Connor finds out there's nothing wrong with Flick's voice box, he's just not speaking. As to repairing the wings, that's a major undertaking. Artificial wings are easiest, but also expensive. Actual healing is doable, but would require a high level healer.
"Who knows what else they did to him if they mutilated him like that, he must be traumatized." Alys says, "We might need more than to restore his body."
"The problem is finding a healer able to do the regeneration." Connor agreed. They were back on the ship, watching the activity around the docks. And if a healer could not be found, Connor would research how to build wings for Flick. Connor would go belowdecks soon, and start the inspection of the airship. Moving the two dinghy's to the Elephant had taken time, as well.
The group returns to the Elephant without incident, finding the ship repaired, if not good as new. The new bits of wood and dents in the engines are obvious, but should fade into the background of general dis-repair and age after a few months of exposure to weather.
A light drizzle coats the ship with water, and blocks out the vision of the heavy war ships on the horizon, leaving them as ghostly smudges that fade in and out of sight.
The guards on the ship, after ensuring the owners are back, leave the ship in the group's hands.
Adran is happy to be back on the ship. He flutters and hops about checking all the repairs. Eventually he ends up up in the crows nest.
Ah it is good to be back.
He then looks down to the deck.
"Hey what are we waiting on. Lets get the hell out of this place."
"Hold on." Connor said, looking over the railing at the Anshirn docks. "We need crew. Someone onboard while we're out killing smugglers, or infiltrating ruins. My astral constructs can't do it all. So we need older hands, not young jerrys. Doves, not hawks. Someone who will stay with the ship and take care of it while we're away."
"Given the state of the 'war' here, there might be one or two old hands that don't want to be swept up in an impress gang roaring through all the taverns. What do you all think?" Connor asked.
Adran comes down from the crows nest as he realizes they are short handed to get the boat going.
"There could be others looking to leave for sure with the state of things here, but can the be trusted? Are there any other cities or ports close where we could find a few able bodied sailors? Can we even fly this thing with what we have?"
He looks around at the thin crew in wonder.
"I can get us around Anrive; I can make six, no, seven Humavian-sized astral constructs or three dozen Halvavian-sized astral constructs a day. They'll last a full watch, at least. But if we run into anything but perfect weather, well, I'm only one person directing them." Connor declared. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked at the others. "Anrive has a city of Strix to the North and a city of Strix to the South. I've had my fill of Strix. And lizardmen. Maybe we should check in at the island house and ask for new orders."
"Sounds good boss the sooner we leave here the better. Back to the island house. I will be in the nest if you need me."
He flies back up to his lookout position.
"I'd imagine our employer's will have someone capable of seeing to Flick's-" Roderick pauses, seeming to debate his choice of words, "-wounds. If not, perhaps they can get us in contact with such a person. And, as Adran has said, I'm ready to be gone from this city as soon as we can. There's a storm brewing between the harpy and the clans and I would hate to be here when it breaks. Crewman are also something we can request. I'm not a sailor by any means, so adding a few who know how to see to things makes good sense."
On returning to the ship, Roderick immediately makes his way below decks to inspect the ship's engines and structure for shoddy work.
The engine repairs seem competent. Not new parts, but servicable parts were used. All in all, they seem solid.
"I hope so. Let's get going sooner we can fix him the better."
Alys glides into the rigging ready to go.
Taking off in the late afternoon light, the ship glides through the thick clouds, wafting slowly through the gray walls of water vapor.
Beads of water condense on the ship, and the crew, leaving everyone damp and wet, their lungs laboring against the vapor, coughs common.
Alys, the scout, moves out ahead of the ship, making sure they don't hit anything in the thick clouds. The ship's bells make tinkling noises so she can keep track of where and how far away the ship is.
Finally, the ship breaks out of the cloud bank, rising up slowly into the dying light of the day. In the distance, a few miles away, a large military ship patrols, beyond the range of the cannons that destroyed the earlier ships.
A small cutter takes off from the military ship, and approaches their ship, insisting they stop for inspection. A group of Council Military comes on board, checks their papers, and their cargo. Finding nothing amiss, and no contraband, they wave the ship on it's way after the sun is down.
By noon the next day, Connor's constructs are all but gone when they come into view of their little base. The ship docks, and their adventure thus far comes to a quiet end.
Within their house, they find a note from their purple haired contact.
IF YOU GET BACK BEFORE THE THIRD QUARTER START, WAIT FOR ME. I'LL BE BY BEFORE THEN.
Upon docking, the crew finds that Rory and Elara have vanished, their equipment gone. They have apparently abandoned ship sometime in the night after the inspection was done. Everyone thought they were below decks asleep.
"We keep losing crew. Honestly I can't blame them for wanting to get out on this, but they could at least leve a note." Alys comments, when it turns out Rory and Elara have disappeared. "Or Elara's hat. I would've liked that hat."
The trip was, except for a surprise from the Atalantian Council Military, uneventful. Summer clouds kept the deck and sails wet. When the law came to visit, Connor sweated a little, but apparently everything on the Vagabond Elephant was in line. Still, he wasn't sorry to see the Council Military leave.
Connor also inspected the ship from stem to stern, looking for anything the Council goons might have left behind.
-----------------------------------
Arriving at the same floating island with the old house, and old dock, the old airship pulled in. Connor had been too busy running the Elephant to get much meditation in, but with the opportunity to rest, he was in a much better mood.
Finding Rory and Elara gone killed that mood. "What did they do, just wing it over the side?" Connor asked bitterly, to no one in particular. Still, losing two but regaining one..."I'd settle for Rory staying as a Captain." he replied to Alys.
Finding a certain note from a certain Alsatia, Connor's mood returned. "It's not as nice as Special Operations Branch Depot 42," he said to everyone, "but remember how I said this job was 'hurry up and wait' with short on the 'wait'? Well, we just got the 'wait'. As long as we keep the elementals in the engines fed, the rest of the day and night can be free time. I'll work on the Elephant, and keep astral constructs around it at all times, but I can't see why we can't enjoy real beds, and non-rocking tables for three weeks."
Connor spent the first day cleaning the old house, and making sure the mooring to the Elephant was with chain, not just easily-cut rope. The days afterward, he spent making one gladiator's gauze for Roderick, whom he noticed was missing one.
Then Connor tried something he had only heard of: putting a power from a power stone into his psicrystal. He chose something simple, crystal light.
[dice=Psicraft check (DC 15 + power's level) to "address" the power stone]1d20+14[/dice]
[dice=Psicraft check (DC 15 + power's level) to "understand"]1d20+14[/dice]
[dice=Psicraft check (DC 15 + power's level) to "use"]1d20+14[/dice]
The effort paid off, and despite an overly wiggling Hero, Connor at the end of the day had a power he had never had before. Without needing a power stone. Putting Hero back on top of his psicrystal staff, and using the psicrystal like a lantern, Connor went exploring over the island, sticking the lighted Hero into every nook and cranny, getting a good look at the miniature island, and scanning the skies with his spyglass. He did notice the additional power took more psionic energy than before.
So Connor spent his days cleaning, organizing with his astral constructs, and fixing up the island. He even looked for edible or medicinal plants.
Roderick, having unpleasant memories of the authorities in the council's control, stays out of the way belowdecks when they make their inspection where possible. With the ship in working order, he is left to his thoughts to the task to which he'd been set. I hadn't expected it, but there is a a degree of excitement to this work. The onerous authority imposed on us still chafes, but to see theory put into practice has been enthralling. Perhaps this assignment is not so bad as it might have seemed at first. It certainly beats rotting in a cell.
The discovery that Rory and Elara had fed squashed some of Roderick's good mood and he grunted a sour reply in agreement with Alys, "After saving that blowhard's arse, you would suspect that he'd have the courtesy to do that at least. I suppose that was not was of his defining traits, but it's still annoying. I might have expected better of Elara, at least. Either way, I'd rather not have someone with doubts guarding my back, so their departure isn't entirely tragic." He shrugs in reply to Connor's speculation, "I was belowdecks with the engines avoid the Council's finest where I could. It's possible they charmed their way aboard, but who knows. I doubt we'll have heard the last of Rory at the least. I suppose this makes you the Captain, boss?" Roderick flashes an exaggeratedly innocuous smile at his 'cousin'. "Either you or Alys are the natural choices, of course."
Roderick, finding that he would have a few weeks in which to work largely uninterrupted, happily took over a sizable corner of their accommodations with his lab. He could be found, for hours on end over the three weeks, adjusting bottles above flames, mixing oddly colored and foul scented liquids in flasks and bottles, and generally fouling his corner of the house.
When not occupied with his alchemical creations, he discussed a few theories that he had been mulling over in his limited free time with Conner, "So as you're aware, my psionic ability is... suppressed is perhaps the best word I have found. I can tap into this latent power through the alchemical formulae that so dazzled you earlier. My theory is that I have some bizarre mental block, likely as a result of my childhood or heritage, which doesn't allow me direct access to this focused power in the same way that you can access your own powers." Roderick continues to ramble, not paying any particular heed to Connor. "The formulae are able to tap this power, and with a disciplined study I have been able to create a multitude of effects as these formulae tap and then manifest the power for me. Of late, it seems as though there should be a way for this power to be infused into the very alchemical liquid itself. This would require a focused study on my part, but the theory seems sound. This would, in theory, allow anyone to consume these potions and manifest the particular powers that I have infused in the potion. I think the practical applications are obvious, so for the theory..."
Shuffling through a journal, he pulls out a soot stained sheaf of notes, which he thrusts in a heap in front of Connor. Rifling through the pile, he finally spots the paper he wants and he taps a finger on the scrawl of arcane figures, "These were notes that I had taken before my... ah.. abrupt departure from my home. There was some means of doing this, before the Fall. I have begun to work on this in my free time, but where I struggle is with the actual infusion of my power into the liquids. Breaking down whatever mental block I have in place will be necessary, I think, before I can infuse the potions properly. I would, if you would be interested, appreciate your assistance. This is a largely untapped area of alchemical and psionic study and it seemed to have piqued your interest before." Roderick trails off and waits for a reply.
"Ah. Um." Connor replied to Roderick before the sheaf of papers was projected into his hands. His eyes had already glazed over with Roderick's ramblings. "My own studies are more traditional, with gemstones and crystals..." he lamely offered, but started reading the notes.
"If it is physical damage, then perhaps chirurgery would be required?" Connor ventured, guessing as he thumbed through the pages. "Your methods should be standardized, at least, to see if other guilds and schools can utilize the same methods. A Psychic Warrior, for instance, who could down a healing draught. Do you really have to infuse them yourself? What is the duration? Power stones and tattoos are virtually infinite, within limits. Tattoos, of course, can fade over time, or when transferred between users repeatedly. I can comprehend the need for gemstone particles during the infusion, but there are...gaps in your formulae. And why draw a sun here and a moon crescent there? Is that a spoon?" Connor gave up trying to understand some of the longer equations on the pages.
Trying another route, Connor asked "Have you tried self-hypnosis and regression to whatever childhood trauma might have caused your block? A strong enough hypnotic trance, with a person recording the event to pen and paper, might overcome your block. Normally I would suggest a high-ranking Telepath, but they demand proportionally high prices for their services." Connor rubbed his psicrystal on his staff as he spoke.
A few weeks later, the group is awakened by the smell of coffee and frying bacon in the wee hours of the morning.
When they investigate, they find Alsatia humming to herself in the kitchen while adding the last frying pan worth of bacon to the five inch high and 10 inch wide pile of bacon already on the table. Along with the bacon is a large bowl of sausages, another bowl of white gravy with bits of sausage and bacon mixed in, several dozen biscuits, a thick sharp yellow cheese wheel sliced into bits, a pile of fried shredded tubers with onions, a pitcher of fruit juice, two pitchers of coffee, and a pitcher of milk.
"Don't dilly dally, you lazy lot are getting too used to being lazy. It'll be dawn in an hour, and you're all still asleep. Sit, eat, and report..."
Adran shoots a wink and a smile at Alsatia.
"Ah glorious bacon. I already liked you. Keep this up and you may not get me to leave here again." He starts eating but continues to talk. With food falling from his face back to his plate.
"It was pretty epic. I saved Alys not once but twice. Was taken by the enemy just so I could learn all about them. Almost captured another boat but then crashed it so the bad guys couldn't get away. All of this after almost getting blown up in an invasion. We helped to defend the city but not sure if we were on the right side there. I'm sure the the boss there will fill you in on all the exact details." He gulps down a glass of milk before pouring another. Then stacks some more bacon and biscuits on his plate.
"What about you? Did you miss me?"
Alsatia waves a hand, and a biscuit flings itself from the pile and slams into Adran's face, hitting him at the top of the nose, right between the eyes.
Alsatia ponders Adran, as bits of fluffy warm biscuit explodes into crumbs and tumbles down his face and onto his plate, leaving bits behind clinging to his face. "Nope, didn't miss you..."
She raises an eyebrow at the others, waiting for a more detailed response, one that she can actually put into a report.
She eyes Flick as well, obviously waiting for an explanation of that.
"How did you know I wanted another biscuit?" He scrapes the pieces together then ladles some gravy over them.
"I know you cared. Save the foodplay for when the others are not around though" He smiles back at her before watching for incoming food or utensils.
Connor, woken up too early since he was used to sleeping in and letting Hero do the watching, shuffled in and took a seat at the table. "Halvavians always getting here first..." he grumbled. Connor took the fruit juice, the tubers, and the bacon. The next few minutes were fuel intake on his part.
Sighing as Adran got pelted, Connor started. "Hello to you too, Alsatia. So what has happened in this mission. Well. It didn't all go to pieces, but it came close. We decided upon the Free Port of Anshrin at Anrive. We were met by a scam artist first - tell future agents to have a thick skin, and ask for papers when someone just lands on their deck. Getting into Anshrin proper, everything went smoothly with the furniture until a freelancer visited whose grandfather just happened to be one of the top military brass in the city. Name of Captain Anteres Rathborne of the Free City Brigaid. You'd probably hate him, he's much more reasonable than Kalvant. Just keep the man's paperwork at a low level, and he's a tame tiger. When we got hauled before the Harpy-in-charge, she puts on a good front, but it turns out Anshrin has found out how to use magical items to power energy cannons. Roderick might have a theory, but the results are spectacular. The invading Stalmorta armada from Lithian took heavy losses within moments. As in 'one shot, one frigate exploding'. You might want to have the Council Seers look into that. In the meantime, don't worry about smugglers in Anshrin. Any magic items found are fueling the city's self-defense cannons."
Pausing to get a bite, Connor continued. "But watch out for Mistress Bloodwing's advisor Melithia. She's either a Surface wizard, a pointy-eared Wingless Elf, or both. Major magic user. Major trouble to any agents you have in Anshrin. Probably made those cannons. She sees through any disguise, even the dwoemers you gave us. You might be able to talk to Bloodwing or any of her staff at a table; Melithia borders on 'insane'." Connor shuddered.
"Moving on. Once...resupplied...at Anshrin, we made due haste with acquired intelligence about Klivant of Ralvaise of Stalmorta, he had holed up at the old Kliasti Ruins. Those Ruins, by the way, need to be quarantined. They block nearly all magic and psionics, including above them. Mundane weapons only. Too good a target for rebels. About a dozen lizardmen inside."
Connor took another sip of fruit juice, and said, "We made a deal with what Bloodwing gave us in discarded magic items to convince Klivant we were the real deal. We scheduled a 'swap meet' a few days later at the inner sea. That's when our overwhelming luck decided to rear its' ugly head again." Connor took a few bites of shredded tubers. "Klivant's men arrived in an airship. Don't know where they got it, but they had some rather robust lizardmen and a Humavian I've never seen before. He's dead, but two lizardmen got away. The airship decided to lift anchor rather suddenly, and despite the best efforts of our team," Connor glanced at Adran, who was maintaining his angel halo across the table, "the vessel had the misfortune to spontaneously explode on the nearby shoreline. Completely not our fault, despite any clairvoyance to contrary." Connor insisted.
"However, while salvaging what we could, we had an unexpected surprise." Connor stated, looking at the female Halvavian. "We found Flick. Elohir. From the Surface. He's pretty beat up. Seems someone took offense to his wings and tore them off. He's mute as a result. We tried to get a healer to see to him in Anshrin, but the entire city is almost under lockdown. Despite the 'Free Port' nomenclature, it's a hair's breath from martial law, even with Mistress Bloodwing's bread and circuses. Clan Stalmortta really have it in for her for some reason. Although the loss of more than ten airships, possibly as high as fifty, should set them back a bit. The common citizenry have a rather well-armed and trigger-happy attitude as well. Makes any invasion rather costly."
Connor stirred his fork around his plate. "So." he summarized. "The mission. Not an overwhelming success, since Klivant's still alive. But the loss of more than half his lizardmen, a rather new and doubtlessly expensive third-generation airship, and a dead Humavian ally should set him back a few months, at least. I sincerely hope he'll miss the few paltry items off of his airship, and the two longboats should be a welcome addition to the Elephant's manifest. You have some first-hand knowledge of Anrive, Anshrin, and the war developing on that island. As for your covert team, we're a mixed bag again. We lost two - I'd ask the Council Military ship that stopped us where Rory and Elara went. We gained one errant fledgling back, but he's Wingless and knows it. Our 'cover' got blown in less than a week this time. I'd prefer an exploration mission next, rather than a covert one. Something nice and safe, where we're not walking down in full range of the enemy's spyglass."
Connor got up from the table. "The details are in my journal again, I'll go get it." he told Alsatia and the others.
Alsatia listens, eating biscuits with jam and honey while everyone else eats the rest of the table top of food. She nods at various points, and glances from person to person as they are mentioned in the tale, or not mentioned, toward the end.
Finally, she nods as Connor goes off to get his journal. When he returns, she swallows a quarter of a glass of milk to wash her jam, bread, and honey down.
"Hmm, given your past history, I'd say things went better than expected. At the very least, we can be sure wherever we send you there will be giant explosions..." She grins and pops a bit of bread into her mouth before continuing.
"So, the whole magicannon thing is throwing things for a loop for sure. That was totally out of right field. Seems like they've figured out how to contain the magical instability and release it all at once. The longer it's held, the nastier it is when it's released... Needless to say, that throws a huge monkey-wrench into the local power structure. Which is precisely what we didn't need." She sighs. "Just so you're in the loop, Bloodwing slaughtered an heir to the Stalmorta clan in public, really nastily too, skinned him alive and such. She has some sort of history with them, but we haven't figured out what, but whatever it was, she seriously wants the whole clan of Stalmorta dead, and burned, and danced on. She suckered them in, and then blew half their fleet to the Maelstrom." She blows a lock of purple hair out of her eyes. "Not that I'm losing sleep over it, at least, not on the Stalmorta losses. She did manage to kill Lord Stalmorta's two immediate heirs in the fist minute of battle. The Stalmorta are killing themselves right now as much as anyone else is, trying to sort out who's the heir apparent now. I wouldn't be surprised if the Lord Stalmorta turns up dead soon." She shrugs, obviously not losing sleep over that either. "We should likely get you lot away from the fighting, in case anyone recognizes you." She sighs. "If you want, we can do the disguise thing again, or we can put you back to your original faces. Can't use you anywhere for awhile anyway. At least, not in the isles." She looks at Flick. "Before I decide what to do with you, I need to know what you know. I could call in a telepath, if you prefer... Or is there something specific you want?"
Elrohir wanders in a little after Conner, and sits quietly, enjoying the fare. While he is silent the entire time, he does briefly smile when Alsatia pegs Adran in the face with a biscuit.
When a telepath is mentioned, Flick nods his assent. Its obvious he has no desire to speak any time soon.
Alsatia nods. "It'll take me a day or two to get someone here. Is there anything you all need in the meantime?"
Roderick doesn't seem to notice (or ignores) Connor's hesitation as he starts handing him papers. He does, however, answer the humavian's questions almost as quickly as they are asked, "I don't believe it is a physical damage, given that I can direct my powers through my liquids. Perhaps there is merit to further investigation, but that is a digression." He watches as the psion thumbs through his notes, "Standardization would certainly be worthwhile, though I've had to make due with the wild ramblings of a mad alchemist to get this far. My notes are... let us say a derivative, of his. I keep meaning to go back and rewrite them, but there is little time. As for the infusion, my studies so far indicate that while I could in the future imbue a potion with some of my own psionic power, allowing the powers contained in the vial to be drunk by anyone, right now it must be me who makes them and me who drinks them. I haven't found the right means by which to stabilize the containment of the raw power, so that it may later take form directed by the potion's formulae. As it stands, the duration is nearly infinite. That one here has been in my bandolier for nearly a month, for example." Roderick gestures to a vial filled with a sickly green looking liquid.
"Gaps in my formulae?" Roderick pulls a few sheets from the pile Connor had been sifting through and glances over them a moment before adding them back into the pile, "I do not see them, but I have also written many of my notes in a short hand. Perhaps here-" He taps one of many clusters of scribblings of the page, "-you are missing the harmonic effect between the crystalline particulate and the rest of the alchemical ingredients. It amplifies what would normally be not at all noticeable."
Shaking his head, he starts to explain but Connor interrupts him. He listens for a moment, then shrugs, "For a time, before I felt the need to pursue this more promisingly line of work. I've forgotten most of the exercises from my youth in MacIntyre. My potions require no particular mental state, they simply work so long as I can fuel them. There may be merit in seeking such a trance, though it seems futile to pursue another path after having walked down this avenue of research for so long."
Roderick joins the others without a great deal of ceremony, taking a seat and accepting a plate of food with only a muttered, "'Ello, m'and thenk hu." If it has registered in his mind that Alsatia is the one serving him, he doesn't show any signs of it. From his rumpled, soot-stained clothing and bloodshot eyes, it seems unlikely that Roderick slept in his bed the night before. Taking the steaming carafe filled with piping hot coffee, Roderick pours himself a mug, downs it despite the scalding heat in a few quick gulps, then pours another. To the second mug, he adds the contents of a vial produced seemingly from nowhere and drinks it more slowly.
Seeming to perk up as he finishes his second cup of coffee in as many minutes (and whatever he put into the second), he digs into his food, watching Connor relay their story. He chimes in with a surprisingly chipper voice, given his appearance, when the cannons are mentioned, "I do have a theory, but my notes are in the lab. After the rest of the story I c'n grab em."
"In addition to blocking all magic and psionics, the field's a ticking time bomb for the island. Any that destabilizes it is likely to create a very large arcane backlash. I would prefer to be very far from the island when that happens." Despite the scale of the destruction he is describing, Roderick is nearly nonchalant as he continues to chew on a piece of bacon.
He interjects as Connor summarizes, saying, "I think characterizing our cover as blown is overstating the situation. We were held by a harpy with a propensity for skinning alive or beating to a pulp her enemies. We had a demonstration of the latter, by the way. We simply told a few half-truths to lend some credence to our story."
Finishing his meal around the same time as Connor finishes talking, he listens with rapt attention to Alsatia's explanation of the political blowback from the situation. "At the least, I would like to think that in killing Klivant's crony, we've delayed whatever Stalmortan plans were being hatched. If the harpy can win a crushing victory, that would certainly resolve the situation. Have I mentioned I've a strong distaste for House Stalmorta?"
To her last question, he replies, "Another gun or two wouldn't go amiss. Perhaps a few more psionically attuned supplies for Connor. Depending how long we will be unoccupied, I might need more alchemical supplies and crafting equipment. If you intend for us to be here long term, a proper lab room wouldn't go amiss."
"A bath and some company if your free?" He smiles innocently.
"Just a little rest will do these wings some good. So I'm going to get some R and R. Let me know when our next assignment comes up. Or you feel lonely." He winks at her again.
"Great breakfast." He states as he stands and heads off to his room.
"We need crew." Connor mutters after Adran spoke up. "Having our own airship is nice, and with the two longboats we can haul Wingless or cargo now. But we need someone to stay with the ship while we go out conducting 'business'. Someone who will think of the Elephant as their primary home." Connor shifted in his chair. "We've discovered the Surface has psionics mixing with magic but no crafting of the same. Anrive's engulfed in a war between the cities and Clans right now. That leaves Antalus, Ash, and the Surface again. I have an obligation to find out more about the Halvavian Clans but I wouldn't mind actually staying around Atalantius. If a certain lizard from the Surface gets an airship and meets up with a certain lizard on Anrive, you might want our expertise in a hurry." he offered.
"I see, I'll see what I can do about the crew. Having you under cover doesn't do much if they saw through your disguise. It must have been some magic we haven't accounted for." She sighs and bites off a biscuit with irritation. "Let me see what I can do about a Telepath, and we'll see what we see."
The rest of the breakfast revolves around politics and the usual gossip about which councilors are sleeping with whom, and who's being muscled by whom about what.
A week later, she returns with a half-dozen people who are low level operatives for her group. She also has an older elvavian telepath who touches Flick's brow and begins telling his story, from his vanishing from the watch post he was on to being found in the ship.
A healer also tries to restore Flick's wings, but they can't. He is one of the people who's bodies don't react to the regrowth psionics correctly. So instead, Alsatia retrieves a set of artificial wings for Flick from the item stash in the extra-dimensional room in the safe house.
The telepath sees a jumble of distorted, fractured images, as if Flick's mind refuses to allow them to be whole, and thus real. His wings being ripped off appear again, and again. A savage beating, after he was captured. His actual capture. More beatings. Torture. Interrogation. Aside from his wings being torn off, which is clear as a bright summer day, the rest of the memories are tattered, frayed, and dark. It's hard to truly make them out, though the pain, suffering and anguish is almost palpable.
When Alsatia offered, Connor took a quick trip through the portal. It led to Special Operations Branch Depot 42, just as he remembered. Quickly rushing around, Connor grabbed items on his mental list before Alsatia could close the portal. Not being ungrateful, Connor also put away the acquired spyglass and several healer's kits into the Depot, for other teams.
"Storage, storage, gotta have storage!" Connor muttered to himself as he briskly went down the shelves. "Aha! Psionic bag of holding!" he opened it to confirm the extradimensional space. "Type I! Perfect! And now crafting stuff to go into the bag..."
Connor considered a pistol, he really did, Roderick could no doubt teach him the basics, but it just didn't feel right to him. Connor had set upon a path of astral constructs and psionic powers. He did need firepower, true, but something really long-range, if the lizard's airship battle had been any kind of example. Right now they needed a healer and utilities more than another gunner.
Returning through the portal, Connor called out "If you need gladiator's gauze do it now! And don't forget the healing tattoos!" He didn't mention he'd grabbed six more gladiator's gauze, just in case.
The telepath, sensing there is more to Flick's story than gathered so far, probes deeper and pulls out additional information...
Once she hears his story, Alsatia gives him a sleeping draught and tells the rest of you to wait, while she reports in, as this is more than she can decide on...
A week later, Alsatia returns.
"Alright, between your recent encounters, and the tale we got from Elrohir, I think we've decided on a course of action." She looks slightly grim. "I've arranged for a crew for the ship, a small crew, but people I can trust. I want you to return to the surface world, and try to find out where those huge lizards originated. There's a country we trade with, Taksi, that you can start with. It's a giant swamp, full of lizards and cats. Keep an eye out for Elrohir's tormentor, I want him. Not just for what he did to Elrohir, but for what he's managed to get his hands on. You are to retrieve it, or destroy it, per Council Orders." She says firmly.
Turning to Elrohir, she pats him on the arm. "If you want to retire, you can, Elrohir. However, if you'd like a bit of your own back on your tormentor, I can do something about your wings." She looks slightly sad. "They healed you with magic, and the healers aren't sure they can force the wings to regrow after they've healed with magic, it might not react well. However, we can do something about replacing them..."
Assuming he shows interest, she takes him into the storage depot. She unlocks one of the big steel doors she didn't before. Inside are artificial limbs. Arms, legs, pairs of legs, pairs of arms, a lamia lower body, all obviously stored for future use.
Against the back wall are wings. There are 6 single wings, designed to replace one side or the other if someone loses a wing. There are also 4 full sets of wings.
The largest of them are obviously several hundred years old. They are large, with clockwork and synthetic feathers with a body harness. "This set is old, but very well empowered. They can move you at least as fast as you used to fly, and the harness can hold enough ammunition to level a small army. The last man that wore them had a thing for guns." She giggles.
The second set of wings look like artwork more than wings. They are made of articulated stained glass, and despite looking fixed in place, they actually move and ripple easily when Alsatia runs her hands over the small brass harness that would attach them. "These were created by a woman who was very much in desire of speed. She also had a thing for colored light. They're the fastest set of wings here, and provide light while you're using them. This has the unfortunate effect of making you a giant target if you're flying at night."
The third set of wings look like they might have been made for a Councilor, or one of the surface kings or queens. They have gold articulation with purple feathers that seem to drip darkness. "Let's just say the person that used these doesn't need them anymore, and Lady Deathnote would be pissed if she knew I had them." She laughs. "They do make it harder to follow you, as long as you keep to the shadows."
The fourth set of wings looks very modern, not really wings so much as just a metal framework in a halo shape with 'feathers' arcing off in different directions. "These are pretty standard stuff, got them a year or so ago from someone who doesn't need them anymore. Anyway, they work decent, and won't stick out like the other three."
-Inscribe float onto Hero the psicrystal (12.5 gp, 2 hours) from power stone
-Inscribe reconstruction onto Hero the psicrystal (75 gp, 4 hours) from power stone
-Inscribe vigor onto Hero the psicrystal (12.5 gp, 2 hours) from power stone
-Inscribe call to mind onto Hero the psicrystal (12.5 gp, 2 hours) from power stone
-Inscribe sense poison onto Hero the psicrystal (12.5 gp, 2 hours) from power stone
-Inscribe psionic repair onto Hero the psicrystal (12.5 gp, 2 hours) from power stone
All from Psicrystal Receptical ability. Class level + key ability modifier = 1 + 5 = 6, 0-level powers count as 1/2? One psicrystal crafting time per day.
Connor spent his time taking the power from one power stone that he had from before, or just bought from the Vault, into Hero. Each attempt took hours. It was like making a power stone, yet it wasn't. First he etched another weak power, float. Second, Connor went for the most important power that he had - reconstruction. "This way, I can heal you even if you get cracked again." he told his friend. Then he added vigor, call to mind, sense poison, and psionic repair to Hero. Powers that he needed and didn't have to worry about buying another power stone for. Hero was a little woozy after each addition, but Connor thought the psicrystal was play-acting. He did notice it took more effort to manifest the additional powers, and, try as he might, there was a limit to how many powers he could add to Hero. It would have been nice to add entangling ectoplasm and entangling debris or even energy ray to Hero, Connor had been carrying around those power stones since before Sammark left, but he couldn't disagree with the powers he had.
The rest of the time Connor spent cleaning the house and the Elephant.
"The Surface world?" Connor grumbled at Alsatia. He looked at Flick. "Oh, well." Connor conceded. "It's for a good cause. Just don't let me be seen by any icy dark Wingless Elves."
"More lizards, and cats? So it's a revenge mission? Sounds good enough. So what did the tormentor get his hands on?"
The telepath's face scrunches up in pain, and they continue talking as they read Flick's mind. Pain! My wings! No! No! Furred creatures... cats... dogs... lizards... oh god, the scarred lizard... he ate... he ate my wings! My wings! No! It grew wings! It stole my wings! Pain... questions... questions... pain... a ship... a crashed ship... the wood... one of our ships... a Council ship... so old... No, didn't want to help him... so much pain... the clockworks... fixed... engines... fixed... ship... flies...
Then Flick collapses, and the telepath speaks, his body coated in sweat. "Some sort of massive lizard man with a scar on it's face, it's skull showed through the scar, and it breathed fire. It's people captured Elrohir. I'm not sure how much of this is real, and how much imagined from pain, but lizard tore his wings off and ate them. I'm not sure how, but somehow it grew wings as well, if that's not fevered imagination. Either way, the creature tortured Elrohir and made him reveal everything he knew about winged folk, our islands, our ships. If what I saw really happened, then it looks like the thing forced Elrohir to help him fix up a crashed ship of Atalantian make. It's hard from memories, but I think it's one of the models from a few hundred years ago."
"So we need to get the ship back. I would like the record to show this is not our specialty and it is likely the ship will be destroyed." He smiles.
Before his capture, when he was far more carefree, Flick would have instantly chosen the stained glass wings.
Flick, however, died in captivity and while he was uncertain of who his new identity was, Elrohir knew the wings of darkness suited him perfectly.
He walked over to stand in front of them and said the first word he had spoken since his rescue. "These". His voice was hollow and broken.
"Adran." Connor said reprovingly. He turned to Alsatia. "He's right, you know. Just, uh, how important is that we retrieve this ancient ship? Or is the ship's log and manifest good enough?"
-------------------
"Flick! You talked!" Connor exclaimed.
Adran looks to Connor and shrugs.
"Sorry boss but it had to be said." He smiles.
"I'm less concerned with retrieval than denial of assets. If it's safer to blow it out of the sky, do so. We can't let the surfacers figure out how to make skyships." Alsatia responds, one eyebrow raised. "So that tells me that your expertise in blowing things up will come in useful for a change."
She watches Elrohir don the dark wings and shrugs. "Just don't tell Deathnote where you got them." She grins. "Ok, so, anything else before I release you on the poor dumb doomed surfacers?"
Roderick pales as the telepath explains what the newcomer had gone through. Swallowing his gorge, he distracts himself by trying to recall what he could of the surface world and its lizard denizens.
Roderick spends the week hidden in his corner of the outpost, now even more thoroughly hidden beneath reams of paper and alchemical equipment. He apologies, halfway through the week, when the entire outpost is inundated by the stench of rotting eggs and rancid cheese. "Little slip of the wrist, but I hope you'll understand that if not for my quick reflexes it could have been considerably worse. It'll clear in a day or two... probably."
Roderick listens with interest as Alsatia explains their next destination. He cocks an eyebrow at Connor, "Icy dark wingless elves? I suppose there is another mission behind that particular worry? And I suppose I'd like to know if there's anything else we should be trying to 'deny' other then ship. Any shipbuilders for example? Are there any particular... requirements with how they are dealt with? Another denial of assets, is it?" There's a touch of an edge to Roderick's voice as he asks the last question, though he smiles disarmingly (after a fashion) at anyone looking at him.