Joraeyel rises and shuffles towards Rolund, peering at his mark. "An aberrant mark. Most interesting. I have seen nothing like this before. And the dragon described this as the Gaorhaxithreza?" He examines it intently for a few moments more.
"This is most interesting, most unprecedented. I must turn to my studies, yes." Joraeyel limps over to a book case and begins pulling out scrolls.
"You will take your leave," murmurs his daughter.
"We can be found aboard the Crimson Eagle at the skyship harbour", Janosz tells the female elf.
"You had her spooked there for a second", he tells Rolund as the party makes its way back to the ship. "She must be a wizard of sorts; she had some spell lined up when she thought you were going after the old husk."
“Let’s get back to Sharn. I’m getting tired of this place and I suspect that the ancient one is about to start his research on Gaorhaxithreza instead of figuring out a way to remove this mark.”
Rolund then turns on Xativa. “And you! The mark was supposed to remain a secret but you’re no better than the Office of the Hallowed Confessors. Always ready to spread secrets that should be held in confidence.” Rolund presses close to the cleric and in a grim voice, says, “Next time keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you.”
“You are correct friend Rolund, it was perhaps not the Flamebearer’s place to reveal your secret. But this mark has brought you much pain – I believe that Rodergo’s intention, perhaps misplaced, was to help you with your burden. Would it not be better to learn of this, so that perhaps others may not be harmed by it? Or at the least, learn what interest the dragon had in the mark?” Lightbringer speaks calmly and rationally, trying to avert further conflict between his two companions.
“That’s why we’re going back to Sharn. I don’t trust the dragon or the ancient elf. They each have their own agendas and it doesn’t include removing the mark. However, I have learned to trust Farlowe and his arcane knowledge.”
Looking at Farlowe, “Tell me, are the universities of Sharn as good as they say they are?”
After listening to the response, Rolund continues with his questioning. “Also, I heard that the War of the Mark ended there. Is that true? What am asking is…is whether the Twelve Houses may have discovered a way to remove their enemies’ marks and left records of it?”
Gil finally speaks up. "I know you don't think much more of me than of the cleric, but I have a bit of knowledge, as well, and I would see you come to terms -- either by controlling it or removing it -- with this burden you bear." With a small smile, she adds, "And I'm pretty good at keeping secrets, lest you worry that I will tell any mutual acquaintances of it. Your secret will remain safe with me."
Lightbringer spends a good part of the journey with Basher, trying to turn him away from the influence of the Lord of Blades. If he seems amenable, he will try to convert the charger to the worship of the Silver Flame, but he won’t push this aspect if Basher doesn’t seem interested or can’t be made to understand.
Runzyl spends most of his time out on the open deck, often gazing off into the distance for hours at a time. At other times, particularly late at night when the majority of the crew is sleeping, he goes through an intricate kata with both Falla Caesenri and Jalana's blade. It is more ritual dance than combative in origin, being slow and deliberate, and he prefers to perform them towards the front of the ship.
Runzyl spends most of his time out on the open deck, often gazing off into the distance for hours at a time. At other times, particularly late at night when the majority of the crew is sleeping, he goes through an intricate kata with both Falla Caesenri and Jalana's blade. It is more ritual dance than combative in origin, being slow and deliberate, and he prefers to perform them towards the front of the ship.
Runzyl's meditations - and especially his dance - will draw Gil's attention, but she won't speak to spoil the moment. At most, she might move to where he stands to see what he's looking at.
She will sit down with Ezreal to discuss matters arcane, especially dragonmarks, given the opportunity, but she'll avoid discussing them in Rolund's presence.
Runzyl's meditations - and especially his dance - will draw Gil's attention, but she won't speak to spoil the moment. At most, she might move to where he stands to see what he's looking at.
At times, he watches the sunrise or set. At others, he seems to be fixated on a star or a particular pattern within the ring of Siberys. Sometimes he closes his eyes for several moments, mouthing something to himself but it's never clear what exactly he's saying. Still, he doesn't seem to mind or even notice Gil's presence and he makes no motion to suggest that she might be disturbing him.
In response to Rolund, "Hmm. Well Morgrave has some of the best minds in their fields, but from what I hear they aren't the most trustworthy lot. Bringing something in there that an academic could stake his career around will catch their attention. We just have to make sure it doesn't catch more attention than we want. We can make some inquiries when we get back- see if we can get on the right track."
A day into the flight back to Sharn, two of the crew can be found chuckling over a crumpled newssheet. Marrius notices and order them back to work, confiscating the sheet and checking it over. He blinks for a moment, then walks up to Rodergo.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asks testily.
The airship slewed wildly between the towers of Sharn as the rain poured down. Crewmen screamed as the slick deck dumped them overboard to hideous deaths in the depths. Cackling madly, Karile spun the helm, swinging the ship this way and that as she tried to dislodge the dogged heroes clinging to the rigging.
Ezreal and Torcholder lay tangled amid the railings at the stern, watching the insane woman dice with all their lives. "Give it up, you mad witch!" yelled Ezreal. "You'll just fly us into a building and there'll be hardly a toe between us left to animate by the end! Desist, I say!"
"Friend Ezreal, is it right to animate toes?" asked Torcholder. "Rodergo says -"
"Oh shut up, you halfwitted lump of rust, we don't have time for an ethical discussion right now," snapped Ezreal. "And don't let go of that rope while that bumpkin is on the end of it."
"Hey, y'all, I heard that!" came a voice from beyond the stern, where Janosz dangled at the end of the line that Torcholder held in an iron, three-fingered grip. "And I'm gettin' kinda dizzy back here, y'know. Have to say, view sure is purty, though."
"Swamp-witted cretin..." muttered Ezreal.
"We're doomed," intoned Rolund from where he lay crumpled beside Torcholder. "It's hopeless. I might as well just throw myself overboard now."
"Oh, don't be like that," chided Matilda, her ample bust and bottom saving her from too much injury where she clung to rail. The bun of grey hair on her head looking bedraggled in the wet, she added. "When this is over a nice cup of tea will have you chuckling again."
Karile laughed as the rain lashed down, glueing her silk ballgown to the sensual curves of her young, taut body. "There's nothing you can do to stop me! My father Merrix is too powerful to let me come to harm, and you are just ants for the crushing. Soon I shall dispose of you all!"
"I think not!"
With a gasp, all eyes turned to where Rodergo stood framed in a doorway. A sudden flash of lightning highlighted his chiseled jaw and the righteous, determined glint in his eyes. With two swift strides, the priest crossed the gap between himself and Karile and he seized her in a tight, unbreakable grip, dragging her from the helm. Karile struggled for a moment before collapsing into his implacable hold, defeated. The ship immediately slowed and came to rest.
"Karile," murmured Rodergo sadly, "There is no need for this. I know inside you are just hurt and afraid, like all of us. Don't let your anger overcome you. You are a good person." Karile's lip trembled and she gave out a sob, her head resting on Rodergo's chest.
"Smartly done," said Ezreal admiringly as the others helped Janosz up. "But where's Runzyl?"
"Oh, I left him below fighting the crew. He's happy," replied Rodergo. His voice lowered to a growl as he gazed into Karile's eyes, gently brushing a stray raven lock away from her face.
"We'll catch our deaths out in the rain. Let's get inside and out of these wet things." Taking her hand, he led her belowdecks.
Rolund spends most of his time below decks coming once in a while above to catch from fresh air. His attitude is somewhat better, but not by much, than the one he had when they were going to Valenar. This ends, however, when they arrive at Sharn and he sees the newsletter. His face becomes grim and everybody can see him barely holding back his anger.
"Hmm," mutters Marrius, unconvinced. "Well, it doesn't seem to mention the ship's name, or me or the rest of the crew. Frankly, that's a good thing in my book - I don't want to attract undue attention given my status with Karrnath. With any luck, we can just dock fairly anonymously at our mooring and no one will notice."
A few days later the Eagle is flying down the Eastern Hilt on its approach to the private dock in Tavick's Landing. As the ship turns a couple of skycoaches buzz the her. They are small open-top, private versions of the otherwise ubiquitous Sharn workhorse, piloted by young men in trendy dark-glass flying goggles. The passengers, all equally youthful and dressed in the latest expensive fashions, call and wave at the crew, the wind carrying the sound of their laughter but snatching away their words. Soon they are joined by several more skycoaches, their occupants whooping as they weave about above and below the ship, lean-limbed women in bright silks tossing their long hair in the breeze with their wealthy boyfriends.
Marrius grimaces in irritation but none of the skycoaches come close enough to interfere with the ship. However, looking towards the dock, he squints ahead and then exclaims, "What the..."
Between the two towers either side of the dock hangs a large banner in red and yellow: "SHARN WELCOMES RODERGO'S REAVERS". A sizable crowd is gathered and they begin cheering loudly as they spot the ship. As the Eagle pulls closer, a brass band begins playing a jaunty marching version of the otherwise solemn Thranish national anthem.
Many of the crowd are holding placards, including: "RODERGO'S REAVERS - OFFICIAL FAN CLUB"; "I SMITE THEE IN THE NAME OF THE FLAME!", "RODERGO - I'M AVAILABLE - CALA x x x"; "DEATH IS JUST THE BEGINNING" (held by a bunch of teenagers all dressed in black); "WE'RE DOOMED!" (held by a rival group of teenagers also dressed in black); and "TORCHOLDER FOR LORD MAYOR" (held by a lone warforged).
Simultaneously, a small protest seems to be going on towards the back. Over the hubbub can just be heard a small group singing a hymn of the Silver Flame and wearing sandwich boards which read variously, "RODERGO - HE'S NOT MY PRIEST", "RODERGO'S REAVERS ENCOURAGE PROMISCUITY", “XATIVA - HERETIC” and "HANDS OFF MY FLAME!".
Marrius gives Rodergo a sideways look. "So much for an anonymous landing."