Tales of Neutral Ground IC

[GameOfChampions]

The changeling shudders as the undead dies from Gryphons blow, the eldritch magics he had called on healing him now that the one he had cursed was dead. He looks to the next undead and remaining linchpin.

Kleris rushes forward to the next undead soldier that Arimart is fighting. As he goes he drops his shield to better hold his sword. As he gets close he plants his right foot as he finishes his last stride and rips his sword downward with all the momentum of his charge. A wordless yell comes from his lips as he bends all of his tired body to the destruction of the undead. The sword behind to glow as the strike reaches its peak and crashing down.

Spoiler: OOC

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Kleris heals 7 from the Curse. Kleris moves up behind the undead, flanking from Arimart for the attack. Smite if the attack hits.

Roll with Advantage: (1d20+7)[26] and (1d20+7)[8]
Damage: [roll]1d10+3d8+4[/roll]

[(Un)Inspired]

Gryphon looks down the the smoke and blood stains on his white and gold outfit and then stares up At the heavens for a moment almost pleadingly. Dress with an iota of style and they all whisper that you’re a witch. Dress in their formal wear and they pour fire and blood all over you. There really is no winning with these humans.

Gryphon stalks toward the remaining undead with thoughts of dry cleaning storming in his head. He calls out to the archers and officer on the wall.

Oh don’t worry guards; there’s just an uncontrolled, armed, undead here trying to kill people. Don’t step in and prevent this abomination from hurting people in the city. I’d hate to see your arms get tires from drawing back your bowstrings

Moving into a pincer maneuver with Kleris Gryphon takes out his sartorial frustrations on the walking corpse. Staying low he pulls his Shadow Blade upward in a two handed grip in the fencing equivalent of an uppercut in an attempt to split the monstrosity from groin to clavical and follows up with a flurry of rapid One handed thrusts aimed at its center mass.

Spoiler: OOC

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Gryphon moves to flank with Kleris and attacks twice with advantage

First Attack: (1d20+5)[15]
Advantage: (1d20+5)[24]
Damage: (3d8+2)[19]
If Crit: (3d8)[9]

Second Attack: (1d20+5)[6]
Advantage: (1d20+5)[12]
Damage: (3d8+2)[12]
If Crit: [/roll]3d8[/roll]

[3SecondCultist]

With the number of your enemies reduced, you are able to focus your energies on those that remain. Of them, there is only one of note: the clacking bones of the undead champion stands before you, shield raised against the storm of your combined attentions. And yet it is not enough: Arimart's steed is the first to break through, hooves from upon high smashing over the rim of steel to crack through the monster's jaw. A swing from the newly liberated magestaff in Kett’s able hands follows it up, the shaft snapping something under the skeleton’s greaves and it stumbles forwards. Now off-balance, it is unprepared for the tested tandem assault of Gryphon and Kleris. The resulting cuts and slashes from both half-elves cleave through the last vestiges of the undead’s magic, and it breaks apart at your feet.

The bones barely have time to settle before you hear the distinct sounds of raised voices, this time from the other side of the Thronehold Gate. The ranking Warden in the tower has disappeared from view, and you pick up on the ominous groan of metal on stone the portal is opening at long last, though to what end you are not sure. The remaining Karrnathi, not seeing much incentive to continue fighting at this juncture, cautiously back away and adopt defensive positions, though they do not divest themselves of their arms.

Maugrim takes no steps to pursue them. Instead, he lets out a single shuddering breath. His halberd slips in his fingers, the savage vitality that saw him decapitating other men ebbing away before your sight.

"I don't... don't know how much time I have." The old soldier's eyes, bright only moments ago, are already losing their lustre. He barely sees any of you, gaze wheeling about the carnage of the square and starting to slip away. "In case I become lost once more, it's critical that you know the truth. After everything, after Thaliost and Deneith and Alis... I hid away, but his people found me all the same. An Aundairian officer by the name of Jurian Corleis, though the name is most certainly an alias. He wanted my services, wanted to recruit me for a job."

He snorts in derision, waving at the pillar of smoke that continues to rise from the district at your back. "And I suppose he got what he wanted."

As Nameless speaks, the Deneith sentinels atop the walls have begun to point their bows in your direction. There must be at least a score that you can see, and far more hidden from view. From the stone ramparts comes a deep-throated yell: "DROP YOUR WEAPONS IMMEDIATELY, OR BE FIRED UPON!"

But what you see when light spills from the gap into the castle grounds is not mere Karrnathi, nor is it solely the bared blades of the Throne Wardens. You spot among the banners and heralds the telltale bear and crossed axes of Breland, the soaring dragonhawk of Aundair, the glimmering flame of Thrane, and more besides. Complements from every single one of the recognized nations of this city have gathered on the other side of the Thronehold Gate, all assembled in trains behind ten figures who stand on the gravel.

The Thronehold Tribunal has come to collect its man.

Spoiler: Raz

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You know the name 'Jurian Corleis' as you've heard it before, in the military camps of Aundair in the Reach: it's an old alias used by members of Aundairian high command that requested deniable materials or personnel. According to your sources, the alias has been retired since the Last War. More pertinently, that name has been used by one man in particular... Haldren ir'Brassek.

[Amnestic]

Kett maintains a grip on the staff - for now. The party was one and a half feet in the grave, with what looked to be the better part of an army bearing down on them and a company of archers on high ground, and they were doing the whole 'drop your weapons' thing? After what they - and more importantly, what Kett - just went through? "This is absolute lhûgtraak," she mutters to the party. Maugrim's words meant nothing to her, a name she didn't recognise or honestly care for. She was more focused on the ridiculousness of the Tribunal. Maybe she should start collecting names. For later. Much later. No, no, she was just irritated and a bit incensed from nearly dying. They weren't worth her time. For now. "What was their big plan if we lost? Was there even any point in all this?" She gesture to the carnage around them. "Seemed happy to throw you on the chopping block. Go on then," she raises her voice slightly at Arimart and juts her head at the archers. "Do your thing."

She kneels down beside the mage and sets the staff to the floor - in easy reach, should it be needed, mostly just to free up her hand so she can start rifling through the spellcaster's pockets and pack. "They'll probably claim the bodies if we don't get there first - grab what you can, while you can." With her back to the rest of the party she begins the looting for her spoils. Without turning to them, she speaks up without any hesitation or embarrassment. "Oh, and good job in the fight. Saved my bacon. I'll make sure to return the favour." That last bit was a lie. She wouldn't *not* return it if the opportunity came up to do so, but she'd also probably skip out on it with nary a second thought.

Spoiler: Elvish

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A swearword, loosely translated as 'dragon poop'.

[(Un)Inspired]

The sailor woman is right Gryphon. Steal that mustachioed fool’s magic while you have the chance.

Listening to his familiar’s advice, Gryphon relaxes his grip on his shadowy sword. The blade disappeared first before the ivory handle disintegrates into nothingness. They were very clear that they want us to drop our weapons. No such orders about “hands up” or “get on the ground” or even “don’t rob and desecrate those corpses”.

This magician possessed dangerous magic including the ability to animate the dead. Gryphon says to his party. It’s important that we collect his spellbook to prevent its perilous secrets from spilling out into the world. With that the young wizard collects anything from the magician’s corpse that could conceivably be a spellbook and tucks it safely away into his Bag of Holding before trying to identify any other magic items from the carnage.

As Maugrim speaks Gryphon mentally notes his words in case the old human’s mind once again leaves him. There was a tragedy, that even Gryphon’s cold heart could appreciate, in Maugrim’s state. Knowing that your mind will slip away, knowing it’s coming and being unable to stop it. Dreadful. Dreadful in the true sense of the word. What the hells really happened at Thaliost? Was Nameless really just chosen to tie a name to a spectacle? It looks like the Tribunal’s going to need the help of a certain Droaamite Diviner to solve this.

Gryphon looks up and sees the banners of the Tribunal and back down to his clothes and back up again. With practiced external calmness combined with frantic inner tension he casts Prestidigitation on his ensemble and hair in at attempt to not only look presentable but hopefully even dashing.

[Amnestic]

"Mmmhmm." Kett replies as she digs further into the mage's pack, looking for the book. "Perilous secrets are fine as long as they're our secrets, right?" It's difficult to pin down her tone, a mix of teasing accusation, mild pondering and bemusement. She doubted he had such altruistic purposes in mind, but equally it wasn't any skin off her nose if he got himself a skeleton butler. She wasn't unaccustomed to spellbooks - on the occasion she'd killed a user she'd always taken them with her to donate to the House libraries/coffers, and she watches Gryphon take it with only mild interest. The heft and smell were familiar - that pervasive bookdust spell that seemed to accompany each one, mixed with the pungent scent of the magic ink they used. It'd make for good bedtime reading in case she ever had trouble dropping off to sleep.

Lia had tried to teach her a few times but it had gone in one eye and out the other. Perhaps it was worth another shot to learn. Later, of course. They were rather more preoccupied right now.

[GameOfChampions]

Sask internally breathes a sigh of relief. He lets his Kleris persona drop for second, if not the looks of the half elf. The last 24 hours had been rough, he hadn't had this much trouble with his personas for a long time. Even seeing the marching troops wasn't that bad since one way or another this was ending.

After his personal second he dons Kleris once more. He eyes the two rummaging through the wizards unconcious body and nods, "Good idea."

He puts away the longsword and quickly takes a few steps to the side where he dropped his shield. After he hooks that onto his back he returns to where the Paladins mount was now moving to block and starts to rummage through the undeads remains. If nothing else he could grab a quick longsword or shield to sell later.

[Niobaran]

When the last of the abominations falls, Raz sees it in his opponents widened eyes, who is stuck between enemy and pillar. Taking a step backwards, the shifter increases the distance, and slightly lowers his rapier, hoping the guard would now choose retreat or treating their wounded over further assault. Fortunately, the unspoken invitation finds acceptance.

Heartbeats later, as the sound of combat tunes down, the voice of the commander on the other side of the gate cuts through Raz like a hot blade. Trapped. A hiss evades him as he hectically looks to the sides. No way to go! As his comrades lower their weapons, he finds himself complying, fiery despair in his eyes, as they glide over the small armies behind the gate. Like so many criminals, he has never planned for being captured during their heist. Nonononono. The idea of being put into protective custody does not cross his mind until he notices the different banners, feeding the hope that everyone might just be afraid of rash decisions.

As soon as the old sentinel speaks, however, Raz feels it in the old man's voice: Something important would be revealed. A name is spoken and for a moment, time stands still, as it all vanishes from sight. No castle, no barricade, no battle, only…

"Do you know where he is? Was? Operates? Names? Locations? Anything?" Raz hears himself asking lowly but determined, before getting a grip again. He glances swiftly over his teammates who appear to be more concerned with looking for valuables.

Regardless the answer of the old man (if any), he adds, now more controlled and less demanding, with a warm tint in his voice. "Your words will be remembered, and acted upon. I leave judging you for your past to others, as I only met you today. But you chose to save her even with your own fate sealed. They might have looked for a pawn but encountered a knight. May you find peace wherever your path leads."

[CozJa]

As the final undead abomination falls and the other Karrnathi warriors leave their positions Arimart sighs in relief. It looks like they did it!

From the walls, the familiar traitorous faces of the cursed Deneith have finally disappeared, and in their place are other, equally familiar but more friendly (at least for him). The Tribunal has won the day again!

As he turns around, he notices Gryphon and Kett looting the wizard of his most precious goods; he is a bit annoyed by the unethical behavior of his companions, but understands that the barbaric ways of his fellow Khoravar and possibly low upbringing of the capable woman are something he can not deal with now. Swiftly, he orders his steed to move over them, just to give his two companions enough cover to finish their less than respectable 'job'.

He puts away his hammer, walks toward Maugrim and shouts at the men on the walls:
"Arimart Kaessal is here, my mission is accomplished. Me and my companions here serve the cause of justice!"

At the same time, he hears Maugrim revelation and, after Raz whispered something to him, he approaches the old veteran, gesturing him to leave his weapon to the Khoravar Paladin.
"I give you my thanks and my respect, Sir Maugrim. You may be Nameless, but there's more honour to be found in you then in your house. Thaliost cries for justice will be answered, but know that whatever happens, I will do my best to find the truth on what happened today. And not only today."

[3SecondCultist]

Although the retinues of the Tribunal are in sight, none cross the threshold to greet you. Instead, squads dressed in emerald with silver and gold rush out of the opening, hands on their swords and waiting for you to make any sudden moves. Rummaging through the belongings of the dead therefore proves a quick affair by necessity alone, but thanks to the timely intervention of a knight and his trusty horse, you are able to come away with a few choice items. Aside from the staff and spellbook of the wizard now taking a bloody nap, Kleris is able to salvage an ornate brass belt buckle with a family crest and what looks like a death mask carved of porcelain with garnet inlays.

The Throne Wardens are upon you within a minute, surrounding you on all sides and grabbing you at the shoulders and forearms with perhaps more force than is necessary. Maugrim does nothing to resist the arrest, bowing his head as he is the first to be roughly escorted towards the open gates. At first he gives no indication of having heard either questions or acclaims, but as he passes you he looks at both Arimart and Raz, shaking his head slightly at the latter. The message there is clear.

Before long, the rest of you are brought under the shadow of the gate and onto the grounds on the other side. Gone are the red-spattered cobbles and smoking wooden beams of your arena, the solid splendour of the Karrnathi Zone or the dancing arches of Thrane’s quarter. Instead, you find yourselves on a gravel drive wide enough for a small cavalry charge. Up ahead, fields of dirt and levelled grass play host to games of archery, horsemanship, and other assorted duels. The landscape is also dominated by long rectangular buildings of plain and obviously fortified granite: the barracks of the various regiments of the Throne Wardens, sworn to defend the ancestral seat of Galifar. And judging by the way that most of them are watching you, you might guess that you had personally sworn to destroy the promise of the kingdom they held so dear.

"What is the meaning of this?" The indignant voice comes from a plump man wearing a coat of navy wool over a gold patterned vest and immaculate boots of midnight leather. His position under the Brelish flag marks him out as the representative from the same country, one Magistrate Berem Lann. His confederates, who are mostly human like he is but boast several other more exotic members such as a shifter in a robe with prayer beads, a hobgoblin in ceremonial scale mail, and a white-skinned figure that you recognize as a changeling, seem willing to stop and listen to his words. "Did you perhaps not hear the man, Colonel Therin? Sir Kaessel is an appointed representative of this court, and is to be afforded better treatment than a common criminal."

Yet Lann's rebuke is not directed at any of his peers; instead, the judge speaks to the very same officer who presided over the gates, who appears at the head of a smaller cadre of guards wearing the chimera and crown of his office. He looks a few years younger than Kett, clean-shaven with close cropped honey hair. Though his nose appears misshapen - as though broken and then healed before being properly set - he boasts a jawline that most man would envy. At his hip, he carries a sword with a platinum pommel. Not sparing any of you a glance, he meets the Tribunal's attention with a level gaze.

"You are correct in principle, magistrate. And yet Maugrim Nameless is wanted for a long list of capital crimes, including but not limited to multiple counts of murder, assault, and mass destruction," the Deneith colonel replies. "Continued association with such a figure would be suspect at best, and outright illegal at worst. That does not even take into consideration the fact that I myself watched them cut down innocent men and women from Karrnath in order to defend a war criminal, in stark opposition to local law. Why, then, should they not be arrested right alongside Nameless?"

Spoiler: OOC

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For the loot acquired (and spreadsheet to be made), we will need to add: a magic staff of uncertain function, a wizard spellbook, and both the buckle and death mask. The buckle is worth 35 gp, and the mask is worth 210 gp. As per the standard D&D economy rules, they’ll sell for half of their value unless you find the right buyer and barter well.

[CozJa]

Before they enter the Castle escorted by the guards, Arimart speaks to Raz, noticing his reaction to Maugrim words.

"I can see that the old man earned your respect. As for me, you earned mine, when this thing will finally be over, I would like to share some words with you."

(...)

As the Deneith colonel finish speaking, Arimart looks at Berem Lann then turns at the officier of the law. "It is said that you Wardens do nothing more than watch in this city. If it is so, you must be a shame for your house, colonel, since you are not even capable of doing it.
As you can notice by the fact that Maugrim Nameless followed us without resisting arrest, our work here was to escort him here at the tribunal to be tried for his crimes. The unfortunate demise of some of our Karrnath assailants is something terrible, and I will personally take care to collect their names and let their families know what happened today, maybe even as a result of your inability to act according our city rules. You refused to open the doors after I identified myself as a man of the Tribunal. Maybe you thought you were looking at a large duel? Or a brawl? Then let me remind you that in both cases you should have apprehended the Karrnathi men with us after stopping our fight, and neither of those things happened. Or would you care to explain the reasons of your clear disrespect for the laws of Galifar?"

Before the colonel answers him, he turns again at Berem Lann and his others peers.

"Magistrates, my fellows of the Tribunal, I was tasked with the mission to bring back Maugrim Nameless to be tried in this most high court, and, as you can see, I delivered.
Do I have to remind you that the life of a citizen, even when wanted by the Tribunal, is the direct responsibility of the one who arrests him? For what I was able to discover, not without the incredible help of those standing now with me, there are other people interested in silencing Maugrim Nameless forever, people that will stop at nothing, judging by what happened this morning. But I won't be able to speak anything more of it, until after the Nameless will be taken into our custody and we will be away from... unreliable ears."
With his last words, he slightly turns again at the Deneith colonel, but many other questions are dancing in Arimart's mind.
"What about the smugglers? Who knew the precise number of people traveling with Maugrim? Syan Jarus is really connected to all this?"

[(Un)Inspired]

Fantasies of seeing the human colonel scream in pain while his blood vessels burst and his skin chars from being struck by a lightning bolt dance joyously through Gryphon mind as Therin justifies his actions to the tribunal.

His eyes take in the collection of men and women that make up the judicial body. A shifter and open changeling! Interesting. It seems our little band of human and Darguunian judges is more progressive than I anticipated. I might actually have a shot at pulling this off.

As the House Guards swarm in from their nests atop the walls forces his face back into nonplussed serenity as he tries to observe and remember each of their faces. Death by electrocution for their Colonel, that one’s head burst with Magic Missiles, that one Suggested to drink seawater until poisoned, that one hands Shattered off, Detect this big one’s Thoughts and tell his friends all his deepest secrets.

As they’re being Frog-marched to the tribunal he calls out to Raz: Looks like neither of us need our burial wishes fulfilled today, parçonier*. Did that fireball hit you?

Spoiler: *

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Goblin for partner

[Amnestic]

Kett moans suggestively when she's grabbed up from her kneeling position by the tribunal guards, giving a voluntary shudder at the touch, and instantly feels the grip slacken slightly, though not release entirely as she's marched through the gates. One of the oldest tricks in her book, and so far - regardless of who or what it was - it hadn't ever failed to work (though she hadn't yet tried it on any clankers). It was mostly for her comfort rather than slipping away in this instance. She didn't much fancy her odds at escape, especially in her current state. "Ah, you better give me that back when we're done," she mutters to the one to her right, jutting her chin towards the staff they've now 'confiscated'. "It's mine."

Her eyes drift to the sword the Colonel's carrying. A pricey ornament, but she doubted it was any good for actually swinging. The weight would be all off from the blade, and woe betide him if he were foolish and rich enough to have the actual edge made of platinum. But it'd make an excellent souvenir if she could swipe it. Perhaps she'd be able to pocket some other things while they were at the centre of 'power', or what pretended to be power. Not all that powerful if they can't deploy their own troops in their own city for fear of starting a war. Or restarting one. Paper tigers, one and all. No wonder Arimart had to bring in outside help, must've been the only way to get anything done.

[3SecondCultist]

The gathered expressions of the Tribunal members who observe Arimart's tirade run the gamut between the pleased to its opposite, between Berem Lann's quiet smile, to the neutral gaze of a the Aundairan magistrate in an azure robe, to the fanged grin of the hobgoblin and raised eyebrow of the changeling, to the narrowed eyes of the curvy Karrnathi diplomat in heavy armor. Colonel Therin betrays no sentiment when the prosecutor begins talking, though the corner of his mouth twitches upwards slightly as Arimart nears the middle of his speech.

"This is a waste of time," the officer declares in the expectant silence that follows. "If you are indeed Sir Arimart Kaessel - and not a shapeshifter in disguise or placed under mental coercion by Nameless - then you would be well aware that the Throne Wardens are sworn to protect the seat of Galifar and the persons of the Tribunal. As per the formal division of this city, each of the zones are to be treated as sovereign territory of the country it is sworn to. Therefore, any intervention on the part of House Deneith in the Karrnathi Zone would be a threat of our promise of neutrality."

Therin nods with his head behind him at the northernmost of the two gate towers. "As for your attempt at disparaging my personal character, I ordered the gate opened as soon as the fight broke out. Unfortunately, one of our mechanisms was compromised, and field repairs had to be completed before the gates could be opened and all combatants compelled to peacefully lay down arms."

The Deneith officer is about to continue his tirade, but is interrupted by the clanging of steel. The magistrate from Karrnath, who you realize is not a human but a half-elf and bears captain's stripes on her shoulders, has snapped her fingers. Two of her soldiers rush past you, heading back through the open doorway. Staring down the commanding officer of the Throne Wardens, the captain pushes past him to survey each of you in turn. Her attention is not light, but neither is it full of the anger or disgust that you might have expected from someone of her loyalties. Instead, you see an cast-iron patience lurking beneath the surface of her, a bedrock that seems smooth and endless.

"That's enough, Colonel. Now that Maugrim Nameless is in Tribunal custody, we will uncover the truth. Best we continue this discussion in the Hall of Judgment, under our court's seal. Karrnath will temporarily suspend any charges against Arimart Kaessel and his associates, if they can provide verifiable proof of their identities and that they had nothing to do with this morning's attack on Wolf's Rest." She watches as her men return dragging the body of the mage, his slumped arms draped over their shoulders, and one of them gives her a nod of confirmation. The captain gives you all a smirk.

"At least they didn't kill the paracount. I doubt that I would have been able to hold back the King after telling him that one of his own kin died during this whole mess."

Spoiler: Passive Insight 12

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Colonel Therin is absolutely lying about ordering the gate opened right away: he totally waited until you were all spent against the Karrnathi, and would not have lifted a finger to help you if you were losing. And he's not even trying to hide it, which tells you that he's supremely unconcerned about any punishment that the Tribunal might try to levy against him if pressed on the issue.

[GameOfChampions]

Kleris happily pockets the buckle and face mask, that was a nice little surprise. The marching group of bureaucrats was less so. He listens with half an ear as Arimart and the representatives go back and forth over the legalities and responsibilities of what occurred today. A distant part of his mind chimed in that they did break a good amount of laws and murdered several people while doing their mission.

That part is easily ignored as he studies the changling before him. His mind whirls with questions and thoughts. Was he enthralled? Kept as a sworn servant for his abilities? Had he tricked or ingratiated his way into the council? Maybe he was a well placed agent of the cabinet? Could he tell that Kleris was just a persona and see the changeling beneath.

The irony that the first Changeling he was meeting in the city may be the greatest risk to his persona and plans was not lost on him. It was especially worrying that he did not have his necklace right now. He examines the other Changeling intensely, looking for any scars or disfigurations however small. He casually starts to remove the bracers of his armor, letting his forearms out to help cool him down after the fighting and see the scratches and bruises he got from the fighting.

He glances back to the others and has to hold himself from rolling his eyes and chiming in with a cutting remark about someone at his level being better at lying. He pauses for a second though as he thinks 'Do I even have my papers?'

Spoiler: OOC

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Kleris will be examining the other Changeling for any signs of Skin Cant and will show on his forearms in Skin Cant
Trusted? Don't Reveal Persona.

[Amnestic]

"So are we just going to overlook that this guy is clearly lying?" With her arms still held she can't do a great job of pointing but nevertheless gestures at the colonel with a raised voice, insisting on attention. "Sure that seems fine. If lying with impunity is on the table it's good to get it out in the open now so there's no misconceptions for the upcoming conversations. Glad he could clarify that for me!" It's not hard to tell that she is more than a little bitter about her injuries, she's still hurting after all, but she throws a playful, clearly sarcastic smile on her face. She had her papers - for Kett Collier, not Kett Nailo, of course - with her, though she'd left her signet ring back on the ship for obvious reasons. Justifying herself with a few well-placed omitted truths wouldn't be too hard, and laying the groundwork for allowing such omitted truths...well that's just good business. Either they overlooked him and she gets an 'out', or they don't and he gets punished. Either way seemed like a win to her. Revealing her House connections in a place like this seemed unwise.

[3SecondCultist]

There is a moment after Kett interjects that the assembled crowd is silent. More than a few faces are pointed at her, and the others are all watching the colonel, who just lets out a single chuckle.

"Preposterous. Who among those gathered here would believe the word of an accused accomplice to murder over a decorated officer of House Deneith?" Colonel Therin's voice and posture are affected just enough to know that the line is directed at least partially at the gallery. He stands at just the right angle that the full breadth of his armoured pauldrons are directed at the judges, and the hilt of his weapon catches the light of day.

Of the ten magistrates of Thronehold, none are willing to speak. That the man is lying is not really in question, yet not a single Tribunal representative presses the issue. Most of the group appear relatively unmoved at this development, but a visible wince crosses Berem Lann's face before disappearing.

"So," drawls the Aundairan official into the pause that follows, "I see no reason not to follow Captain Jarus' suggestion and bring them to the Hall of Judgment. Unless anyone has any objections?"

Spoiler: Kleris

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With your insider knowledge of Skin Cant, you are able to read the subtle markings of patterns on the other changeling's skin. A small faded scar that runs up the right forearm at a very specific angle says 'baseline body', while a birthmark just above the collarbone spells out the human variation of the changeling's name: Crick. Finally, the number of subtle silvery skin marks you see just below the surface of their face, neck, and shoulders tell you that they have at least six other active personas they are using.

Finally, one more marking appears along the tops of the changeling’s palms. It reads: 'Trustworthy. Tribunal discrete. Name?'

Spoiler: Raz

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Of the entire host gathered here, you are among those who notice that Kleris is paying inordinately close attention to the skin patterns of the other changeling.

[CozJa]

Arimart smiles imperceptibly at Kett's display of bitterness, and replays dryly to the Aundarian question. "Fine by me."

He looks at Berem, waiting for the magistrate to invite him in a more private conversation.

[(Un)Inspired]

Gryphon gives one final look over his ensemble and he’s hustled to the Tribunal. With all the blood and soot Prestidigtated away the tears in his uniform and healing gash on his forehead actually made him look rather dashing.

Decorated Officer of House Deneith? Gryphon whispers to Raz. Do you think his medals are for his cowardice or posturing?

Gryphon addresses the tribunal, We appreciate the opportunity to prove our lack of involvement in the tragic events of today. I’m sure I speak for all us when I say we’d be happy to submit to Zones of Truth to confirm our loyalty to both Thronehold and The Tribunal. He speak to the tribunal with as much earnestly as he can muster.

He gestures almost reverently towards Colonel Therin with his right arm. I additionally appreciate the escort from the chaos of a battlefield to the Tribunal directly, Colonel. It must have been a monstrously onerous day for you Sir. Hearing of all the danger and excitement across the city while you were forced to stay tucked safely up on your wall. Then wishing so desperately to join a melee but being stymied time and again by diplomatic necessity and then mechanical failure. You have my deepest sympathy Colonel Therin. Gryphon gives the Colonel a look absolutely dripping with pity and then gives the Tribunal a bow, avoiding a gesture more melodramatic or pandering than a respectful bending at the waist.

[GameOfChampions]

Kleris breaks off from his contemplation of the Changeling for a second to pipe up to the Aundarian official "Less of an objection and more of a note? I gave Nameless some items to help our mission. If I could get them back then I would appreciate that. The Necklace he is wearing mainly. That Halberd looked like it could use a home as well, He wanted me to have it I'm sure."

After that he stretches once more and proceeds to start pulling off his greaves, pulling up his pant legs to check his calves for any injuries he may have sustained. There was nothing more then additional scrapes, bruises, and a small burn from the heat of the fire ball. He shrugs after looking at them for a bit, they were not bad enough to waste his last smidgeon of healing on.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Skin Cant: Persona Kleris. Traveler? Meet Later?

[Niobaran]

Raz

On their way into the castle.

Raz follows without defiance. As required, he hands over weapons and other items. He will be more hesitant to get rid of certain personal belongings, like his necklace. But so far, it does not seem required.

Before they enter the Castle escorted by the guards, Arimart speaks to Raz, noticing his reaction to Maugrim words.

"I can see that the old man earned your respect. As for me, you earned mine, when this thing will finally be over, I would like to share some words with you."

Raz humbly bows his head. "Thank you, Arimart. Well fought. Looking forward to the exchange." He quickly states, the last sentence implying that he has his own words to contribute.

As they’re being Frog-marched to the tribunal he calls out to Raz: Looks like neither of us need our burial wishes fulfilled today, parçonier*. Did that fireball hit you?

"Thankfully, yes. I've been told I'm awful with fashion." A look at the shifter might say why: His clothes are not ugly per se, it's just clear that their purpose is to work, not to look good. "Couldn't see it in this unnatural storm before it was too late. Guess I was still lucky, could protect my face. Damn bruxo!" His voice is angry, as if he is somewhat angry at the whole nature of magic itself. "No offense though." He adds with an apologetic smirk.

((Bruxo = Goblin for "Mage"))

Inside the castle.

Raz stands silent and observes his surroundings, focusing on the different people, mostly those who talk and those who could, but decide not to. As Arimart exchanges heated arguments with the colonel, he tries to memorize Arimart's chain of arguments. Looking at how logical the arguments of the colonel are, having some to hold against them could become important very soon.

As the colonel resorts to an open lie, Raz' feelings are mixed. On the bright side, the colonel has just openly agreed to Arimart, otherwise there would not have been a reason to open the gate in the first place. The openness of the lie however could only mean that the colonel believes to be untouchable, and who knows whether he might be?

What's with all the bickering between the two anyway? A personal feud between the two? Maybe they know each other? Or is it because of Maugrim and his exlusion from heritage? Our more of a principal argument between the tribunal agents and the Deneith guard? Whatever it is, better not get between them... is any of that also the reason why he did not open the gate? Or was he ... involved in it all? Maybe he himself an agent of ....
Gryphon's lowly speaken words find their way into Raz good ears. He can't but slightly smirk over the comment, hopefully a fact overseen by others present, at least he can supress his urge to chuckle. As he thinks of a clever continuation of the joke, the argument concludes, and Kett speaks openly points out the elephant in the room. You're right, of course. But saying it like this puts blame on all here at once. He thinks by himself, and he feels relief as noone feels sufficiently offended to just turn on them on the spot.

He does not trust the Karrnathi woman, as her carefully selected words mark them as guilty unless proven innocent, which could mean that they have come up with very good false witnesses, or that she believes the process to follow an expected route. I need allies here, or it could all end quite badly... Arimart. Best stick to what he says, and stand by him. Let's hope that his friends here are really friends. Especially if this parasomething is a noble... They could try to make it a political thing... His thoughts slightly travel as his glance has caught Kleris. Clearly, Raz has no way of knowing what is going on but it seemed as if... Kleris and the changeling... Maybe they know each other? Might come up as important, but focus on the facts at hand.... Wait, what was that? Captain Jarus? Oh, you got to be kidding me. Without moving his head, his eyes run and forth few turns between Arimart and the Karrnathi magistrate. Arimart, my friend, be glad you can't read my mind right now...

Again, he is torn from his thoughts as Kleris speaks up, suggesting that the old man's halberd should be given to him. Something in the way Kleris ends his sentence creates an aura of discomfort in the shifter. If he would leave the sentence standing as is, it would make them look as common criminals who are in it for the money. Which quite possibly might be true for some of us. Quick, say something.

"... as we have taken care of his weapon before, and he was thankful for it." Only slightly better... But better not overstretch it. "And it won't bring him any good in court, I suppose."

[3SecondCultist]

The majority of the figures who have come out to greet you are already beginning their return towards the silhouette of the distant Thronehold Castle itself - mollified by Arimart's agreement as the presumptive speaker for your quintet - when Kleris raises the issue of possessions. Most of the ten magistrates and their respective entourages don't even turn around to acknowledge the question posed, but a few take interest: Captain Jarus, whose own guards are parallel with your Throne Warden escort and who eyes the changeling-in-disguise skeptically, Berem Lann, who walks directly alongside Arimart as he has recognized the half-elf's look, the changeling magistrate, and the very same Aundairian, who you have heard referred to as Lady Adias Navel. She wears an azure shawl that falls just short of gaudy, with enough jewelry to visibly weigh her down.

"In cases such as these," she says with a raise of a perfectly sculpted brow, "the precedent is to keep all possessions of the accused in safe keeping until such a time that a verdict can be reached for their trial. Although none of you are officially under arrest for any crimes, the halberd remains an article of the accused’s, and therefore it is our authority as a legal body to dispense of it how we will."

When she turns to Kleris and Raz, it is with an appraising eye For the former and something of a suppressed sneer for the latter. "You will have your necklace returned to you, Khoravar, should you be able to prove your ownership of the item. If the outcome of your questioning is favourable, you may collect it from the castle at the time of your departure." Clearly Lady Navel considers the matter closer, as she promptly turns on her heels and walks away without so much as a by your leave. Only Berem, the Karrnathi, and the pale changeling remain close at hand.

The rest of the walk is conducted in oppressive silence, your only companions each other and the sound of boots on gravel, ever louder and more ponderous, as it follows you towards an uncertain fate.

Spoiler: Kleris

Show

Stay quiet. Cabinet not accepted here. Talk when you’re out.

[Amnestic]

"'Prove its ownership.'" Kett thinks, figuratively rolling her eyes as hard as she possibly can while keeping them physically set. "As if we got a receipt after we fought off a gang of crazy elves and took their stuff."

She didn't expect much from the interrogation - they almost always asked the same boring questions with the same expected answers. 'Who are you', 'Why are you here', 'Are you in league with the bad wo/man'. Tiresome just thinking about, and she could do with a nap. And food. The lone pastry that she'd scarfed down this morning wasn't exactly filling her up anymore, not least because of her brush with the beyond. She breaks the quiet marching. "Don't suppose I could trouble you for some ah...refreshments while we're questioned? Doing such diligent work for Arimart is hungry and thirsty work." A tactical deployment of his first name, which would no doubt lead their captors-in-all-but-name down a number of potential thought-avenues as to its implication. It didn't matter what conclusion they drew, just that - even for a moment - they start thinking about it, since it would almost certainly end up as a question for later and she wanted to pre-empt their judgements before she even sat down for the interrogation. "Since we're guests and all, not prisoners."

[3SecondCultist]

Trials and Tribulations

Dietary requests aside, your immediate concerns are handled, and so the Throne Wardens escort the five of you up the main drive of the castle and towards the inner buildings. As you walk, you see that what you took for simply a series of barracks is in fact only one small part of a massive structure: past the outbuildings and training yards, the grass underfoot is transfigured by the tireless work of artisanal mages, gardeners, and florists into a perfectly sculpted vision of natural beauty. Rows of hedges spread over the ground like fingers, brushing the edges of verged greens. Burbling fountains of white stone inlaid with marvelous designs greet you as you pass, including a few designs that truly defy natural laws: one water feature consists of a pool of water that is slowly evaporated into a stationary storm-cloud and precipitates back down to the surface, in the shadow of a quadrangle of gravity-defying trees.

And then you lay your eyes upon the castle itself, and such marvels are forgotten.

The profile of stone, laid out in the classical Galifar style, meets you at the base of a pair of large tower-shaped keeps, whose corners end in rounded turrets at least thirty feet in circumference at their base. The reliefs, visible even at a distance, primarily centered on scenes of King Galifar and his various descendants clad in the glories of their age, though other significant events can be spotted. Although the Last War is largely omitted from the architecture of this palatial structure, keen eyes spot events as far back as the first landing of humanity on the shores of what is now called the Lhazaar Principalities. Every single moment is here, immaculately preserved and framed by half-emerged columns. The gates, which stand open, provide yet another threshold for you to pass, and framed by shadow is the inner courtyard beyond.

The palace of Thronehold Castle itself appears built around an immense quadrangle - the overall layout built in three main floors, not including the outer towers - and yet as you pass through the doors you cannot help but note that the majority of the interior appears to be sealed off. Standing at the entrance to the courtyard, every single pane of richly appointed glass is obscured, shades of heavy velvet brocaded in gold and silk fabric pulled tight to block out any light from getting in. There are further Throne Wardens posted at key exits, though their backs are to doors that look long locked from without.

But what strikes you the most as you enter the palace is the sheer quiet of it all. Beyond the accompanying noise of your collective footfalls, there is nothing to suggest that Thronehold Castle is alive at all.

Eventually, you are all hauled into what appears to be the only maintained wing of the building: the Hall of Judgment. Here, at least, scribes sit at desks, cooks and servants bustle to and fro from kitchens, and guards are posted more regularly at doors and stairwells. There is even a shrine with altars to both the Silver Flame and the Sovereign Host, and eventually a grand staircase. Here, you watch the Deneith soldiers shove Maugrim down into the basement, while you are dragged up not far behind the rest of the officials all the way to the third floor. In the antechamber to the courtroom, the five of you are deposited under guard. Water and refreshments are brought out - a thin sort of fruit wedge, not all that hearty - are brought out as you wait, but within ten minutes a frumpy-looking secretary appears before you.

"After deliberation, the Tribunal has decided to allow you to choose the order in which you present yourselves for interrogation. They have instructed me to pass on that you will be asked to submit to magical oaths of truth, and any attempts to be evasive or to otherwise dodge the full accounting of said truth will be treated as suspected evidence of wrongdoing." The old man speaks with barely any inflection, the words coming out as if rote, and perhaps they are. "If the first among your number would please step forward."

Spoiler: OOC

Show

So here we are, the prelude for the five-split interrogations! Once you establish an order in which you want to go and post something, I can do the actual scenes for each of you. In games-speak, you'll be under Zone of Truth and the Tribunal is asking you to voluntarily fail your saving throws (since the spell calls out that the caster knows if you succeeded on the save, they'll be aware if you tried and passed).

[(Un)Inspired]

While being escorted through the courtyard Gryphon keeps his teeth together and avoids gawking at the various landscaping wonders the crew passes by. This was all part of his first impression and as amazing as the design of this walkway was, it wouldn’t serve for Gryphon to appear to be a wide-eyed hayseed to the tribunal. Instead, the half-elf smiles his polite serene smile and walks as though he’s been on this path a hundred times.

Waking through the colossal, mostly abandoned, castle Gryphon feels a tug of homesickness pull at his heart. Including travel time it had been over six months since he’d seen the cavernous corridors of The Great Crag he called home.

When refreshments are being passed out he accepts water with a thank you but begs off the fruit wedge. Dressed entirely in white and gold (freshly cleaned from their last battle), he couldn’t risk any of the sticky pink juice spilling onto his ensemble; no matter how hungry he was...

When the frumpy court secretary comes out to speak his piece Gryphon surreptitiously runs his eyes over his party. No one jumping at the chance to speak first, eh? I suppose they’re giving me the courtesy of not distracting from my entrance. All right, Gryphon, time to change history.

With these thoughts in his head Gryphon strides towards the old man with just enough speed that his cape billows stylishly begins his but not so much speed he appears overeager. He consciously stops himself from tugging at the outfit that he otherwise wouldn’t be caught dead wearing.

I’ll be going first. His voice rings out strong and confident. I am Ambassador Gryphon Aksel Kellson of Droaam. He pauses for the guards and secretary to take in his title or possibly even gasp. I am First among our number and I would be pleased to give the court my testimony.

[Amnestic]

She wasn't a stranger to vast but quiet halls. That was her usual. Along the way she takes the opportunity to casually whistle out a jaunty little shanty to keep herself amused as proceed at the speed of a glacier on a good day, though she stops when they come to the hall of judgement. She was being rude, yes, but not actively antagonistic. She scarfs down the food with all the gusto of someone used to not eating three square meals a day and sometimes going hungry. Etiquette is rarely a priority for her, and certainly isn't right now. The sticky fruit juice is washed off and down easily enough with the water but it's unsatisfying for the figurative hole in her stomach. She'd need to find something more substantial when they were done. Even so, she finishes off the whole plate.

Kett can't find it in herself to act surprised at Gryphon's 'reveal'. Indeed she barely looks up from her food and drink. There's a brief moment of wonder as to why they'd give them the option. She'd have thought that they'd start with Arimart and then follow up based on his information. Perhaps the Tribunal was playing games with them too, expecting the decisions made to undermine any implicit trust they'd built up over the...less than 24 hours they'd known each other. Well, no chance of that - there wasn't any with Kett for them to undermine. She filed the thought away quietly in the corner of her mind to give it no more attention for the moment. Still licking her lips, she pipes up to follow up on Gryphon. "I call next. Lets hurry this along. Got stuff to do, people to see, songs to sing." Her appearance of irritation and impatience was easier to pull off when a chunk of it was just her true feelings.

[GameOfChampions]

Kleris shakes himself from the stupor of seeing another changeling, and the possibilities it could bring since he was in a high position. He had to play it safe, not bring too much attention to himself or his other plans. More immediate things needed his attention, like not being imprisoned for terrorism and aiding a wanted criminal. Always good things to avoid.

As they are brought into the antechamber Kleris uses Prestidigitation on himself and puts the few pieces of armor he had taken off earlier back on. Better to have the full look all put together with the clean shining mithral armor. He smooths his now clean hair back, retying the hair so it fell into a clean stream down his neck. As he finishes his last touches he tries to cover up an aggressive eye twitch as Gryphon comes out with his announcement. He couldn't keep his face smooth after an announcement like that and it was coming out in his eye. He didn't know if it was the most brazen lie ever or a scam or what.

He pulls his papers out and gives the rumpled papers a look over before giving them a quick smoothing out to look more presentable. He waits for the secretary to come back after Kett is taken and steps forward. ""Hello friend, I am Kleris Ostren. I would be happy to let the truth find its way to the light."

[3SecondCultist]

Gryphon

After volunteering of your full name and rank, you are first to be escorted by the Throne Wardens through the double doors and into the next room. On the other side of the well-appointed entryway, the ceiling opens up into a truly palatial space, worthy of the castle that it resides in. Deep chestnut, mahogany, and other exotic woods are emblazoned in panels all along the far walls and columns in a hall formed into a long oval shape. Rows of benches - which you would imagine might be full on another occasion - lie barren, extending concentrically further and further into the floor with large avenues between them. There, at the center of the chamber, is a wide platform surrounded by a raised railing; it is here that you are brought to stand directly under the only major source of light in the room.

Looking up, you notice that the very same light appears to be emerging an entire orrery of planets hanging right above you. There is the Ring of Siberys, and all twelve of Eberron's moons - from Olarune to Vult - built into a display of glittering crystal. The whole apparatus is maybe fifteen feet across at most, but every surface of it gleams with an inner radiance.

However, the Tribunal is slightly less than willing to entertain your discovery, as a polite shuffling of chairs draws your attention towards the monstrous desk that looms over you. The heraldry and symbols of each of its ten constituent nations glint back at you stamped into the surface. The ten high-backed chairs are filled with the people who will judge your fate today. As an attendant mage casts a spell, half-hidden runes at your feet glow with clear enchantment symbols, you feel the truth-seeking magic wash over you.

"The Tribunal of Thronehold recognizes you," speaks a balding man in a silver overcoat over grey trousers and several liturgical adornments. That he sits behind the flame of Thrane is almost superfluous to your eyes, given his attire. "I am Magistrate Evam Taralos, and I will be interrogating you alongside Magistrate Vhuklok Vant from Darguun," he gestures towards his compatriot down the table, the very same hobgoblin you noticed outside, who betrays a grin with a bit more teeth than is likely necessary. Vant wastes no time, launching into the first query of the day. His common is almost perfectly accented, betraying barely a hint of his native tongue.

"Please begin by telling the court your full birth name, country of origin, and current purpose in Throneport."


Kett

Gryphon is first through the doors, and he does not return. Whether that is a good omen or an ill one remains to be seen, but after some more time waiting in expectant silence, the designated guards re-appear at the doors and you are invited to enter. Inside, you find a room large enough to dwarf many of the theaters of your adopted dragonmark house, though the furnishings are slightly less ostentatious in their presentation. Whoever designed the Hall of Judgment clearly eschewed opulence for puissance: although there is a lack of generally rich furniture, there is no denying the sheer presence of the grand table before the courtroom floor, and the group who sit on the other side of it. From here, each member of the Tribunal can literally look down at you, a feature that does not strike you as accidental in the slightest. No, this really is just a performance space writ large. The baleful light from the array of magical crystals above your head does not help matters, as you find yourself bathed in a literal spotlight.

You note as you take your position that there are two smaller desks - placed symmetrically - placed on either side of the big set-piece, as well an even more minuscule writing table set behind it. Only the back one has been filled, with a mousy looking gnome who is busy scribbling down the minutes. But there's no time for that, as the interrogation soon begins in earnest. The magic glow from the spell fades, and two members of the group stand to identify themselves. The first is a second gnome, this one a bespectacled female, while the second is a halfling of a similar stature but wearing nearly antithetical clothing covered in beads and other accoutrements.

"The Tribunal recognizes you, the gnome says perfunctorily. "My name is Magistrate Jalara Sholkaran of the state of Zilargo, and I am joined by Magistrate Imra Irandra of the Talenta Plains. Our first query is simple: please begin by telling the court your full birth name, country of origin, and current purpose in Throneport."


Kleris

Although it was a surprise when the first member of your new group of companions did not come back, when Kett does not reappear with the escort, you know that it is your turn. Pushing you through the doors, you emerge into a The various walls and pillars that fill the room are all covered in fine woods, making up a hall formed in the shape of a long oval shape. There are rows of benches that are all currently empty, extending concentrically further and further into the floor with large spaces between them. There, at the center of the chamber, is a wide platform surrounded by a raised railing; this is where you are brought to stand alone, directly under the only major source of light in the room, some glowing chandelier.

You don't miss the sight of the shackles hanging in the shadows of that banister, though thankfully the Deneith guards choose not to make use of them at this time.

Directly in front of your platform, at the far end of the hall, the Tribunal has assembled in anticipation of your arrival. They sit behind a truly enormous desk of carved wood inlaid with what looks like silver. There, the ten assembled members sit and await this next iteration of questions. They wait for their mage to approach and re-cast the enchantment on the ground at your feet before a pair rise from their chairs. You see a dwarf in scarlet and azure, the insignia of his homeland writ plain on the wood before him, and the familiar figure of Crick, who lowers his brow in the barest acknowledgment of a nod before clearing his throat.

"The Tribunal recognizes you," he intones in a deep bass that is belied by a melodious quality that you can't quite place. "I am Magistrate Crick, representing the Lhazaar Principalities, and at my side is Magistrate Olaf Stonebrow, who speaks in the interests of the Mror Holds."

"Indeed," his peer says as he strokes his beard. "Please begin by telling the court your full birth name, country of origin, and current purpose in Throneport."


Raz

When they come for you - leaving Arimart alone in the antechamber - you step forward, used to appearing docile in these settings. A shifter in a palace, though not the first, is an unusual enough sight that the Throne Wardens keep their distance from you even as they walk with you in through the doors and into the next room. Here, you are reminded of nothing so much as a forest of silence. The pillars are trees frozen, never to move again, while the shuffling of papers could easily be mistaken for a breeze rustling through the canopies of your home. For the briefest of moments, you even have the opportunity to close your eyes and see it unspoiled... as it should have remained.

But what really stands out to you is the panoply of smells here. The dry air carries with it notes of dust, of spilled ink and lurid secrets on foul breath. There are notes of mothballs, a scent that you weren't familiar with until you left the Reaches, and that ever-familiar presence of polished metal that speaks of veiled threat.

It's enough to snap you back to the present: to the graven pews, the monolithic judge's bench that towers over all and the faces of those who sit and wait to hear from you. The Tribunal's eyes follow your every move into the Hall of Judgment, although they waste no time in getting you standing in the middle of the room. The thick hair on the back of your neck goes up as you note your placement, in a neat kill box, with no cover to speak of. You've even counted the amount of guards who could make trouble for you, of which there are an even twelve in sight.

Of the two judges who get to their feet to start the next round, the first comes as something of a relief, for she must share at least partially of your blood. Long dark tresses are braided back over thick-set features, with sharp golden eyes that speak to a lupine heritage; you noticed her outside but in here she seems to radiate a calm that you cannot feel. "The Tribunal recognizes you," she says in a tone that speaks of streams far away. "I am Magistrate Imbrala Luun of the Eldeen Reaches -"

"And I am Magistrate Adias Navel, of the royal country of Aundair." The voice that cuts her off is one that has already denied you and Kleris both. The ambassador can barely keep from curling her lip at her counterpart, a courtesy that is returned in bared teeth. "We are here to ask you questions, and you are here to answer. You may start by telling us your name of birth, what country you emerged from, and what purpose you might have in Throneport at this time."


Arimart

By the time you are summoned, some time has passed - perhaps an hour, perhaps less. But you know that the inevitable is coming, and when it does you know better to resist. In point of fact, you have had time, time to order the facts you know to present in front of your peers, your colleagues.

As you enter the Hall of Judgment, you catch yourself reflecting on the strangeness of this place. It is at once intimately familiar - despite the relative recency of your tenure, you have prosecuted a fair few in this very room. In fact, you can see the writing desk where you keep your legal briefs and notes during trial, although both it and your counterpart's chair remain empty. As this is not a formal trial hearing, but simply an interview under oath, you find that no law or remit has been broken in either Orolain's absence or your position in the circle of the accused.

Although, given the burning eyes that Lann is raking the rest of the Tribunal with, one might think the rest of the judges had just broken the most sacrosanct of oaths. It's hard to read the rest of the group gathered here: most of them are in the process of either consulting their notes or looking over at you. As diplomats in their own right, you know that all of them are nearly as schooled at keeping their thoughts to themselves as they are at parsing the intentions of others. However, it would appear as though you only need concern yourself with two. You hear a faint hum at your feet as the enchantment is cast for a fifth and final time.

"Finally, prosecutor, we arrive at you." Captain Syan Jarus - although in this particular moment operating in her other capacity, leans over her chair and looks down on you with an unreadable expression. Is that pity, anger, or perhaps confusion in her eyes? Whatever she's heard, whatever your companions have said, it remains opaque. "The Tribunal recognizes you. For the record, I am Magistrate Syan Jarus of Karrnath."

Standing from his chair with a screech, Lamm follows suit in his introduction. "If you please, tell this court your birth name, country of origin, and purpose in Throneport."

[Amnestic]

It was about what she expected from a Tribunal interrogation. Casting her eyes around she remembers that she'd killed someone in a room like this before, dropped a fancy light fixture right on top of him. Ruled a tragic accident due to failing metalwork on the chain - just as intended. It had been a pain wearing down the chain stealthily, using an alchemical solution blended into the metal cleaner they used, but it had paid off. One of her cleverer kills. Sometimes they were the most satisfying, but she tried not to fall into a cycle of trying to one-up herself constantly like some of her comrades had fallen victim to. She was so lost in the memory that even as she stood she barely snapped out of her headspace in time to hear the question. They'd kept her standing, which put her in the awkward position of not having an easy stance to default to. Sitting would have made it easier. Hand on hip might be seen as too standoffish, a casual stand to attention didn't really fit her, and crossed arms would look to be directly hostile. She settles for cool and casual. One hand free, to accentuate any words (she loves talking with her hands), and the other with a single finger lazily hooked into her pocket, one foot forward, though with all her weight on the back foot.

The truth spell twinged a little, niggling at the back of her mind constantly, a persistent reminder that her words were compelled and not necessarily her own. The answers come easily, but with enough hesitation to not seem totally prepared. Not that it would matter if they were, after all she's still under the truth spell. "My birth name is Kett Collier." Truth, of course. Going by her birth name was standard practice, especially when she didn't have any sort of pedigree. "My country of origin is unknown to me, as my family traveled a lot." She didn't even need to obfuscate this one. Born on the sea, roam the land, and even when she had a home she a great deal of time traveling for work. She didn't exactly have loyalty or pride in any country. The next one would be a touch trickier, though not unforeseen. She'd already unlocked the figurative escape hatch from this line of questioning.

"I am currently employed by Prosecutor Arimart Kaessel to assist him in...sorry, what's the right word for this?" She pauses, pondering. They hadn't exactly captured him since he'd just handed himself over to them, but the magic tugged at her tongue to get the words right. Kett considers for a moment, free hand cupping her chin in thought, gently kneading at the skin, before concluding that regardless of how they came into the 'possession' of Maugrim, Arimart's stated task was the same either way. "First it was locating, but I suppose apprehending would be the best term? Capturing? Arresting? Returning Maugrim? Well, you know what his task was," She allows a moment for her eyes to flicker along the assembled Tribunal, trying to gauge any reactions, before concluding. "I am being paid to assist with that." The truth, of course. Nothing more or less, though she did wonder if this was all Arimart had been tasked with. Her ignorance would shield her from any unfortunate consequences here at least.

Spoiler: Insight

Show

(1d20+3)[8]

[(Un)Inspired]

Damned decent of them to let me give my little lecture in such an opulent courtroom. I couldn’t ask for more flattering lighting or a more dramatic backdrop for a little diplomacy. You’ve got this Kellson.

With these thoughts in his head and a genuine, if very slight, smile on his face; Gryphon stands confidently before the present members of the tribunal. The light of the orrery shining quite strikingly off his freshly scrubbed, honey-colored hair and his fine white and gold tunic, gloves, hose, boots and cape. He stands purposefully with his shoulders back and commands his hands to relax at his sides, consciously forbidding them from doing any nervous fidgeting. Years of oratory practice has prepared him for this moment and he knew he was capable of this task. He projects manliness without aggression, confidence without conceit, directness without impropriety.

Thank you Magistrates Taralos and Vant. My birth name is Gryphon Aksel Kellson and I hail from the country of Droaam far to the West. I am, however, related through contiguous psychology with the boy Gryphon Aksel Eklander of Aundair; who along with his birth parents, was lost in The Last War.

I have come to Throneport as an ambassador from Droaam to the nations this Tribunal represents. More specifically, I have come to speak to the Magistrates of the Tribunal directly on a matter that is a pox upon all our nations.