[IC] 5E: The Final Quest. Part One

[truemane]

The Final Quest
Part 1: The End

"I do so have a girlfriend! She's from overseas.
She doesn't live on this Continent. You don't know her."

The Great Continent of the Speaking People is vast beyond reckoning. No living being has ever seen its entirety. No credible story has ever emerged of its ending. Despite the infinite variety of Speaking Peoples, almost all of them tell legends about a Complete Map of the Continent and about Strangers who Came from Across the Sea. It is said that, at the Shores of the Continent, there is an endless, depthless sea. It is said that the Continent ends in a cliff so high that to look down is madness. It is said that the Continent ends in a wall of infinite height with a single door that opens to the realms of the gods. It is said the Content is rounded by an eternal storm, a wall of night, a magical barrier, an opaque mist that transports travelers to other worlds.

Most of all, it is said the Continent has no ending.

If you travel west out of the Elder Realms (called the Central Marches, called the Plains of Passage, called the Land of Eternal War), through the Donshen Empire, through the kingdom of Ancient Sumarria, past the petty realms and minor duchies, the freeholds, and then into and through the Bordlerands, one comes to the shores of the Sea of Godfall (said to be have been formed by a god that fell to earth in the days before time).

The Sea of Godfall is both wide and deep. Standing on its shores, it would be easy to think that you had finally reached the fabled Shores of the Continent. The people of the Dreadwind Wastes to the south and the people of the lands of Frosthold to north both call the Sea the same.

The call it World's End.

World's End is home to the Golden Nation. For a thousand days' walk in every direction, the influence of The Nation can be seen. Temples to the Lord of Shining Light feeding the poor, their clerics healing the sick. Monks of the Order of the Sun Titan advising nobles and queens. Fighters, paladins, rangers, warriors all kinds, graduates of the School of the Shining Scale, toiling in armies and militias and rebel groups, helping to prop up lawful realms and destabilize chaotic ones.

Deep in the Godfall Sea is an island, surrounded by the high cliffs of an impassible caldera. The water within the caldera is infested with dragon turtles and aboleths and other great aquatic beasts. The skies above are clouded so thick and so dark that the sun is swallowed. The air is filled with a mist so thick it obscures all vision, and the air is filled with the roar of wind and split by lightning called down by the storms that rage across the waters without end.

The island is the centre of the Golden Nation. The island is the home of the dragon. Jorgun the Great, the Golden, the Pure, the Trueheart, the Eternal, the Shining, Lord of Sun and Storm, Commander of the Elements, grand titan of the elder days. For three thousand years the Jorgun has ruled the Golden Nation from his mountain fortress lair. His word is law. His will is iron. His dedication to the cause of law tireless and eternal. From a thousand thousand realms he draws lawful tribute. Gold to to fund the Nation, and gathering to himself such things as he desires: pearls, gems, art objects, magical items and artifacts and rarities and antiquities without price.

The tales of Jorgun's hoard are many. It is said only a handful of living beings have ever seen it. It is said that it fills a mountain, two mountains, that it could fill the entire Sea of Godfall. It is said that it guarded by the gods themselves. It is said any mortal being who sees can do nothing but gaze upon it until they died of hunger and thirst and exhaustion. It is said the endless vaults are littered with the corpses of those who have done so.

On the southern shore of Godfall Sea, in an isolated harbour near the tip of the spear of rock that extends into the sea before splitting into three strings of smaller islands, there is a small fishing village. It does not have a name. It is just the Village. With the exception of the occasional merchant, visitors here are few. It is little more than several dozen houses clustered around the narrow strip of arable land between the steppes and the sea. There is a single public house where one can acquire drink, food, and what news there is to be had. On the second floor there are two rooms to let (one of which has been used for storage since the last time it was required over six months ago). It also has no name. It is just the House.

The affairs of the wide world are all but unknown here. The year that the archwizard Narchallon raised an undead army to assail the Golden Nation and threw Frosthome into chaos and war, the Village spend talking about Old Man Grenthern's son cutting down the three blosswood trees that had been on Grenthern Farm for as long as anyone could remember. When a plague decimated the many nomadic peoples of Dreadwind, and the Golden Nation's efforts to contain it were so resource-intense that a dozen small nations on the edges of the Borderlands collapsed and the entre region fell ino into anarchy, the Village was consumed with the veracity of younger Yarlenda's story of seeing a mermaid. The Village has no claims of greatness. No connection to fame. No place in any story or legend.

On the night of the first full moon after the winter Solstice, with the waters of the Harbour icy-black, rhime crusted all around the shores and docks, fishing boats up on blocks, farms barren and empty, people hiding in their houses from the cold and snow, a ship makes landfall. It is not a large ship by any measure, barely more than a rowboat. But compared to the tiny two-person boats of the Village, it seems enormous. And it is clearly a war ship, the like of which has not been seen here for generations.

From the boat come four armoured warriors, each clad in plate and each carrying a spear and a sword. Their armour is battered and dented and thrown over with dark tabards to prevent glare from giving them away in the sharp moonlight. The four warriors trudge wordlessly up the road from the shore toward the House. Two take up post at the front door and two walk around back to the kitchen entrance.

The House is open, technically, but only because the owner (Arry Nunfeld) lives there. She certainly doesn't expect any customers. And she certainly has no idea that four seasoned, experienced, skilled warriors have taken post at her doors. And not even in her wildest dreams could she imagine that six of the world's most famous, most powerful, most legendary adventurers would soon arrive.

All six had gotten a message. The message in each case was short and simple. It named this village, this place, this public house, this night. And it named the reason for such a call, such a meeting: that the writer knew the location of one of the greatest possible treasures the Great Continent contains: one of the three remaining Tears of Dao. A true Wishing Orb. The key to re-write reality and have whatever one might desire.

And it was signed Alder Scalescar, a semi-mythical figure tied to a number of rebel and resistance movements responsible for several dozen insurrections and rebellions, and twice as many skirmishes and wars. He is also linked to the slaying of at least three ancient dragons (and possibly as many as five).

He called. These six will answer.

There will be a meeting here tonight that, whatever the outcome, will shake the pillars of the world.

Spoiler

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Welcome to the Final Quest! Here you are, 20th level, and still meeting in a tavern! In your opening post, let us know how you got here and any precautions you took to stay under the radar (if any). Preferred but optional: let us know know what the message looked like when you got it, and also how you knew it wasn't a scam or a trap. You can assume the sender has access to wide variety of resources, so he would be able to bring considerable power to bear on making sure that you got it and that you believed it. Let me know if you have any questions!

[AvatarVecna]

Some time late last night, Sam had received a Sending inviting him to a meeting in a middle-of-nowhere thorp to discuss The Tear. The message was short on details, but had implied he should come alone. When the horde stopped for the night, he sought council from those still sane enough to give it. While their magicks were limited to psychic phenomena, one of the others was a seer, and foretold that the meeting would go...smoothly enough? She seemed uncertain of the outcome precisely, but felt sure it wasn't a trap. For most people, the Village was about a month's journey away, but for Sam it was not even a full week.

They all agreed that a chance at a Tear couldn't be turned down, and that Sam was the best choice among them for handling whatever challenges may come from attempting to acquire it. And so he set off, going twice as fast as a normal man, and for more than twice as long. He could cover at least 95 miles a day, and averaged 125.

...

...

"Well, I called me wife and I said to her, 'Would you kindly tell to me...'"

And so Sam was jogging along through a canyon. There were safer paths to The Village, but he wasn't overly worried about the dangers here. Case in point: despite his haste, the pitiful ambush spot up ahead was easily spotted.

"Who owns that coat behind the door where my old coat should be?'

'Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk'--"

Twenty highwayman in total. There wasn't much cover in the pass, so they were mostly clustered up. Small groups peeking around big rocks ready to take shots if he didn't cooperate. They probably just wanted some little pittance of gold in exchange for safe passage.

"--'You silly old fool, and still you can not see

That's a woolen blanket that me mother sent to me'.."

One of them stepped out - a larger fellow with bulging muscles and a rugged, scarred profile. He looked confident, and started in on the usual bandit drivel. Sam ignored him, eyes flickering to one of the clusters closer to the front.

"Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more..."

He was on them before they even realized they'd been spotted. Their crossbows raised, but not before his claws swiped across their throats. Two down. Shouts rang out, and the twang of crossbows. One grazed him, while another sunk into his flesh, but he barely felt either one.

"But buttons in a blanket sure I never saw before..."

The leader roared as his underlings were cut down, and charged Sam. Sam charged to meet him, two more throats sliced open on his way by. The man's blades flashed, but Sam caught his wrists. He planted a foot on the captain's chest and pushed. Something had to give, and it turned out to be the man's shoulders: once the bones popped out of their sockets, the flesh and meat pulled apart without any trouble.

"And as I went home on Wednesday night as drunk as drunk could be..."

Another volley of bolts came at him, for all the good it would do. Another one lodged in Sam's leg, but it didn't slow him down, and he ran through another three bandits with his claws.

"I saw a pipe up on the chair where my old pipe should be..."

Panic set among the thugs at the sight of their dwindling numbers, and they tried to beat a fighting retreat. They should've just run, it would've let them live longer. Sam outpaced them; a quick shove at the right moment, and three more bandits tumbled to the ground, their skulls cracking against pointed rocks along the edge of the mountain path. A wild shot nicked his neck, but the green-black blood oozing out was already coagulating.

"Well, I called me wife and I said to her, 'Will you kindly tell to me..."

Sam pounced another three who had been a bit too slow, and his claws made short work of them. The temporary distraction allowed the others to volley again. One bolt ricocheted off the wall and into him. It's momentum wasn't enough to penetrate, but it was still going rather fast.

"Who owns that pipe up on the chair where my old pipe should be?'
'Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk'--"

A burst of speed, and Sam rolled through the next three, leaving deep claw marks in their backs.

"--'You silly old fool, and still you can not see
That's a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me..."

The last three tried one last volley, but their numbers were too low and their hands too shaky. Every shot went wild. Sam picked one of them up by the ankle and beat the other two with his body. A couple swings was all it took for all three to be dead and soaked in blood. It doesn't take much bleeding to make something look like a positively gruesome murder.

"Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more..."

Sam returned to his path, covered in a blood and with a few small injuries. He still had a long jog ahead of him.

"But tobacco in a tin whistle sure I never saw before..."

[NiKkatsu]

Teodosie Pituc AC 21 | HP 320/320 | HIT DICE 20d8+160 Speed 60ft | Initiative +5 Passive Perception 19 | Passive Insight 19 Ki Points 20/20 | Sorcery Points 20/20 Conditions: --- The candlelight flickered as the door creaked open. A wiry man appeared in the entrance, looking nervous: - 'Um.. m-m-my liege?' A tall man with a stern expression turned to face him. The flickering light threw terrifying shadows over his scaly visage - and the fact that he was covered in blood made him all the more frightening to behold. Behind him, tied to a chair, was another man - or was it a woman? Their face was so battered and bruised that it was hard to tell. The menacing man, Teodosie Pituc, sighed deeply as he faced the intruder:

- I specifically asked not to be disturbed during this very important interrogation. This better be good, Haram, or you will be next. And I will take pleasure in tearing you apart, limb from limb - slowly.
The man named Haram couldn't help but start shaking while the sinister man walked towards him. He snapped his fingers and the person in the chair's eyes suddenly widened with terror [Teo casts mental prison].
They begin to struggle and howl in agony as hundreds of tiny scarabs visible only to them begin burrowing under their flesh and devouring them from inside out. The nervous looking man jumps when the screams begin and looks over to the person tied to the chair...
- Speak. Now, Teodosie simply says with an imperative voice.
Haram bows, quickly shuffles through the pocket of his robes and extends a hand. In his palm rests a small blue sphere that seems to pulse with a powerful magic, illuminating the dungeon with it's bluish light. As Teodosie's eyes fall upon the sphere he squints before grabbing it from the outstretched hand presented before him:
- From Aurath'Nymoloth himself? He asks.
- Of c-c-course, sire. I wouldn't have dared to bother you otherwise.
- Very Well.
He gestures to the man so that he would leave. And he does, rearing out of the room still bowed. Teo, alone again with his prisoner, snaps his fingers once more. His spell ends and the person in the chair stops screaming. They are covered in sweat now, hardly conscious after the terrible psychic attack. Teo walks in circles around the prisoner as he raises the orb before his eyes and speaks:
- You have no idea who is Aurath'Nymoloth, do you? By that I mean, who He really is? What it is like to be in His presence? How magnificent a being such as Him is to even behold?
The only answer comes in the form of labored, raspy breathing.
- Of course you do not. Scum like you... If you had so much as laid your eyes upon Him, you would not even dream of rebellion. You would already know that such a course of action is complete and utter folly. You would already know that you are less than a cockroach in the face of a true dragon...
- Your dragon isn't here. You're just one man - and we are many.
Teo stops his predatory circling in front of the prisoner and grabs their chin between two fingers. He raises the broken face towards his and places the sphere between them:
- My dragon isn't here? Let us see. This is a sending sphere. Directly from Him. Let us see what He needs to address to me, shall we not?
He speaks a word in Draconic and the bluish light seems to stabilize. Auran'Nymoloth appears to Teo and his prisoner directly in their minds, in all of his ferocious might. He explains everything Teodosie needs to know about the Tear, the meeting. He expresses concern about Scalescar, a renowned dragon hunter and, as such, declares that Teo, his most trusted Vizier and Head Talon, will be the one to join the meeting and retrieve the Tear for Aurath'Nymoloth. The prisoners' eyes widen, partly at the incredible news, partly at the sight of the dragon, but they remain mostly silent, not wanting to give Teodosie Pituc the satisfaction of being right.
At the end of the message, Teo is left as speechless as the prisoner. Once he shakes off his surprise, a dark smile is left hanging on his lips. He crouches down to meet the prisoner at eye level. An ominous idea had already begun to brew in his twisted mind:
- Well, well, well... Seems like you and your little rebellion are of no consequence to me anymore. In fact, once I have this power to myself, nothing will be of consequence to me anymore.
More labored breathing comes as the only reply to his tirade. The prisoner turns his eyes away from his torturer, too disgusted at what he figured the evil man might be plotting.
- Very well, Teo says
He gets up and quickly turns on his heels, heading towards the exit with his hands behind his back, whistling gleefully.
- You're just going to leave me like this?
- Oh? Would you prefer it if I killed you?
Silence.
- Don't worry. I'll reunite you with the others of your cell.
- I... I don't understand.
But Teo is already exiting the dungeon. A moment later, from somewhere not too far away, the imprisoned rebel hears the sound of heavy doors creaking on rusty hinges. Then, the prisoner hears moaning and the light thud of footsteps approaching... Three silhouettes appear in the doorway, but they are difficult to make out in the flickering light of the candle. They approach with a lurching gait. The prisoner suddenly seems to recognize the slow moving silhouettes:
- Rama, Hjulrus, Nox? Is that you... How did you...
He is answered by more moaning. And then, realization washes over the poor soul - they notice the mutilated bodies, probably also the victims of Teodosie's torture, but, worst of all is the eyes: the empty, dead eyes... Teodosie Pituc had raised his fellow rebels to join the ranks of his zombie enforcers! The prisoner struggles, tries to escape from their bonds, pleads for mercy, cries... But the three staggering shapes move slowly closer and closer, salivating, an unnatural hunger that will never be fully sated burning in their undead eyes...
Teo is already far when he hears the screams echo through the corridor...
---
Preparations were made quickly. Many concerns were voiced - Teo was leaving in the middle of a political crisis? It was an outrage. But he couldn't care less. If he got his hands on the Tear, he could rewrite the world - no, the Multiverse itself - to his liking. Nothing could stop him from fulfilling his ambitions - not even Aurath'Nymoloth. As dawn broke on the next day, Teo unfurled his wings and flew away towards The Village...

[3SecondCultist]

Selim Khourael, the Hunter of Souls Wood Elf Fighter (Battlemaster) // Ranger (Gloom Stalker) HP: 300/300, AC: 18 PP: 27, PI: 15 Superiority Dice: 6/6, Action Surges: 2/2 Active Effects: Alert, Telepathic (30') Conditions: None Concentrating: --

A deep breath and release meant death, for it was at the apex of his movement that the Hunter of Souls would strike. He had not missed a shot in some years now, and was not about to start today. The Emperor of Lei had been a target long in the making: the Celestial Kingdom had come to represent the very pinnacle of indolence. Their pact-magi had long since perfected the arts of Seven Bindings and One to call forth the spirits of the land to make plentiful harvests an everyday occurrence. The laws and bureaucracies were reinforced by Heaven's mandate, an indomitable force that had curbed all whisper of revolt, all crime, all change. The standing Imperial Army was an ornament, more for decoration than any true purpose. In the Celestial Kingdom, one lived as one died, in the same caste one's parents and grandparents were born into. Lei had made such perfection of the wheel of society to render it meaningless.

And so Sayid Alruwh had come east, to reap one soul and in doing so free thousands from stagnation.

The Emperor had not yet chosen an heir, he'd heard, and so there he had begun. Finding the fault lines between the first son and daughter had been the work of a few evenings - following the right messengers, unseen by all but Khulud himself - but he'd seen the first stirrings of discord. A tidal wave on the Kingdom's eastern shore and each scion had been asked to provide a solution to their father and liege. The old man meant to test his children, to see which of them would be most fit on the throne after his passing. And provided they had. The daughter had proposed immediate aid in sorceries and ritual wardings of weather mages to calm the coasts for future generations. On the other hand, the son had sent riders to offer shelter and coin to those dispossessed of homes and livelihoods and had seen fit to draw up plans for a sea wall.

Both were sound enough approaches to Selim's eyes, but the Hunter of Souls had not sailed to Lei to hear the troubles of princes. He had a window now - three days - before the Emperor came to a decision, and honour was to be given. If the old man could be dispatched directly before the first signs of inheritance were doled out, the struggle over the east would blossom into beautiful strife.

Sayid Alruwh had planned accordingly. It was a trivial matter, breaching the walls and boundaries of the imperial palace. He lamented that the Kingdom had gone too long without threat, for no alarm had been raised after the first patrol disappeared. A handful of arrows in the right people had put him in the very heart of the compound, even as he avoided all manner of scrutiny. Thanks to his preparations, the scrying magic that permeated the air here slid off him like water off the back of a duck. The Emperor slept soundly in his suite, tonight's concubine having long returned to her pavilion after dutifully working her craft. Of course, there was a decoy - always at least one - but that had not been enough to throw off his scent. Two more feathers in flight, and he was in the chamber. He kept to the walls and ceilings as he moved in perfect silence, for even the most clever of men so rarely looked up.

Below him, wrapped in sheets of embroidered silk on a bed of solid teak and ivory, lay his target. Even at a distance, Selim could see the smooth rise and fall of his chest, could hear the hiss of sleep on his lips. From the rolled cloth at his back, he produced the Oathbow, the ensorcelled wood smooth intimately familiar beneath his fingertips. In a single movement, he strung the weapon, fitting to it an arrow he'd carved by hand and song.

<Lord of Endings, your servant beseeches you,> the archer began. He could not speak the prayer aloud, of course, lest he be discovered, and so let the words tumble into the void between the silences. The supplication would be heard all the same in the end.

<Please take this soul in the spirit it was given. Let them fall into your embrace, for only then will they know oblivion.> He drew back his arm, his breath slowing as he found his mark. This would be over in moments. <Swift death to they who have wronged you.>

---

There were few that Selim trusted in the circle of the world, fewer still on the Continent, yet he had known better than to gainsay the word of one of the Veiled.

Death took many forms, and wore almost as many faces. To the Donshen, he was the Still-Faced God, the stern but understanding keeper at dusk's end. In Sumarria, she had been Arakere, Who Hearkens the Final Storm. Anywhere that his patron held sway - no matter the guise or language, no matter what auspices or decorations adorned the altar - his emissaries could be heard. Though they would not know him as such, surely preferring their own epithets, they would burn their offerings and ask for a death. He had taken to calling them the Veiled sometime in his second century, for they often spoke from behind a mask and their pleas travelled farther than they ever intended.

Through one of their number, Khulud had seen fit to offer a name. Jorgun the Great, the whisper had said. The Lord of Sun and Storm himself, a more worthy offering than any since perhaps his first. There had been no question of his summons after that.

He had arrived on foot days ago, a solitary cloak that came down from the steppes. Although he had traversed many miles to be here, he did not stumble or walk with a limp. Instead, keen eyes scoured the nameless village for the promised house. Finding it quickly, the hooded figure pushed ahead, to wait for the others. He had been warned of a meeting, that a scarred scale and a killer beside had called to order a sit-down of some of the Continent's worst and bloodiest. That his name would be included among such a roll was not a surprise, and yet he was unaccustomed to be called for so openly. Usually, meetings with other heroes tended to lead to Sayid Alruwh being forsworn. Blades were drawn, more often than not.

He would need to be careful to avoid that this time. The stakes were simply too high, for the word had also spoken of a Tear.

A Tear of Dao was not a prize. In it, the word was arrogated and belied. After all, there could be no value ascribed to one of the Shards of Creation itself, nor would its attainment be any sort of game. And yet. Such an artifact was more than a legend: it was a lure, a lone light cast out into dark waters. Oh, there would be leviathans aplenty in those depths. He was under no illusions about the calibre of champions that the story of a Tear would bring. For that reason alone, Selim had spent days half-expecting this to be some sort of trap.

It was also why he'd arrived early, sequestering himself in the darkest corner of the house to watch and wait. Whatever came out of the sea, he'd be ready.

[Illven]

Luna had instead heard the calling as the voice of her goddess. She who rides the storm telling her to help her people with a great act.

To call her down from heaven.

Luna who had been raised to be faithful her entire life, immediately abandoned what she was doing, which was coordinating her nation's rain dances to insure a harvest that would feed the nation. Leaving such a.... mundane task to the high priest. She assured him, he would be well rewarded for his life of faith soon.

With that did she starts floating off into the cloudless blue sky, a blonde angel above ordinary mortals. With concerns and goals far beyond the ken of ordinary people.


With a heart as light as a cloud, she turned her thoughts to how soon, everything would be fixed. A world without borders, a world without hunger and poverty.

And really if I HAVE to steal from a dragon. The good will be worth it.

[BelGareth]

Origin leaped onto his back grasping with forelimbs and feet, one claw ripped the mans throat out, while another eviscerated him, his entrails plopped onto the ground with a thump, and began to instantly steam as the hot blood met the cold, brisk morning air. The blood made the air taste of copper, as the man fell to the ground, in abject horror, and the sudden realization he would finally die upon this cursed ground. Origin let the body fall to the ground, having lost his interest as the man lost his life force, both fading away like the light of a dying flame.

Origin shifted into a panther as he moved off to his next victim, slashing at throats, arteries and bowels in succession, it wasn't long until his last victim stared at him with terror, the pupils were wide, and unmoving, at this moment, the man knew his fate, knew that he would meet his maker, or whatever fate awaited them beyond this life, and it was fast coming, Origin slashed the mans throat, tired of the killing already, but he pushed through it, it was important.

The group had been hunted down to a last member, he had slain each one, not because they were slavers, not because someone had asked him to, and not because of the money, no, those were all perks, sure, but they were not the real reason he had done it, those were....excuses. He sat now, in the middle of the bloodstained snowy macabre scene, a campfire sputtering; fading even now, and all around him were the remains of his actions, his savagery. The deaths were not important, but they were needed, the means of them, the method, the substance to it all, mattered. Origin sat down, and began to focus, blood freezing to his arms and hands as the snowy night glistened from the dying light.

He attempted to view each of his victims fates, ate in the horror, the fear, drank in the primal screams as the hunter tore at their flesh. It wasn't that he was a madman, though, people may call him that, he was trying to understand, trying to feel what it was like to belong to a group, to a people, and how that felt. How people, even a disparate group of thugs and mercenaries almost always came together, it was a strange event Origin did not understand, and he was trying to, his empathy was....lacking, but not due to his own abuse, or aberrations. He was born as an adult, his mind already mature, but...lacking the experiences that provides the insight of age. Having very quickly he lacked these, he sought a method to gather these....

Origin vomited, overcome by the emotion. Strangely, the vomit smelled not too dissimilar to the spilled viscera all around him.

Wiping his face, he stood, shakily at first, the emotion surprising him, but smiling, for this was a lot to take in, and he felt like he had learned a lot, he took off, shifting into a bird and flying off into the dark forest as the snow began to lazily fall.

---

After informing the tavern owner that the group had been dealt with, he walked outside and dropped the purse of coins into the beggars cap. Smiling at the response he heard, he continued to walk on by, ignoring the mans shock and questions. But something else caught his eye, or hand, he pulled out a rock from his pocket, it was a piece of obsidian, painted upon it was the grey hand of his people. He stopped and looked around, even reaching with his mind for thoughts that may be waiting for him, but nothing was there. How did this get onto his person? He quickly examined every interaction he had in the last few hours, but came up dry.

Examining the rock, he turned it over and saw some runes, moving far away from the town, he found a small clearing surrounded by trees, he settled down, and cast a spell over them, revealing the magic, and activating the message therein. It was an invitation, with very specific directions, it named a village, a place, a public house, and a night. And it named the reason for such a call.

He mused for a minute, wandering, he had not met Alder Scalescar, but heard of him in passing. And this opportunity seemed....strange, it was an obvious call to his pride, this Alder was going to manipulate them somehow, and the lure was the Tear, such a treasure is not something you freely handout, even if you do not posses the means to do so.

Evenstill, the opportunity to free his people, and it had come out of nowhere. He didn't like the implications, but he could not ignore the potential to free his people. Origin spent the rest of the next few days, communing with nature, and divining whether this message was real, referring to his star map, he asked for guidance until he received an answer: weal.

---

It wasn't hard to find the village, and he made sure it was the correct one, having gone to each one in the area, to make sure no hidden troops, or surprises where staged anywhere. He found the 4 armed guards in another town nearby, and once he saw where they were going, he hitched a ride underneath the boat, swimming along with them, shifting from a squid, to a tuna, to a minnow, and then to a shark, he lazily followed them, as he knew exactly where they were going. Once they docked, he followed the 4 dented and armored warriors to the house, as a mouse, and then a dragonfly buzzing off into the night, he landed on the roof and waited.

Spoiler

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Origin Druid: Star | Barbarian: Wild Magic HP: 380/380, AC: 27 PP: 25, PI: 20 Active Effects: Observant, Telepathic (30') Conditions: None

[truemane]

In the till cold dark of the winter night, a small point of pink light appeared about three feet in the air over the frozen windswept cobblestone walkway leading to the public house. The light suddenly intensified, bathing the entire town in a sickly pink glow for a brief moment before extending in both directions, becoming a ragged line of light about six feet long.

The light then almost vanished as the line doubled and spread into a circle, the inside of which rippled and ran like a reflection in agitated water. The image shifted and solidified into what looked like a vast corridor, with tapestries and torchlight extending for what seemed like miles.

From the circle, from the corridor, stepped a woman. She was tall (she had to duck slightly to step through). Her shoulders were wide and her face bore the blandly stocky mark of generations of serfdom. She was dressed in loose-fitting leggings and jerkin, tied at the ankles and wrists. A single sword lies at her hip, the scabbard of exceptional make and covered in intricate carvings.

The moment she steps into the clearing, the air seems to fill with a whispery buzzing sound. A moment's reflection indicates it isn't a real sound, but some sort of mental projection. Anyone telepathic or otherwise mentally receptive would find the noise incredibly distracting and almost impossible to concentrate around.

The woman takes three or four wide strides and turns a complete circle, her eyes scanning the village. Satisfied, she nods and a man also steps from the portal, at which point it closes and the night is lit once again by moonlight alone.

The man is of average height and average build. He wears simple scalemail. He carries no obvious weapon. His face is plain, showing perhaps some minor nobility or other middle-class roots. His cheek and forehead are deeply pockmarked with poorly healed scars. One of his ears is half-missing. He is mostly bald, his remaining hair cropped short. His face is maybe a healthy and hale 65 or an overworked 45.

He steps out and walks over to the woman. He leans in and says something to her. She frowns and shakes her head and says something back, gesturing angrily about as she does. He smiles warmly and puts one hand on her shoulder in a placating gesture. He speaks to her, quietly, and perhaps it is some trick of the wind and the air, but the words are perfectly clear:

"Don't worry. They're here. They'll come. I know it. Let's go wake her up."

And with that they walk to the front door. The woman raises one meaty fist and hammers the door four or five times. After a few minutes the door opens, revealing the publican, startled and scared, and they all go inside.

The door closes behind them. Lights start to spring up inside the house and a plume of smoke starts to sneak out of the chimney.

The table is set.

Spoiler

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Okay! Unless you have a very good reason to do otherwise, this next post should end with you inside the tavern, in front of (presumably) Scalescar, ready to party.

[NiKkatsu]

Teodosie Pituc AC: 21 | HP: 320/320 | HIT DICE: 20d8+160 Speed: 60ft | Initiative: +5 Passive Perception: 19 | Passive Insight 19 Ki Points 20/20 | Sorcery Points 20/20 Conditions: --- Teodosie comes crashing down onto the rubble of the street, but he breaks his fall gracefully, unscathed. He rises, dusts himself off and walks straight to the entrance of the House. Looking around, he finds the village pitiful - a handful of ordinary looking huts. Why call such an important meeting in such a remote location? Oh, of course, he understood the reasons very well - it was actually a smart idea to gather so far from prying eyes - but Teo still preferred the lavish luxuries of his palace to these bland backwaters. He could've held a banquet for Scalescar and his guests, with the best mead brewed from the finest desert honey. But, well, he'll have to suffer whatever piss water this tap house has to offer instead... He decides to keep his wings out and wraps them around himself like a cloak - he wants the other guests to feast their eyes on the regal blue of his lineage. He notices the guards at the entrance - petty rabble to be sure - and chooses to ignore them. Instead, he walks straight through the door and takes a seat, walking slowly to get there, with the assurance of someone who knows his worth and is not afraid to show it. He unties the long item strapped to his back and removes it from it's delicate wrappings: a staff, representing two snakes twisted around one another with their heads facing each other, mouths gaping. Between the mouths, a floating blue scale, held in place by magic. He places the thing next to him delicately, with the care one would display when manipulating their child. Finally, he demands to be fed: - I've had quite the long trip. Uneventful, but tiring nonetheless. I require sustenance. A woman - perhaps the owner of the place - comes to greet him: - Good evening, sir. It-it is quite late and we weren't expecting guests I, um... he raises a hand, cutting her off: - No excuses, woman. Just bring me food. I can't expect anything you have to offer to be even remotely tasteful, so don't bother. I'll just take whatever you have. That, and a flagon of ale. he places a few coins of gold in her hand: - This should suffice for whatever I require, yes? Perhaps, if your ale is palatable, I shall have some more later. Only then does he bother to take a look around, hoping to have already made an effect on the other patrons. He wanted to take a good look at Scalescar in particular, a Dragon slayer and an anarchist, a rebel. The man was a natural enemy to Teo and he was curious why he would even contact Aurath about the tear... - So you are the infamous Scalescar? Not much to see, really; I was expecting a bit more. But that is of little relevance. The real question is: why have me come here to help you in this undertaking? There is only one tear, after all. And we certainly can't share it. Speak. ' As he ends his sentence, his wings retract into his back with a sickening crunch. The man folds his arms over his chest, waiting, with a dark expression in his eyes.

[Illven]

Luna for her part landed a polite distance outside the "inn". With a short shout, the rain water she had gotten on her during her flight dispersed.

Is that really the inn? Luna thought outloud, before shrugging My goddess must have a reason to start me here. May this place be blessed in the fertile waters, for being the start of something great. She bent down to touch a small rock right outside the door.

Entering the inn, the blonde looked around. Only one woman probably the owner of the inn, paid her the awe her presence usually invoked.

"Yes, I'll take whatever the daily special is. And a small amount of the finest wine you have. I must keep a clear head after all.

She turns to the group before sitting down, an arched eyebrow to indicate interest.

[BelGareth]

Origin scuttled inside, finding a small hole in the roofto watch the proceedings.

Spoiler

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Small post, holidays have me busy

[AvatarVecna]

Sam finished cleaning himself off in the waters near the Village, and approached the House still dripping a bit. He took a seat eyeing the other occupants - particularly those that didn't belong in the same we he himself did not belong.

[truemane]

To say that the publican (Arry Nunfeld) was shocked to be woken up on such a cold quiet night, and woken up by not one, but two outworlders, and then for that outworlder to be joined by a number of others, would be an understatement. Such an event was so unprecedented, so completely without equal in her experience that she was gobsmacked. She couldn't have been any more shocked if the moon itself unclipped itself from its velvet dome and came down for tea.

Still, unschooled rustic or no, Ms. Nunfeld was no fool and she sensed the danger and menace in the situation (and, truth be told, the possibility for some extra coin) and got right to work. She woke up Old Hobard and got him cooking as she went behind the board and started drink service. her movements and manner were clipped and professional, but her eyes were wide she looked like nothing so much as a rabbit cowering under a passing shadow, wondering if it would be safer to stay or go.

She narrowed her eyes a bit at the phrase 'Daily Special' - she'd never heard of such a thing and the world it implied, a world where a public house changed its menu every single day on purpose, was quite outside her ken. But she nodded and Yessum'ed and got Old Hob to get the oven hot enough to cook whatever he could find in the stores.

Wine easier. In theory. She brought her finest, in its finest decanter, but in the winter, so soon after Solstice, her 'finest' only made 'fine' by the barest of margins.

Ale was easier still. In theory. There was just the one, made and kegged here in town, and it was good enough to be a hot commodity with the merchants who made occasional landfall here. She bunged a keg and poured, all the while scared to the very death of the appearance and manner of the one who asked for it.

Alder Scalescar and his companion took neither drink nor meat. They sat at the only large table, in the centre of the room, as the others came in and set Arry about her paces.

"So you are the infamous Scalescar? Not much to see, really; I was expecting a bit more. But that is of little relevance. The real question is: why have me come here to help you in this undertaking? There is only one tear, after all. And we certainly can't share it. Speak."

Scalescar's companion bristles at the casual disrespect in Teodosie's tone and manner, and her face tightens and her jaw clenches at the unkind words. But the man puts a hand on her arm and shakes his head.

He look at Teodosie and smiles a rueful smile. Chuckles. "Yes. I am not much to look at, it is true. But it's neither my face nor my sagging bones that brought you here. It's the name. The myth. I've worked very hard to give that name gravity sufficient to such an absurd request and expect it followed. The name brought you here, and the Great Purpose will send you hence. In between, as you said rightly, my face, my person, are irrelevant."

He paused at the desert man's second question, as though pondering how to answer.

"I have spoken with Meliora the Wise, the greatest scholar of the Tears of Dao that has ever lived. She has, in her possession, documented witnesses to use of the Found Tears, as well as complete transcripts of three of the visions of the only known prophet of Dao. And it is clear to her, and to me, that there are not seven Tears. There is but one. And it may be used seven times before returning to the Shaper. To the best of our knowledge, it has been used four times. Three uses remain."

And he pauses.

Spoiler: Everyone

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Everyone please rate your character's knowledge of the following. You may tell me IC or OC, as part of your response or not, as you prefer.

Scale

• 0-None
• 1-General
• 2-Specific
• 3-Extensive/Intimate

Topics

• Alder Scalescar the Anarchist and Revolutionary
• Alder Scalescar the Dragon Killer
• Lords, Leaders and Officers of the Golden Nation
• Churches and Prophets of Dao the Shaper
• Scholars and Scholarship of Dao the Shaper

The numbers you assign should add up to five. You may go over five if you wish, but if you do, you will be penalized a like amount for future choices of this kind. If you think your character concept should include familiarity with one or more of the above, tell me about IC or OC and I may adjust your rating accordingly.

If you feel a Skill Check should make a difference, let me know which skill, tell me how your character's particular experiences or training in that skill give you insights into the above, and roll. I may adjust your rating(s) based on the results.

[BelGareth]

Origin was curious, and that was enough for him. He found a rafter, then a beam, and scurried along, until he found a joint, then dropped to the floor, timing it perfectly as he returned back to the human form, his feet touch ground mid stride. He was a middle aged man, well built, but his strength came from the rough work of indentured servitude, and it showed in his mannerism's, and the general cris-cross of scars all over him, married with the tattoo's, makes him a somewhat intimidating image.

He frowned, he knew about Scalscar, he had studied the man, and hoped to meet him, but this....wasn't the way he had imagined it, a more...private scene, where he could explain his particular situation, but he was fast realizing, that was a very naive idea, and he would have to deal with whatever came his way, and adapt, if possible.

A frightening endeavor, he was used to being told what to do, not to think, not to adapt, not to....take it as it came. It was almost enough to make him fall back into himself, and run away, but he steeled himself, mentally encouraging, shouting, yelling at himself, he needed this, his people needed this. whatever the cost.

He moved towards a table, and sat, stating at Scalescar the whole time, he was confused by the conversation, but didn't care, this man, had summoned him here, and he was here, let's see what he had to say.

Spoiler: topics

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Scale

• 0-None
• 1-General
• 2-Specific
• 3-Extensive/Intimate

Topics

• Alder Scalescar the Anarchist and Revolutionary - 2
• Alder Scalescar the Dragon Killer - 3
• Lords, Leaders and Officers of the Golden Nation - 0
• Churches and Prophets of Dao the Shaper - 0
• Scholars and Scholarship of Dao the Shaper - 0

[truemane]

Scalescar's companion tracks Origin as he flits from high in the ceiling to the table. Arry jumps and emits a short, chopped, scream before clamping a hand over her mouth and fleeing the room. As he reaches his seat, Scalescar has become aware of him as well.

"Origin," he says, his voice low and quiet, as one might use with a jumpy cat, "More than anyone I know the gross violation inflicted on you and your kind. I wonder though... had you the Tear in hand this very moment, would you use it to lift your people up? Or to tear your masters down? And how could you make such a choice?"

[BelGareth]

Origin frowns, not out of anger, or some emotional response, but because he was thinking, honestly, actual thinking. It was...almost refreshing, moments of him entering a building, and Scalescar had already treated him...differently to everyone else, and also, managed to engage his mind.

It was truly different.

"I don't think they are mutually exclusive, one either way you skin it, would impact, and help thousands, if I were to wish for something to happen to the dragons, then it would of course, stop wars, slaves, and many more atrocities across this world, but I fear, once they left, another evil would fill the void. If I were to elevate my people from slavery, I believe that would have a less impact upon the world, but also a means towards effective a permanent change. without the vacuum of evil being refilled by some other unknown entity."

[NiKkatsu]

Teodosie Pituc AC: 21 | HP: 320/320 | HIT DICE: 20d8+160 Speed: 60ft | Initiative: +5 Passive Perception: 19 | Passive Insight 19 Ki Points 20/20 | Sorcery Points 20/20 Conditions: --- Teo scoffs at Origin's words. 'What is is with you people and all this anti-slavery sentiment? You (he points to Origin) and Scalescar... The way I see it, there is nothing wrong in upholding the natural order of things. Dragons are the most powerful mortal beings in existence. They were brought into existence at the very inception of the Multiverse. You would deny them their right to rule? For what?! So-called free will? If you wanted to be free, you should go after the Gods, not the Dragons. Or, you can just claim your own freedom. Be amongst the truly powerful. One of the strong. For all my distaste towards you, Scalescar, I can only admire your strength, your accomplishments, your legacy.' He sighs deeply, as if it pained him to say the next few words: 'You're right when you say those are the things that brought me here. It does not change that the weak are simply unfit to rule. To rule anything. Not even themselves. If you free your slaves, what do you expect them to do first? Flock to a new leader, of course. Perhaps that leader will even be you. Origin, is it? The Breaker of chains. But, ironically, you will become their new chains. Their new way of life. And you've accomplished nothing.'

[Illven]

Luna raises a single indicating a wish to speak.

If there's one tear, how does anyone know that it still has 3 charges left. I seriously doubt there's a number 3 written on the tear. Luna comments.

I mean I know the legends say seven tears, so if there's only one it should be seven times. But mortal hands don't always transcribe the words of gods perfectly. What if the legend erred.

[AvatarVecna]

Spoiler

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Topics

• 1: Alder Scalescar the Anarchist and Revolutionary
• 2: Alder Scalescar the Dragon Killer
• 0: Lords, Leaders and Officers of the Golden Nation
• 0: Churches and Prophets of Dao the Shaper
• 0: Scholars and Scholarship of Dao the Shaper

Knowing things isn't my strong suit. This is all I could really justify to myself. Eh.

"I have spoken with Meliora the Wise, the greatest scholar of the Tears of Dao that has ever lived. She has, in her possession, documented witnesses to use of the Found Tears, as well as complete transcripts of three of the visions of the only known prophet of Dao. And it is clear to her, and to me, that there are not seven Tears. There is but one. And it may be used seven times before returning to the Shaper. To the best of our knowledge, it has been used four times. Three uses remain."

And he pauses.

Insight: (1d20+15)[23] (25 unless roll is higher)

Sam eyed the other arrivals, to see what they made of this claim.

Scalescar's companion tracks Origin as he flits from high in the ceiling to the table. Arry jumps and emits a short, chopped, scream before clamping a hand over her mouth and fleeing the room. As he reaches his seat, Scalescar has become aware of him as well.

"Origin," he says, his voice low and quiet, as one might use with a jumpy cat, "More than anyone I know the gross violation inflicted on you and your kind. I wonder though... had you the Tear in hand this very moment, would you use it to lift your people up? Or to tear your masters down? And how could you make such a choice?"

Though the question was not addressed to Sam, it resonated with him. The answer was plain to him, but he had no reason to be the squeaky wheel. Hero types like Scalescar preached mercy when convenient - Sam's answer would likely be unappreciated, no matter how logical.

[truemane]

Origin frowns...

[...]

"I don't think they are mutually exclusive, one either way you skin it, would impact, and help thousands, if I were to wish for something to happen to the dragons, then it would of course, stop wars, slaves, and many more atrocities across this world, but I fear, once they left, another evil would fill the void. If I were to elevate my people from slavery, I believe that would have a less impact upon the world, but also a means towards effective a permanent change. without the vacuum of evil being refilled by some other unknown entity."

Scalescar frowns and leans forward a bit, some manner of intensity burning in his eyes. "But I'm not speaking of the world, Origin, nor of wars or slaves or evil or good or the ever-change-never-changing turning of the wheel. I am speaking of you. Asking you. What burns brightest in your deepest heart? A person's heartfelt wish is a kind of gravity, like a heavy weight on a taut sheet of fabric, and all that is not tied down is drawn toward it. If you know what a person wants, you know what they will do. What do you want, Origin?"

Teo scoffs at Origin's words. 'What is is with you people and all this anti-slavery sentiment? You (he points to Origin) and Scalescar... The way I see it, there is nothing wrong in upholding the natural order of things. Dragons are the most powerful mortal beings in existence. They were brought into existence at the very inception of the Multiverse. You would deny them their right to rule? For what?! So-called free will? If you wanted to be free, you should go after the Gods, not the Dragons. Or, you can just claim your own freedom. Be amongst the truly powerful. One of the strong. For all my distaste towards you, Scalescar, I can only admire your strength, your accomplishments, your legacy.' He sighs deeply, as if it pained him to say the next few words: 'You're right when you say those are the things that brought me here. It does not change that the weak are simply unfit to rule. To rule anything. Not even themselves. If you free your slaves, what do you expect them to do first? Flock to a new leader, of course. Perhaps that leader will even be you. Origin, is it? The Breaker of chains. But, ironically, you will become their new chains. Their new way of life. And you've accomplished nothing.'

Scalescar shakes head, almost sadly. "It never ceases to amaze me, Chamberlain Pituc, how even fiercely intelligent and intellectually organized people can form such powerful convictions from such messy and perfunctory examination of facts. I've said nothing of slaves or of freedom. If there is such a thing as a 'natural order' then the weak railing against the strong is just as much a part of it as as the strong ruling the weak. And, of course, strength comes in many forms." He makes brief, direct eye contact with Teo. "As does weakness."

A pause.

"But do not presume to know my motives. Be design, my history tells many stories. And as for what I've accomplished... it is far from nothing. I have created a name. And that name has gathered a legend. And that legend, like a heavy weight acting on the unmoored, has brought you all here. And soon there will be another, greater weight, a greater gravity, that will pull you irrevocably toward it."

If there's one tear, how does anyone know that it still has 3 charges left. I seriously doubt there's a number 3 written on the tear. Luna comments.

I mean I know the legends say seven tears, so if there's only one it should be seven times. But mortal hands don't always transcribe the words of gods perfectly. What if the legend erred.

Scalescar nodded. "What if, indeed. Surely no one can know. By my sources are the best that exist, and their research and methods are sound. And conclusions as sure as such a thing may be."

A pause. A long one.

"And.... I may speak both candidly and bluntly, for I feel that now, of all times, there must be truth between us. Whether one use or three or five or a thousand, what matter? In the face of the enormity of our Great Purpose, is the number of uses not semantics? Details? Contract negotiations? Would any of make a different choice if it were one use? Or five? Or a thousand? Surely all the matters is the finding and the taking. So, yes, that is the question. What if? But it is the question for you, not for me."

Though the question was not addressed to Sam, it resonated with him. The answer was plain to him, but he had no reason to be the squeaky wheel. Hero types like Scalescar preached mercy when convenient - Sam's answer would likely be unappreciated, no matter how logical.

During a pause in the conversation, Scalescar's tired eyes fall on him and Sam can feel the piercing weight of their wisdom. "You have been quiet, Sam. All I have learned of you indicated you were neither the shy nor the dissembling type. Have you no questions, even, regarding the logistics of this insanity?"

Spoiler: Alder Scalescar the Anarchist and Revolutionary

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Spoiler: 1

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Based on everything you've ever heard, there is no doubt that this man is, in fact, Alder Scalescar. Although stories of him are many and varied, his persona as an older man who operates mainly through the force of personality rather than violence, is quite stable.

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His companion is one of his three most trusted retainers. Her name is Almorra, and she is from a land very, very, very far away. Stories about her have many things to say about her as an unarmed combatant, as a scholar of history, as a savvy political operative, and someone with powerful mental abilities. It is said that she is immune to magical coercion and that she has taught Alder many of her techniques.

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It would be hard to spot if you weren't looking for it very hard, but there seems to be some manner of relationship (possibly accidental) between Alder's activities and the Golden Nation. Many of the kingdoms he has destabilized or caused to collapse found that the Golden Nation quickly came to their aid (which then means their institutions can't be gotten rid of). And the pattern doesn't seem to be based on 'good' or 'evil.' Lots of perfectly functional realms have fallen to his actions as well as dysfunctional. It seems more based on which kinds of unrest would be the easiest for the Nation to address after the fact, and which kinds would allow them to maintain their position afterward.

Spoiler: Alder Scalescar the Dragon Killer

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Spoiler: 1

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Based on everything you've ever heard, there is no doubt that this man is, in fact, Alder Scalescar the Dragon Killer. Although stories of him are many and varied, his persona as an older man who slays dragons through careful study of their habits, recruitment of people from within their inner circles, assembly of teams of people with the required skills, are all quite stable.

However, there are a number of stories around the killing of young (mostly evil) dragons that involve different names but have fallen under Scalescar's legend since. It's possible there were more than one dragonslayers operating this way, but more likely, Scalescar was operating under a number of different aliases and names until the Scalescar persona 'took.'

Spoiler: 2

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There are a number of dragon killings whose slayer remains disputed. Without those, Scalescar's career as a dragonslayer seems random, capricious, and possibly just purely opportunistic. If you include the disputed slayings that show similar tactics, then the pattern over time starts to look very much like practice. Starting small, sticking to one species of dragon then branching out, moving to weaker dragons when shifting to a new species. Very clearly practice.

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Whether coincidence or not, but the deaths of the dragons killed by Scalescar (especially once he was good at it) tended to cause severe political unrest in the regions where they occurred. Not all dragons have political apparatus, but most of the ones Scalescar killed did. And afterward, almost inevitably, the Golden Nation swept in afterward to 'help out.' And they did help, but their brand of help also means setting up shop and never leaving and taking control of the realms they are 'helping.'

Spoiler: Lords, Leaders and Officers of the Golden Nation (EDITED 01.23.22)

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Spoiler: 1

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There is a rumour, unverified, but persistent, that Scalescar has a brother high up in the military of the Golden Nation. And that somehow he is leveraging that brother's knowledge and experience to better serve his own goals and aims.

Spoiler: 2

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If indeed Scalescar has a brother in the Golden Nation, careful examination of his strategy and movements make it likely that brother is Auric Wyrmguard, the High General of all of the Golden Nation's military forces. Auric is a political and military genius, famous across the entire Continent for his abilities. He is also a near-complete recluse and has not been seen in public without full face and body armour in over thirty years. It is said that he was once a Cleric of the Golden Presence, those who take the physical person of Jorgun as their Divine Ideal. he has served the Nation since his childhood and his loyalty is absolute.

Spoiler: Scholars and Scholarship of Dao the Shaper

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The women he named, Meliora the Wise, is indeed The Real Deal. She has a knack for getting places she shouldn't, and getting people to tell her things they shouldn't. She has apparently gotten access to hundreds of private libraries and read more books on Dao the Shaper than anyone. And she is diligent and careful in her studies. Which doesn't make her right, of course, but it makes her word very authoritative.

Spoiler: Churches and Prophets of Dao the Shaper

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Spoiler: 1

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There are churches and temples to the Shaper all over the Continent. They seem to have no real over-arching structure, no common theology or rituals or practices. Mostly they seem to fall into two categories: kindly community-based animism, or hyper-controlling jerk-based jerkism.

Spoiler: 2

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Dao the Shaper has no Clerics. Those who profess themselves as Clerics of Dao are, so far as anyone has been able to tell or record, serving the idea of Dao as an Ideal (much like one might Good or Nature or Community). This is not at all widely known. Arcanists and Theologians theorize that Dao is not a 'God' in the usual sense, but more an impersonal cosmic force given an anthropomorphic shape through legendaria.

Spoiler: 3

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There has been one single Prophet of Dao ever recorded in all the history of the Speaking People, over 800 years ago. And all that is widely known is that such a person did exist, and that they spend their life constantly speaking prophecy, and every word they spoke was true. The price of being so connected to such divine power was that they looked elderly by the time they were middle-aged, and they were unable to control the connection and so lived out of time and space.

There are many stories of an order of Monks who followed the Prophet and write down every word they said, but only fragmentary records are widely known.

It is also said that the Prophet was seized by Jorgun the Great and taken deep into the heart of then-fledgling Golden Nation, never to be seen again.

[NiKkatsu]

Teodosie Pituc AC: 21 | HP: 320/320 | HIT DICE: 20d8+160 Speed: 60ft | Initiative: +5 Passive Perception: 19 | Passive Insight 19 Ki Points 20/20 | Sorcery Points 20/20 Conditions: --- Teo listened closely to everything Scalescar said and sighed internally. He knew the type: Scalescar would be evasive, speaking in half truths and riddles. He needed to keep an air of mystique and grandeur - it was a part of his game. Teo had many questions for the man, yet very little hope of getting an actual response. He decided to try anyways: ''Speaking of motives'', Teo continues ''Please, tell me honestly: is the rebel sentiment brewing in Quran'tha aligned with you, Scalescar? From what I can gather, the toppling of my Kingdom could serve many purposes in your agenda - but as you said, I cannot pretend to know your motives. This is why I ask. Although it is well known* that, usually, whenever you destabilize a nation the Golden Nation takes power shortly afterwards, I see no reason why they would be interested in Quran'tha... Unless they had plans of expansion to the East? In any case, I am here because I have little interest in that realm anymore - at least as it is now. So you can be honest with me without fear of retribution. The rebels have kept me busy these past few weeks and I am starting to put the pieces together but... I cannot be quite sure - yet.'' *it is definitely not well-known - Teo is just trying to show he's done his homework and that he should be taken seriously.

[BelGareth]

Origin scowls at Teo's response to him, he furrowed his brows from the naked aggression, turning to listen to Scalescar, he takes a moment to think and replies with "I want to free my people" in earnest, "But this one speaks the truth, I do not want my people freed to take yet another yoke." he says simply.

He had not met anyone like either of these people, and as the others came crawling out of the woodwork, he realized that Scalescar had summoned some very powerful people, and they were all here, now it was making sense to him, the remote location, the subterfuge, he wouldn't be surprised if there was a sensor block here either. The whole thing made his skin crawl, and he had to control himself here, he wasn't used to this....'alternate' option, he had always taken things head on, but this...was different.

And then there was this 'Teo', Origins mind turned to the arrogant man, he offended almost everything Origin stood for, but he may need to work with him, he would have to figure out a balance.

[Illven]

Perhaps. Luna muses. We should sneak into The golden nation and see if we can speak with the Prophet of Dao. If we could hold their connection, we could ask them as many questions as we like about the tear. She thinks, a finger to her lips and she scans the group.

[truemane]

Scalescar's brow furrows and his face tightens and he is clearly uncomfortable as he listens to Teo's question.

"They are... aligned with me, yes..." he answers, his voice strained, "But Scalescar does not lead them, even though their aims, and those of their leader, share much with his." He pauses, as though trying to find the words. His companion frowns and shakes her head. Scalescar shakes his head.

He seems about to say more when Luna speaks and he nods.

"The prophet of Dao disappeared 800 years ago, but this touches on our Great Purpose all the same."

He leans back in his chair to address everyone assembled.

"We could spend the next three nights talking. People such as we have much to say to each other. But we have only a few minutes here and there are things I need you to know."

He pauses.

"The thing is this: I know where to find the Tear of Dao. I have seen it. It lies deep within the treasure hoard of the Jurgun, in the heart of the Golden Nation. The army of the Golden Nation is large, well-trained, well-equipped, and passionately motivated. The fortress of the great Jorgun is complex and built to withstand people just such as yourselves. But those things are not the true dangers that stand between you and your heartfelt wish."

A pause.

"The Great Jorgun has two defenses, which taken together, ensure his absolute safety. The first, is that the High Pontifex of the religion that holds the Jurgun as the highest mortal authority has the power of true prophecy, and can unerringly detect any threat to the Golden Presence the moment it appears, with apparent perfect accuracy."

"And second is the Elemental Annulus, a contained planar rift that leads to all known elemental planes and demiplanes, formed of ancient magic and oaths of service, and that allow the Jorgun access to seemingly infinite elemental servants."

He frowns.

"And of course, after those, there is the Great Jurgun himself to content with. But assaulting him will be impossible if the High Pontifex lives and the Annulus remains open and under his control."

A pause.

"I have burned the years of my life, my heart, my soul, my integrity, my honour, my very self, all scroued away under the grinding weight of gathering and organizing armies to serve my aims. There is just enough of me left to draw you here and to tell you these things so that you will do what I cannot. And, so you know this is the truth I speak, I will tell you what is my heartfelt wish: it is that the Great Jorgun should die. With as much pain and as much suffering as possible. It is my heartfelt wish that his final moments be filled with fear and helplessness. I know you cannot take the Tear without killing him first. And so your Grand Purpose serves mine as well."

A pause.

"I do not even care if I am alive to see it. I only care that it will happen."

His companion touches his shoulder and makes a circular motion with her hand. We need to hurry.

Scalescar nods, look at the group.

"Even as we speak my soldiers are lighting every home in this town on fire and preparing to kill any man, woman, or child, who tries to escape. Not even a direct order from me will stop them. And once they are done, I have prepared a brief window during which you may possibly enter the Golden Nation unseen by the High Pontifex."

He shakes his head ruefully.

"If you have questions, ask them now."

Spoiler: Teodosie

Show

His speech about the rebels is fine and all, and truth be told Quran'tha is a little far outside the Golden Nation's usual circle of influence, but the thing is that you've seen their leader, a minor warlord known as Innisfil the Wyrmcleaver, and this guy sitting here is either him or his twin brother.

[3SecondCultist]

Selim Khourael, the Hunter of Souls Wood Elf Fighter (Battlemaster) // Ranger (Gloom Stalker) HP: 300/300, AC: 18 PP: 27, PI: 15 Superiority Dice: 6/6, Action Surges: 2/2 Active Effects: Alert, Telepathic (30') Conditions: None Concentrating: --

The figure that emerges from the shadowed corer is hooded and masked, extending to their full height and stepping forward without a sound. Their face is covered in a cloth mask, and the midnight blue and grey speckled armor they wear seems to appear invisible to the eye. The bow slung over their shoulder is ashen in the torchlight. The cloak that shrouds their shoulders almost blends in perfectly to the group's surroundings, which is perhaps why they have gone unseen all this time. But the almond-shaped eyes that survey the gathering betray no animosity or intent to harm those at the table. If anything, they seem... inquisitive. Curious.

Time is of the essence, and the Hunter of Souls can no longer afford to wait in the wings.

"Why now, Scar of Scales?" comes a raspy whisper that reaches every single person sitting near the great revolutionary leader. "The Golden Nation has been absorbing kingdoms for some centuries. Yet you conjure us here, a conflux of champions for good or ill, to ensure the suffering of the Great Jorgun. What has changed?"

Selim does not sit, for they will be leaving shortly. Instead, he comes to stand behind Scalescar's group and to his left, not far from the door. The Oathbow of Sayid Alruwh sings out in the open, a low hiss that promises death the next time it finds its wielder's hand.

[truemane]

Scalescar stiffens a little as Selim appears and walks to stand behind him. Not in fear, necessarily. Not in fear of death anyway, but more like the tension of someone anticipating a possible blow or some other pain.

"The only change is opportunity, Selim Soul Hunter, final adherent of the Final Litany, child of the Greenscree Wastes, agent of change and chaos. The Golden Nation is unassailable. Between its armies, its environmental and geographical defenses, its frenzied zealot defenders, the near omniscience of the High Pontifex, the near infinite power of the Elemental Vortex, and the wisdom and experience of the Golden Presence himself, I can tell you, as an expert and specialist in both war and dragonslaying, the Golden Nation is impregnable."

A deep breath.

"Except for tonight. It has taken me almost three decades to arrange it, but tonight, for several hours, possibly as long as a day, the eye of the High Pontifex will be blinded. Without that pre-warning, a small group of exceptional individuals could have the narrowest of windows to approach the Golden Nation without being immediately known. What they do then I cannot say, and should not know. But the list of people capable of having even a chance of success and and who have a wish heartfelt enough to drive them to even make the attempt, is small."

He looks around at the adventurers in the room.

"Very small. Seven names. In all the worlds across all the lands of all the speaking people. Seven. Five of them stand here before me."

[Illven]

Who are the other two? If they, themselves are skilled in divinations, they may realize they have a chance as well. Luna muses out loud