a few short steps towards Simeon, and replies to his request in an apologetic, yet firm tone.

"My apologies, young man, but such a choice is, I feel, unacceptable. You obviously have a gift, one more difficult to understand than any other, but as with all gifts come responsibilities. Of which you are not extempt, despite all the hardships it may bring. If I may, I will do all in my power to ease your pain, young man - but first we should speak of your gift as well as your problems in depth. Let us be seated, and hear what you have on your heart thoroughly."

He turns back abruptly, towards the High Priest.

"Ah, your grace... my apologies for troubling one of your flock in such a way, but as it seems he indeed is, as said, partial to sounds beyond mortal ear, I would believe that our fears of him being party to our mission are compounded. What you may hear during this discussion, or even beforehand, may even compromise your safety, and most certainly I would like for all at hand to be kept in secrecy."

... and I pray to the Flame he missed that tidbit of Wrath's outburst. 'tis unfortunate our companion is the emotional sort, but chastisement will not do any good now that the cat is out of the bag. And, well, could he - er, they - be blamed, either?

[Breten]

AUNDAIR

Father Tal stares at Simeon dumbfounded, and then at the Warforged with even more shock.

Here now there will be none of that talk. No one is killing anyone. Certainly not you Simeon. And there is no danger here, just sit down and relax, and calm yourself. No one is going to die today.

Even as the words leave his mouth there is a flash of light in the chapel. The metal symbol of Dol Arrah hanging suspended in the air by the magics of the chapel suddenly busts into pieces with slam into the ground with a hollow "Clang"

Father Tal stares in horror for a moment at where the symbol used to be.

Sovereign Host defend us. The Seal is broken!

Simeon sits calmly down, still crying and shaking his head sadly.

I told you. Father is sending them for me. You can not stop him. He will use the Eye of Heaven to open to Eternal Door and the World will end in Fire and Blood. They are here. They will start in the orphanage. He loves the sound of children dying. It sounds like crystal bells being shattered.

You stare at Simeon dumbfounded for a moment, and then you hear the explosion outside, and the screams begin.

((Wrath you now sense overwhelming evil coming from outside the building to the southwest.))

[Morituri]

OOC: Who's action is it on the Train?

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae having followed the others into the chapel seems somewhat stunned at Simeon's pronouncement, holding her hand over her mouth she stands to the rear as Wrath bounds forward. At the fall of the Seal and as Alestair approaches Abbott Tal she pushes past the Inquisitive and the Warforged to Simeon, the beautifully dressed woman, her skin tanned and battered through travel embracing the young man like a mother. "Simeon, we are here to stop that, nobody is going to die. We are already seeking the Eye of Heaven and the Door will stay closed." She is still holding them as the explosion starts and the people begin screaming. Pulling back, she holds his shoulders firmly as she looks into his eyes, "Simeon, we are making a stand. Don't despair."

Standing Ailae pulls herself up and whispers a word under her breath her fingers dancing briefly as she attempts to cast a spell. "Now we stand if we can, if not, everybody keep close to me and I'll take out as many as I can."

OOC: Casting detect magic, and might I ask if my protective spells are still active?

[Breten]

Lightning Rail to Sharn

As the mental probe sweeps over you, you let your eyes casually roam the room. None of the servants seems to be paying any more attention than normal to you, and Mayrim is continuing his animated chatter just the same as always. He is currently going on about his favourite art galleries in Sharn, and gossip of the dalliances of various well known artists.

Your glance out the window, and suddenly it occurs to you, that they are in the wrong place. Looking at them carefully, but concealing the fact that you watching them you detect that there is an illusion cast on the wall to make it seem to be a foot further away than it actually is, and that the windows are showing what would be seen through the windows as far as you can tell...but it is like they are a screen. There is atleast a foot and a half space between that and where you know the outer edge of the car to be.


Aundair

Simeon pulls away from Ailea's touch.

You don't understand. There is a choice here, and a terrible one at that. We can flee now, and I will be safe for a time. But only a time. But then all who are here will die, and the children will be...twisted body and soul. For only you among those here have to power to stop those sent to slaughter. The chapels blessings will hold for a time, and they can not reach me yet. If you act now you may save the children. But a price must be paid either way.
((Roll Bluff to hide your search and awareness of the illusion in the room))

[Uncle_Putte]

It does not seem to surprise Alestair all that much, that the flow of events take from foreboding to outright violent; the previously made resolution stands. He speaks without haste, choosing words with care.

"It appears we will not be able to conduct our business at leisure. Lady d'Orien, I would request that you keep in physical contact with young Simeon at all times and stay ready to whisk him away along with yourself. He is the highest priority at the moment; if we are not within reach, it will be very much our own fault. Frankly, I would choose to evacuate right away, but there may yet be something we can learn here, and I also consider it to be possible that whatever is after our quarry could be capable of impeding magical travel."

While casually snapping his bow and two arrows, one of silver and one of cold iron, out of his efficient quiver, he angles his head towards father Tal.

"Your grace, am I at right to assume we are speaking of the seal of Khyber at present? Also, give us everything you know of young Simeon. Answer with haste, you have a temple to rally - I would choose mass evacuation myself."

[Miraqariftsky]

Suddenly, as though a massive sword is pressed against a giant's grindstone, a flurry of sparks showers forth from Wrath's nape. Black, acrid smoke spews from the warforged's joints.

Jerking about like a puppet with a drunk at the strings, he stumbles through the chapel, towards the doors. In a broken, mechanical voice, he stutteringly shouts, "WARNING! WARNING! DANGER! DANGER! SCANS INDICATE SUPERNATURAL THREAT OF GREAT MAGNITUDE, BEARING SOUTHWEST"

Recovering from the spell of weakness that came at the onset of overwhelming evil, Wrath straightens back up and addresses the folk about him tersely, beginning with the Father. "This is now a state of emergency. War is upon us whether you like it or not.”

Shuddering from yet another shrill scream of mortal agony, Wrath adds, “Your orphanage--- is it due southwest from this position? Talk while we travel!”

Re-shouldering his trident, the stony-faced paladin rips the black bladed greatsword from its scabbard on his broad back. Its blade flickers with hallowed flames that dart and spark as Wrath sets off at a trot towards the explosions and the screams.

Only slightly slowing down, Wrath unclips and tosses to Alestair a warhammer with a head wrought of a gleaming purple metal. Glances over his shoulder, he barks at his the Inquisitive. “Sir Woland, keep it and use it for the meantime--- 'tis byeshk, especially potent against Khyberspawn."

TO WAR!
Is this my purpose
That here on bloodshed and cheery char
I am unperturbed and content
All my sinews to one end bent
Consecrated is the cause
'Tis enough,
This is no bluff

With those thoughts ringing through his head, Wrath surges forth, sword held steady, seeking the ancient abominations with only the senses of his soul...

[Nycthemeron]

As Alestair and Wrath run forth Ailae stiffens as she summons her internal reserves, lightning crackles about her fingers, small tendrils cracking into the air, a small of ozone floating about her. With a moments pause she comes to a decision and addresses the Vassals of the Host.

"Simeon, Father Tal, we are going to the orphanage where we will warn them and render such help as we may. Point me in the right direction and hold on to me." She brushes her hands against the Vassals and pushes, her dragonmark flaring with heat once again as she blinks out of existence with a faint rushing of air to fill their void. After a moment of black, airless void utterly alien to many though as home to any Lady d'Orien the membrane of reality slips aside and they emerge into the monastery's orphanage.

Dimension door to the orphanage, taking the two priests with me. Also readying my stormbolt.

[Morituri]

Hell. React now, apologize later. Wonder if the bookworm can speak Elven...

Keeping a calm expression, Alfred takes his glass in one hand and moves it in front of his lips. Speaking towards his companions in a soft voice he's hoping the cup will help obscure from the Gnome, he says calmly in flowing Elven, "{Window's a glammer; mage behind it.}"

[Glawackus]

Shrike glances at "Alfred" and shoves his chair aside, moving toward the 'windows' and reaching for his bow. "Out where we can see you, now, or you'll be out the real window next," he growls, shooting a look at the gnome and then whipping his head back to squint at the illusion.

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

Sitting at the table, Thaddius simply sat and observed, making only the politest of pleasantries. Something didn't feel right, and even though his brighter nature kept him from wanting to think the worst of things, there was something bugging him about the whole situation. Picking at the beginnings of the meal, and only sipping at his water, the feeling kept digging deeper but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

As Shrike bursts out of his seat, his feeling is somewhat confirmed. Readying his arms, he shouts while looking around, "Out where we can see you, now, or you'll be out the real window next!"

His hand instinctively moving towards his wand case, Thaddius furrows his brow, I certainly hope Shrike isn't jumping to conclusions and this is less than it seems. Standing with one hand out in a halting gesture, "I think what my companion here means to say is, that it would be appreciated if all things unseen were made plain,"

Drawing a fine wand made of braided copper and dark iron, he closes all fingers but his index pointing to the ceiling, "In the all too possible case that I am misconstrewing my colleagues intent, any and all funny business is now at an end."

[Breten]

Train to Sharn

Mayrin sets down his eating utensils carefully, and looks up at the elf with disgust.

I had known elven traditions among the Valenar were differnet from their Areni cousins, but I did not know that outright rudeness to one who has offered you hospitality were among them. Was your ancestor a barbarian? or are you just [I]trying[I] to shame them? There is no mage behind my picture window. Put your weapons down, and we can discuss this like civilized persons. If we can not discuss things without you waving weapons around I am afraid I will have to ask you to leave, and that would be a shame as my chef has prepared strangleberry cremfels for dessert, and I assure you they are delicious.

[Morituri]

Utilizing the distraction named Shrike, Alfred casually slips a throwing blade from his robes, his hands always concealed underneath the edge of the table.

The action complete, Alfred turns back to Mayrim, "My apologies, Sir Mistydell, though in all fairness, that wall is an illusion, and someone did just attempt to probe our minds." Turning to Shrike while keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the Gnome, "Shrike, calm yourself."

[If needed, Slight of Hand to draw one of my regular daggers and keep the action/blade hidden under the table: [roll0]

I begin observing Mayrim intently, just in case...]

[Morituri]

OOC: Forgot I can't roll in a thread I preview first - [roll0]

EDIT: :smallbiggrin:

[Glawackus]

Shrike shoots Mort a dirty look and then turns calmly to the gnome. "One hundred apologies. After living so long by one's wits, the old instincts, they become hard to repress." He sits back down calmly and looks down at his feet, deciding against a prayer for the time being.

[Breten]

Aundair

You leave the chapel and rush into the courtyard to the south which is surrounded by living quarters for the monks, the orphanage, and a small school. A twisted crater is now open in the middle of the courtyard, looking for all the world like a gaping maw, ready to destroy all of creation.

As Ailea and her companions shunt through time and space towards the orphanage, you find yourself shifting unexpectedly. Ailea curses herself for trying to jump blind into a building full of panicking children, and as her landing is occupied she is pushed outside. Your passengers scream at the unwelcome experience of having their essence scrambled, and you find yourselfs unceremoniously materializing outside the orphanage.

Damage:1d6
The school house is on fire already, and there is smoke and paniced screams in the air all around. Everywhere you look you see mishaped creatures, like two goblins that have been mashed together, pillaging through the complex. In many places the monks and priests of the school are facing them in combat, courageously trying to push them back.

Circling over the hole into the Khyber are four terrifying creatures. Each is made of blue chitinous plates which squeeze together and ooze blood and ichor. It stays aloft on crystaline wings, and each arm ends in long blade like claws. One of the creatures has a child impaled on one claw, its age and gender are indeterminate amid the blood and butchery. It appears to be pulling out the childs internal organ with the other claw, and stuffing them into the cracks in its own oozing carapace. As you burst out of the chapel the creatures all turn to see you, and begin chittering and keening in anticipation of a fresh kill.

Everyone roll initiative please! :D

Vivisectors:[roll0]
Tal:[roll1]
Simeon:[roll2]

To see the battle map, and pictures of the creatures you are facing please follow THIS LINK (http://whenthevoicewhispers.blogspot.com/)

Mayrim smiles as everyone sits down again, even if the smile is a little forced.

There is a misunderstanding here to be sure. Yes the window is an illusion. It is a picture window. I am sure Master D'Cannith here can explain all about them, since it is his House who furnished this one. Perhaps you would like a different view?

He makes a small gesture and touches a bracelet on his hand, and suddenly the wall is replaced with a dazzling view of Sharn seen by night from a distance. He touches it again and it appears to be a stream running through a forest, cheerfully bubbling and babbling. He touches it again, and now there is just a wall, nothing more. Both Shrike and Mort's sharp eyes immediately catch the hidden door set into the wall. He touches the bracelet again and you are again looking out the windows to the Thrane country side, sliding past.

Now if that is enough of that, perhaps we can get back to dessert.

He waves his hand and immediately servants move forward setting down delicious pastries, and delicate cremefells crammed with heavy whipped creme and strangleberries.

[Glawackus]

"This lightning rail seems full of surprises," Shrike murmurs, a little disappointed not to see the Valenar desert among the tableaux. He takes a pastry and cuts it in half neatly with a look of determination, as if he's trying to force the awkwardness out of the room by brute courtesy. "What is your function in your government, serra Mistydell? It must be a great one for you to have such things in your carriage."

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae staggers a split second, landing badly from the ether she fumbles her footing, catching herself on the other foot she grits her teeth and curses inwardly and outwardly, "Crooked and blunted. Forgive me." With this an observer can see that she addressing the Vassal priests. Orien overconfidence. You can't be everywhere.

Recovering quickly she leaps into action, dancing to the left to line up as many of the chittering, shimmering wingéd beasts as possible, crouching slightly she fiddles with the material's pouch in her handbag as her other hand weaves something not quite real in the air. The lightning previously sparking about her fingernails intensifies and leaps forth burning through the air with a buzz and crack of ozone.

Once the Viscerators have taken their actions, move to keep them some distance away and then Casting Lightning bolt upon as many as possible, 10d6 damage each.

My damage from the leap, (assuming from Brian's previous post to roll my own.) [roll0]

[Derwood]

Thaddius

Finally able to put his finger on what it was itching at him, Thaddius slips his wand back into his quiver. "My friends, return to your seats- this was indeed a massive misunderstanding,

"Your grace- I do want to offer my humblest apologies. Unfortunately in the current climate of wich my companions and myself are forced to operate, desceit and ambush are certainly options not far from our mind."

Pulling the clasp from his wand case and setting it on the dining table as a show of faith, Thaddius steps over to the windows and crosses his arms behind the small of his back. "Upon entering the compartment, there was something that wasn't quite sitting with me on the level. I do apologize for not catching it sooner, but these windows are a glamour. They are enchanted to display various images with but a few short command words and constructed by members of my very own house- very rare and expensive, a true treasure indeed," turning to the window he scratches his chin a moment and nods to himself, "Io bisognio d'Yarkuun Draal e un visioariata."

With a moment's hesitation, the cart appears to plunge deep into the outskirts of the ruined goblin city. Circling with great speed around the twisted wreckage of the metropolis, it is easy to make out intricate details and even see some of the massive poisonous palms move towards the Lightning Rail- if only it really were in the city. "Again my Holiness- I do sincerely apologize for this strike against your hospitality, I accept all of the blame for not having recognized the magnificent view you wished to allow us. If there is anything I can provide in return- my services as a scribe or tinkerer, all you need do is ask."

[Morituri]

Invisibly sliding his drawn weapon back into the folds of his garment, Alfred slides out of his chair and walks towards the 'window' calmly. Tilting his head and speaking as though in awe, he says, "Masterful. I've never seen anything quite like this before."

As Alfred passes by the servants, he casually snags an apple tart and takes some cautious nibbles as he approaches the glamored wall. "How does this work? Is the cart itself enchanted? Is there some mechanism put in place to help the image form?" Alfred walks right up to the screen and, not breaking stride for a moment, passes straight through to the other side as he's still speaking to the group.

Provided he's alone back there, and there are no vocal and/or interruptions from the remainder of the room, he'll walk quickly to where the hidden door was and, sliding out a couple thin picks from his sleeve, will attempt to enter the room beyond while continuing his conversation with the room behind him. "We truly are sorry for the interruption before. The wine must be getting to us, and as we mentioned, we are half expecting to run into some rough elements while we search for our items. Has us all on wits end. Truly a marvelous wonder, this wall."

Open Lock (if it's even locked): [roll0]

If needed, Bluff the conversation: [roll1]

And, why not try, Sense Motive on our host and his companions: [roll2]. I probably should have bought some ranks in this, in retrospect, though just being generally paranoid of everyone is almost as good :smallsmile: .

[Breten]

((Hmmm. Me thinks you misunderstand. They Illusion runs along the wall like a screen. Think of a wall length flats screen television that is built into the wall. If you try to open the door you will do so in full view of everyone in the room))

[Morituri]

[Ooohhh... Sorry, thought there was more space behind the wall. In that case...]

Invisibly sliding his drawn weapon back into the folds of his garment, Alfred slides out of his chair and walks towards the 'window' calmly. Tilting his head and speaking as though in awe, he says, "Masterful. I've never seen anything quite like this before."

As Alfred passes by the servants, he casually snags an apple tart and takes some cautious nibbles as he approaches the glamored wall. Pausing and turning a few feet from the screen, Alfred speaks to the Gnome, "Is the device that makes this function in the room behind it? Through the door, I mean."

[Uncle_Putte]

It is a strange sight, the subtle transformation in Alestair Woland, when he makes it to the courtyard. There is little notion of fear in the man, apart from intensity of concetration and the mild jerkiness of motion that adrenaline brings up in every living being in such a situation. But, as his eyes spy the remains of what must have once been a child, in the claws of the crystalline monstrosity, a change more perceivable in spirit than posture passes. There's undiluted agression there. It is quite an odd sight, really - few would imagine that this tidy, plump little man could be of threat to anyone, seeming as misplaced as does in the suit of chain, sword at hip and bow in hand. It's as if being threatened by an incensed small woodland animal while walking in the park. But then again, those who have seen a hedgehog kill and devour an adder are rarely likely to forget the sight. He starts quite slowly, but with fluid, practiced movements he steps back away from Wrath and, shifting his body directly sideways towards his intended target, raises the bow parallel to his torso and far away from his eyes. His right hand reaches for the quiver, and produces three arrows of cold iron, of whom two are fluidly planted into the hand holding the bow while the third is set to the string. Only as he begins drawing the substantially heavy-pulled bow, does it align with his right eye, but as it does - fft, fft, fft! - three arrows streak away in an instant, taking a crackling glow as they go. His eyes never blink or move from his target, taking in all he can of how it reacts.

[Breten]

((I haven't heard from Nexus yet, so I will roll initiative for him. I will probably not be posting till late tomorrow, I am leading a ski trip with my youth))

Nexus:[roll0]

Lightning Rail

Mayrim smiles blandly.
No the device is built into the wall itself. It is remarkably compact. As my my job in the government, well I must admit to being an over glorified bureaucrat I am afraid. I have oversight of logistic in grain purchasing department of the bureau of agriculture.As for the Picture Window, it is not mine specifically, this car is often used by House Sivis. I was just able to make use of it on this trip by calling in some favors. I am sure that they will be most dismayed to hear about your behavior here. Your friend threatening such expensive property with his rude recklessness will not go over well I am afraid. However I would not have to tell them...

Although the gnomes smile remains polite, they now seem to be showing just a hint too much teeth, giving him the look of a cat who has just trapped something small and furry.

[Breten]

The first of the foul aberrations (K14) flies up attack Wrath (I17)
Hit:[roll0]
Dam:[roll1]
Striking true the creature digs a deep furrow across the Warforged's chest doing 18 damage! (crit)

The second (N14) charges Aleistar (J18) swinging a wicked claw
Hit:[roll2]
Dam:[roll3]

The third (N12) moves to L10, and sensing the magic in Ailae moves to strike her down
Hit:[roll4]
Dam:[roll5]
It strikes home, deeply wounding her arm doing 9 damage (crit!)

Ailae, you are threatened and blocked in by the Vivisectors, do you wish to risk the AoA to hit both of them with a lightning bolt? Also you can hit one threatening you, and the one threatening Wrath, but the bolt may damage the chapel as well.



The final one (K12) moves in beside attack (K10)
Hit:[roll6]
Dam:[roll7]

(to make things easier I just rolled the crit threats in person. Both hit however!)

[Morituri]

Heel turning and giving the Gnome a winning grin, Alfred tilts his head slightly toward Shrike while keeping a keen 'observing' eye on their host. Speaking quietly in Elven, "{If they try to stop us, kill everyone who doesn't run.}"

Clasping his hands together and rubbing vigorously, Alfred says to Mayrim, "This evening has been wonderful, and I do apologize for any misunderstandings. However, the wine has certainly begun to affect my head, and I do believe it is time for us to make our leave."

[Breten]

Mayrim shrinks back in horror at your words, obviously fluent in elven. Several of the wait staff seem to understand too, and quickly scurry out of the way of the door back to the main hallway, pulling their coworkers with them.

You DARE! Mayrim screams. You dare threaten ME? Get OUT! Get out this instant! Believe me my supervisors will hear about this....outrageous conduct, them and a great many people too. I do not believe that I have ever been so insulted in my life! And after such a fine meal!

His face turns a shade of purple as his voice hits a new octave of shrillness.

You will regret this insult, mark my words! GET OUT!

[Morituri]

Speaking in an airy dismissive tone as he walks to the door, Alfred says, "Oh silly wine, making me forget my Elven conjugation again. Oh well. Good evening, Sir Mistydell, I look forward to supping again!"

Walking out to the hall, Alfred will proceed directly to the cab if uninterrupted. If his companions attempt to speak to him in the corridor, he'll motion for their silence with a simple hand gesture. Once back in the room, Al turns to his companions, a Cheshire grin on his lips. "Well. That was fun."

[Miraqariftsky]

Initiative: already rolled for by da Chief.

First Blow (Smite Evil + Rage)
Attack [roll0]
Crit Threat [roll1]
Damage from greatsword plus Str bonus, plus Smite bonus, plus enchantment[roll2]
Holy Weapon damage
[roll3]

Second Blow (normal)
Attack [roll4]
Crit Threat [roll5]
Damage (ditto, minus Smite) [roll6]
Holy Weapon damage [roll7]

Ooookay... so that's three Smites left for today.

Edit: So, the second strike probably missed but that was at least 26 points of damage dealt...

EDIT #2!
Ugh. I forgot that THF gives +1.5 damage.

Sooo... that puts the damage from the first attack at either 29 or 30 points...

GRAZZZK!

Crystalline claws gouge deep into Wrath's chest, scattering shards of mithral and slivers of liveroot across the chapel floor. The warforged takes the hit unflinchingly, knowing that those selfsame claws have merely reopened old scars in his old frame...

Within, Wrath struggles to control the battle-frenzy building up but his righteous rage cannot contain itself. Merely glancing at the child's gore, at the children's horror, at the devastation brought upon this sanctuary ignites a flaming fury burning with wrath.

Seizing the moment of vulnerability when the flying fiend exposed itself to attack by attacking, the streaking sword in his hands flashes forward, a black blur of virtuous vengeance. Using a maneuvre taught to most warforged fighters early on, Wrath pivots as he swings, putting the full force of his body behind the blow. The sword comes up from a neutral guarding stance, then slashes downwards.

Blood, dust and chitin flying in the sword's wake, Wrath reverses his grip on the hilt and swings again, aiming to quarter the foul flying fiend. The hallowed blaze wreathing his blade roars, anticipating the taste of evil blood. The second swing finishes with Wrath slightly kneeling, leaning towards the left, the greatsword's blade held high and ready for another assault.

[Glawackus]

Shrike keeps a straight face. As soon as the gnome appears to lose it, he quickly winds his shroud back on and fastens the brooch, walking out the door with a grateful nod towards one of the serving staff, who's gone snow-white.

Back in the room, he unstraps his sword and puts it in the other room, not wanting to deal with the heavy weight on his back--he keeps his bow with him, however. "I think dinner with the bishop was probably a better idea anyhow." He sighs. "The Zilargo government will probably suddenly become very curious about the art group that threatened their farmer-prince, or whatever he was."

[Morituri]

Shrugging his shoulders, Alfred says plainly, "Maybe, maybe not. We do have three days left to make him.. see our side, in any case, unless he does a runner at the next stop." Walking over to a bedstand, he pours himself a small glass of water and sips gratefully, "Can't take his cart, though, even if he does. And to think I was kicking myself for not bringing a book."

Smiling morosely and turning back to Shrike, "I tried to let you know about the Gnome. I doubt he knew or knows anything about what we're trying to do, but someone like that starts paying attention we need to take him into consideration in all our future moves. I doubt I'll have to kill him, and would strongly prefer not to, but I am going back there sooner rather than later and I'm going to find whoever it was that tried to scan our minds. After drinks with the Bishop, of course."

Turning back to d'Cannith, Alfred asks, "That screen, in the cart. Someone could have been behind it, watching us and casting magic through it?"

[Glawackus]

"I do not know if I would be the best to talk to him. Perhaps serro d'Cannith would be best off in that department...considering that he seems to have been the most passive of the group." Shrike looks around the room and sighs. "Unfortunately, the only sure way I can think of to regain Mistydell's trust would be to tell him the truth about our function here."

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae bites her lip as the beast leaps at her, sheering through her protections her lips and knuckels going white as she avoids looking at her arm. Falling back against the wall of the orphanage she grits her chattering teeth, and stares the chitinous aberration in the eyes. With a word she completes her spell and with a flash of light, the smell of ozone and a sound like the crack of a god's whip echoes through the once tranquil courtyard behind a bolt of lightning aimed through both the monster before her and that standing before Alestair.

I'm aiming through K10 toward J11, the spell doesn't need an attack roll so I'm guessing I can't miss. This will hit the chapel wall but Other than singing the stone I don't know what will happen. Caster level is actually nine so 9d6 Damage to be done. [roll0]

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

Walking into the room and taking a seat at his makeshift workstation, Thaddius rubs his forehead. "Theoretically, anything could happen with that kind of illusion. The screens themselves were built into any number of devices for any number of reasons. There are records of some being installed into places of worship or political importance to allow those who had reason to hide themselves without putting forth the effort to actually work illusions themselves. Sadly, without getting into the carriage to look at the wall itself to check for compartments or observational magic."

Pocketing his spectacles, he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, "Personally, I think it's in our best interest to just put out distance between ourselves and this fellow. People with political and personal power are th kind that we need to avoid at the moment. Our goal is still far out and the less confrontation we encounter, the better off we are going to be, especially seeing that we are three against how many?"

Taking a few more moments of silence, he puts his spectacles back on, "More importantly, if we are going to be communicating in the company of others in the future, I think it would be a good idea for me to craft a device of some sort that will allow us to share thoughts without chancing a repeat of this evening. I believe I have some schematics in my Haversack that would serve the purpose."

[Morituri]

Throwing his hands over his heart in an over-exaggerated display of distress, Alfred whimpers, "My dear Shrike, you wound me!" Dropping his hands and speaking sardonically with a tired edge, "We were the image of gentlemen until that Gnome poked his pointy little fingers into our heads. I'm not sure where this feeling of us wronging some kind of innocent came from; he's a rat through and through, and he tried to mark us. Maybe he had some lead on who we were, maybe he was looking for a backdoor in with the Oriens, maybe he was just curious about who we were, but he tried to mark us. The absolute, repeat, absolute last thing we need is someone like that on our heels when we're on this job. We're gonna have to deal with him."

Alfred sits down hard in a padded chair, slumping forward and letting out a long sigh. From out of his robes comes a thin, slightly curved blackened blade with an edge that makes your eyes sting when you stare at it. He turns it slowly and gently between his dexterous hands, thinking long and hard and welcoming the tactile mental aid. After a moment, he turns his eyes back up to the room, "We're gonna have to deal with him. He involved himself, and earns none of my sympathy through his actions. Now, we've got some options here. We're on the same train for the next three days, not to mention he knows who we are and where we're going, so avoid's kinda out the window. If the two of you are up for it, we can try and work something with him after hours. Specifically, something that involves breaking into his room and figuring out what he's hiding in that nice little trap door of his, maybe using it or something else as leverage to get him off our trail. For the record," eyeballing his companions, "the universe of 'Something Else' does not include 'The Truth'."

Alfred takes a long, long sip of water, then turns plaintive eyes back to his teammates, "If that doesn't work, or if you won't help me, there's the other way." Alfred takes the blade in his hands, lifting it and drawing it before his throat while staring holes into his partners, "Whatever we decide, speed is our friend. Tonight, after drinks. Speaking of which, ought we be getting a start to the Bishop's car soon?"

[Glawackus]

'Indeed," Shrike says. "What you say is very true, all of it. Perhaps we should repair to the Bishop's car, and deal with the gnome later."

[Breten]

Ailae's lightning bolt transfixes two of the monstrosities, and both of them collapse to the ground twitching erratically and keening in their strange language before falling silent. The bolt passes on through the second one and slams into the side of the Cathedral shattering the stain glassed window on that side and scarring the fine stonework.

Wrath lives up to his name and channels his rage and faith into a tremendous blow that severely wounds the aberration before him. His second blow goes off course as the creature darts aside like a hummingbird. Glaring at the creature you notice a softly glowing silver ring encrusted in his soft oozing flesh between chitin plates.

Aleistar unleashes a volley of arrows at the wounded vivisector that is hovering over Wrath, but the quick creature avoids all but the first, which lodges itself in the soft vitals of it abdomen.

Father Tal seeing Ailae wounded calls upon the power of his God to grant her healing with a touch.

CSW:[roll0]

The wounded monster faing Wrath shudders a moment from pain from its wounds, and then its wings begin to vibrate at a faster frequency. Suddenly the creature vanishes from sight! You stare in shock at the space it once inhabited, but then you feel the breeze of moving air as blows come raining down on you.

Claw:[roll1]
Dam:[roll2]
Crit:[roll3]

Claw:[roll4]
Dam:[roll5]
Crit:[roll6]

Sting:[roll7]
Dam:[roll8] Plus Poison [roll9]Str DC 15

Raising his reinforced Mithral arms above his head Wrath fends off the first blow, and deflects a sting attack, but the creatures claws again slice into him, digging furrowns along his face this time.

The final Vivisector ***** his head to the side, as if considering something or listening to something unheard. After a second his wings vibrate faster and he too disappears. Suddenly a bloody hole bursts into Simeon's chest. He gasps in pain as scarlet blood splatters across his white robes, and he collaspses to the ground and start convulsing.

(Ailae's turn)

[Breten]

Rail to Sharn

By the time you have returned to your car in the train evening has fallen. You are met at the door by Nader who is wringing his hands and is visibly upset.

"Sirs, i am glad you are back. I have heard talk from the other servants that the dinner with Mistydell did not go well, and that he threw you out shouting threats. I can't believe it! This is an insult not only to yourselves, but to House Orien as well! Disgusting behavior. And to think his servants walk around with their noses held so high simply because they have favour with House Sivis!"

His cheeks flushed with anger the young servant seems to catch himself, and realizing that he speaking to his betters suddenly shuts his mouth clears his throat.

"Shall I send word to the Bishop that you will not be available tonight? Is there anything that I can do for you? A drink perhaps?"

He pauses for a second, hesitant, then resolutely takes a breath and says

"I should also report an...irregularity. Elden has not shown up for his shift tonight. I was waiting so that I could introduce him to you as promised, but it has been half an hour since I expected him. He has never been late before. I would have gone and looked for him, but did not want you to return and find the car unattended. "

[Nycthemeron]

Her healed flesh well and made as new, Ailae draws a ragged breath, pulling back from the blur assaulting Simeon. A desperate look crosses her face as she pulls a thin length of plain lead with the symbol of House Jorasco worked in silver set into the tip from her belt.

As the young priest's blood splutters from his mouth and chest Ailae grabs his shuddering hand and points the wand at his chest muttering to herself. Ignoring the horror buzzing around them a single thought flies through her head, You cannot die.

Use Magic Device to use my eternal wand of cure moderate wounds to save the priest's life. Spend an action point to help do this.

[roll0]

[roll1]
[roll2]

EDIT: So its 19+6 = 25, then the wand activates, healing 2d8+3 damage; can't roll again in this post, rolls in the OOC thread.

Rolled 10 damage healed.

[Morituri]

Alfred lets out a long internal moan as their servant informs their group of the missing man. Considering for only a moment, he comes to a decision. "You did well. We'll go look for Elden, and while we do, it is imperative that you do not leave this cart for one moment. Now, tell us where he is staying, the last place he was seen by you and others, any places he may have gone to on the train, what he looks like, what he was wearing, every possible detail that may help us find him and recognize him when we do. Quickly now, time is most certainly not on our side tonight."

With some luck (HA!), we'll still have enough time to meet with the Bishop tonight and the Gnome afterwards. If push comes to shove, we'll just have drinks with the man tomorrow and deal with the Gnome tonight, after we figure out if the Gnome has been dealing with our men...

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

"Well isn't that just one more ray of sunshine for our night! Nader, if you could have the compartment turned down for us to make it an evening upon our return, it would be much appreciated. But for your own sake- my papers and tools on the tables are to be untouched."

Grabbing all of his gear together, he stands beside Alfred and awaits the groups departure.

[Glawackus]

"I think we should go. Now." Shrike says, pulling his things together. He scowls at the servant and looks at Alfred. "Where to first?"

[Breten]

Wrath glares around, sensing for the evil that he knows the Khyberspawn represent. Guessing the creature has not actually moved, he swings blindly ahead of himself.

Concealment[roll0]hitting high

Hit:[roll1]
Dam:[roll2]

Hit:[roll3]
Dam:[roll4]

[Breten]

Train to Sharn
Nader nods.

"Ofcourse I will do as you say. As for where he could be, that I am not sure. I went to our quarters in the servants train, and ofcourse he wasn't there, no is he in the small room in this car reserved for servants use. I talked to some of the others asking if any had seen him. One of the cooks boys said he thought he had seen him going back into the cargo cars, but I can't think of what he could be doing back there, and I didn't dare take the time to investigate without reporting to you. Shall I send word to the Bishop that you will be unavailable this evening? I can send word through a page instead of going myself."

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

Turning to the servant, Thaddius nods, "Yes, inform the Bishop that due to circumstances outside of our control, we will be unable to attend him this evening, but that we would be honored to join him for morning service if he would be so inclined as to have us."

"Shrike, I say let's get to the cargo carriage and start our search there."

[Morituri]

Alfred smiles slightly and nods approvingly at his companions newfound sense of paranoia. Turning to Nader, he says, "Open the door for no one but us, and scream and make noise if anything slightly out of the ordinary occurs. Bad things happen when people aren't watching; make people watch." Spinning back to his fellow adventurers, he leans and waves down the corridor, "Let's off to the Cargo car. Shrike, after you."

Marching with purpose, Alfred takes a moment to slide his finest dagger into the palm of his hand, hiding both from sight in an oversized pocket. Considering for a moment, he tilts his head and asks in a casual voice, "I don't suppose either of you have any spare daggers? One can never have too many, and I somehow feel I may have under-packed." Proceeding under the hopefully burning gazes of his partners, Alfred walks with a skip in his step all the way down the train.

[Glawackus]

"I have but what you see," Shrike says, gesturing to his sword and bow. He moves out into the hallway and adjusts his shroud for a moment, and then moves off in the direction of the cargo car.

[Uncle_Putte]

With a glance, Alestair witnesses the worst-case scenario come to pass. A split-second review of what can be done leaves him with little option apart from what was clear already - fight. Moving carefully, he distances himself from the closest opponent and calmly lets loose a trio of cold iron arrows.

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]

[roll3]
[roll4]
[roll5]

[roll6] + [roll7]
[roll8] + [roll9]
[roll10] + [roll11]

[Breten]

Train to Sharn

The cargo cars on the train are at the back, and the trip back to them is like a archaeological dig through the strata of humanity. Exclusive cars reserved for the ultra rich and politically connected give way to lavish first class, and then regular class, and eventually to the huddled masses crammed uncomfortably tight quarters. As you travel through the last few cars the passengers alternate between giving you unfriendly stares, accutely aware of the difference in station between you, and looking away, afraid of the consequences of attracting attention of their betters.

Finally you find yourself passing through cars that are mainly filled with workers and servants. Though outwardly polite and cheerful you can feel their tension at your presence. The going ons of servants outside of the corridors of their masters is a secret sanctuary, and your very presence is to them a threat. After passing kitchens and servants quarters you find your way blocked by two dwarven guards, each armed with a sheathed rapier and truncheon, firmly blocking passage into the cargo section itself. You notice pins marking them as House Kundarak employees. The look at you in a calm, unfriendly way as you approach, and when it becomes obvious that you wish to pass into the Cargo cars one clears his throat and announces

"The Cargo cars are off limits to passengers, except with specific written permission from House Orien. If you wish something of your own which is being stored your man servant can make arrangements through the porters to have it brought to you. But security procedures for the safety of everyone prohibit anyone from passing beyond this points Mi'lords.

After delivering this speach his sets his jaw and glowers at you, as if daring you to push the matter further.

[Morituri]

Hmm, Soldiers. Let's try this way.

Sneering and giving a sidelong look like he'd just scraped him off the bottom of an expensive pair of slippers, Alfred speaks to the Dwarf, an edge of rust in his deliberately patient voice. "Dearest sirs, we are business partners and personal traveling companions of the Lady Ailea d'Orien. We are sleeping in her cart. We have her ear. She is a woman who, I assure you, has full authority on this train and is not one to be bothered. Now. A servant and good friend of the Lady, old man name of Elden, is, we are told, in great distress, and was last seen behind those doors. We. Are here. To help him. And you. Are in. Our way."

Alfred's gaze levels and the patience in his voice begins to evaporate, "What is going to happen now is this. You two will open those doors. You will stand aside and permit our entrance. You will smile and nod as we pass, and not hinder us while we do what we must for as long as it takes. And if this does not happen, you will be thrown from this train, likely while moving, while we wave from the opened doors. We will get into that room; your choices are to cooperate, or risk the wrath of a very, very powerful, very, very rich, very, very easily pissed-off noblewoman."

Alfred's head lowers as he stares at the guards through narrowed black eyes and speaks words of ice. "Stand. Aside."

[Bluff, don't fail me now...: [roll0]]

[Breten]

As you work your way into a good old fashioned noble rant the effect on the two guards is interesting and opposite. The one who first addressed you glowers at you, obviously becoming angrier by the word, until at the threat of having him thrown from the moving train his hand begins twitching towards his sword.

His companion however becomes more and more alarmed as the conversation continues, and glancing sideways at his fellow dwarf with growing unease, decides to intervene. He steps slightly forward putting his hand on the shoulder of the first guard.

It is true that a servant of Orien named Elden passed this way some time ago, and has not returned though he meant to be in there are short time. You claim to be from house Orien, would you have papers to back up this claim. Please understand that by the laws and codes of House Kundarak we can not allow you through without proof of who you are. YOu may be agents of any number of groups, and may be responsible for Elden's mishap yourself as a way to gain entrance to the car. Threats notwithstanding the agreements of the Treaty of Houses states that a guard of Kundarak may not be punished for properly fulfilling his duties and following procedures, even if doing so results in inconvenience or loss to members of another house. So if you have a charter from House d'Orien we will let you pass. If you do not you will have wait here while myself or my comrade here will go back and look for Elden

[Glawackus]

"Very well, my friend. We cannot be too careful in this world of ours, no?" Shrike says. "I think that we can all find this agreeable. Please hurry. We fear greatly for Elden." He steps back respectfully.

[Morituri]

Alfred gives another sidelong sneer at the guards before stepping back to lean against the nearby wall, glowering all the way. He mutters under his breath, the occasional 'Orien' or 'Nobleman' or 'Reckoning' making itself heard in the muted chatter.

Let's let this play out for a bit, see what happens next...

[Breten]

The first dwarf glares at his more civil companion, who stares back non plussed.

Well, don't just stand there. Go look for the nice peoples servant already.

With muttered curses the dwarf goes stumping back into the cargo section.

After a few moments you hear the dwarfs voice

Hey you! What are you doing in here?

There is a rustle of noise, and then suddenly a shout followed by a wet thump

[Glawackus]

Shrike winds his shroud tighter around his face--only his eyes (and, of course, the symbol of his ancestor) show now. "Master Dwarf," he says, clearly sounding edgy, "I think we need no further evidence that something is wrong in the baggage car."

He steps towards the door and looks back toward the others with a look that clearly reads You either follow, or get out of the way.

[Uncle_Putte]

As Alestair finally realizes his opponents are likely to be still present despite their disappearance, he takes a different approach. With careful movements, he plants a second arrow on the string, above the first, grasping both gently by the tail, while his eyes peel the yard for the slightest of disturbance, slightest ripple in the air. Sweat beads on his forehead, and he struggles to keep his breathing as calm and deep as is required for one who aims with the eye of the mind. His arms burn as he keeps the heavy string pulled. But there's a strange appeal to games of patience for him, and today, stakes are high.

Move action: Spot to scan the area for invisible baddies.

[roll0]

5-foot step southwards to gain a better view of the battlefield.

Standard action: Ready Action: Manyshot, for any opponent spotted within range and with a clean line of fire.

[roll1]

[roll2]

[roll3]

[Morituri]

At the sound of the shouts in the room, Alfred seems to spring from the wall into a low fighting stance, the knife held in a loose reactive grip in his hand as his eyes pan from the door to Shrike and the Guard. Arching an eyebrow, he says sardonically, "After you," and slides in a heartbeat after the others enter the room.

[Breten, if/when it comes to it, feel free to roll my initiative for me, just to save some time.]

[Breten]

Aundair

There is silence for a moment on the battlefield, only disturbed by the snap of flames, and cries of the fearful children inside the orphanage. Everyone stays silent, watching carefully for signs of the returning monsters.

Father Tal, checks over Simeon, who has despite his wounds collapsed to the ground, and seem to be convulsing.

We need to close the portal to Khyber. I have a scroll among the relics of the church which will do it, but I need you to hold the creatures back until I can return. I have done what I can to stablize Simeon, but for now...there is little that can be done. Deal with these creatures, and I will return soon.

With that the priest turns and runs back toward the chapel, with a dark, determined look on his face.

Suddenly the creatures reappear again, in the places where they were before. Aleistar releases a single arrow he had prepared against their return, but it bounces harmlessly off the creatures crystaline exoskeleton.

The flying monstrosities waste no time in attacking. The one in front of Wrath again slashes out:


Claw:[roll0]
Dam:[roll1]
Crit:[roll2]

Claw:[roll3]
Dam:[roll4]
Crit:[roll5]

Sting:[roll6]
Dam:[roll7] Plus Poison [roll8] Str DC 15


Digging another gouge across the warforged chest, and stabbing its stinger into the warforged shoulder, pumping ineffective poison into Wrath.

Meanwhile the one who has so recently stung Simeon turns its foul attentions to Ailae.

Claw:[roll9]
Dam:[roll10]
Crit:[roll11]

Claw:[roll12]
Dam:[roll13]
Crit:[roll14]

Sting:[roll15]
Dam:[roll16] Plus Poison [roll17] Str DC 15



It's first blow does greivous harm, impaling the sorceress' arm with a blade, and leaving a dire gash. (Crit hit. 21 dam) And though its second attack goes wide it follows up with a stinger which embeds itself in Ailae's shoulder. (roll poison save)

__________

[Miraqariftsky]

Sapphire sparks spew and alchemical fluids gush forth from the warforged's wounds. The floor of the chapel glitters with scrapings of silversteel.

Wrath's vision fizzles slightly as he staggers back from the furious assault. Regaining his balance and ignoring... overriding the klaxons blaring WARNING! WARNING! DANGER. DANGER. CRITICAL HIT. CENTRE TORSO. CRITICAL HIT... in his head, he lunges at the bloody winged fiend.

His ghulra gleams with a silvern light and his eyes flash with righteous rage. The greatsword's broad blade roars down from an overhead slash. Hallowed flames leave motes of white in the weapon's wake as it comes back across, this time ending up held ready at the right.


[roll]1d20+23[roll] attck roll
[roll]1d20+23[roll] crit threat
[roll]2d6+10[roll] greatsword damage + THW damage + rage
[roll]2d6+7[roll] Smite Evil, plus holy damage, plus enhancement

[roll]1d20+9[roll] attck roll
[roll]1d20+9[roll] crit threat
[roll]2d6+10[roll] greatsword damage + THW damage + rage
[roll]2d6+7[roll] Smite Evil, plus holy damage, plus enhancement

[Miraqariftsky]

((Whaddaheck?! Why didn't they work? Ok, fine, re-rolls ahoy. ))



[roll0] Raging Smite Evil attack roll
[roll1] ditto, crit threat
[roll2] greatsword damage + TWH + rage
[roll3] Smite Evil + holy damage + enchantment damage

[roll4] ditto, second attack
[roll5]
[roll6]
[roll7] ditto, w/o the Smite Evil, since that's only for one attack, right?

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae pales as the reappearing monster's blade slices through her arm, her hand relaxing as she shudders and the wand drops to the ground, its lead length thudding dully on the ground. As a prayer inaudibly slips from her lips the monstrosity's stinger thuds into her shoulder and the sorceresses eyes go wide as her body stiffens.

Her gorge rises and she sees the flitting beast, capable of becoming invisible above her. Just let it go, the power inside. Electricity flickers about her fingers. No, more. More. The dragonmarked lady flops her damaged hand into the component handbag with a gasp of pain as her other hand gestures quietly and the storm about her fingers built. Maintaiing her focus she swallows and speaks the arcane words she has long memorised.

From her hand cracks a bolt of lightning like the first, wide and burning through the air above her, stabbing at the beast and launching into the sky beyond it.

I failed to remember that my Storm Bolt feat gives a +1 caster level bonus electricity spells. Therefore damage from lightning bolt, [roll0]

Poison Save, [roll1]

[Breten]

Wrath summons his holy power and smites the foul creature, striking it from the sky and rending its body in two.

Aliae's lightning singes the final aberration, sending it jerking and spasming in its flight, but fails to slay the creature.

[Morituri]

OOC: We waiting on Thaddius for the Train?

[Breten]

((No the hold up is, I am on a business trip, and don't have digital copies of my monster manuals, so while I can keep running a combat I already started, I don't have the stats to start up yours. I should post it tonight when I get home...might be late though.))

[Miraqariftsky]

Wrath summons his holy power and smites the foul creature, striking it from the sky and rending its body in two.

Aliae's lightning singes the final aberration, sending it jerking and spasming in its flight, but fails to slay the creature.

The two halves of the flying fiend drop limply to the ground as Wrath's first swordstroke cleaves it asunder. Its gore does not even spatter the sanctified soldier for it smokes into acrid fumes as it spurts from the horrendously gaping wounds. On the second slash, the two halves are quartered in midair and consumed by the hallowed flames of the righteous rager's sword. Charred into naught but a hollow, blackened husk, the daemon's corpse crackles apart into shards of hardnened ash as it falls to the floor.

Wrath's silvern gaze tracks the last remaining viscerator as it flies spasmodically, still convulsing from Ailae's thunderbolt. The warforged paladin then turns about, seeking and ascertaining the locations and conditions of the other Khyberspawn... MULTIPLE HOSTILES... SUPERNATURAL THREATS... EVIL NATURE... FLYER, INJURED... GROUNDPOUNDERS... DOLGRIMS... ENGAGED WITH MONKS... STATUS UNCERTAIN... ANALYZING TARGETS...

A thousand calculations run through Wrath's processor in a single heartbeat yet most of them are foiled by the still-hot savagery system. Nevertheless, the liveroot sinews in his limbs tense in preparation for either a charge or the hurling of the trident at the remaining flyer.

From the recesses of his mind, his reasoning self scrabbles for a hold on his faculties and Wrath grinds out the words of congratulation and command, "Good work, Lady d'Orien. Sir Woland, concentrate fire on the flying fiend, finish it off. I'll deal with it if it comes aground. If not...”

[Derwood]

OOC: Wow- totally just realized my post didn't go through the other day.

Thaddius d'Cannith

Pulling a long wand of spun silver and gold from his quiver, Thaddius furrows his brow and looks directly at the Dwarf, "Good sir, Master Dwarf, I fully respect your duties and those of your house- but sadly, we have a duty to our host and our current charge. We're moving in there now, and I think it would be wise of you to let us through without issue."

[Uncle_Putte]

"Ten-four", confirms Alestair, as he lets loose on the remaining beast, with a vengeance. Three arrows, coated by writhing snakes of blue-white energy, streak through what little distance lies between the man and his prey.

[roll0]
[roll1]
[roll2]

[roll3]
[roll4]
[roll5]

[roll6]
[roll7]
[roll8]

[roll9]
[roll10]
[roll11]

[Breten]

The volley of arrows streaks across the sky, but only one finds its mark, while the others two bounce harmlessly of the orphanage wall. The one arrow that does fly true sticks itself in the creatures wing, and its movements become more erratic, but though grievously injured it remains single minded in its attempts to slay the wounded sorceress beneath it.

Claw[roll0]
Claw[roll1]
Stinger[roll2]

Crit[roll3]
Crit[roll4]
Crit[roll5]

Dam:[roll6]
Dam:[roll7]
Dam:[roll8]

[Breten]

Train to Sharn

You step into the dim illumination of the rail car. Only a single flickering light makes things visible, and shadows loom everywhere, cast by the piled boxes of cargo all marked as Confidential. There is a 10ft wide aisle between the piles of cargo, and at the far end you see a beautiful woman dressed in loose fitting black clothes with a green sash tied around her waist. As the door opens and you enter her head whips around to regard you and her body flows liquidly into a defensive stance. Her eyes glow red in the darkness.

Leave now. This is not your business. Leave or you will suffer the same fate as the meddling dwarf.

As she mentions it you notice the dwarf laying in the aisle his neck twisted to an improbable angle.

((Roll Initiative, and check out the battle map HERE (http://traintosharn.blogspot.com/) The blog is different from before because for some reason the other one got marked as spam, and I haven't sorted how to unlock it.))

[Glawackus]

"This is our business now, murderess," Shrike spits, jerking his head at the dead body and reaching for his bow. "Come quietly, and the authorities of this land may not demand your head."

OOC

Vampire? I'm thinking vampire. Maybe. :smalltongue:
Init roll : 25 (in OOC thread)

[Morituri]

Oh Bloody Hell...

Initiative: [roll0]

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae, battered by the beast's continuing assault focuses as much as she can upon it, sticking to Simeon's side. The lighting about her fingers continues to dance to its eldritch tune. Having unleashed the full power of her lightning she instead simply points, no somatics, no secret invocation, simply a channeled release as a strike of electricity stabs out at the faltering beast.

Using Storm Bolt, ranged attack roll; [roll0], Damage; [roll1]

[Breten]

The final abomination drops from the sky and lays still. As you look around, the monks have killed the dolgrims, though it has cost two their lives. Simeon has stopped convulsing, but still is unconscious, mutter to himself of "Father"

Father Tal reappears, clutching a large ornate scroll.

Thank the Host you are still okay, and have beaten off those creatures. With this scroll I can seal the rift.

He looks at Aliae in horror

You are wounded! Oh let me help you!

He reaches out with a touch, and muttered prayer and you feel your wounds begin to heal.

CSW: [roll0]

As you look over the bodies of the creatures you have been fighting you notice a strange glimmering in the carapaces. Looking closer you find a small silver ring inbedded in it's carapace. You pry it out and look it over and discover that it is a magic ring. Checking over the creatures you find several such magic items inbedded in them. In total you find

2 Amulets of Natural Armour
1 Ring of Protection+1
Lesser Iron Ward Crystal
2 Potions of Resist Fire(10)

[Breten]

Train to Sharn

Rolling Initiative for Derwood so we can get this going.

[roll0]

And the woman with the glowing red eyes...

[roll1]

Okay so initiative order goes like this:

Shrike
Elden
Mort
Glowing Eyed Woman
Thaddius

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

"It certainly appears to be our business now that you're tossing threats our way. Now why don't we get a better look at what's going on here!"

Pulling a flat circular stone from his pocket, Thaddius taps it with his wand. With the mutterance of a few words, the stone instantly shines up with the intensity of the sun. Tossing it towards the woman, Thaddius draws a different wand from his quiver, this one a length of copper with a rougly cut garnet set in the base.


UMD for my eternal wand of daylight: [roll0]
Init: [roll1]

[Morituri]

Eyes narrowing at the sight of the fallen men and the woman responsible, Alfred quickly raises his hands and instantly dissolves into the shadows, the blade in his hand live and ready...

Alfred casts Invisibility on himself, quietly moving forward to square R17 while carefully observing the woman. Move Silently: [roll0] (-5 penalty for moving 30ft)

I don't expect Shrike's or Eldon's actions to void this out.

[Glawackus]

Shrike darts forward and touches his hand to his ancestor's symbol on his spirit shroud. "Arkallal, I call! Lighten my way!"

The symbol glows with an ethereal light, and he draws his bow perpendicular to his body, arrow ready to fly.


Casting light on the ancestral symbol (also Shrike's divine focus), and moving forward to R18, drawing the bow as he goes.

[Uncle_Putte]

With a slight sigh of relief, Alestair confirms the situation to be finally in control as the last of the flying monstrosities is relieved of it's miserable existence. For a moment, his heart stings at the sight of the pain Wrath, Ailae and Simeon have had to suffer from the encounter, but cold reason keeps him from rushing to their aid. He draws another pair of arrows, finds himself a position where he stands directly in between the maw of Khyber and his friends, and takes aim toward it, with readiness to release a Manyshot at the first notice of trouble.

[Breten]

Elden scrambled back 10 feet from his distracted assailant, even as the women hisses at the party, then dodges left in between stacks of cargo and out of sight.

((note, her left, your right))

[Miraqariftsky]

Wrath nods in satisfaction as Ailae's bolt fells the last fiend, blasting it to smithereens. Still refusing to let the savagery subroutines deactivate out of hand just in case more fiends arise, he nevertheless tones down the rage just a little bit, enough to set his hardwired targetting systems on standby.

He sheathes his sword momentarily then strides solidly through the charred carcasses that are all that remain of their foes, wading and breaking through them with a cold disdain when he stumbles across something glinting in the ashes. It is not a mithral shard from his own body plating nor is it a piece of stained glass, rather, it seems to be some sort of protective amulet. Not somebody to let an advantage go to waste, Wrath seizes it and jams it into a rent in his armour where the liveroot sinews beneath are exposed.

Inexplicably, the enigmatic savagery subroutines die down and Wrath's senses clears of the sharp-yet-vague sensation during a rage. Unfazed, he continues on his purposeful march.

Walking through the carnage, Wrath manages to retrieve two more such defensive charms before he reaches Ailae. The warforged paladin kneels next to her and lays one hand upon her marred flesh and the other upon his own damaged frame. His ghulra, that mystic sigil of every warforged's individual identity, glows with a silvern light, illuminating itself as a sacred symbol of the Silver Flame as Wrath chants and channels divine power into both of them.

"On the Flame, I call
To purge the evil and impure
Banish injury"

The healing done, he shakes his hand left hand over hers and opens his fist, dropping the other two defensive charms into her palm. "Keep them, milady."

Before going back to the frontline, Wrath lays a hand upon Simeon as well and gives him a bit of healing as well. While he is doing so, he grinds out at the young man, "Ground. For your own safety, oracle, stay down"

With the healing done, he proceeds to move to a position adjacent Alestair's. There, on the precipice of doom, a silvern ray lances forth from his ghulra once more and blasts Sir Woland with hallowed light, empowering him and his weapon with divine power.

There he unshoulders his longbow and falls into a battle-ready stance, preparing to add his strength to that of his commander...


Lay on Hands, yo!
15 points on Ailae
10 points on Wrath
5 points on Simeon (if he's not dead yet, if he is, change that to '20 to Ailae')

Spellcasting:
Protection from Evil on Ailae
Divine Favour and Bless Weapon on Alestair

Combat Preparation:
If foes emerge...
...and are out of melee-charge range, loose two arrows.
...and come into melee-charge range, drop the bow and charge with greatsword.

[Glawackus]

Shrike grunts and swings around the corner in a gust of cloth. "Get up above the crates!" he yells from somewhere among the boxes.


Move to O16

[Breten]

Eldon staggers to his feet and runs back towards the party limping somewhat ending up in Q16.

She..she isn't human my lords! Be careful!

He stammers terrified.

[Morituri]

OOC: Quick question on order - by my count, the freaky glowing eyed woman is up for the first round, with Thaddius having an action pending immediately following. Is this the general consensus?

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae collapses as the last chitinous horror flutters and dies; slumping to the ground she lies beside Simeon, staring at the sky, seemingly far from the noise of battle as he blood pools beside her arm.

She lies still as the Warforged and the Vassal heal her, under her rattling breath you hear a simple phrase repeated. "Silver light. Silver light." Almost visibly pulling herself together she grasps that which Wrath gave her and stands, bowing to the High Priest. "Father you are too kind, keep the miracles which which you have been blessed for your flock and please take these," She proffers the amulet and ring retrieved from the beasts, "We cannot stay, you may need them, or they should at least fetch enough on the Distant Exchange to pay for the damage I have done to your chapel. Please excuse me now Father."

Crossing to Alestair and Wrath she carefully skirts about the rent in the ground. Gently she lays a hand on Wrath's massive arm, "Thank you, simply thank you. You also Alestair. We can't stay to protect these people however. We must take Simeon and head for the others, I can take us to any big city in this side of Khorvaire, Vathirond to meet the other's on the train, Passage and Journey Home where we may find greater resources and safety, Wroat, the Medani have a great library of prophecy or maybe even Sharn and onto the Eye?"

[Breten]

Suddenly the portal spews forth a cloud of disgusting smelling smoke that rolls through the courtyard. Visibility is reduced to 5ft, and everyone needs to make a DC 12 Fortitude check or be sickened

Oh and roll for Initiative! :D

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae coughs as smoke billows from the Khyber portal, covering her mouth with her left hand she shouts out to Father Tal, "Close the portal Father, we are in enormous danger!" Pointing toward where she remembers the shaft being she reigns out her power once again, lightning flickers about her right palm.

Fortitude save; [roll0]

Initiative; [roll1].

[Miraqariftsky]

Ahem! If I'm not mistaken, warforged are immune to sickness... and so are paladins... but just in case...
Fortitude save [roll0]

Initiative roll: [roll1]

"Too late, milady. Keep the defensive charms. You were damaged multiple times in the last melee--- you need them more than either of us. It would be unwise of you not to use them... at least in this encounter" Wrath grinds out...

...then swears in a manner most uncharacteristic for warforged, "KHYBER'S CRAP!"

Glaring at the fumes, Wrath says with a level yet urgent voice, "Comrades. Move backwards, slow and steady towards Simeon. We fight back to back. Sir Woland, I highly suggest you prepare to engage in melee. Archery is not likely to do good in this sort of visibility"

While speaking, his arms move swiftly and efficiently, stowing away the bow and arrow and then drawing the greatsword once more. Grasping the heavy weapon in both hands, Wrath resumes his battle-ready stance, liveroot muscles bunched and tensed with barely controlled power.

[Uncle_Putte]

[roll0]

[roll1]

"I concur, Wrath. But nevertheless, I am of ill temper now - I resigned myself to the fact that I must endure resorting to violence on this assignment, even accepted it, but to have Khyber itself manifest it's fiery sphinct before me just to pass ill wind at me - never have I been insulted so!"

It is somewhat obvious through tone of voice and behavior that Alestair is speaking jokingly. He is nevertheless forced to pipe down as the disgusting fumes start to get to him.

(Can't tell what the roll results are while writing naturally, but in case everything goes smoothly I'll drop the peashooter and draw my shield and the byeshk hammer Wrath gave. Is it masterwork or normal, by the way?)

[Miraqariftsky]

((It's a +1 byeshk warhammer, yo! Ah... byeshk, how I bless thee!
Ha-ha-ha! Good one! A far better gag than Wrath's "Khyber's crap"--- ha-ha-ha!

Hold on... um... remember to factor in the combat buffs that Wrath gave ye!))



"Hah. If so, then we should thank the Flame that Khyber hasn't fully excreted yet!" Wrath retorts, still slowly retreating towards Simeon's last known location.

And then he pauses for the slightest instant in his movement when something dawns on him. "Flame! Sir Woland, you mean to tell me that you weren't expecting violence on this foray?"

[Breten]

Train to Sharn:

The woman has gone. It is Thaddius' action, and that back up to Shrike.


Aundair:

After a moment the noxious cloud begins to clear, and you can see a figure emerging from the smoke. Before you can make it out or react at all, there is a sudden ripple in the air around you find your brain reeling from some kind of overwhelming mental assault.

Father Tal, gurgles for a moment, and the stares blankly ahead, drooling absently from one side of his mouth.

Everyone else please roll a Will Save DC 17 to avoid being stunned.

As the smoke finally dissipates you recognize with dread the creature standing before you. It's seemingly humanoid silhouette shattered by the four tentacles waving from its pallid purple head.

[Morituri]

OOC: ...Oh! Sorry, misread that as Eldon dodging through the crates :smallredface: .

[Uncle_Putte]

[roll0]

"What devilry -", starts Alestair, before finding himself at loss of word as well as thought, a strange numbness spreading through body and mind. A second's lapse, before his ego returns from the mental reboot and begins probing the mental attack for a weakness.

(Other actions pending, better to check on the save first before posting any actions conflicting it.)

[Miraqariftsky]

[roll0] Will save, yo.

An ineffable wave of incomprehensibly chaotic thoughts and emotions washes through Wrath's mind, seeping a supernatural sluggishness throughout his body but his faith in the Flame is far mightier than the feeble power of this servant of the daelkyr.



((Quick question chief! Is the illithid on this side of the portal or on the other side?))

[Breten]

((Remember that the portal is a hole in the ground. The Ithillid has come through and is now standing in the courtyard. Battle map will be posted shortly.))

Oh and can you all let me know where you are standing now on the battlemap (using the last one)

[Miraqariftsky]

((Is it in line for a charge from coordinate K-14?))

Wrath stands on the precipice of doom, his plating of silversteel gleaming in stained sunlight. Khyber's embers and abyssal fumes about him wreathe yet perturb not this steadfast soldier of the Silver Flame.

Preparing for a charge, he levels his weapon at the abhorrent aberration and grinds out, "Back into the foul pit with you, mindflaying daemon. You will not have the prophet while I stand!"

[Derwood]

OOC:

Having a LOT of computer problems at the moment right now, so only have access to a PC while I'm at work.. and it's a little hard to go through and get on when I'm here. If my action comes up and I don't post within 8 hours, feel free to NPC me in some sort of support of the party type of action...

Thaddius d'Cannith

Arching his eyebrow as the woman dodges away, Thaddius pockets his wand and pulls a quill from his pocket. Licking the tip of it and running his fingers down the length of the feather, he slides a sleeve back and cracks his neck. "I'm certainly thinking she's of a mind to resist us, my friends."

With a series of long sweeping motions in the air, Thaddius' quill leaves a faint trace of light in the air in the shape of a ornate tower shield. Biting his lip, he adds a few finishing touches and instantaniously duplicate shields appear before each of his companions and the scrambling servant.

Not wasting any time, he draws his morningstar and shield.

[Miraqariftsky]

With those final words, Wrath once more draws upon his righteous rage as he leaps forward in a mighty charge yet the savagery subroutines, burned out as they are, refuse to give their power surge. Nevertheless, the paladin pursues. Flagstones crack beneath his heavy-shot furious feet and the air whooshes mightily as it is split by a stupendous slash from the blessed blade.


Smite Evil (+ charge if there's enough space... if not, then full attack)
[roll0] attack roll + smite
[roll1] crit threat
[roll2] mundane damage
[roll3] mystical damage

[roll4] attack roll + smite
[roll5] crit threat
[roll6] mundane damage
[roll7] mystical damage

Ahem. If only the first attack got in, that's either 30 or 32 damage... if both got in... then that makes it a whopping 61! Juicy!

[Morituri]

[For when my initiative comes up...]

Taking slight heart as the woman doesn't simply leap across the room and tear his companions limb from limb, Alfred silently moves into better position to try and cut off her escape...

[Moving at half speed to M15, Move Silently [roll0]]

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae moves as if to grab her materials pouch but as the shimmer passes over her she stops, her eyes glazing over as the lightning fizzles out in a crackle of ozone and a corona of sparks. The dragonmarked lady simply stands, gormlessly staring at nothing as the beast emerges, its tentacles probing the air.

[roll0]

[Breten]

You rush forward to smite the foul denizen of Khyber with all your holy might. While your friend stand transfixed by the power of the creatures twisted powers your blade swings true tearing a deep gash across the creatures torso. Thick black ichor oozes from the wound, and the smell is aweful.

Though sorely wounded the creature turns its head to look at you with milky dead fish eyes, and you hear its "voice" in running through your mind like cockroaches skittering across the floor carrying disease and corruption to whatever they touch.

Bah. Warforged trash. You don't even have brains worth consuming. And you dare raise your blade to oppose me. I shall snuff your precious flame like a candle in a windstorm. You were created to obey, and obey you shall!

You feel the creature's alien and abominal thoughts rushing into your head and overwhelming you.

OBEY! OBEY! OBEY!

((Please make a Will Save))

Behind you, you hear Simeon calling out to Father Tal.

Wake up! Wake up! The ritual! Quick! They are coming!

You hear a rustling sound as Simeon begins searching through Father Tal's belonging, and then a voice chanting behind you, faintly at first, but growing in strength and confidence as he goes.

Pectus pectoris EGO queso vos per sanctus vox of Dol Arran ut reverto ex unde vos venit quod maculo is locus haud diutius. EGO redimio vos per extraho supremus. EGO redimio vos per vox of imperium populus. EGO redimio vos per vox of vitualamen of meus valde somes quod animus.

Translation for those who understand Draconic
Heartily I beseech you by the holy power of Dol Arran to return from whence you came and defile this place no longer. I bind you by the dragon above. I bind you by the power of the sovereign host. I bind you with the power of sacrifice of my very body and soul.

[Breten]

It is Shrikes turn...

((try not to post out of initiative order too much Mort. You end up having to change stuff based on others actions and it confuses me))

[Derwood]

OOC:

Neglected to put in there, I cast shield of faith, legions. All of us get +3 to ac

[Miraqariftsky]

[roll0] Will save, yo!
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]
Two action points... a good, round, humble-enough number...

EDIT! Holy Heaven above! By the nonexistent skin of the teeth!
14+6=20! Whew! Just barely made it! HALLELUJAH! Thank God for action points!


Tendrils of hellish fumes writhe away from the trail of hallowed flames along Wrath's blade. The smooth sword's adamantine blade gleams unmarred and unstained though the courtyard's flagstones are slick with ichor from the illithid.

Viscous black blood seeps like a flood of sick slugs from the mindflayer's grinning gash, diagonally slashed across the torso. It is a blow that would have slain any normal man but the spawn of Khyber are not men...

The illithid's tentacles suddenly writhe and the dead white eyes lock onto Wrath's chilling him to the very last valve of his alchemical reserves. A feeling of powerlessness washes over the warforged and he cowers before the abhorrent aberrant. What had previously seemed to be nothing but a scrawny cross of man and squid grows tall and mighty as the roaring lightnings of the tempest.

"...you were created to obey and obey you shall. OBEY! OBEY! OBEY!", roars the mighty general of the Dragon Below.

Wrath withdraws into himself, fighting against a foe beyond his strength. Wishing that he were rather facing the undead legions of Karrnath or the skies black with Aundairian arrows at Dragonhawk Pass or the axes of the hordes of orcs from the south, Wrath reels from yet another mental assault... and another... and another...

It is a sword that he can neither parry nor dodge. His opponent doesn't even give him the satisfaction of feeling his body damaged, doesn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that he is being beaten by a foe of superior skill...

It is just raw power... power from beyond the bounds of Eberron itself, compelling him to obey...

>>>OBEY! OBEY! OBEY!
>>>input command.
>>>DESTROY ALL HUMANS!
>>>error. error. cannot compute. please retry.
>>>DESTROY ALL HUMANS!
>>>processing...
...
...
...
>>>WHAT'S TAKING SO LONG, KHYBER TAKE YOU?!?
...
...
...
>>>complying with command. please wait...
...
...
...

And then Wrath's vision returns to him, blurred yet focused at the same time. DESTROY ALL HUMANS!, comes back the overwhelming, insistent command. "...t-t-ter-termINATE!", he grinds out.

He shifts his grip on his sword, the leathern grip seeming strangely rough, the blade unusually heavy. The warforged turns around slowly and almost slips in a spreading puddle of thick blood. Blood? I... wounded... the... master. Must make... restitution. "Kill... must... kill..."

Wrath lifts the sword high... he notes that the blade no longer burns... I wonder why... the humans... they must have something to do with it! "KILL... ALL... HUMANS...", comes his vengeful voice, no longer a mechanical stutter but a purposeful declaration.

The soldier of stone and steel shifts his other foot around, preparing for a charge, his blade ready for a broad diagonal slash--- disembowelling the archer and beheading the sorceress in one blow. Suddenly, a wave of hesitation washes over him. Hold on... that's Sir... um... Alestair Woland the Inquisitive... my commanding officer on this mission! And that's Lady Ailae d'Orien, a most valiant comrade and faithful of the Flame! Father Tal... Simeon the Prophet... he's alive!

>>>NOT FOR LONG. KILL THEM!

One mithral-clad foot rises then falls only six inches from its former position. The other foot follows, but stops halfway. >>>COMMAND: IMMEDIATE TERMINATION OF HUMANS.

"NRRRGGGGGHHH...!" comes the drawn-out grunt from deep in Wrath's vocal processor. COMMAND: INITIATE CHARGE NOW. The thick cords of liveroot in his thighs bunch then relax, bringing his right leg crashing down two feet from its former position. The other foot begins to follow and then stops in midair...

Unit 67's senses dissolve into incomprehensible chaos then re-focus. He looks about and sees that he is no longer in the blasted temple in Aundair. He is prone and inert. Massive damage has been dealt to all systems. He tries looking around but sees nothing but winter-bare branches and unending grey skies. He tries looking again and finally sees something else... a setting sun... waving... flag... banner... battle-standard... Deneith Bladesmark Twilight Company...

The sky begins to darken and then he sees movement... much movement. He tries to stand, to raise an arm in defense but all that he achieves is the grating of gears and the snapping of yet more muscle-cords within him. If a warforged can scream in agony Wrath would have as his alchemical reserves went cracking and sloshing away... All the while he tried to suppress the his damage analyzer but to no avail. CRITICAL HIT. CENTRE TORSO. CRITICAL HIT. LEFT LEG. CRITICAL HIT. HIP ACTUATOR. CRITICAL HIT. ARM ACTUATOR. CRITICAL HIT. RESERVOIR. CRITICAL HIT. SENSOR SYSTEMS. CRITICAL HIT...

Movement... Enemies come to finish us off? It is then that sensors come back online. All at once, Wrath's hearing is bombarded with the mortal cries of his fleshforged... no... human comrades in the Twilight Company... not just fellow fighters, not just friends... comrades. His olfactory is overloaded with the stench of death.

Crows, ravens, all sorts of carrion-fowl then obliterate the cries of his comrades with their collective squacking, obliterate the stars in the thickness of their flock...

Unit 67 lies inert for a time beyond time, inert, unmoving... slipping away bit by bit into the cold, cold darkness, that oblivion that devours all souls... Dolurrh...

Suddenly, there comes the day when all feelings are fading, all systems permanently fading that a sense of buoyancy comes upon him, an ineffable grace and bliss. The world opens up once more and bright light washes over Unit 67. He feels the shattered vials of alchemic fluid within him somehow coming back together, the corded liveroots in his limbs reconnecting, his armour plates regenerating lost mass... it is an indescribably wonderful feeling... a repair lesser yet so much greater than what an artificer might have done...

Unit 67's ocular crystals reactivate and the first sight that he sees is the silhouette of an armoured woman. Her hand is on Unit 67's forehead, gentle fingers of an ungauntleted hand slowly, tenderly, almost reverently caressing the grooved outline of his ghulra. A strong, resonant voice sings out from within the shadowed high-helm and asks, "What is your name, soldier?"

Rasping out confusedly, Unit 67 replies, "I... I do... not... have a name. M-my designation is Unit 67 of Twilight Company. ERROR... SYSTEM ERROR.. ERROR..."

A dry chuckle emerges from the the throat of the warforged's saviour. "Error indeed. Twilight Company is dead. Slaughtered by the Karrns, betrayed by their Aundairian employers. I would have helped out but I got word of the betrayal of the heroes of Dragonhawk Pass too late..."

She then kneels and kneads the warforged's ghulra in her hand. "Nameless warrior... or Sixty-Seven, if you prefer...?"

"I... do not... prefer" he replies stutteringly.

"I have a question for you..." She says as she doffs her helm. Locking his grey gaze with her piercing blue eyes, she asks, "Nameless warrior, what is your purpose?"

"To obey. To fight. To kill" recites the warforged flawlessly.

"Whom do you obey? What do you fight? Why do you kill?" she asks further.

"Deneith command. Whate...ver my superior officer tells me to. I kill because I... I... have to... it... was... what I was made to do... was it not?" comes the suddenly fault-ridden answer.

Still stroking the ghulra, the woman says, "So you were told. But now Deneith sent you somewhere where you would be killed... where you were most likely to die... What is it like, the feeling of dying... or in your case, being damaged almost beyond repair... Did you like it--- being on the edge of doom?"

"I do not know 'doom'" The warforged replies. "I do not like death. It is cold... far too cold for my sensor buffers... and pain... I felt like a fleshling... What do I do now? Twilight Company is gone. Deneith is gone..." His gaze orients itself upon the woman's and then he stands to his full seven feet. "You repaired me. Command me"

"You command me to command you? Ha-ha-ha!" she laughs, her voice seeming like... like oil on a blade. "Heh. Ahem. That feeling--- while you were still severely damaged and before I healed you... you did not like it, right? Would you like it if other people--- noncombatants, civilians, the weak and helpless, felt that pain of death?"

"NO" comes the immediate, staccato answer.

"Will you bring that coldness of being beyond repair to those who hurt and kill?" she propounds.

At this, the warforged pauses for a millionth of a second, processors racing to answer the question, drawing upon long-buried feelings of resentment... hate... compassion... rage... love... and then he answers, "Yes. But... only if they cannot be... per-persuaded otherwise"

"It is as well", the woman answers. She salutes him in the manner of warriors, fist on breast and she presents her vambrace to him. On the vambrace is engraved the symbol of a flame-wreathed arrowhead... the holy symbol of the Silver Flame.

On the broad, well-polished vambrace, the warforged sees and recognizes his reflection... the reflection of his faceplate... the reflection of his ghulra, that individual identifying mark of every warforged... and then realizes that his ghulra is but a smaller copy of the image of the Silver Flame on the woman's vambrace. She smiles and lays a hand on his chest, "Those who harm others make you angry, do they not? I hereby name you 'Wrath'. It means 'righteous anger'"

"I... am Wrath" the warforged replies with a pleased rumble. "But what is your designation, commander?"

"Oh please, drop the designations!" she says, slapping one mithral-plated shoulder lightly. "Just call me 'Gedram'. Yep. Now we know who we are, right? I am Gedram of the Silver Flame. You are Wrath of the Silver Flame. Ah, warforged... you know how to fight, yes... but then, who shall you fight and why?"

Suddenly, Wrath's senses blur again and then he re-emerges in the present. He sees Lady Ailae's bleeding arms--- arms that had brought down three daemons. He sees the fear in Woland's eyes... and the byeshk hammer in his hand... somehow a voice speaking in the Goblin tongue drifts on winds ethereal and whispers in Wrath's auditory sensors, Wrath is come again! Servants of Xoriat, I smell your taint! Begone, creatures of chaos! He sees the exultant despair on Simeon's face, the unreasoning drool on Father Tal's lips...

...and then Wrath sees the mangled bodies of the orphanage's children. The blood on the walls, blood on the floors... the faces, so young yet frozen forever in unending pain...

>>>COMMAND: DESTROY ALL HUMANS NOW!
<<<command conflicting with Prime Directives: protect the innocent, punish the guilty, purify the evil, live in the Flame.
>>>COMMAND: DESTROY ALL HUMANS NOW!
<<<command override gamma.
password: Gedram
<<<command override beta.
password: Silver
<<<command override alpha.
password: Flame

Suddenly, Wrath feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders and from his soul. He brings his foot crashing back down to the ground, back to its former postion.

Turing on his heel, he swiftly strides toward the bleeding illithid. "REQUEST BACK-UP. Points rush south... I mean... Sir Woland! Aid in flanking! Milady d'Orien! Provide fire support if you can, but keep back, protect the priests!"

Quickening his stride, Wrath lunges at the mindflayer and shouts, "BY THE FLAME, I DEFY YOU!"

[Breten]

As Wrath fights his internal battle with the Ithillid, and all others on the battlefield stand slack jawed and helpless under the numbing effects of the mind blast it is Simeon alone who is able to stand against the forces of Khyber.

Though pale and trembling his face is set with a terrible determination and, holding open the scroll Father Tal had brought he shouts out the words inside, invoking great power tied to an age past.

Pectus pectoris EGO queso vos per sanctus vox of Dol Arran ut reverto ex unde vos venit quod maculo is locus haud diutius. EGO redimio vos per extraho supremus. EGO redimio vos per vox of imperium populus. EGO redimio vos per vox of vitualamen of meus valde somes quod animus.

As he speaks the words the Ithillid shrinks back slightly, even as Simeon begins to glow as if lit from inside.

Pectus pectoris EGO queso vos per sanctus vox of Dol Arran ut reverto ex unde vos venit quod maculo is locus haud diutius. EGO redimio vos per extraho supremus. EGO redimio vos per vox of imperium populus. EGO redimio vos per vox of vitualamen of meus valde somes quod animus.

The words come louder and stronger now, steady and rhythmic bounding in your heart and blood.

Simeon steps forward even more and passing the warforged even as he breaks free of the Mindflayer's domination. Wrath stands dumbfounded for a only a second, but in that time the young man rushes past him, and throws himself at the Itthilid, grasping him around the torso, even as the creature's tentacles wrap around his neck, attempting to squeeze breath for him. But it is too late now and triumphantly Simeon bellows the prayer again

Pectus pectoris EGO queso vos per sanctus vox of Dol Arran ut reverto ex unde vos venit quod maculo is locus haud diutius. EGO redimio vos per extraho supremus. EGO redimio vos per vox of imperium populus. EGO redimio vos per vox of vitualamen of meus valde somes quod animus.

And then he reaches into his simple robe and pulls forth a dagger, and plunges it not into the tentacled horror, but his own wrist. Blood spurts forth and drops to the ground, and as soon as it hits the Khyber portal there is a blinding flash of light so bright you think it will sear the very skin from your bones.

And when you think you will go blind, it passes, and staring around you, you find the portal, the priest, and the Ithillid all gone. The courtyard is at peace again, and in the air over the place where the portal once stood a great metal symbol of Dol Arran hangs in the air, slowly turning, the afternoon sun glimmer ring off of it casting small beams of light in all directions.

[Glawackus]

I could swear I've tried to post this twice, and it has yet to go through. Ah, well.


Shrike rounds the corner of the crates and bounds towards the far wall, intent on catching up to the woman.


Move to M12...I would Run, but I don't think that you can make a run around a corner.

[Breten]

Elden stands in place, at Q12 looking about for his attacker.

Where is she? He cries. You have to kill her. Please!

But rather than move for the exit he stand casting about fearfully.

Mort ghosts forward, invisibly up the aisle of the cargo hold looking for signs of his victim.

The only warning is a flash of movement above, and suddenly the mysterious woman is leaping from one pile of crates to another then turns on a dime and throws herself into a flying kick directly at Shrike and then lands gracefully behind him.



Hit: [roll0]
Dam:[roll1]
FlyingKick[roll2]



Then suddenly Eldon throws off his fear and uncertainty and in a burst of action runs back towards Shrike and stabs out a him with a previous concealed dagger.

((You are caught flat footed and get no AoO))


Hit: [roll3]
Crit:[roll4]
Dam: [roll5]
Sneak:[roll6]

If hit succeeds make a Fortitude Save

[Breten]

Der I believe it is your go. ((What square are you in now anyways? I wanted to update the battle map, but I couldn't figure out where you are unless you are still standing by the door))

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae stumbles back into life as the Flash passes, leaving flashes worming their way across her vision. In the pale afternoon sunlight she sees the peace of the monastery, the leaves of the tree twisting in the breeze and the corpses of the lost lying in crimson pools atop the flagstones.

"So he's gone." She shouts to the sky, "What good is a Pathfinder if she doesn't know which path to take!" She breathes in deeply, calming herself and mutters to herself. "Oh Kayne, what should I do next?

Right," she speaks up to the others,"with Simeon dead or beyond our reach, we should learn about St. Athanasius. The beast of appeared when we came for him. There must be parallels."

I'm not failing my Keeper, I could have died just now and never seen Kayne, Jolti or Mother again. This is so important. We must succeed . . . and we've already lost a prophet.

[Uncle_Putte]

It takes a while for Alestair to shake off the ill effects of the flayer's mental attack, and yet a while longer to assess the situation, but given a while he resumes his calm, composed and active self. He starts speaking softly, but gains momentum quickly.

"The sum of all fears, is this not? Nevertheless, I suppose some damage control is in order. Could someone rouse father Tal, please? As for all I can tell, we need access to the best commercially available diviner as soon as possible, and possibly an alchemist as well. Also, we need to get into Simeon's private quarters and do a thorough search of his private effects, which we'll likely have to confiscate, as well as interview everyone who know Simeon, especially those who have known him in his formative years. I agree, Ailae, that a thorough background check on the seminary itself could be helpful as well - it may be a long shot, but since Simeon mentioned the Eye, some documents of it may be found here as well."

He pauses, with a slight frown on his brow. He stands there for a moment, feet defiantly wide apart with the left arm folded and the right resting over it, while resting his chin on the right hand. Then, with brisk movements, he breaks out a hefty leather-and-wood case from his backpack, sets it down on the ground and opens it carefully, plucking out a handful of empty glass vials and cotton swabs. He then proceeds to the location where Simeon was first gored by one of the vivisectors, carefully seeking out the freshest samples of human blood on the location and storing them in the vials, before proceeding to do the same on the location of the portal where Simeon cut his wrist.

[roll0]

"There we go... I can only hope, though, that these aren't contaminated by the blood of the fiends we fought. And well, for all I know, this might all be Ailae's. No use to fret, though - we should get these to an alchemist for analysis. The way Simeon mentioned his father leaves me a nagging suspicion of the possibilities of his heritage. Whatever the results yield, though, it still bears the possibility that even if his blood shows Khyberspawn taint, it may be merely due to having been mixed with that of the creatures we fought."

[Glawackus]

Shrike, still in the process of whirling to face towards the woman, is caught unawares by Eldon and struck just beneath his armor.

He almost falls to one knee, and gives Eldon a shocked look. The elven word for traitor flashes across his mind, and he scowls.


Fort save: [roll0]

Much as I hate to start tearing up the property, I think it's going to be magic time pretty soon here. :smalltongue:

[Miraqariftsky]

Wrath stands dazed after the unprecedented ordeal and then stirs himself from his standby state at Sir Woland's voice. "'Rouse Father Tal'... yes, sir", Wrath rumbles, glad for something to take his mind off the lingering feeling of unease, disquiet, frustration and anger regarding the Khyberspawn's escape and Simeon's loss.

He moves with jerky motions as he strides toward Father Tal. On the way, his arm moves to sheathe the blacksteel greatsword but he hesitates and then decides against it and keeps it drawn and ready.

Reaching the abbot, Wrath kneels next to him and begins gently slapping the old man's cheeks as he had seen fleshforged do to their fellows when they are rendered inert. "Father. Father Abbot Tal, activa... er... awake! By grace of the gods and by Simeon's sacrifice, we are delivered"

((Heal check, if needed: [roll0]))

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

Watching the change of sides by Elden, Thaddius moves forward (R18), again swaps his morningstar for the previous wand held in his hand (magic missle) and aims it at Elden.

UMD: [roll0] (+17 umd, +2 for knowing how to make a wand)
Magic Missle (7th level): 4 missles for being 7th level, 1 for wand mastery (+2 levels effective caster level) [roll1]
big money big money no wammy.....

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae swallows as Alestair takes charge again. "Very good Alestair, I'm going to check on the children." She turns on her heel and gingerly picks her way across the ruined courtyard toward the surviving orphans and monks, going amongst them she smiles kindly, checking the children for injuries and trying to raise their spirits.

[Breten]

Train to Sharn

Thaddius moves down the aisle till be can see the traitor servant between piles of cargo. The unerring arrows of force erupt from the bolt and slam into the old man. Though it seems like even one would be enough to fell him, he weathers the storm of the spell and still stands on bony old legs, gleaming dagger ready to strike again.

((BTW, I will let it go this time, but wasn't there too many actions there? Move, swap wand which is a MEA and trigger wand which is a standard action))

Shrike it is your go. You are trapped between assailants to the front and back, and cargo on one side and wall on the other.

Aundair

At the Warforged urging, Father Tal awakens and starts for a moment at the towering bulk of wood and Mithral looming over him.

Host Defend! You started me....what...what is going on? The Portal! We must close it!

He sits up suddenly, and stares around the courtyard, slowly taking in the fact that there is no longer a gaping portal to Khyber. Then his eyes fall on the silver symbol of Dol Arran hanging in the air.

Oh Host no! Simeon you fool. It was supposed to be me.

Overwhelmed with shock and horror, the old man curls up like child on the pavement and begins to weep softly.

Oh Simeon, Oh Simeon. Not you. It was never supposed to be you.

[Glawackus]

"You have cornered a Keeper of the Past," Shrike says, eyes narrowing. He touches a hand to his ancestor's symbol and almost seems to glow for a moment. "This is your second mistake of many, it seems."

As the healing spell courses through him, he turns his head and yells. "They are here! To me!"


Sacrificing tongues to cast cure critical wounds.

Damage Healed: [roll0]

[Morituri]

Hesitating for the briefest of seconds as Eldon turns, a single cold thought flows through Alfred's mind as his eyes narrow and his hand loosens.

...Old man you just made a bad mistake. But Ladies first.

A single step, and an invisible blade erupts forward twice through whistling air...

5-foot adjust to M14 and Full Attack the woman at M13, using a swift action to activate my Deathstrike Gauntlets (just in case the Red Eyes mean anything).

Attack 1

[roll]1d4+6d6+3

Attack 2

[roll]1d4+6d6+3

For both attacks I included a +2 for flanking (thank you Shrike) and +2 for being invisible, which should also take away her Dex bonus (Right? *crossing fingers*).

[Miraqariftsky]

((Psst. Chief Brian, if I may... Wrath ain't "looming" so much, currently... he's kneeling next to the abbot.))


Wrath tilts his head to one side, listening to the priest's grief. The hulking warforged is no stranger to pain and suffering. Fear, anger and rage are things that run like fire through the veins of his liveroot flesh... well, mostly rage. Hatred he knows in plenty--- and ever since he was found by Lady Gedram of the Silver Flame, he had known the opposites of these fell feelings--- courage, fortitude, temperance, compassion... and even love.

Happiness... simple and pure--- it is an emotion not easily found by warforged but for Wrath, joy is found in the song of sword and soul... Yet even then, even in the heat of the thickest battle, there is still something missing... it is when Wrath is ranged against the forces of evil and defending the innocent that he rests content on a plane sublime.

But then, what of sorrow and of grief? Wrath may have felt these for the slightest instance when Twilight Company died or when Lady Gedram was killed by the minions of Cardinal Foreau, but for the most part, he does not remember feeling any of what fleshforged call "sorrow" or "grief"... neither does he feel these things now. What Wrath felt then and feels now is the need for revenge.

Revenge...

Wrath places the three fingers of his right hand on Father Tal's right shoulder and tries to squeeze it gently. He locks his crystalline gaze with the abbot's tearstained eyes then says, "This is a time of war and there is no time for tears, sir Tal. Simeon sacrificed himself so that we may live and we do not honour his sacrifice by standing around, doing nothing. Come, sir Tal. Sir Woland yonder has questions that need answering... mostly about the young prophet-turned-martyr, Simeon"

Suddenly, Wrath's ghulra flashes and a flood of verse rolls from his vocal processors.

"All that is gold does not glitter
The old that is strong does not wither
Not all those who wander are lost
Deep roots are not reached by the frost

From the ashes a fire shall be woken
From the shadows a light shall spring
Renewed shall be seals that were broken
And bloodless again shall be made king"

((Credits to JRRTolkien for this poem. I changed the last two lines a bit but kept the rest because I thought it really fit the moment.))

With silvern light still blazing in his eyes, Wrath says once more to the priest, "Take courage, sir. If you seek revenge for Simeon, if you seek salvation for the young fleshlings in your temple, I hereby request you to come with me and answer Sir Woland's questions. Please cooperate, sir, the safety of Eberron itself is on a dagger's edge. If we tread one wrong step, we fall to everlasting darkness and despair"

[Breten]

As the cleric attempts to cast his spell both of his assailants take advantage of his momentary distraction to attack him. First the female combatant attempts to smash and elbow into his head

Hit: [roll0]
Dam:[roll1]
She manages a resounding blow slamming the elf clerics head off the cargo beside them.

Where are your pathetic gods now elf? Will they hear your prayers when I rip out your tongue?

((Crit confirmed by manual roll of (19+8=27)

Then Elden swiftly strikes again with his dagger

Hit: [roll2]
Crit:[roll3]
Dam: [roll4]
Sneak:[roll5]

But the combination of training, and the magical defenses lent by Thaddius help him avoid the dagger this time.

Trying to regain his thoughs he attempts to save the spell he was casting despite the blow

((I think you need a natural 20 to save at this point))

Aundair

Father Tal regains his composure, and looks up at Wrath, as he mournfully speaks words of utter beauty summing up the tragedy and loss of the situation.

How extraordinary he murmurs. And some dare say that your kind have no souls. What fools we men be. What fools.

He shakes his head for a moment, and then gives a long sigh.

There will be time to mourn later, and rebuild. But you said you have questions. I fear your quest has not been advanced by your visit to us so far, and thus will do whatever I can to help. You said you need to see his chambers, I will lead you there, and you may ask whatever you need to know along the way.

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae stands, a small crying boy held in her arms as she looks at Wrath and his kind words to Father Tal. The soulless saint. A warrior poet of the like not seen since Saint Vyvek. Father Tal is right, how did Cannith ever say they lacked souls.

She smiles kindly at the young boy, popping on him on his feet, "Down you go, you'll be fine, no broken bones." Ruffling his hair she winks at him and follows after Father Tal and the others toward Simeon's chambers.

[Uncle_Putte]

Alestair finishes his chosen tasks with utmost care, before heading off to follow father Tal to Simeon's quarters.

"I apologize if I sound bossy, but these are matters of extreme urgency."

He then repeats his list of requests, made earlier while father Tal was still unconscious, now in a more hushed tone. He also makes a point of pressing the importance of reporting the incident to the local officials and arranging the mobilization of the combat-ready members of the Seminary, as it happens to be the most militant anti-khyber organization imaginable in the four nations. As soon as the group reaches Simeon's quarters, Alestair will ask his companions to wait outside for a while as he single-mindedly takes on the task of searching for leads upon which to make progress.

[roll0]

Edit: What a miserable roll. But nevertheless, I forgot to count in the +4 circumstance bonus from the inquisitive's kit.

[Glawackus]

Shrike looks at Eldon and, wiping blood from his mouth, puts his head down and attempts to charge past him.


Overrun to M6 is my best chance to get out of here, I figger.

In the event that I need a strength check (spending another action point for insurance):
Strength check: [roll0]
ACTION POINT!: [roll1]

[Breten]

Shrike loses the spell as the blow hits home, the words of healing slipping away.

Mort then steps up behind the female assailant and calling on the magic of his bracers he strikes out and stabs her. She has just enough time to cry out in shock before she bursts into a cloud of gas, floating up towards the skylight above.

Elden seems to consider for a second and then steps back from the cleric.

This isn't over elf. As long as the blood of Vol still runs through us, we will return. By our undeath be defeat your pathetic gods. You will not stop us in our path.

Then with a final hiss, he too turns to mist, and floats up toward the skylight.

[Glawackus]

Shrike coughs and leans against the crates with a sad look. "I think...I need to speak with my ancestor," he says finally, shaken. "Are we to visit the bishop? I believe that I must call on my ancestor --kaff-- if we are to go." He gives a thin smile. "If he is aware of our mission, I think he would lose some amount of faith seeing the great Valenar warrior like this."

[Nycthemeron]

As Alestair searches the room Ailae moves to support Father Tal, "Are you alright Father? You were most brave, we all fell to that beast's mental assault, by fetching the scroll you saved us all. Simeon cannot suffer any more.

Please do listen to Mr. Woland Father Tal, if you would accept it we may be able to arrange for some Flamic specialists in Khyber to provide some assitance or manpower in ensuring the Breach remains sealed. Tira Miron was a Vassal of Dol Arrah, we can beat the darkness if we work together."

[Morituri]

Barely even looking at Shrike, Alfred still stands crouched over, his knife at the ready, as his head darts back and forth, looking up and down the pathways and hopping up rapidly to take a look at the to look at the tops of the piles of cargo. After satisfying himself that they are, in fact, alone again in the room, Alfred relaxes and stands straight, the dagger once again dissolving into his cloak. Sending a tired and half amused look towards the bloodied Elf, Alfred gives a weary smile, saying, "The Bishop can wait. Right now, you've got to get healthy, and we've got to figure out where those creatures went. Their lair needs to be on this train; we're moving, and too far from any kind of city for their coffins to be anywhere else. Let's finish them now." Pausing to consider for a moment, he continues, a note of hope in his voice. "Y'know, there's a chance a couple of our other problems may just be getting solved in some fairly short order."

Alfred turns to the entry door to the cargo space, yelling at the top of his lungs, "GUARD! We have wounded, we need help!"

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

As soon as the old man turns to mist, Thaddius swaps wands again (Correct me if I'm wrong, but due to the quick draw feat, am I not able to swap weapons as swift actions?.... I could be wrong, I have been before... lol) and moves quickly to Shrikes side. Closing his eyes and focusing on the long, delicate wand of ivory inlaid with silver, Thaddius channels the healing energy of the wand into his companion

UMD: [roll0]
Cure Moderate Wounds: [roll1]

[Breten]

((Yes Quickdraw does let you, I hadn't seen that you had the feat. Thanks for the explaination. ITs hard keeping all the data on multiple characters from multiple campaigns in you head! :smallredface: ))

[Breten]

Aundair

And examination of Simeon's room takes very little time. It is a small austere cell, with little more than a bed, a washstand, and a few books.

Most of the books are one you would expect in the room of a acolyte of the Host. A copy of "Songs of the Seven", "Commentaries on the Pantheon of Light" and "Life as Sacrifice" all show signs of heavy use. Most curious is two at the bottom of the pile "Codex Khyberium: A Guide to the Evils of the Dragon Below and how to defend against them." and "Military Engagements of Galifar Vol. XVI 773-776

In the corner of the room is a brazier, with the coals inside still slightly warm, despite the pleasant weather of late. Sifting through the ashes you can tell that somone has burned paper within it, but has done a good job and there is no way to tell what was burned inside.

Flipping through Military Engagements you discover that pages 224-230 are torn out.

As Ailae talks with Father Tal, he does his best to answer any questions and receives her words of kindness with grace. When she mentions asking aid from church of the Silver Flame though he stiffens.

We have protected this monastery for almost 200 years without the Flames help, and the only time it was ever destroyed, was at the hands of servants of the Flame, not servants of Khyber. I think we shall manage now just fine without them he answers, politely but indignantly.

Rail to Sharn

The guard, who stayed just inside the door guarding the exit rushes forward.

How can I help? Would you like me to fetch Father Aumando? Or should I look for a physician aboard? I do not think there are any House Jorasco representatives

[Morituri]

Let's make this count. Deep breath...

Turning to the guard with a pained, grief stricken face, Alfred barks out with a shaking voice as he makes a showing of helping Shrike stand, "Some kind of Vampire creatures just attacked us in here! They killed your man," waving a wild arm towards the fallen Dwarf, "And now they're heading to Sir Mistydell's cabin to attack him! Quick, fetch the guard and meet us there, and bring every holy weapon you may have, including clergy! Quick, GO"

Bluff Check: [roll0]

[Breten]

The Dwarf's eyes widen in shock, and he spins and sprints from the car, blowing a whistle he produced from a pocket and bellowing

ALARM! AWAKE! MURDER ON THE TRAIN!

[Miraqariftsky]

FOGP! P'TING! TING-T'TING!

As Sir Tal utters his reply to Ailae's words concerning aid from the Church of the Silver Flame, Wrath pauses and knocks on his head a couple of times. The rattling of nuts and bolts is clearly heard through thr mithral plating...

He grinds out after treating himself, "Sir Tal, do you perchance still know of the Cardinals who doubtless orchestrated this treacherous invasion of your temple? I hereby offer my services as a righteous reaver. Just give the word and I shall avenge you gladly... how badly I pity the poor paladins who were deluded into following orders that led to strife between two faiths of Light..."

[Glawackus]

"No, no healer...." Shrike says, moving along with the others. He opens his mouth to say something to Alfred, but snaps it shut at the mention of Mistydell. He watches the guard run out, and then looks at Alfred. "I have no skill with this sort of thing. What exactly are you planning, friend Alfred?"

He closes his eyes and plucks his symbol off his cloak, and touches it to one of his wounds gingerly, flinching a little.


Alright, let's try that again, this time without any scary people around. :smalltongue:

Cure Critical Wounds (sacrificing Raise Dead--it seems they're doing just fine on their own here :smalltongue:): [roll0]

[Breten]

Father Tal shakes his head wearily.

I serve a God of Sacrifice, not one of vengence. Even if I knew who was behind that particular invasion, what good would killing them now do? It would only bring reprisals and heighten tensions between our faiths more. No leave it be.

[Miraqariftsky]

Wrath shakes his head wearily at the abbot's words. "I was Called to defend those who are oppressed. But then, if you yourself waive your right to justice, so be it. Yes, yes you are right... the religion that I serve has grown corrupt"

"That's why, when I arose to defend the commonfolk against the clergy's oppression, they branded my mentor and I as heretics..." His right hand rises and clenches mightily with the audible click and crunch of metal. "...and then they killed Lady Gedram for stopping Cardinal Foreau from molesting maidens in the dead of night and using their ravished bodies for necromantic rituals..."

Consciously relaxing and forcing back the clicking of the savagery subroutines, Wrath says, "Forgive me, Father. Let not my quest for fiery justice interfere with your more peaceful pursuit of the precepts of Goodness..."

Flexing his arms, Wrath pokes at the still-gaping holes in his chest. As the company walks through the temple's halls, the warforged's eyes chance upon some stands of lit candles. His eyes centre on the flickering flames and then his mind goes back to the brazier in Simeon's room. "Sir Tal, doubtless you have a library... mayhap you have another copy of the Military Engagements of Galifar Vol. XVI 773-776 that we can look through?"

[Breten]

The priest looks taken aback for a moment.

Well certainly we do have a library, but I must confess to not being much of a scholar. If we do have the book Brother Lyseki would be the one to ask. I am sure you will find him in the library.

[Uncle_Putte]

Alestair speaks absent-mindedly while flipping through Simeon's possessions, without turning away from his work.

"I should like to ask for a certain amount of pragmatism of everyone involved at the moment. Considering the pan-national foreign politics of the day, we could expect ourselves to be pawns to the games of people to whom thwarting Khyber is an objective far second to the Galifari crown at the first mention of even entertaining ideas of introducing a foreign force on Aundairi soil."

He pauses, setting the handful of before him on the bed. He merely looks at their covers lazily, before continuing, adressing no-one in particular.

"And to be honest, I do not doubt that we have our hands full with our current objectives, thus straying out of our way to exact a reformation of faith might be counter-productive at the moment. I do not mean to put you off in any way, Wrath, but it is merely policy. I wish to reach my objectives efficiently, but most importantly, without leaving a ripple at all in my wake."

He then proceeds to do a few rather curious tasks. He flips the books through without paying heed to content, rather examining swiftly for bent pages, marks, scrapes and tears. He then examines the backs of the books as well, to tell whether they've been left open face-down in between reading, or have they been left closed with a bookmark. He proceeds to pull off the covers of Simeon's bed, examining it briefly on how it was made and whether they've been changed recently. He proceeds in a similar matter through the room, in a second search of a kind, this time examining the room itself on what kind of a condition it was kept in - whether the owner paid heed to his surroundings, whether it was tidy and clean or dusty and unkempt. Finally, he pauses before the brazier, deliberating for a moment before it. With a resigned sigh, he then retrieves a small tightly-sealed box from his tool case, to which he empties the ashes, with a look of obvious distaste over getting soot on his clothes on his face.

"Food for thought, friends - Is the book with the missing pages set in chronological order? If so, check the last events before and after the missing pages to get a timeframe, and try to remember anything of importance from the time. Anything will do, not merely conflicts."

He pauses to oddle about the question by himself, as well.

[roll0]

(I haven't ranks in the skill, but Jack of all Trades grants me 0.5 ranks in every skill. Such a handy little feat, especially when I combine it with Research. :3)

He seems to realize, suddenly, that his actions may seem a little nonsensical to his companions, and after a while of thoughtful scanning about the room, he makes a brief explanation of his doings.

"Ah, and... my apologies for taking so long on this, but I should like to be thorough. At first search, I followed the method of order. The bread crumb trail of physical evidence, so tried and proven that it's misleading has become an art of it's own well before our time. What I am doing now, though, is trying to get to know the people involved. I would have loved to speak in depth with Simeon, but as it stands, assumptions will have to make do. It is often quite helpful to know what anyone involved would do when presented with the circumstances we are at. And you may ask what importance there is to knowing a dead man's mind, but to that I should say that I am not about to mark him off as a casualty quite yet. Not until I see the body, with these little eyes of mine."

He spins around on his heels, to face his companions, with an almost fierce expression.

"Father is sending them for me, said young Simeon, but he also requested for us to end his life. This raises two possibilities; either his death was not beneficial to the enemy, or then it was the enemy's objective and that it would merely have the benefit of making the assault on the seminary unnecessary. But this has a certain flaw of logic; if he were utterly convinced that whatever was after him was capable of "ending the world in fire and blood", and still found it of importance to attack him first, why would this faithful young cleric of Dol Arrah sarifice a fighting chance for sure doom to the world over the pittance of this seminary? For a moment I thought, that perhaps the enemy came here first merely to shatter the seal, but... Simeon sounded very much convinced that he was the target. And the questions do not end here - as I said before, I am not about to count him for dead before I see the corpse, and that exactly we have not. For all intents and purposes, he might have fallen into the maw of Khyber along with the fiend we saw earlier. I realize the ritual spoke of sacrifice - that of body and soul, assuming my Draconic isn't entirely defunct - as well as involved self-harm... but from my viewpoint, if the enactor of the ritual were to fall into the maw of Khyber, would that not constitute a sacrifice of "body and soul" quite completely, whether death was involved or not?"

He pauses, strumming his fingers on the knob of his cane impatiently, before adding in a more confused tone.

"What fails to fit the pattern, though, is the manner that flying beast assaulted Simeon. It seemed much more like a killing blow than an attempt of capture... and if it were intended to be so, I would find myself with nothing to go yet again. I suppose all we can do is proceed - I would like to request you to send these vials, which hopefully contain Simeon's blood, to an alchemist as well as a diviner. The prior for analyzing any otherworldly or aberrant factors in the blood, and the second for attempts of scrying for his location - whether he be alive or dead. In the meantime, I would like to request that you send someone to gather all with closer relations to Simeon, so that I may briefly interview them for the sake of profiling."

[Miraqariftsky]

"SIR! YES, SIR!" Wrath grinds out at attention, then asks, "Shall I send the vials to a diviner and an alchemist, Sir Woland, or shall I track and interrogate some of Simeon's relations?"

As they walk through deserted halls, Wrath looks within himself, checking his memory banks for anything that could be of use...
Knowledge checks, ahoy!

[roll0] History
[roll1] Local
[roll2] Nobility
[roll3] Religion

[Uncle_Putte]

Alestair winces a little at Wrath's rigid salute, then adds in a less confident tone;

"Ah... I thought I'd leave gathering the witnesses to father Tal, since I haven't the foggiest on who to ask, and locals would be more likely to know the diviners and alchemists we need. I am concerned that they'll likely report their findings, as well as on who comissioned them, directly to Aundairi officials after that though, so we could also try mailing them to Thrane via house connections despite suffering a considerable delay in receiving results. Interviews we can do, though, as well as the library check. Pick and choose, I say, for you know what you can do best."

As an afterthought, he mubmles in a painfully sheepish tone.

"And well, one important thing would be deciding where to go and for what after we conclude our business here. I am... undecided on that."

[Morituri]

'Planning'? What's that?

Turning and giving Shrike a million Platinum coin smile with a twinkle in his eye, Alfred says, "You'll see. We should be moving, can't let the guards get there first. You good to walk?"

Not waiting for a reply before walking with purpose down the corridor towards the Gnome's sleeping chamber, Alfred speaks over his shoulder in rapid bullets, "Once we get in, we take Mistydell's room apart looking for those Vol creatures, and we especially take apart that secret door he has. Host knows what's behind that thing, but whatever it is Misty wants it hidden, which is good enough for me. Whatever happens, that door opens while guards and priests are in the room, understand? Shrike, you wanna take point on that, Thaddius doing some arcane backup and keeping your eyes open for threats the two of us won't see?"

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae apologises humbly to Father Tal as Wrath begins his engagement with the abbot. Moving into the doorway of Simeon's cell Ailae studies Alestair, “The faith,” she speaks softly away from the Vassal abbot, “is not confined to Thrane, certain people still hold to the Flame in Aundiar, their aid could have been surreptitiously engaged. We do have mission as Purified to band together all the Good in the world to fight Evil.”

She sighs, shaking her head as she moves into the room and gazes around as Alestair asseses, “What I find most interesting is that Simeon, somebody who we are told 'Will never be a great cleric' accomplished the feat of channelling the divine energy of that ritual. Had he ever been blessed with divine powers before? Those texts are mostly rather ordinary, The military engagements of Galifar, I don't know about,” Aiale warms to her subject, gesticulating toward Alestair, “but the Codex Khyberium is most certainly not a widely available volume. I had to be vetted very thoroughly to get access to that at University. It is a restricted text in almost all institutions, and commonly classed amongst the Liber Carriem, a book of corrupting influence. What Simeon was doing with it I do not know. Then again Jorasco asylums hold more self proclaimed prophets than we would like to acknowledge, divination is one of the hardest arts to master and even then true prophecy is quite distinct.

Oh and the blood," she quiets her speech, "we should take that to Wroat or Sharn tonight. Stop thinking in Linear travel Mr. Woland, there are no natural barriers now and distance is an illusion. Mroe or less. However before we go I am going to quickly inspect this room, there may be traces of any magic wrought here recently still remaining.” She stands back and passes her hand before her eyes muttering to herself; she then inspects the room critically, passing her eyes over all its nooks and crannies.

Knowledge Religion [roll0]

If relevant Knowledge Arcana [roll1]

Casting detect magic and inspecting Simeon's room.

[Glawackus]

"I am, indeed, good to walk. Better to ride, but good to walk."

"I would be intrigued to see what Mistydell has hidden from us--although if it's only whatever artifice makes that illusion, I shall be disappointed. And I agree on having guards--and perhaps a priest or two in the room. I assume we are to maintain our identities as the brutish bodyguard, the refined aristocrat...and..." He turns to Thaddius and waves a hand apologetically. "Like I said, I am not good with all this...intrigue." He scoffs a little at the last word, the same way a nobleman might contemplate mucking out a stable stall.

[Breten]

As Alestair goes through his search of Simeon's room he finds the following.

-Simeon is by nature a careful and responsible individual. The room is fastidiously clean (as is to be expected of a acolyte in a cloistered order) But Simeon was exceptionally so. He seems to have been very careful and responsible with all the books he had, which makes the pages torn highly uncharacteristic. The tears are jagged an uneven, and appear to have been done in both haste and passion.

-The missing pages would seem to cover the events in the months of Nym and Lhavarion in the year 774. This is the month in which the St. Athanius led the campaign against the Khyberspawn incursion.

In response to your speculations about Simeon's fate, and the nature of the ritual Tal replies:

The sacrifice of body and soul is quite literal. The seal that holds back the hordes of Khyber was made up of the essence of the very soul of Athanius. Even touching the new seal breifly I could sense Simeon within it. As for the body, well the body of Athanius was never found. Atleast there are no bones in his reliquary. What I do not understand is how he recovered from what appeared to be grevious wounds and sickness to perform the rite in my place.

For a moment he grows pensive, mulling over the words "in my place" and looks suddenly far older than his years. Then he smiles sadly.

I imagine it was indeed a miracle, a grace of the Host. I have no doubt Simeon will be sainted in time. We will have to begin building a new chapel to enclose the seal in any case.

As for the alchemist and Diviner you seek, well we do have those with the ability to beseech the gods for wisdom here, but we will need some time to prepare. By morning we could be ready I think. Alchemists we do not have. Your best bet there is either to seek the aid of the Arcane Congress at Arcanix, or perhaps you can find one for hire in Passage. But I would go to Arcanix. The Wizards of the Arcane Congress are the most powerful and skilled in all the 5 Kingdoms so they say.Other than that, I would not know where to suggest except Sharn...they say everything can be found in Sharn, for a price.

And if you are looking for relations of Simeon, you will not find them. He was a orphan, left with us when still a child. If you would talk to those who knew him best, well the Children in the orphanage would be the only ones who knew him better than myself. I can arrange for you to meet with a number of them, but you will have to be gentle with them, his loss is affecting them terribly. It is strange that they should love him so much in someways, but he always saw the best in them, and they never resented him the way others did.

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

Grinning at his companion, Thaddius shrugs and pushes his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose, "I'm perfectly fine with my assumed role as the dignified scholar. Now shall we?"

[Breten]

Aundair

Detect Magic reveals nothing new, or any sign of lingering magic in the place, except the all pervasive spells of protection and hallowing found everywhere in the building.

When asked about Simeon's gifting as a cleric he ***** his head to the side to think.

Well I suppose that was something odd about Simeon. It's true that he would never become a great cleric, or advance high in the ranks of our order. Some of that is the nature of his humble birth, but also it has to do with the oddity of his powers. While he was the first among his class to gain abilities at healing, and ofcourse he showed tremendous skill at divination at times, there were so many basic invocations and liturgies that he simply could not master, no matter how hard he tried or was tutored. What he could do, he could do with startling skill and ease, but there were so many things it seemed he just couldn't....he barely passed his noviate exams.

But using the Scroll of Sacrifice....there are few here who had the learning to read the divine texts and mystical writings in it. I suppose anyone could draw on its power, but only the highest ranked of us here could probably decipher the scroll. That he could....

He shakes his head again in wonder.

As for how he managed to get his hands on a copy of the Codex Khyberium...that is truly a puzzle. We do have a copy here, any order like ours requires it, but he definitely should not have had access to it. Brother Lyseki will have some explaining to do about this!


Train to Sharn

The three of you rush back to Mistydell's car. You find the gnome, backed up by a rather large, unpleasant looking half orc standing blocking the way into the cabin, loudly confronting several dwarf guards and rather confused looking middle aged priest.

I do not care what you heard! I am fine. There are no vampires here. I don't know who set you one this...but they are surely...

Suddenly his eyes focus on you, coming down the hall.

YOU! I should have known you'd be behind this. I won't stand for it!

[Miraqariftsky]

"Rrright..." Wrath drawls blandly as Ailae takes the blood-filled vials. "Flesh shall take care of flesh, then... And I shall take care of that which I do best--- to defend"

Listening to the Abbot's latest insights regarding the Codex Khyberium ((any relation, perchance to the Index Maleficarum?)), Wrath chips in with a voice dark and grinding, "I sense mischief afoot, sir. What with all thse strange goings-on, I just hope Brother Lyseki is still alive to shed some light on these mysteries..."


[roll0] Spot
[roll1] Listen

[Morituri]

Not breaking stride for a moment as he approaches the door, Alfred raises his empty hands in submission and adopts a pained expression, "I'm truly sorry Master Mistydell, but the creatures have already taken a life tonight, and we must search your quarters. For the safety of us all, you understand."

Alfred speaks to the Gnome as he continues his rapid walk to the door, nearing the Half Orc while appearing to not notice him. His pace doesn't slacken for a moment as he comes within arms reach, and then, moving like water, he spins and slides past the guard and enters the room beyond. Continuing his casual tone, "We should soon put our fears to rest, and leave you in peace. Come in, everyone, let's be about our business." Inside, Alfred proceeds on the most direct route away from the Half Orc while taking quick account of his surroundings, the objects, the people, the secret door... he rebounds soundly off the well-toned chest of the guard, staggering backward with exaggerated theatrics. Shaking his head and looking at the guard sideways, Alfred speaks calmly. "Why are you stopping us? Vampires could hide anywhere, come through any crack, attack you from behind with no warning. Let us in."

I reeeeally should have spent more points in Tumble... Here goes nuthin': [roll0] plus an Action Point [roll1]

Spot check for the contents of the room: [roll2]

[Breten]

I don't know what you are up to, but be assured, that there are no vampires, or undead of ANY kind my cabin. And if you lunatics don't stop harrassing me I will file an official writ of complaint at the embassy. For the last time, there are no Vampires here! So go away! The Gnome yells.

I wouldn't be so quick to make such pronouncements.

Announces a dry voice behind the gnome. Spinning around in shock the gnome is confronted by and elderly man dressed in the robes of the Church of the Silver Flame, and wearing the stole of a Bishop. He is dragging the body of a what appears to be a changeling behind him. The creatures sallow white skins is not unusual for his kind, but the stake protruding bloodlessly from his chest make it clear to all present that he is indeed a Vampire.

When I heard the alarm sounded and that vampires were involved I naturally headed to the roof, knowing they often travel that way in gaseous form. I found this one and his companion sneaking in through an open skylight. Fortunately they seemed weakened, and the power of the Flame was able to subdue them enough for me to stake one. The other you will find in the form of a dull ash residue on top of your compartment.

It was interesting to find the hidden room under the skylight, but I am sure that good master Mistydell had no knowledge of vampires using it as a base of operations, and that he is willing to forgive these young men their indiscretions in their eagerness to save him as long as they are willing to drop the matter now knowing that he is safe.

He smiles mirthlessly and stares down both Mistydell and Mort.

Now if that solves this little unpleasantness perhaps we can see to that nightcap which these fine gentlemen promised me. I believe your cabin will have a finer liquor cabinet than my own, why don't we go there.

Leaving the tranfixed vampire on the floor, he sweeps through the door and heads towards the groups train car without looking for confirmation.

Oh and would one of you good dwarves find a way to dispose of our undead friend here. I belive that there are some furnaces up by the engine which could serve the purpose well

[Morituri]

Uncharacteristically speechless for a moment, Alfred internally shakes himself free of his stupor and smiles at the new arrival, "Th-thank you friend, this is very much a welcomed surprise. We'll to our cabin with speed."

Fully back on his game now, Alfred examines the body on the ground, shaking his head sadly, "We couldn't save the guard, and that will haunt me. And I dare not think of what happened to our man Eldon before this vile impersonator took his face. But at least you, dear Sir Mistydell are safe, and we can all sleep with peace of mind." Turning a weary smile to the Gnome, "Please do not thank us sir, we were merely acting as citizens of this continent and doing our part to protect our fellows. Good night."

Turning and walking back towards the sleeping cart with the Bishop, 'Alfred' became quite quiet, turning his thoughts back over to the man Mort with a very, very cold purpose in his heart.

That filthy Gnome was working with the Vampires. He's working with the Blood, and he tried to have us killed. Get off the train, run and hide for years, Sir Misty. I will find you some day, tonight or years from now when the mission is done. We all need to sleep sometime, don't we?

[Uncle_Putte]

"Ah." Alestair seems to stop as if he'd have walked into a wall when Ailae mentions the option of having the blood examined 'on the run'. He nods curtly, doing well but not perfectly at keeping embarassment out of his expression. He takes a moment to choose his words, before speaking.

"That is propably the best choice, Ailae. I fear I have discovered a weakness in myself, and the experience does not sit well with me - I think I may have mentioned it before, but I have lived with little exceptions all my life in Flamekeep, and on a few isolated occasions other locations in Thrane. Old dogs are poor at learning new tricks, as they say, and lacking this particular trick of maintaining one's thinking flexible concerning distance and travel feels like a dangerous shortcoming. Let us do as you suggest - although exact destination should be yours to decide, as I feel quite clueless on the best ways of plotting course. Before that, though, we should propably check the library. I suspect we haven't much to gain from interviewing the children... and, well... I, for one, feel incapable and completely unwilling of being the one to break the news of Simeon's... ah, departure for a better place, to them. Not after all they've had to put up with tonight."

Alestair settles to a seemingly uncomfortable silence. Despite the issue he last made mention of, his expression is far more worried than glum, and as the group proceeds along with their doings he keeps constantly glancing at Ailae in a somewhat nervous manner.

[Glawackus]

Shrike smiles behind his shroud at the sight of the corpse and gives a small bow to Mistydell, following in the bishop's wake.


Curiouser and curiouser, no? :smallsmile:

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

Sliding the wand back into his quiver, Thaddius bows slightly to the gnome with a bit of a chesire grin on his face and follows the Bishop back to their carriage.

[Miraqariftsky]

Though possessed of mystic might
And wielding doom divine
Faded has the light
From the warforged's sinews' line
Naught he knows of mighty mysteries
But never does his sentry's sense decrease
On fleshforged charges, watch he keeps
He, the wrathful sword that never sleeps

[Breten]

Aundair

As the group of you make your way from Simeon's quarters to the library you glance out the window. Already much of the evidence of the battle has been cleared away. You hear the voices of children singing a hymn to the Sovereign Host giving thanks for their protection. Your path crosses you through the chapel where they are singing and as you move towards the double doors leading the to library you stop for a second to listen to their beautiful voices. But as beautiful as the music and singing is, it is not was shocks you. Each and every one of the children is visibly disfigured in some way. One girl in the front row has only one eye, the other socket is covered with pale flesh instead. Other children has grossly oversized limbs, and tumours growing on them. One boy has an arm that ends in a stump, with a small pink tentacle dangling lifelessly from it. Yet another seems rather normal, until you notice the the tongue that is currently extoling the goodness of the host is long and forked, much like a serpents.

And yet, completely oblivious to their deformity the children are smiling as they sing their hymn, falceto voices echoing throughout the building.

For Life and Health Provided
For each days Work and Rest
We thank you Host who've Guided
And helped us through each Test

The Nine are always with us
They shine down from above
Protecting from the all evil
Enfolding in their Love

[Breten]

The elderly priest of the flame moves with the speed of a much younger man as he leads you through the corridor and back to your car.

That was particularly foolish of you. Whatever gave you the idea to confront Mistydell. He is a very dangerous, even for a gnome. He has connections and favours owed him all over Sharn, and angering him for now good reason is not a wise thing.

He raps once on the door, but there is no answer. He sighs loudly.

Would one of you kindly inform your man that it is safe to let us in? He won't seem to open for me.

[Morituri]

Shrugging his shoulders, Mort says to the priest as they march through the halls, "He'd already vowed vengeance in our general direction for something that was entirely not our fault earlier this evening; I didn't see any new harm in confronting him, and I would have been able to eventually get in that room and open the secret door in front of the guards and your fellow back there to expose the man's other half, solving all our little problems in a go. So the vampires actually were working for him, you said?"

Smiling broadly at the mention of their servant, Mort coughs loudly outside the closed door, speaking in a pleasantly raised voice, "We're back, Nader. It's safe to open up, and good work."

[Breten]

When Nader opens the door.The priest pushes himself into the room and lowwers himself somewhat carefully into one of the soft padded arm chair. He closes his eyes at the comfort, and then opens them again, his gaze boring into you.

No actually, he didn't have vampires in his secret room. Atleast not until I put the remains of one in there. If you had barged into that room, and there weren't vampires in there it would have caused a number of unpleasant consequences, not the least of which was you would have been so busy dealing with Mistydell you would be of no use to me.

[Glawackus]

"Of use to you, sir?" Shrike asks, removing that section of his shroud which hangs across his face out of respect. "You have information about the art which we are to recover?" Shrike accentuates art slightly, hoping that the bishop has some foreknowledge of their task.

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae walks elegantly through the chapel, continuing to talk to Alestair. "Don't worry about travel, we will be going across Khorvaire. You are our leader and one of the great analytical minds in the Five Nations. Getting you around is however my affair and I will handle it.

I," She swallows as she clearly doesn't look at the children, "will also explain to these poor troubled children what has happened to Simeon."

[Breten]

The Bishop looks at you blankly.

Hmmm art? No I care not what actual quest you are on, and even less about your preposterous cover story. What i could use your help with however is dealing with an annoying Vol infestation on the train, and the destruction of a certain artifact that seems to be behind it.

[Uncle_Putte]

"Ah... I am thankful for that... but what worries me is exactly the assumption that I am a man of knowledge. I have at my disposal a small fistful of cantrips to use, granted by the flame, but to be honest, my knowledge of magic in general is restricted."

He pauses for a moment, to look at the children touched by Khyber. He shrinks visibly, his shoulders sagging and his head leaning down, and as he continues his voice is unusually uneven.

"Restricted... that is a polite way of putting it, to be honest. My expertise is that of the conscious of the normal, and our enemy is the most alien. Sometimes I have thought that confidence is the greatest of the weapons I wield, but what now that it is at question? These children... I ask myself, as I have asked for a dozen times already - were they touched by the aberrant power already when we came here, or only because I failed today? Could I have spared them from it? I realize this is a fruitless pursuit, but it is in my nature to ask such. There is no judge more harsh than Alestair Woland. At least when it is of his own shortcomings."

At the end of his outburst, an odd, triumphant grin appears, obviously directed at Ailae.

"Well, such thoughts are to be entertained when we are done. Let us make haste for the library, our conclusions, and our way for our next goal. I bear hope that we may regroup with our comrades then, and for all reasons, make a headway on the subject of the Eye. On to the library."

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae gently hooks a hand through Alestair's arm, "We are all restricted Alestair, I know very little of history, the planes or of the world outside the cities." She looks up at the window she broke as they the children's music soars about them. "Whilst I travel beside you though let me give you what I can of politics, faith and arcana and you will tell me how peoples minds work." A shadow passes over her face briefly, a haunted look, "Besides, we all have our shortcomings, we can try to protect each other from judging ourselves.

But," she matches her voice to Alestair's, "first to the library."

[Glawackus]

"I am beyond willing," Shrike says. "What do you know of the cultists?" He leans forward with a look both hungry and impatient.

[Breten]

Train to Sharn

The Bishop smiles, something that is oddly disconcerting.

Excellent. I had hoped you would feel that way. I have identified no less than 3 Vampires on this train since coming here. They were taking pains to hide themselves, but I have been hunting their kind of decades, and came across them without even particularly looking. I followed up with an investigation, and through consulting the flame have been able to pinpoint their nest. It is in one of the rear cargo compartments. I believe there is still atleast two active vampires there. They seem to be guarding some sort of artifact they found in the Mournland. I have....certain other engagements that I must be seen keeping during the day, and I fear to attempt to challenge the nest at night when their power is strongest. However three accomplished adventurers as yourself should be sufficient to move on the nest during the day, destroy the vampires when they are weak, and discover what the artifact they guard might be.

Aundair

You make your way to the Library, as the sounds of the strange orphans singing dies away. Father Tal, hearing Alestair's musings quickly assures him.

Do not take the blame for the children on yourself. Each of them has been as you see them since birth. Most of them where left anonymously here in the night shortly after birth by parents who feared their deformity, yet could not bring themselves to kill the child.

He shakes his head sadly.

We try to give them what comfort we can, but most of them will not live to adulthood. Simeon was odd to be both without obvious deformity, and healthy when left with us.

Finally you reach a set of thick double doors bearing the symbol of Aureon, the God of Knowledge and Law.

Here we are. The Library. He pushes the door open and leads you into a large room, filled with tightly packed shelves of books. Just inside the door is the mahogany desk, and behind it sits a old man with a frazzled half pate of ill kept grey hair wearing simple brown robes. The sleeves of the robes show many ink stains both old and new. The priest is currently lying with his face down on the desk, snoring loudly.

Obviously embarrassed Father Tal loudly clears his throat.

Brother Lyseki! Wake up you have guests!

The ancient librarian startles awake, and peers around alarmed and confused through thick spectacles.

Eh? What is that? Whats all this about? I was busy considering the mysteries of the Sacred Nine. What are you disturbing me for young Tal? And who are these strange people you brought here. You know I don't like to be disturbed in my studies. Especially by women. Too distracting. Especially when they are pretty like and dressed like a hussy!

[Nycthemeron]

Ailae raises an eyebrow at he elderly priest, calmy she walks toward him, proffering a hand serenely, "Lady Ailae d'Orien, how do you do reverend Brother. The Father Abbot here is helping us investigate the attack on the seminary and various divinations surrounding the late brother Simeon. If you aren't too busy could you tell us when and why Simeon took the Codex Khyberium from the Library. I am familiar with the work from my studies at Korth University, did he also ask for any other Liber Carriem, we would also like a list of everything he looked at from your library recently?" Ailae stares straight at him her jaw set, he eyes firmly fixed on his.

[Morituri]

[Did Nader ever open the door?]

Mort listens intently to the Priest, the note of sardonic defiance seeming to have left his character at present. An angry and almost hungry look passes before his eyes at the instant a mention of more Vampires of Vol is made, though it's gone just as quickly as he reestablishes his hold over himself and turns to the task at hand. Nodding slowly, he rubs his chin for a moment after the 'Priest' concludes, then turns to his companions. "'K. Vampires guarding an artifact on a train. We've got options, several of them good, none perfect. First and foremost, we've got to look into the potential for isolating the things."

Turning back to the new companion, "We'll need all the specifics you can give us and all the information you may have gleaned. Which specific cargo cart, do the things have anyone working for them, willing or otherwise, general appearance if known, the usual. Also, I'm sad to say I packed light on this particular trip; no Holy Water or Religious icons anywhere on me, and I finished my Garlic Chicken Stirfry leftovers on the carriage to the station."

Stretching his arms behind his back in an attempt to stay limber, he turns back to Shrike and Thaddius, "Any ideas on how we can keep these things isolated during the day? Short of detaching the cart and prying off the ceiling boards one at a time, I mean. ...Unless you're game for that," Mort adds, arching an eyebrow suggestively.

[Glawackus]

"Detaching the carriage will only lead to more problems later--but if the situation warranted it, I would not hesitate to do so," Shrike says, looking out the window as the countryside speeds by. "I am in favor of striking while the iron is hot. If I have somehow lost face in the eyes of my patron, I can think of no better way to regain it than removing these abominations from the face of the world. Why bother with isolation when we can just go in the morning and destroy them?"

[Morituri]

"Crazy as it sounds, I'm not so worried about destroying them; we've got the time, the brains and the resources right here to make that happen, Host willing. My concern is letting them escape, getting other people in the line of fire, and letting them fight us on their own terms in ways where they can reach us. I mean, bare minimum, we can open up every single window in every single cart around their lair and throwing up as many holy symbols as we can to keep them inside their own rooms. Then start popping skylights into theirs, whether the architects planned on them or not." Mort smiles fondly at the thought of that, then shakes himself and continues. "You get the general method, right? They're already rats in a cave, we just need to drown them. Never take a chance, nor give your enemy one."

Turning to look at both Shrike and Thaddius, "You know what I am; a paranoid jerk who's good with a straight edge. This isn't my game. What kind of things can you bring to our little adventure here?"

[Breten]

The librarian withdraws from the proferred hand like it was a poisonous viper.

Keep her away from me He whines to Father Tal
I would never give Simeon one of the Liber Carriem. He is one of the orphans for goodness sake and still a acolyte. What do you think I am? Further more, only myself and Father Tal have access to the key to the restricted section where it is housed.

Jumping up he storms over to the door behind his desk and unlocks it.

No one has be in here but....

He storms into the room and stops suddenly, staring at the shelf in front of him.

By the devourerers bloody maw! It's....it's gone.

[Breten]

The Bishops nods his head as you rattle off your questions. Excellent. I believe you will be more than capable, just as I suspected. Now the challenge, which partially explains why I will be consipicuously doing something else while you are going after our undead guests. The cargo car that the vampires are using as their base of operations is being rented by Karnnath. The listed cargo on the manifest is the remains of several soldiers who were killed during the Day of Mourning. There are wards on the cars on either end that are supposed to keep undead from leaving the cargo car, and the doors are sealed. I believe the vampires are leaving by using Gaseous form. The best method of entry would be the top hatch, required by Orien rules as an escape hatch in case of an accident. The cargo car has no windows, and the doors are sealed both magically and mundanely. The side door may be opened from the inside I believe. As for the artifact itself, it is identified as sarcophagus of Phean, son of Vrakmul. I have no idea what that means, but given Vols involvement, I would expect it to have something to do with the undead

((Make a Knowledge Religion Check to know more))

[Uncle_Putte]

Alestair does his usual chore of hiding his irritation towards the Librarian. Remorse wins over indignation over the old fart's carelessness in duty, though, and he notes in his usual laconic tone;

"Hm. Worrisome, but not unexpected. We could consider the situation clear on this part, if we had managed to recover the key from Simeon's remains - but as there are none to be searched, you should propably take care to do what one usually should do when losing a key. Change the locks. But before that, I would request that you check the sealed archives and make sure the tomes we recovered from Simeon's quarters are the only ones missing."

He looks about the library room idly, while making a mental recollection of the tasks left.

One - reference for the lost pages in the Military Engagements. Two - list of personnel requesting relevant materials in the past... hmm, say, 6 months, including same books possessed by Simeon. Three - Material dealing with the Eye of Heavens. Four - try not to slap brother Lyseki. Aging is no fault of his own. Now... what else? There must be something...

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

Thaddius sits silently through the conversation, brow furrowed. Stroking his goatee thoughtfully, he speaks up as questions start being fielded, "My area of expertise is far from that involving the undead. If I had time enough, I could search through my research notes and find a few tools to assist us, but sadly- at the moment, I do believe we are short on time. So- as my companions have noted, I think it would be imparative for us to simply take the bull by the horns, as they say."

Thinking for a moment more, Thaddius shrugs a bit and adds as an afterthought, "Some holy water couldn't hurt."

[Morituri]

Seeming to deflate slightly as the Bishop further explains the situation, Mort simply shrugs his shoulders, saying, "Never as simple as you want it to be, is it?"

Mort's head bobs rhythmically side to side and you can almost make out a Brelish marching tune being hummed under his breath as mental calculations take place behind his eyes. After several moments, he shrugs his shoulders again, saying conversationally, "I s'pose this doesn't change things all that much. The top hatch seems the best choice, which we'd have more or less needed to use anyway for the sheer fact that sunlight's our best weapon against these guys. We'll need a solid explanation for the Guards and any relevant authorities, though, in case someone gets curious at the screams and explosions for some reason. Always the possibility that the Guards may be working for the creatures anyway, though that's something we'll just have to deal with if it comes up and we can't prep for other than to know to look for it. Anyway, we could send Nader to tell the Captain or Pilot or whatever that we're continuing to investigate rear carts for signs of Undead activity and 'Forget' to tell him where we're going. Nothing fancy, nothing actually untrue, if not entirely accurate."

Turning to Thaddius and Shrike, Mort grins tiredly, adding, "No real secret to fighting undead. Fire, sunlight and holy things tend to work just fine, plus all the other things that generally don't add to the health and wellbeing of the person directed upon. Any tricks you may have up your sleeves after a good night's rest?"

[Glawackus]

"I shall pray in the morning for strength against the undead," Shrike says, "I have fought these things before, and there are certain blessings I can ask of my patron. The knowledge to create holy water is among them."

Shrike furrows his brow. "And strangely, I think I have heard of this artifact before."


I hate to needle, but results on that Knowledge (Religion) check, please? (It's in the OOC thread) :smallredface:

[Breten]

Aundair

Searching through the Library Brother Lyseki finds that only the one book is missing from the sealed room, and nothing else appears to have been disturbed there.

The book on Military Engagements found in Simeon's room is the only copy here in the library. When mentioned Brother Lyseki pulls at his beard for a moment.

I thought is was odd he wanted to read that...wasn't along his usual lines of research. Normally he was reading about physical deformities and like, mostly on account of the children I think. Medical manuals, healing guides, even some of the lesser works on witch hunting and demonology. He never showed any interest in battles or such.

He looks thoughtful for a moment

I suppose it is interesting though. Its the only book I know of that refers to the founding of the orphanage in the aftermath of the battle.

Train to Sharn

The Bishop nods and slowly pulls himself out of the comofortable chair.

Excellent. We are in agreement then. I am relieved. In return if there is anything that I can do help you in Sharn, whatever it is you might be doing there, I would be glad to help you out....discretely of course. I will send a boy with a couple flasks of holy water if you wish. I can also send intructions to the train staff to ignore any activity coming from the cargo cars tomorrow morning. Now if you young men will excuse me, I should be getting to bed. Tired old bones and all.

At that moment there is a small knock at the door, and when Nader goes to investiagate, he comes back pale faced.

Ummmm. Sirs. If I could disturb you for a moment, perhaps you should see this.

At you nod of assent he opens the door and in walks a House Orien official, leading a shaken looking old man you recognize as Elden.

We found him tied up and gagged in a closet in the servants quarters. He claims to be one of yours. What should we do with him?

[Glawackus]

"I'll tell you what we could do with him," Shrike growls, "but I will try to let cooler heads prevail."

[Morituri]

Oooookay, let's see what this is about.

Standing briskly and walking to the door, 'Alfred' says to the guard, "Yes, he is ours, thank you so much for finding him safe for us!" Al takes the old man gently by the arm and leads him to a padded chair within the room, turning briefly to Nader and saying, "I believe warm soup and tea is in order, if you would. Thank you."

After having Elden settled in his chair, Alfred walks about the room in a flutter, saying quickly, "You had us very concerned sir. Are you hurt? You'll have to tell us everything that has happened to you." Stopping near Shrike and Thaddius, Alfred leans in, whispering in both their ears, "Can we tell if he's been mind controlled, or if he's actually Human this time?"

[Miraqariftsky]

Watching and waiting
Silent, the sentinel stands
With crystalline gaze unblinking
And ever-ready silversteel hands

Of a sudden, he speaks,
Wrath, the Righteous Reaver
Through sea of lies, the truth he seeks
And fares he forth, a soldier-speaker,

"Maybe some fiend had escaped its bonds during the engagement
And Simeon had thought as such, then scholar's spear thereon bent?"

[Glawackus]

"I could try, but I do not know how well it would work. The amount of magic that makes this vessel function may blot out whatever energies work upon him," Shrike murmurs.

He pulls up a chair and sits in it backwards, his arms resting on the back of the chair. He stares at Elden for a moment and then closes his eyes and whispers a few words in Elven, the slightly glottal sounds of the Valenar dialect slightly unnerving.

He opens his eyes. "If I have pleased my patron, then we will see what occurs."


Casting detect magic (http://www.d20srd.org/srd/spells/detectMagic.htm).

[Breten]

Concentrating hard on the flow of magical energies, and trying to block out the background distractions of ambient energy, Shrike watches for a moment, but detects no sign of magic on the old man at all.

Sitting down Elden looks around confused.

I take it that you are the passengers that Mistress Orien asked us to look after. I must apologize profusely, I don't know what happened. I was in my room, and there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and Nader was there. I think I asked him what he wanted since it wasn't my shift yet, and then, i felt a sharp pain in my arm. I looked down, and found a bolt in my side....and then I woke up a few minutes ago with this guard standing over me.

[Glawackus]

Shrike turns to the others and mouths nothing, shaking his head.

"I am beginning to grow tired of this charade," he says, "but I press on. I have shamed my patron enough. I think we had best call for Nader, and assume the worst if he does not come."

[Breten]

Nader who is standing nearby, and who rushed forward as soon as Eldon entered the room to see if he is okay looks shocked and angry.

What are you talking about? I never came to your room! I have been up here through my own shift, and much of yours now!

[Glawackus]

Shrike turns towards Nader. "Oh, really."


Rolling a sense motive to see if there's any lying going on here.
Sense Motive: [roll0]

[Breten]

(( You sense no sign of deception in either of the two))

[Glawackus]

"Then you tell us what you think happened, Nader. And you will please neither the ancestors nor myself with any lies." Shrike says, dropping into a chair and crossing his arms.

[Morituri]

Alfred walks over to Eldon and, speaking to him gently, says, "May we see where you were wounded? You may still need healing."

As he takes a closer look at where the bolt struck the old man, Alfred turns back to the group, saying, "It sounds like that Changeling creature that the Bishop slew may have been involved in this. Nasty things, Changelings. Can't trust them at all."

Turning back and continuing to examine the old servant, Alfred resumes his gentle voice, "You're very lucky, and we should be able to undo all the damage those things may have done to you. For the rest of the trip, I feel that neither you nor Nader here should ever be alone if at all possible, preferably staying together or with armed guard escorts at all hours. Seems we are being targeted personally, and either of you could prove to be possible avenues for approaching and attacking our cart."

Turning back to the Bishop, Alfred asks, "Is there anything more you need of us, or shall we tend to our men for the evening?"

This whole situation is just... wrong somehow. Gnome spooks. Vampires. Vampire Hunting CLERGY. And, best of all, they're all after US. The sooner we're off this train and hiding in Sharn the better. ...And Host help me, but why is this man still alive...?

Spot to notice any signs of fighting or injury on Eldon: [roll0]

[Breten]

Examining his wound you find a patch of skin a bit pinker than the rest, indicative of newly healed wounds.

[Derwood]

Thaddius d'Cannith

Eyebrow arching as all is revealed by the two servants, Thaddius pulls the small notebook from his concealed pocket and starts taking notes for possible future reference. Looking over the newly healed wounds and shakable set of circumstances he shakes his head and returns the book to it's pocket. Taking a deep breath and moving closer to his companions, "My friends, I do believe that we are at the mercy of a rather dubious set of fiends. Considering the fact that we cannot at the moment discern just how true to story any version of the events is, I think we would be best served by confining these gentlemen to individual quarters for the time so as to prevent any further harm to all parties involved. I'd rather be without someone to dress my bed than have to deflect daggers from my ribcage."

[Glawackus]

Shrike nods at this, the ghost of a smile playing across his face. "I, for one, can certainly live without all the comforts of...civilization."


Morituri, care to be our door-locker? If Mort's so good at getting around the things, he can surely do the opposite. :smalltongue:

[Breten]

The two servants are aghast at you having to go without the proper care, but glaring suspiciously at each other, they agree to be seperated and confined if only to protect you from the other, whom they are sure is an assassin.

Bishop Amaundo watches all of this with faint amusement. Then shakes his head.
Well this is entertaining....but I must be on my way. I can send a man with holy water, and any other such simple supplies if you wish. Please wait until atleast midmorning to make your move. Noon would be even better for you. As I said I need to be seen to be elsewhere when all of this happens.

With final nod in blessing, he hobbles out of the room.

Aundair

As you look through the records in the Library you find no one else accessing the tomes that Simeon had borrowed within six months prior. The only even remote resemblance of research was one brother who had borrowed a couple tomes on Ithillid detection and how to combat them.

When you ask Lyseki about the Eye of Heaven he scratches his beard for a moment and begins muttering to himself. After of few moments wandering the stacks listlessly, he snaps his fingers and wanders back into the restricted book section.

Why didn't I think of it before. The Mhrinn Diaries. It's not quite the same....but maybe it will help. This is a rare book, one of only half a dozen in all Khorvaire. Course the prophet was quite mad, so most people never bothered paying attention to him.....but someone actually thought to write his rantings down. now where was the passage?

Ah here.

"When the Vessel is filled, the search will begin.
And if the Flame should fail
Then Heaven's Eye will open
And Desolation will open her Mouth
And sing destruction

Its all quite nonsensical ofcourse...like most of these prophecies....well atleast until they come true. Then they make all to much sense. Still now, I can't say that this makes any sense to me.

He frowns at the shelf for a mintue.

That explains it...why it took me so long to find it. The book has been moved. It belongs down there.

[Morituri]

Alfred gives the two servants friendly smiles and shrugs as they leave, closing the door gently behind them and letting out a long sigh after waiting for them to be out of earshot. Turning back to his companions, now in the privacy of their cart, Mort shakes his head and says casually, "The help these days. What is service coming to?" Dropping into a chair and kicking back, he composes himself and then leans forward, still calm but now speaking frankly, "I do think they're both what and who they say they are; that Changeling was impersonating the old man earlier, why not the Boy too? But you're both right to be cautious, because something wasn't right about that story. I mean, we're on a Lightrail; if you're an evil cultist impersonating an elderly servant, why in the name of the Host would you bother healing your target up after shooting him in the side instead of, oh I don't know, kicking the body out of a door to feed up some local rats? Definitely odd, but I just don't know what to think, and I'd rather it be a problem that just went away."

Mort stands and begins to move over to the door, picking up a solid looking chair on the way. "If we're stuck here without servants, we'll need to swing by the mess car tomorrow morning and grab enough food to hold up for a couple more days. Preferably some of those butter rolls with the nice crumbly bits on 'em, those were amazing. We'll just tell the chef's that we're feeding some guests that evening." Mort reaches the door and, after making sure the handle was locked and any bolts secure, takes the chair and jams it in front of the handle [Strength Check: [roll0]]. Feeling satisfied after a few choice curses, he then moves over to a nearby wooden chest and begins sliding it towards the door to act as a second barrier. Between grunts, he turns his attention back to his two companions, "So. What's your take on the 'Bishop'? And I know my hands occupied right now, so I'll just let you know I was adding quotation marks around that when I said 'Bishop'. What do you think he really is?"

[Uncle_Putte]

"Ah... hmm. I do not see how we could find out who it was that last used the book, but at least nothing has been done to it. I hope. Mind if I have a look?"

Alestair proceeds to have a look at the contents of the Mhrinn diaries, first copying the previously recited passages into his notebook, then searching for other points of intrest while referring to the librarian's knowledge of the book in his work.

"I suppose our business here is nearing it's conclusion... I cannot think of any other leads we could follow here, other than making a report through the Eidolon, as well as requesting them to send references to the missing pages on the other book. About the Mhrinn diaries, though... which section was it in originally, and where was it returned to? Perhaps we should check it for tampering afterall."