The Madness of Men in a World of Monsters (D&D 5e IC)

[purepolarpanzer]

In Bo'Tel Castle, The Second Floor- Birel's Room

An hour passes as Birel first flips through the journal, then goes back for a more precise reading.

Spoiler: More From the Journal

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Spoiler: Premortum, in regards to Maus Moeller

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He laughed! I can't believe he laughed at me! I told Maus everything I'd found- the vampires, the thralls among the nobility, the history of the rape of Aelindor, and he laughed! "No, no Moira. The King can't be a vampire! You've gotten yourself worked up over nothing! I know things were bad between the humans and non humans a long time ago, but things are better now! Don't live in the past, live in the future with me!" The bastard! Then I showed him some of my magic, told him I was a necromancer, and he cursed me! Said I have no place in Dam'ess! That weak minded, ox-like buffoon! I couldn't stop myself. I worked a fell curse on him in my rage. As the years go by and his back continues to twist he won't forget the day he spurned Moira Taggart Bo'Tel! It doesn't matter. I meet with the mercenaries tomorrow, and with or without Maus Moeller and his damnable village I will destroy the vampires and their ilk!

Spoiler: Postmortum, in regards to the One Eyed God

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Gruumsh. A deity so old it is said he created the orcs, so powerful that his name swells the ranks of tribes across the planes of existence, and so hateful of elves that he wouldn't piss on one if it was on fire. Why would he cut a deal with me? I guess, despite his ageless enmity for my people, he sees me as the best chance to save his children in the Vale. He also knows about the Ebon Ziggurat, and knows I am a Curator, so that could have swayed him. Maybe he just wants me to suffer more, and thinks that coming back would be more painful and horrific than eternity as an Unclaimed in Limbo. No matter why, the deal is simple- he ressurects my soul with the most powerful magics capable of being harnessed by man, and I lead his people (among others) in a war against the Daravonts and their vampire overlords. If I succeed, my soul is eligible for the afterlife lottery again. If I fail, then I spend the rest of my incorporeal existence in his hellish realm as his slave for all eternity. Maybe I should have just stayed in Limbo... eternal chaos and being hunted by every outsider the planes could throw at me was even worse than my death, but atleast you know what to expect. But I won't go back to that. I refuse to be Unclaimed. If I have to tear down the Vale and reconstruct it with my own bleeding fingers to gain the attention of some more benevolent god, then that's what I'll do.

Spoiler: OOC

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Religion rolls for Gruumsh. If this information gets to Vargath he gets to roll with advantage-

Spoiler: DC 5

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Gruumsh? Sounds like a Dwarvish curseword to me.

Spoiler: DC 10

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I think orcs used to worship a god by that name, before they calmed down and started to be more civilized. Maybe some still do, in the more remote areas.

Spoiler: DC 15

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Gruumsh is and ancient and powerful god of war, chaos, and evil. He is the father of all orcs, and while many have renounced his worship, there are still some who refuse to deny their creator. And he DESPISES elves.

Spoiler: DC 20

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Even among the orcs who have turned their back on their barbarous god, the thumbprint of the progenitor continues in all that have orc blood. Orcs have anger issues at best and are capable of unrepentant savagery at worst, all due to their creator god. In the world of Harumsvale Gruumsh is not discussed with outsiders, but most orcs do hold him in some reverance, even if they strive everyday to resist his call.

Religion rolls for "Unclaimed"

Spoiler: DC 10

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I don't know what that means, but it doesn't sound good.

Spoiler: DC 15

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If you are Unclaimed, then no god or their servants came to claim your soul in the afterlife. This is why virtually no one is an atheist in the world of Harumsvale. There are stories of Unclaimed being hunted by demons, devils, and worse, and tales that they are sent to the least hospitable planes of existence to suffer before they are consumed by some outsider for sport.

Spoiler: DC 20

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Being Unclaimed is incredibly rare. Souls are a source of power for the gods, so for one to go completely unclaimed means two things- the soul must be of a distinctively neutral disposition on the cosmic scale of good versus evil, as well as order versus chaos, and they must have REALLY pissed off some higher being- so much so that even that being's enemies wouldn't risk claiming the errant soul. Fiends in particular hunger for the Unclaimed almost as much as for the souls of the good, and the Unclaimed have no one to defend them.

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16/18 HP: 26/26 PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- "Well, we've certainly abused guest rights at this point. I think we should return these now." Birel says and stands up to go with Selissa to return the items. Before Selissa can object she says, "As confident as you are in your ability to notice arcane matters you're completely ignorant of, I would rather not risk you triggering some kind of trap or alarm all the same." What she leaves out is that she doesn't trust Selissa to not take further actions without consulting anybody. And that she's quite curious about the lab and if Selissa gets to see it, why shouldn't she?

[Awful]

Selissa Betula Wood Elf Scout Rogue AC: 16 HP: 31/31 PP: 16 Conditions: None Concentrating: -- Selissa, reading over Birel's shoulder despite her dislike of the written word, had no idea what any one-eyed orc had to do with things. Some kind of powerful spirit? Whatever it was, it sounded like bad news. Either way, information had be gained: now they could compare it to what the corpse witch told them tomorrow. When Birel, for some reason, announced she planned to go with Selissa, the wood elf gave her the same sort of look reserved for someone announcing their amorous intentions for a beehive. If there had been magical traps - of which there had not - they would have been tripped already, if such an event was going to occur. Birel had no proper training in stealth craft and her coming increased the risk for no gain. Also Birel was annoying and obnoxious and Selissa wanted to be alone again as soon as possible. Selissa forewent this lengthier explanation for the sake of expediency. "No," she said as patiently as she could to the patronising ass. "That's stupid. Going by myself. Not taking you." She held out her wooden hand for the scholar to hand over the materials. "Give."

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16/18 HP: 26/26 PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- Birel just blinks a few times, gives Selissa a look like she's examining her like a specimen, and then lets out a brief burst of laughter. With an audible exhale of breath she says, "Oh child. You don't get to tell me what I am or am not allowed to do." Her tone is that of an middle aged aunt dealing with a pre-teen niece who just tried to assert her authority over the purchasing decisions. Light rebuking coupled with amusement and complete dismissal. As she gets up to leave the room, and she will just attempt to push past Selissa if she tries to physically interfere, she remarks, "Sometimes you act like you were raised by wolves, not elves. We can't be having any of that tomorrow, you understand?" The question at the end being very much not an actual question. Notably at no point does she hand Selissa the items. If anything her hold on them tightens.

[Awful]

Selissa Betula Wood Elf Scout Rogue AC: 16 HP: 31/31 PP: 16 Conditions: None Concentrating: -- Selissa let her hand drop. Her mouth twisted in an expression of scorn. She didn't lay a hand on the other elf, instead her wooden fist balled so hard it creaked softly. For a long moment, she was tempted to break the other elf's nose, before she finally huffed out a sigh. When she looked at Birel, her gaze was flat and cold as the surface of a frozen lake. "Then," she hissed, "Do it by yourself. Keep going afterwards to hell. Arrogant filitari." Filitari was, of course, an extremely rude elven word, the meaning best left undescribed. She stalked back to her room, went inside, and shut the door. Perhaps it was testament to her that she didn't slam it, or perhaps quiet was just so innate to the elf. Either way, she disappeared inside, and did not intend to re-emerge until the morning.

[Ramsus]

Birel Amastacia High Elf Wizard AC: 13/16/18 HP: 26/26 PP: 13 PIv: 14 PIs: 11 Conditions: Mage Armor Concentration: -- Birel unlike Selissa is aware of how stupid it is to act like you have skills you don't. Which was rather her entire point that whole conversation. She shakes her head and sighs. "Stupid child. Well I suppose it's time you were taught there are consequences for acting like you get to make decisions for others on matters you know nothing about." she says to herself after Selissa has left. Then she places the new pile of items with the other book to be returned to their host and entered her trance. Keeping the items in view and facing the door in case of any more nightly visitations.

[purepolarpanzer]

In Bo'Tel Castle, The Next Day

Dawn comes, and with it a shriek of rage coming down from the third floor. Set wakes up alone, and Vargath's sketching is recently complete. Moira comes storming from the third floor, cursing in elvish as she comes closer to your rooms. There is silence for a few moments and then the sound of Birel's door opening with a slam. Five minutes later, her voice can be heard from the hallway again. Her speech is loud and clear, with enough volume to carry through the doors. Breakfast is served! Please assemble downstairs as soon as possible! Then there is the sound of wrenching wood and twisting metal. When you all leave your rooms, Birel's door is wrenched off the hinges. Inside, all of Birel's things are missing, but the journal titled "My Journey" and the shield remain. The shield is cooing slightly, like a happy child. Scratched into the walls of the room are the sigils and squiggles of Birel's spellwork, but interspersed throughout it are pyramids, and ziggurats, all with miniature worshippers in front of them. It appears this was accomplished with a nail, though some of them ooze with blood and fingernails.

Downstairs, a massive table has been moved out away from the others, and sitting at it are the entire Ainselles family. In addition to the old butler and the gaggle of children there is now a elven woman. She has long blond hair, simple but clean clothes, and one blurry white eye, yellow with red veins running through it. The entire family looks in shock, sitting at attention. Dr. Fixer sits backwards on a chair with a broken back, and he looks slightly terrified. Next to him, at the head of the table, sits Moira, with her hair ruffled and out of place from sleep. She smiles and nods to each of you, resting her hands on a oversized skull. It looks humanoid, but elongated, with smaller eye sockets and sharp teeth that look serrated. She is dressed in light leather armor draped with daggers, pouches, and belt loops. There are several drawings across the table in front of each of your seats, all of the same man with different titles and dates underneath. "I'm afraid I must rush my presentation. Time is against us, and I must leave the castle. Birel has fled with something very dear to me this morning, and I must catch her before she does something stupid. Sit. Eat. As soon as all of you are sitting, Moira quickly demolishes the plate of food in front of her- scrambled eggs and buckwheat pancakes with a choke berry preserve to spread across it. Choke berries are bitter and sour in their natural form, but the jam is sweet and tangy, if a bit puckering still. When Moira is finished (possibly in record time) she speaks.

What I am about to tell you is dangerous information. Just by hearing it you are setting yourself at odds with great and powerful forces of evil. Will you all listen to my evidence and hear my proposal? Now is the last moment to back out. She stands, extending her arms, and various things throughout the house begin floating towards her. Her spellbook, ethereal and intangible, falls through the stone ceiling into her hand. A mastercraft leather satchel with scrolls attached to it floats down the stairs. Boots begin stomping down from the second floor, and a raven flies down to land on a nearby candelabra. She appears to be gearing up to leave.

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: Iumenta Pox (currently no symptoms) Concentration: -- On the Second Floor Set wakes suddenly to the sound of a muffled shriek from above. On instinct Set reaches for his Favorite in the bed next to him, but unlike every other night in recent memory, his spear isn't there. Then the events of last night flood back. Set pokes his head out the door too late to see a cursing elf enter Birel's room. Frowning, Set ducks back into his own room to dress. Whatever trouble had visited in the night, surely Moira would find his North Star's guidance useful. Five minutes later, Set is pulling on his gloves as Moira's voice carries loud and clear. Set emerges a few moments later, too late to catch Lady Bo'Tel, but the wreckage left behind is all too visible. Spear in hand, Set steps forward to the wrecked doorway. "Birel? Is everything--" A panorama of pyramids and other symbols bring Set up short as he finds markings of his homeland interspersed with sigils and scratches of no meaning to him. Set can only stand mute in shocked silence for a few moments, eyes glued to a drip of blood running down the wall from a particularly elaborate symbol. The shield finally gets his attention as it coos quietly in the corner. Set bites down hard on the inside of his cheek as he looks down at it, approaching it like you might a sand viper. As he crouches down next to it, Set pushes down nerves and swallows the rage and self-loathing that threatens to take away any sense he has left. The shield did this, he knew with certainty. He'd asked his North Star to take it and keep it safe, to keep it away from him, and where had it gotten them? "Where is she?" Set asks, his voice barely rising above a whisper as he stares down at the shield. Gone, of course. Or hadn't you noticed? A snort of derision sounds off in Set's mind. Did you think your selfishness would go without consequence? Did you think ignoring me would serve? While you sought pleasure, your companion was visited by pain. While you sought to ignore me, the shield made it's purpose clear. Set squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the world, outside and in. The time for ignorance is over, Set. You'll not ignore me again. Take it in hand and I will give you the power to show us what it really is. I will gift you with eyes keen enough to pierce the shadows and mysteries of this land. And if you do as I tell you, perhaps the round-eared elf may live, or at least one of these other elves may not die. Again. A chuckle reverberates through Set's mind as he sits there a moment longer before reaching out to grasp the shield. A pulse of knowledge vibrates through him from within, rather than from the shield. <"Residual."> The word is pulled from him as his shadow melts in the first light of dawn, slowly drawing back into its owner. Dark brown eyes fade into pits blacker than pitch as his pupils envelop his irises, then the sclera. For a moment, Set is too surprised by the change to do anything other than blink and gawk at the world around him. From his vantage crouching in the corner, the deeper shadows still lying in wait under the bed transform, the darkness revealing its secrets like an old friend. Looking back to the shield, an aura of magical power reveals itself to Set's new sight. As Set recovers, he becomes aware of his appearance, a kind of sixth sense for those with the Mark of a Changeling. He closes his eyes once more, dismissing the spell. The shield's aura dissipates, and yet two black pits remain where eyes had been a minute before. Clenching his jaw, Set wills the eyes he'd had back onto his face, molding his own flesh to suit his needs. Satisfied, Set places the shield back on the ground and turns to face the doorway, looking to find Evergreen and the Mighty. They needed to know Birel is gone. On the First Floor Downstairs, Set struggles to commit a half-smile back to Moira as his thoughts are still upstairs in Birel's room. Her promise that Birel has left under her own free will brings his attention back, forcing him to re-examine her and their surroundings. "Apologies. You say she fled?" Set eats mechanically despite the fact that it's a far better meal than he's had in a while and the pancakes are new experience altogether. Looking back and forth between the Mighty and Evergreen, Set speaks first. "I will listen. I wish to understand what is going on," Set says, speaking broadly. Besides, whatever happened to Birel, it would be in vain if they did not find a cure for Vargath. Spoiler: OOC Show Set casts Detect Magic with Eldritch Sight, examines the shield, then dismisses it.

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 38/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy), -1 INT Concentrating: -- Upstairs Just when he feels like he's finally getting into a moment of serenity and peace the shrikes and bangs and wrenching of metal pulls him back to reality, though the pull is rather more like being slammed in the chest with a hammer. It was good he was already awake, he didn't much fancy waking up to that. Still, he takes his time. Given the call for breakfast it didn't sound like it immediately requires his attention or appearance, so he finds the time to properly gear and dress himself. He wouldn't be caught unequipped or absent his weapons. Just in case. It's hard for him to not notice Birel's destroyed door when he exits the room. It would appear that she had done something during the night to complicate matters for them - and him, specifically - if it garnered this response. He can't help but sigh quietly. It would seem her madness ran a bit deeper than his own if the new decor was any indication, or perhaps she just hadn't grown used to external voices as he had been forced to. "We shouldn't keep Moira waiting." Vargath offers to Set as he surveys the carnage, noting the sketches of ziggurats not entirely dissimilar to the ones in his own vision. "We won't get anywhere talking about it until we hear the full story." Downstairs, Breakfast Fled in the night, stolen away like a thief in the darkness. Vargath has to admit he hadn't expected it from Birel, but then perhaps this was the work of external forces acting on her more than her own course. It was not the best start for them, admittedly, and he can't help but feel responsible for it in some way. They hadn't known each other long but regardless they had come as a group, and now one of the group had betrayed that trust. "I'm sure I speak for us all," Vargath says, a little presumptuously but without airs, "when I express our apologies for Birel's actions even if we weren't aware of her intentions. This reflects poorly on us all, given she came with us. If we can help we will do so." They had more chance of finding the truth of the matter if they were with Moira when Birel was found, after all, and he can't imagine Selissa or Set would object to tracking down the mage. He'd switched into polite academic mode without really noticing, a clunky switch for those listening perhaps, but it felt seamless to him. Following on from Set's ask for more details, he simply adds "We'd like to know everything."

[Awful]

Selissa Betula Wood Elf Scout Rogue AC: 16 HP: 31/31 PP: 16 Conditions: None Concentrating: -- When she was roused from her trance by a scream of rage, Selissa did not quail or even start in fright. It was too close for her bow, so she simply drew her sword, slid next to the door and waited. Nothing came but more crashing, the sounds of her teammates comignout their rooms to look - and then the corpse-witch's voice, deceptively calm for the volume. Reasonably certain it wasn't a trick, Selissa let her grip ease a fraction on the blade. Out of habit, she realised, she'd gone for her sabre rather than the silver rapier, but whatever - it should do the trick. Holding the blade low and behind her leg, nearly entirely out of sight, she opened the door. Moira wasn't in sight, so she slipped out. Inside Birel's room was madness - paintings of some distant structures and spellworks entwined, daubed in blood. Ziggurats, like in the diary. The diary Selissa had brought her. Her grip on the sword-hilt tightened enough the wood of her hand creaked. Had she been the architect of this, or had the high elf's surprising belligerance already a sign that something wicked had taken root in her mind? It was impossible for Selissa to know. Gods of the forest, she hated this. This uncertainty and second-guessing against her allies, her enemies, and for a moment the longing for her old adventuring party cut into her like a knife - dear Sara, killed before even the heartbeats of a human life could come to a natural end; quiet Gnarl, who bargained with Fey for her sake; even stern Jonath, who she could never love but could rely on, no matter the odds or situation. She slide her blade back into its sheath, let out a gentle, weary sigh, and, with naught else to do, did the only thing she could. She got breakfast. Downstairs She picked at the food and eyed the others, debating whether to speak on the events that had preceeded Birel's departure or not. She had an inkling of what that skull was, even without having read the diary the previous night. To speak of it now would, of course, be rank foolishness. "Speak," is all she said, her flat voice betraying none of her inner turmoil.

[purepolarpanzer]

In Bo'Tel Castle, The Entryway, Breakfast.

When Set asks his question, Moira looks his way, and for just a moment her rigid discipline slips, her features loosen, and she looks at the wanderer with affectionate eyes. But in an instant she shakes herself and her authoritative demeanor returns. Birel fled, but she was coerced. I suppose that in light of what has happened with your companion, I should start there first... Moira intakes a deep breath, releases it slowly, and begins to speak at length.

Birel's mind is being affected by the Ebon Key, a powerful psionic artifact. It is evil, it is intelligent, and it is powerful. My family have all been "Curators" of this Key since before written record, so while me and my staff are all immune to the artifacts charms through exposure training, it managed to enchant Birel last night, instructed her how to break into my lab and free it from my security measures, and fled with her. The goal of the Key is... of great concern. But it's goal is far away, and with my magics Birel will not get far. I'm not worried... much. You'll have to excuse me if my presentation is not as thorough as I would prefer, but all our time is limited. She smiles and takes a drink of her water before continuing.

Without further ado, King Lionel Daravont is a thrall to vampires. His family has been for hundreds, even thousands of years. So, in effect, our kingdom is being run by undead parasitic monsters with no regard for sentient life. If you'll look at those drawings there... She indicates the papers before each of you. "You'll notice that each man in those drawings is identical. But one of these drawings..." She points to the one in front of Vargath. is from three hundred years ago, and it portrays an underminister- a bureaucrat of middling rank. She then points to the one in front of Selissa, which is virtually identical except for a different hairstyle on the man. That one is from one hundred and seventy years ago, and depicts the King's seneschal. The same man, longer apart than any human could naturally live, and in a higher political position. The last drawing... She points to the one in front of Set- And that one was drawn in the capital last week. THAT man is the Grand Arbiter of all of Harumvale, second in power only to the King himself. Foolish bloodsucker can't even keep itself out of the spotlight. How dramatic.

Next Moira slides the skull to the party member closest to her. Pass this down, please. And be careful. I killed that nosferatu over a hundred years ago, so the bone is beginning to get brittle. This skull belonged to a nosferatu strain vampire that was living in my castle when I returned for the first time after the fall of Aelindor. Once I defeated it, it became quite talkative, given the correct encouragement. Now that you all can look closely at the skull you can see that, though it mimics a humanoid shape, it is substantially thicker, more angled, and more predatory. The teeth are slightly serrated, and there are carefully cut holes in the skull, too precise to have been made with anything but a drill. If you won't trust me I can call his spirit back, but when I coerced him into speaking he told me that he'd been kicked out of his home colony under the Capital. I didn't believe him, but then I went into the sewers there and explored. I FOUND AN ENTIRE TOWN. She shivers and closes her eyes as the images come flooding back to her. A town of ghouls, ghasts, mutated thralls and lesser vampires, bartering for flesh and blood of the city dwellers above and built almost as long as the city above!

She breathed a sigh and stood up, beginning to pace back and forth behind her chair. I believe that Aelindor was destroyed, along with the lives of thousands of non-humans, by the vampires, because only Aelindor was strong enough to threaten their rule. What they DON'T tell you about the Cleansing is that as many people died, twice as many were abducted and never seen again. I have little evidence, but I suspect they were taken to feed the vampiric corruption that threatens to envelop the entire Kingdom. It was also an attempt to take the Keys from the non-human nobility. Four keys were forged of Ebonstone, and all of them are needed to fulfill their ultimate purpose. One was given to the line of Harum, one was given to the Bo'Tel of Aelindor, one was given to the Angrun clan of dwarves under the Mountain of Smoke, and one was given to the chief of the Bloodwolf tribe of the northern wastes. My intelligence leads me to believe that the Daravonts, and therefore the vampires, still only have one, but not for lack of trying. In conclusion, I.... we... must raise the realm and overthrow the Daravonts, destroy every vampire that can be found, and set this kingdom right. Will you all help me? Help me save every man, woman, and child in Harumvale?

Spoiler: Insight DC 15

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Oh. That was a weird way to look at Set. But there is a lot Moira isn't talking about. Now would be the best time for questions. Or sharing new information...

Spoiler: DC 20

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Oh... something happened between those two. Moira just looked at Set with affection. Maybe she has a crush on him?

Spoiler: DC 25

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Set slept with Moira.

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: Iumenta Pox (currently no symptoms) Concentration: -- Set's chest constricts as he stares back at Moira, fingers clenching the arms of his chair. He can sense the seriousness of what she's about to say before she can admit it. Birel is gone to madness. The Three are now Two. Birel, his North Star and guiding light in the darkness succumbed to something beyond all of them last night. The Ebon Key? Set thinks back to the busts in Moira's foyer, her family line arrayed in a neat row, Curators all. What did it mean? What was their purpose? Set holds his tongue rather than give voice to such rambling thoughts. Instead he listens intently, dutifully examining the drawings and the skull as Moira continues. Set runs a finger over the serrated tooth, losing concentration on Moira's speech momentarily as a prick of blood wells on his fingertip. Vampires. Set had never fought one, but he looks up at the Mighty, remembering the tale of the Hubrecht clan's run-in with one such. How close had they come to death? Father, sister, and young Vargath saved by the rising sun and a blood-sucker's arrogance. But that was a single vampire. Moira was speaking of a town filled with their ilk, and one in particular with all the power of Harumvale behind him. Set watches Moira pace as she becomes more and more animated describing the Cleansing, but when she reveals the owners of the four Ebon Keys, Set's head snaps back to Vargath in surprise. The Bloodwolf tribe? In conclusion, I.... we... must raise the realm and overthrow the Daravonts, destroy every vampire that can be found, and set this kingdom right. Will you all help me? Help me save every man, woman, and child in Harumvale? Before Set can find the words to ask the Mighty if he knew of these keys, or Moira about their purpose and why the vampires desired them, a voice breaks in on his thoughts. Do you know of all the places you could be at this moment, you are in just the right place at just the right time? So many important places in history, but the sands of time are fickle, Set. It is easy to be in the right place at the wrong time. Easier still to be in the wrong place at the right time. But here, in this moment, you've found it. The time and the place where a war begins. I underestimated her. Set's shadow almost seems to lean closer to Moira, His voice taking on a predatory tone. I like her, Set. You'll not refuse her, of course. How could you, Set the Savior? Don't just save your sisters, Set, though we both know you can't hope to do that if you allow the servants of Pale Night to run rampant over the world of men. Save everyone. 'Every man, woman, and child in Harumvale.' A chuckle sounds from the depths. How could you refuse? They had come thinking they could save one of the Three, but they hadn't known the price. They still didn't. All they could know was that they had already lost One. Two remained, but the Mighty's life wasn't the only one hanging in the balance. No matter what they chose, many lives would be forfeit. Set looks back and forth between Evergreen and the Mighty, gauging their own reaction to what is being said even as the Shadowkeeper's laughter splits his concentration. Shaking his head, Set looks to Moira, keeping his voice tightly controlled as he struggles to think straight. "What...these keys, Moira, what are they? You can't..." Set bites down hard on the inside of his cheek as the laughter only increases in volume. "Why do the vampires seek them? Why were they made? Why...why Birel? Why not me? Any of us?" Set asks, motioning to the Two and stopping on Vargath. "Do you know?" he asks the Mighty, unable to keep the strain from his voice. "Is your clan...they're part of this?"

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 38/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy), -1 INT Concentrating: -- Vargath can't help but be a little bit perturbed that they hadn't been warned of a powerful psionic artifact resting not far above their sleeping heads. If she'd been more forthcoming, maybe Birel wouldn't have been ensnared. Then again maybe not, maybe it would've been worse knowing. The gnawing pangs of curiosity edge around Vargath's mind. The desire to know. If he'd been told, maybe he'd have sought it out himself. Especially if it had a connection to the ziggurats in his nightmares - given Birel's wallscrawls it seemed likely. The talk of vampires and his clan is more concerning, and brings to mind that perhaps his encounter with one in his earlier years may not have been simply by chance, but targeted. Vargath gently massages his forehead with his thick calloused fingers as he listens. It's a lot to take in all at once. "I wasn't aware." Vargath says simply to Set's question. There's no begrudging or shock in his voice. He's got little doubt that if he'd asked the Chief or Elders about it he'd have been told, but if it wasn't important to him then no wonder it got left quiet. That was, if they even had it still. If these things were as old as implied it could have been lost to the winds of time before any of his living clan were born. A logical deduction, but he had a suspicion in the back of his mind that fate would not be so simple. It felt like now was as good a time as any - she was asking for help, so he would do so in turn. "I am not averse to killing vampires," he begins, voice heavy with the upcoming admittance, "however I have a pressing concern. Yesterday I was bitten by a lycanthrope." He pats the bite wound through his armour, quietly noting that the feeling still hasn't quite fully returned to it yet. "A full transformation into a beast is expected within a week when the full moon rises. Can you help?" No beating around the bush with this question, no sly insinuations. Simple facts and a direct request.

[purepolarpanzer]

In Bo'Tel Castle, The Entryway, Breakfast.

Moira turns in place away from the party when the questions begin to come in, waiting patiently for Set to finish before responding. It is easy to tell that her words are chosen carefully. The Ebon Keys... are broken pieces of a near mythical structure known as the Ebon Ziggurat. Little is known for sure about it, but what we do know is that thousands of years ago The Ebon Ziggurat descended from the sky in a halo of fire and struck Harumvale. Then it apparently nearly destroyed the entire place. It was only through the united effort of all sentient races in the Vale that it was somehow defeated and contained. I suspect that the vampires wish to unite the keys and somehow reignite the Ziggurat to threaten all life within the Vale yet again. She sighs and turns back to the group, her face earnest. As for why it chose Birel, it's range is limited, so I'm guessing it whispered to her that something valuable was in my lab and snared her mind when she investigated it. It just as easily could have chosen any of you who got close enough to it. Until today I wasn't aware that it knew how to bypass my security measures.

Then Vargath speaks, and Moira's eyes fall. I'm... sorry, Vargath. I hadn't realized. I'm afraid I possess no magic that can reverse that transformation... The room is silent for a few moments before Dr. Fixer finishes chewing a pancake and raises his hand. "But I can!" He manages before taking a big swallow. "Dr. Fixer's Mystical Cure All Elixir can battle many maladies, both natural and SUPRANATURAL! While it won't cure you, it will prevent you from completing the change and irrevocably turning into a monster! BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE! I DO know lore on how you can be totally cured! I was reading in Moira's books that a bite from a moon drake can cure any were afflicted creature, whether they are willing or not! Give me a few days to brew the elixir, and I can keep you in your natural form long enough to find a moon drake! What a capital idea!" He bangs his cane down against the floor to punctuate his exclamations.

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 38/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy), -1 INT Concentrating: -- It was entirely too early for the 'good' so-called doctor's emphatic statements, helpful or otherwise. "Please stop banging your stick," are the first words out of Vargath's mouth in reply, which is a little rude, but no moreso than the racket being generated at breakfast no less. He can understand the excitement that comes with being useful but a little bit of tempering might not go amiss. Vargath's eyes dart to Moira for a moment before returning to Fixer. "To be clear, my help isn't contingent on this elixir...but I also can't be of any use without it. If it can do what you say, then name your price, I have little else in the way of options." The mention of the Ziggurat confirms the suspected connection. If they were coming clean, he might as well do the same, addressing the group at large. "Last night, I had a dream, vision, or nightmare, perhaps, of what I can only describe as the end of the world. An enormous ziggurat, a sickly green light that washed over everything turning all to ash and dust. It could be due to the proximity to the artifact Birel stole, though I don't think it was from the artifact." The giants whispers weren't a secret to Set or Selissa, but sharing that much with Moira right after his lycanthropy admission may be a touch much. They hadn't even really started the day yet. "I'm not one to trust in visions usually but that and...other things lead me to think that the collection of these 'keys' has wider implications. Ones that need to be avoided." He sighs and sits back, eyeing the food he didn't really want to eat and drink that wouldn't slake the thirst. Logic meant that he had to eat though, and so he pushes through it, intent on keeping the displeasure on his face to a minimum as he swallows the pancakes that barely touch his tongue.

[Awful]

Selissa Betula Wood Elf Scout Rogue AC: 16 HP: 31/31 PP: 16 Conditions: None Concentrating: -- No mention of the spirit-god-entity that wanted the Vale in flames, Selissa noted. The elf resolved to talk to the others afterwards, though little doubt it would be a remarkably unpleasant exchange. She was silent for a long moment as Birel was discussed, until she finally interjected. "Vampires serving ziggurat? Or trying to control it? Seems strange. Every predator needs pray. No blood for leeches if no mortals left." At Doctor Fixer's exuberance, her mouth quirked in a hard line of dislike at the repugnant creature. "Moon drake's rare. Wouldn't know where to find one. Do you?"

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: Iumenta Pox (currently no symptoms) Concentration: -- Set's silverware clatters against his plate as Moira admits that she has no magic capable of helping the Mighty. Where would they turn now? Before Set's mind can take off too far down that path, however, the Candyman jumps in. Set's relief is palpable even if he has misgivings about the source. There was a cure, and until such time as they could get it, Dr. Fixer could stall the transformation. "We're grateful, if your offer is in earnest," Set says, inclining his head a fraction with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He couldn't ignore someone with the capability and willingness to aid Vargath, but words had to be weighed against actions. If the Candyman could deliver, Set would indeed be grateful, but it was hard to see the man who'd pledged himself to help the Mighty and Moira. Set could only see the man who'd taken part in a soulbind for money. Moira should've been at rest with her family wherever her people called home after-life. Instead she was bound here, body and soul, forced to keep on fighting or wither and die again to no purpose. Regardless, Set tries to clear his mind and listen intently as Evergreen asks where they might find a moon drake to cure the Mighty once and for all. As the conversation turns, Set watches as Vargath describes his dream. "Do they mean to destroy everything or control it? If the keys are that powerful, the threat of using them would be enough to control the Vale, wouldn't it?" Set's mind sifts through the darkness, trying to make sense of it all. "If they can threaten the whole Vale, they control the whole Vale. Perhaps they mean to destroy everything," Set says slowly, "or perhaps they just mean to use the threat of that power to forge chains for all of Harumvale." To set themselves up as Masters over their new dominion, able to pluck whatever tool they desired from the masses as needed. Set struggles a moment, mouth twitching before he finds Evergreen's eyes and says, "plenty of blood for the leeches and vampires both, if that is their aim." Set looks back at the Mighty, latching onto a detail from his vision. "You're saying in your dream, the ziggurat released the same kind of green light as the shield that Birel took from the alpha?" Set asks, remembering the dwarven woman who'd appeared from glowing green sigils and symbols. Looking to Moira, Set asks, "does that mean anything to you? A sickly green color, or a dwarf made up of the same kind of symbols and runes covering Birel's room, but on a shield that belonged to a werewolf? At first I'd thought the dwarf's soul was bound to the thing, but..." Set stops, despite the fact that the Mighty and Evergreen already know about Him. Taking a different tack, he says, "I couldn't see it before, but there is some magic radiating from the shield that has little and less to do with necromancy. I am hardly a student of the arcane, but her soul cannot be bound without necromancy, can it?" Set is pointedly staring at Moira now, his discomfort with the subject matter completely overshadowed by a need to understand what Birel was exposed to, and whether the Two are similarly endangered. Set's soul is already spoken for, though he'd tried not to think of what the Shadowkeeper would want with a shield of souls. "Either way, the shield spoke to all of us, and when it spoke the dwarven woman was made up of sickly green light. I remember she fell apart at one point, screaming for her family as she turned into a series of runes and sigils, but always the shield glowed with the same green light yesterday."

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 38/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy), -1 INT Concentrating: -- "It could be that whatever the vampires are offered by this...ziggurat is more valuable than blood." Vargath offers, with a tone of academic postulation. "For their agelessness, vampires are still very much driven by the mortal need of food. Maybe the keys unlock an immortality beyond that? Literally and figuratively." He runs a hand over his beard, taking a moment to think back to his dream-vision. "Or perhaps they've been struck by whatever madness has possessed Birel and there's no logic in their actions beyond that dictated from on high, self-preservation be damned." The images of the wolves all howling in unison even as the destruction was wrought across their bodies comes to mind. Fanaticism. It seemed unthinkable for an ageless vampire of centuries to fall victim to such things, with all their experience and accrued arrogance, yet it seemed almost poetically appropriate for one to fall so far. They lacked the humility of a mortal, after all. "The shield's light is similar, perhaps even the same. I wouldn't discount a connection," a short pause, "I'll leave its study to others, at least until my 'affliction' has been cleared up." He did want to know more. He had theories, though they were more guesswork at this point, but the risk of a mutation was too great. He could wait. Patience was a virtue when one had the time to do so.

[purepolarpanzer]

In Bo'Tel Castle, The Entryway, Breakfast.

Dr. Fixer immediately stops banging his cane, perhaps realizing that in his excitement he has been rather rude. Or perhaps not. "Well, Mr. Hubrecht, what would you expect that such a potent magical elixir would cost? A king's fortune? A duke's? Hundreds of gold? NOT SO! For the low low price of..." Moira interrupts with a sudden wave of her hand. The elixir will be sold to you at cost for as long as you are working in my interests, Vargath, and I will pay for the first bottle. How much does the medicine cost to MAKE, Dr? His showmanship upended, Dr. Fixer takes off his bowler hat and holds it in both hands while his cane remains perfectly balanced next to him. "For the werewolf resisting elixir it cost me fifty silver dissolved directly into it and a gold in random ingredients. I make the brandy myself, so that's just the cost of fruit and cane sugar, so perhaps two gold and fifty silver? Has to be silver, though." Dr. Fixer's normally boisterous spirit seems to be dispelled in the presence of his mistress.

On the subject of the moon drake, the good Dr. responds to Selissa cordially but dismissively. "There's local legends of a moon drake in some parts of the Vale. While you all help the war effort in your way, I will be wandering the country rallying up support on my own, and as soon as I hear about one of the creatures I will send word to you so we can hunt it down! It will be my second priority of many, I assure you!"

Next comes conversation of the Ziggurat and the shield, and here Dr. Fixer is silent and Moira takes the lead in conversation. She turns to Set, takes a breath, and begins to explain. " I can only tell you what my parents told me, and what the Ebon Key has volunteered in the years I've been working with it, which isn't much. The Ebon Ziggurat is said to be nearly all powerful, and all the items crafted from Ebonstone hold some of that great power within them. When the Ziggurat fell from the sky pieces of it rained down across the entire Vale and the surrounding mountains, so artifacts of power crafted from Ebonstone are not uncommon. They produce a multitude of effects, but they all share something in common with their origin- Ebonstone does not use necromancy to bind a soul, instead transforming the engram of a living being into pure energy. An engram is... like a sketch of your animus. A perfect recreation of the nuances of your spark of life pulled from your mind. It carries personality, thought process, languages, and more, but it does not involve the animus, anima, or corpus, so no necromancy. I've found in my years that Ebonstone takes an engram at the moment of death- it seems to be the moment that the mind is most vulnerable to invasion. It is probably better that it does, because the process makes anyone who survives it quite mad. It is the engram, transformed into some form of green energy, which gives things like your shield and the Ebon Keys their power, their presence, and their computational power. Transitively, I think the Ebon Ziggurat ALSO takes the impression of sentient minds and use them to power it's own abilities of destruction. If you possess an artifact of Ebonstone then you must be wary of it, because it has a mind and an agenda, but you shouldn't be afraid to harness it's power. Others you may come into conflict with in your journeys will have no such moral restriction, and great power requires great power to contest it. I know for a fact that the forces of the King utilize them."

Moira pauses for a few moments before going forward. "Before any of you commit to joining forces of me, I should be fully transparent. This war, this conflict, is sponsored by the god that ressurected me and freed my soul from what was quite frankly a hellish afterlife. Gruumsh, the One-Eyed god of the orcs, ressurected me so that there would be war in the Vale. He is a god of chaos, conflict, and darkness, but he does not have a say in how I will conduct myself or my forces. Specifically he wants war for his children to join in on. If we win this war and the orcs and half-orcs of the Vale are in a better position without the current King, then my soul will be freed and hopefully I'll have more luck the second death around. If the worst happens... well needless to say I will not be given a third chance. Moira has nearly finished gearing up, and looks like she is making ready to leave. "Any other questions?

[Awful]

Selissa Betula Wood Elf Scout Rogue AC: 16 HP: 31/31 PP: 16 Conditions: None Concentrating: -- Selissa gave the Doctor a side-eyed, unimpressed look, but said nothing to him. Instead, she answered when Moira asked her final question. "One." This stuff about the Ziggurat was, to be honest, beyond Selissa's proper understanding with the talk of animus and corpus and the like. But she believed there was vampires, or at least was willing to consider it, and either way she would soon find out the truth. Selissa met Moira's gaze. The wood elf's green eyes were as intense as always, but there wasn't condemnation in them like might be expected. "The Chief. Your curse. Can you undo it?" She paused and then continued. "Chief's old for human. Regrets things, I think. Mourned you. Might not seem important. Not compared to all that. But right thing to do, when you can."

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: Iumenta Pox (currently no symptoms) Concentration: -- Throughout Moira's explanation of Ebonstone, Set sits bewitched, hanging on every word. The dwarven woman had felt real because she is...or at least the copy of her imprinted on the shield is. For a moment, Set is brought up short wondering if the fact that she's only an Engram makes her less real. She is only a copy, but she still carries the same personality, thoughts, and feelings she had in life while her soul is free to pass on. The idea fascinates Set, so much so that he almost misses Moira's admission. But even if he had, He didn't. Gruumshhhhhh. An involuntary shiver runs down Set's spine as He draws out the name. It echoes in set's mind as a moment passes while the Shadowkeeper seems to soak in what they've just learned. His decision made, He invades Set's thoughts further. The cast-off should speak with more care, Set hears from within, knowing without knowing that He is referring to Moira. One-Eye may dabble in chaos and conflict, but darkness? No, Set. The uninitiated may think what they like, but you will make no such mistake. One-Eye is no god of darkness, not really. The pantheons are rife with pretenders. Let The False God write his books. Let The Shadow That Was lay claim to something he wasn't. They screech and scrape for scraps of power, but only Darkest holds sway over the shadows. The voice within pauses again as He seems to ruminate further on what to say and even what to do. Whether real or imagined, Set had always feared that He knew everything, but for just a moment He seems unsure. There is more at stake here than it seems. The gods are stirring, Set, the Shadowkeeper says, his trademark laugh conspicuously absent. If One-Eye was willing to reach out for an Unclaimed, he is willing to provoke whatever may come after. And if the Blood-Lord's children have aspirations beyond the realm of the living, the Shadowless will require more attention than normal. I have tarried here too long, it seems. As entertaining as you are, my Lady will wish to know what is brewing if She doesn't already. You will follow this path, Set. You are cursed, He says with particular emphasis, and in turn you curse the soulbinders for our part, but we did not make the world this way. Look to the gods if you seek reasons. Complain to them often and loudly of masters and their tools. But in the meantime, you will make yourself useful, as any good tool should. You are cursed, but none are as accursed as those who bind themselves to this place. The vampires think just because they can't abide the sun that the darkness is their domain. You will show them that nothing without a shadow can lay claim to them. The voice goes quiet, but with no other sign of His leaving, Set can only sit and contemplate what he's been told. The Shadowkeeper wants Set to take on vampires, but where he'd seemed happy to amuse himself at Set's expense before, he seemed serious now, at least for the moment. Moira wants a chance at a better after-life since she was denied rest the first time, though how that could happen when she'd passed with her soul, Set doesn't know. Gruumsh wants chaos and hopes his people can use it to rise above their current station. And in the midst of it all, Set wonders if he ever had a choice. As Evergreen asks her one question, Set is struck by it. The world may be threatened by artifacts and it seemed at least one god had already taken notice, but Selissa still thought of the right thing to do, regardless of whether it was for one man or all of them. She always had reminded him of Sythpen. The whole world could lay in ashes, and she would still fight for what was right to the end, regardless of the price. Turning to Moira to await her answer, Set thinks on all the questions he still has, but none would serve. Not here, not now. Instead he sits in silence, slowly coming to terms with everything Moira said now that He is finally silent. Whatever happened to her, she was given no rest after-life. Had she been given a choice either? Where were her gods when she passed, or when Gruumsh came to her? Where were Set's when he'd been faced with Him? Why had they been abandoned to fend for themselves? One more thing, Set. A whisper from far, far away sounds off in Set's mind, so faint it begs to be ignored, if not for the source. My Lady will wish to see you adorned if you're to take up her weapon. Pluck a feather from the witch's pet and carry it with you. If you should happen across anymore tools of the gods, you'll save that memory for me until I return.

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 38/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy), -1 INT Concentrating: -- "The offer is appreciated, but I pay my own way, I will cover the material costs on the first bottle, though admittedly it may not be in the correct coinage." In fact he knew it wasn't. All he had was gold, and that one platinum piece he'd picked up. He tugs the coin purse from his backpack and quickly counts out 10 gold coins, placing them on the table in a neat stacked tower. "This should cover it, along with any coin changing costs you may incur for turning gold to silver." It was at least, somewhat, comforting to know that the shield they had was not ensouled, and merely possessing an identical replica of a soul's cognition at time of death. The trauma explained the outbursts, it was torn between recognising the 'present' and its 'birth' as real. No doubt any of them would likely respond equally poorly if their minds were copied in such a situation, though hopefully it never comes to finding out. He can't help but consider what he'd want, in the dwarf's shoes. A mental construct locked in an object, not truly alive and never dying, forced to only observe that which others allow you to. Feared by some, coveted by others, but not as a person. Just a tool. If she asked, would they destroy her and end it all? Could they destroy her? "Can this Ebonstone, or things made of it, be destroyed in any way? I'm guessing they're resilient but not indestructible. If the Ziggurat is reliant on all the keys, perhaps destruction of just one is sufficient to avert the worst." He expects a negative answer - if they could be destroyed, no doubt someone would have done so before him. It's hardly an original thought. But perhaps even if the keys are too tough, they could at least offer it to any other minds locked inside ebonstone objects. Oblivion might be preferable to forever reliving the most traumatic moments, though he's not sure he'd choose it himself. The news of Gruumsh's involvement leaves Vargath with mixed feelings. Outside of a scant few Bloodwolves his tribe had mostly given up on the old god. He wasn't outlawed or banned, people could (and did, occasionally) worship him if they wanted to, but their connection to him was tenuous at best. A wide-spread following tended to end in self-destruction, they'd seen it happen with other clans before. Though none of them shy away from a fight, Gruumsh's followers actively sought it. Perhaps it was Gruumsh's influence that had given Moira the strength and anger to tear Birel's room door from its hinges. Perhaps not, but it did cast her in a slightly more concerning light. Gruumsh was no friend of elves, so what game the deity was playing was...it seemed almost too subtle for Gruumsh's tastes, from what he knew of the god. Vargath snorts quietly to himself, pushing the thoughts out of his mind. He could ponder and ponder all he likes, but it wouldn't give him any answers. Better to find out with his eyes and hands. Practical learning.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Subtracted 10g from my sheet to pay the piper.

[purepolarpanzer]

In Bo'Tel Castle, The Entryway, Breakfast.

Moira considers Selissa's words for nearly a minute, face set in stone. Then she closes her eyes in concentration, and then opens them several seconds later. "It is done. I... didn't realize that Maus mourned me. A human lifetime is long enough for punishment. Perhaps... I will see him again soon..." Then she shakes her head and turns to Vargath. "We've discovered only two ways to destroy relics made of Ebonstone. They can be crushed with a diamond coated hammer wielded by someone incredibly strong, and they can be thrown into a volcano. The Keys, for some reason, are even more durable- we've yet to find a way to destroy them, despite centuries of trying. Last time one was thrown into the heart of the Mountain of Smoke it leapt back out and consumed a farmer."

There is a knocking on the front door, and the eldest of the Aeyilles, the butler, stands from the table and walks over to the door on his massively long legs. He opens the front door, introducing two new travelers to the scene just as Moira is getting to the point.

Moira readies the last of her gear, standing before you packed and ready to set out, but she sits back down, a bit awkwardly with her pack on. "If you would all aid me, I'd request that you journey to the easternmost part of Aelindor- to the Mountain of Smoke. If you wish to destroy Ebonstone artifacts that is the best place. Dr. Fixer will end up there eventually as well, but he'll linger in the town of Velumn to rally support. You may aid him, or move on to the Mountain. The Mountain is the ancestral home of the Angrun Clan of dwarves, so I want you to make sure their Key is safe and seed ideas of rebellion as you see fit. I need the hearts and the minds of the people of Aelindor, possibly of the whole Vale. That is the greatest goal- to raise the banners. Last I knew the dwarves were already rankled enough under the feet of their human bosses, so you should have fertile ground to work with. Does this sound like a logical path to you all?"

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Maledictus and Doctor Ignacius Madaras can describe themselves, introduce yourselves, and ask any questions. Moira has also briefed you one all the information from the last few expositional posts, so you're up to speed.

[Spore]

Doctor Ignacius Madaras, Medicus Extravagant! Gnome Alchemist Artificer | Raven Homunculus AC: 14 HP: 27/27 | AC 13 HP: 9/9 PP: 11 PIv: 16 PIs: 11 | PP: 14 PIv: 10 PIs: 10 Conditions: Minor Illusion (Fanfare/Announcer) Concentration: - The gates fly open and present a person of diminuitive stature. The gnome with white beard and a big bald patch on his head was holding a bull horn in his right, and a potion of undefineable green liquid, as well as what appears to be living and moving tentacles. A fanfare announced his appearance like that of a king. *trumpets* Come now, young and old, join in to watch, and be perplexed, flabbergasted and astounded! Watch as Doctor Madaras sells you the secrets of longevity, sexual endurance, beauty and even wisdom! Following him is an even smaller technical marvel, some kind of mechanical raven, with claws and wings attached to its main frame. Its eyes are focussed on their owner, though the head looked around somewhat interested hinting at some kind of artificial intelligence. The gnome's flew open his coat, which billowed on non existant wind, as he bowed down, revealing a small twig with a yellow star on top of it. He shoots a bit of pyrotechnics into the air, just enough to spell out the name "MADRAAS". He grumbles, and introduces himself. My name is Doctor Ignacius Madaras, alchemist extraordinaire, clever artificer and full-time genius. He bows to the group. You are the famous heroes that fought the werewolves, and stopped the dark machinations that plagued this town? And I have heard one of you was injured by said werebeasts? A courageous endeavor, might I say so myself. Of course a man of my education knows of orcish endurance, but this is a curse, not a simple ailment. You cannot fight it endlessly. Struggles of the mind are my people's speciality, we even go so far to prank back fey. But we would have succumbed to the beast's claws in no time. He takes a short bow aside to Moira and Dr. Fixer. Is there no other way than to destroy the artifacts? Its use is phenomenal at creating mechanical servants. And friends. Ignacius points at his raven familiar, who holds an obsidian black stone in its chest cavity. It might even be possible to give people everlasting life!

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: Iumenta Pox (currently no symptoms) Concentration: -- Set considers the Shadowkeeper's words for a few more moments, puzzled by the apparent lack of ill-humor and arrogance so conspicuous in all their dealings. Whatever the reason, He had not seemed like Himself. Then He'd spoken of His lady, charging Set to pluck a feather from Moira's pet. What lady? What pet? Set looks to Moira first, then beyond to the Aeyilles, searching the room without knowing what he's looking for. It isn't until he looks behind him and sees a raven perched on a nearby candelabra that he understands. A pair of dark eyes turn to meet his, it's head cocking to the side as the raven and Set examine each other. A verse from the Book of the Dead worms into his mind like a chuckle from the Shadowkeeper, unwanted but unavoidable: 'The selfish soul of the other led him to the murder of his brother: he murdered him, and became himself one of the lost ones. Then the gods sent a raven, who scratched the ground, to show him how to hide the shame of his brother.' Anger flares only to give way to shame and defeat a moment later. It was all just a game to Him. Cain's story was meant as a reminder that killing any single innocent was akin to killing all of humanity. In Set's case, however, he actually had killed his brother and the Shadowkeeper delighted in finding new and interesting ways to remind him of that day. Turning back to the table, Set tries hard to focus on the present and the future even as his thoughts keep returning to the past. As Moira considers Evergreen's request, Set silently awaits her decision. Selissa had lived in Dam'ess for years and knew the Chief better than any of them, save for Moira. Between the two of them, they knew what was right. For his part, Set only knew that Maus had hurt her badly, and that she'd returned the favor. Set can't help but be pleased, however, as she admits to dropping the curse. If nothing else, Lady Bo'Tel was now an ally, and it took strength to show mercy whether or not it was deserved. The sudden appearance of a newcomer jerks Set's attention to the door as a gnome appears, short in stature, but long on fanfare. And yet, despite the blast of trumpets, the mystical announcement, and the minor fireworks, Set has eyes only for the gnome's even smaller companion. Mouth twitching, he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything aloud. Set half expects the Shadowkeeper's laughter to break into his mind, but thankfully He's nowhere to be heard. At least He'd left before orchestrating this little coincidence. But was the gnome just an unwitting tool of His? Or was the doctor taunting him even now with the promise of false-life while manipulating his puppet raven? Set slowly lifts the shemagh from its place around his neck up until it covers most of his face, leaving a slit for his eyes. Set has no wish to reveal anything more to this stranger than he has to, and he would be leaving with Vargath and Selissa soon regardless. Whatever business Doctor Madaras has here, no doubt it was with the Candyman. Set leans over the table, carefully controlling his voice to keep the acid from it as he addresses Dr. Fixer. "A colleague of yours?" Spoiler: REMOVED Show Without waiting for an answer, Set addresses the gnome. "Doctor Madaras, you're too kind. Forgive me," Set says, carefully diplomatic as he misreads the situation, "but perhaps you and Dr. Fixer could consult each other elsewhere. We were just finishing a private conversation here. I'm sure if you need the Lady Bo'Tel for anything, you can speak with her shortly once we're finished, but before she leaves."

[Theophilus]

Mal Levistus Tiefling Bard 4 AC: 14 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 13 PIs: 11 Spell Slots: 1st - 4/4 2nd - 3/3 Magic Initiate: 1/1 Fey Touched: 1st - 1/1 2nd - 1/1 Levistus Legacy: 2nd - 1/1 Bardic Inspiration: 4/4 Healer's Kit: 20/20 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- As the gnome blasts his way into the room with a cacophony of bluster, a lithe tiefling entered with a silent confidence. The cut of his cloak and his trim militaristic uniform declared his importance even as he bore himself with a lordly stature. A proper pairing of blades hung at the ready, accompanied on the opposite hip by a ornate dagger. These cradled under his elegant cape, which he reflexively unfurled as he crossed the doorway. The unstated elegance of the man demanded attention in a way that contrasted sharply with the loud purveyor of mixed drinks. He bowed courteously toward the necromancer and stated in a voice like aural velvet, "Good evening, Mistress Moira. The duties you would require align with the interests of my masters. Of course, I would seek to ensure the ebon artifacts found a proper resting place, as well as your will undertaken within the Vale. The misdeeds of your enemies provides ample fodder for your endeavors, and with gentle impetus you shall turn back their plots upon themselves. Who might these brave souls be? Afflicted heroes, skilled warriors, and mighty savants of the sword? If so, we have the muscle merit enough to initiate your bold schemes. I would oblige them a hearty welcome." He bowed less deeply, but no less nobly, toward the half orc, changeling, and fey elf. "You may call me Mal. Attache to the illustrious Mistress Moira."

Spoiler: OOC

Show

[Spore]

Doctor Ignacius Madaras, Medicus Extravagant! Gnome Alchemist Artificer | Raven Homunculus AC: 14 HP: 27/27 | AC 13 HP: 9/9 PP: 11 PIv: 16 PIs: 11 | PP: 14 PIv: 10 PIs: 10 Conditions: Minor Illusion (Fanfare/Announcer) Concentration: - Fully knowing his verbose introduction could intimidate some people, Madaras snaps with his fingers and let's his bull horn vanish behind his back into a seemingly tiny pack. He commands his raven to perch himself at a distance, seeing the uneasiness his construct companion evoked in the tall foreigner with the seemingly undefined facial features. Keeping his distance, Madaras bows yet again. No, I am not a class mate to Doctor Fixer, nor your fugitive friend Birel or anyone else here. Truth be told now, lest my secrets overtake me; and I prefer an honest working environment to a dishonest one. I have never earned a degree, though I assume I would be owed several in lieu of my genius. The focus of my work lies in applied alchemy, not in the dry theoretical arts of the arcane. Though I have learned much from practicing it, the results are often different, but always astounding beyond our wildest dreams. Plus I am a decent sawbones when it comes to it. Ignacius doesn't seem particularly convinced. But it is not my expertise that unsettles you, now is it? The gnome whistles, and with as silent and nonconfrontational as possible, his mechanical marvel approaches, perched onto his gloved right hand. This is naught but a construct. A golem or robot, infused with the faintest hint of a personality. Though not harmless, the thing under my full control. Alvis! he adresses the raven. Roll over. Play dead. Shoot! In succession, the raven turns itself onto its belly, playing completely dead in even rotatings its wings in a rather unnatural position. Then it hops up, and shoots two energy beams from its eye towards a stone wall, where they leave a small black mark. I will of course remove the stain, Lady Moira. Spoiler Show Yes, it's a raven with a fricking laser beam attached to its head.

[Amnestic]

Vargath Hubrecht Half-Orc Rune Knight Fighter AC: 19 HP: 38/38 PP: 12 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Infected (Lycanthropy), -1 INT Concentrating: -- Every word from the gnome's mouth and every action it takes fills Vargath's mind with a single thought: He'd prefer the giants every day and any day of the week over...this. He understands that Dam'ess is a bit of a backwater and that etiquette might not exactly be their strength. He understands that not everyone marches to a similar drumbeat as him. He even understands that to some he probably comes across as quite dour and dull. None of that excuses the show he has now been forced to watch from an apparent madman, jabbering on inanities with all of the social grace of a feral cat, and about as loud. He tries - earnestly - not to judge books by their cover, however he can't help but feel he has already plumbed the depths of the gnome's soul just from this short interaction. Whatever embers of hope he has from Fixer's promise of a cure is doused by the deluge of noise and sights. Why couldn't people just say hello? Was it so hard? 'Good morning, I'm sorry for intruding, my name is so-and-so, I'd like to help!' Simple, easy, direct, inoffensive. He had two maladies of the mind affecting him and he still manages polite restraint. What was the gnome's excuse? At least this 'Mal' seemed more adapted to interactions with other people that weren't part of a mummer's farce. His gripes aside, they weren't exactly in a position to be turning away help, no matter how obnoxious Vargath finds one of them. Summoning up as much patience as he can muster, he manages a decidedly neutral "Any help would be appreciated, I'm sure."

[Awful]

Selissa Betula Wood Elf Scout Rogue AC: 16 HP: 31/31 PP: 16 Conditions: None Concentrating: -- The wood elf acknowledged the Lady Bo'tel's words with a sharp nod. In truth, it was a good sign. While she still didn't think Moira was entirely trustworthy - if due to her divine backer, if nothing else - willingness to cure old injustices was promising. "Good," she said shortly. "Glad." Any further statements were aborted by the introduction of two new figures. Selissa regarded the trumpet fanfare, the fireworks, and the gnome alike with her bemusement and distaste for noise and pomp hidden behind her standard flat expression, the only sign of her opinion a slight quirk to her mouth. So noisy. The wood elf already felt the desire to melt away out of sight and earshot. So much talking. Selissa was, officially, not a fan. And besides the gnome, a rather quieter, somewhat ornate tiefling with one-two-three blades at his side. Selissa immediately suspected him for the more dangerous of the two. More than just his uniform-like dress or the open weapons - something about his air was sharp like a knife. And now the gnome was having his false bird do tricks. The creature was made of metal, rather than meat, somehow, and now was firing magic rays around. Selissa's expression somehow remained its normally cold mask rather than frowning. "Stop," she ground out. After a moment, she added belately, "Please."

[Riggdgames]

Set Al-Sayyid Changeling Fighter/Hexblade AC: 17 HP: 34/34 PP: 11 PIv: 12 PIs: 9 Conditions: Iumenta Pox (currently no symptoms) Concentration: -- Set watches the two newcomers with increasing anxiety as they introduce themselves. The gnome's antics threatened to absorb all his attention lest he miss a clue as to how Doctor Maderas had come to be here with a raven just at this moment. But the soft-spoken confidence of Mal did nothing to put him at ease. Only a fool believed in coincidence. The arrival of Doctor Madaras and Mal was too well-timed, too perfectly-coordinated, and too poorly-executed as they managed to betray themselves with every word. "The duties you would require align with the interests of my masters." No doubt, just as they aligned with the interests of mine. Who do you pretend to serve, and who do you really serve Mal? "Truth be told now, lest my secrets overtake me; and I prefer an honest working environment to a dishonest one." Only a bad liar felt the need to proclaim their honesty before there was suspicion of dishonesty. Set was a practiced liar himself, but he would not be fooled. What secrets do you keep, Madaras? Yet even as the pieces fall into place and Set grows increasingly certain that they both serve they Shadowkeeper, self-doubt gnaws at him. This had happened before. He'd fallen prey to seeing shadows everywhere just a couple days ago. The boy Jemriah had not been false. He'd just been dealing with his own affliction, his own master. If not for the fey lord, the Liar, there might've been time to understand who Jemriah's master really was. Could this situation with Mal and Doctor Madaras be a misunderstanding too? The pancakes feel like lead in Set's stomach as he debates internally, his uncertainty mounting with every passing second. Finally despairing of being able to make sense of this coincidence, Set pulls a coin from his belt pouch and flips it into the air. Catching it with a practiced hand, Set opens his fingers to reveal the ankh. Life, then. He'd hoped to feel better, but Set only feels tired as he stands, chair scraping audibly against the floor. It was not the end of his worries, but at least his path was clear. "Forgive me," Set says, addressing the gnome first. "It was not my intent to question your qualifications, doctor. I am sure you're most-capable, as evidenced by your..." He'd almost said creature, but creatures were alive. "Your Alvis," he says carefully. "Mal," Set says, inclining his head slightly in keeping with greeting someone who's station was uncertain. Set was not among his family back in the palace. He could bow to any man he wished. Yet the tiefling's regal bearing demanded a stiffly formal response. "You may call me Set." He throws a questioning glance at Moira before gesturing to two empty chairs. "Please, won't you both sit down? We were just trying to discuss our path forward. I do not know the land as well as the rest of you, but perhaps it's best if we keep our numbers intact as long as possible. If the roads to Velumn or the Mountain of Smoke are as treacherous as those nearby...we may need everyone to reach either."