DM Barcas - Kingmaker: Rivers Run Red

Game Master Isaac Duplechain

Jemini whispers a short prayer to Sarenrae to touch her tongue. Cast honeyed tongue.

Stripped of her armor and weapons, Jemini's natural presence becomes even more intense - the aspect of the warrior absent what remains is a concentrated regal presence and the purity of a woman. She strides with a sure step, as she leads the way for her friends by example.

Upon reaching the center she bows toward the assembled chieftains and Hargulka, and listens patiently to his words. For a brief moment her eyes flicker with a fire as she sizes up the troll king, her gaze reaching deep into his soul. With detect evil. When it comes to Jemini's turn to speak her voice carries clear and with a warm timbre, "I am Jemini, of Lebeda. I represent New Haven. When I left my new home to come here, I did so with the intention of finding allies and making friends. Word had reached us that a troll of great renown was rallying inhabitants of this land under his banner to lead them in a crusade against those I am sworn to protect - I hope to find reason with Hagulka and perhaps even count him among my friends and allies ere I depart." At this point Jemini offers a small pause, if only to make a quick prayer to hold Verik steady. Then she continues: "At the very least we could prevent a senseless war before it even starts; there is no need for blood to be shed between our people. Against what you may have been told, New Haven lays no claim to your lands. We offer peace and welcome trade."

Here Jemini offers a slightly longer pause, starting up again just as she senses that Hargulka wants to intercede with words of his own. "But...! There is another reason for my presence here. Perhaps among your elders and sages you know of the history of Choral, the Conqueror; a creature of such power and ambition that he subjugated and laid to waste these lands and more. His cruel reign centuries ago still dots this region of the inner sea with scars. We have received word and visions that this being is stirring, bored of its slumber and greedy to ravage the world again. His armies are numerous and he commands a host of red dragons. I worry that even now he is subtly or overtly acting from beyond the shadows, do you know of what I speak, Hargulka? I would hate to lose a potential friend to his clawed grip."

I figure a diplomacy roll will be part of the challenge - so here's an opening volley.

Diplomacy 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (19) + 16 = 35
Diplomacy (reroll, honeyed tongue) 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (12) + 16 = 28

35. Much better. :)

Taisper's eyes snap open at the sound of hooves. He smiles on seeing the White Stag. "Oh hey Zander, man, how are you? How are your duties? What's new in the woods?"

Zander lets the horse wander free, "Sorry for the disturbance, but Bah! My duties are everyone else's duties. I will never understand how Verick and men of his ilk enjoy the Court and its formalities. Any childhood false dreams of such a life are just that...I find the lake to be a good listener."

"But the Warden's go well. Find the problem, hunt the problem...kill the problem. Its Trolls right now. Frustrating thing is, they are keeping their distance. I know that sounds strange, but its like they know we are here and that we ARE looking for them, and they are moving around us, avoiding us, but lingering as if waiting. Doesn't sound like your typical trolls to me. A little too aware for my liking."

Zander nods back to where Taisper had been practicing. "That looked new. Is that how you've been keeping yourself out of trouble?"

Taisper adopts a sympathetic expression. "Verik's a pretty special guy, it's true. Like Jemini. Or the...uh, the other Zander. Um." The Inquisitor-on-hiatus rubs the back of his head in embarrassment, thinking any mention of the man must be frustrating to his friend. Hurriedly he changes the subject. "Yeah, trolls ain't typically known for their amazing hiding and hunting skills and such. That's definitely a bit troubling, I reckon. Maybe I...hmmm..." Taisper was going to say "Maybe I could help out", but he thinks of Ilyana and Nick, Jr., and stops himself before committing to such a potentially dangerous activity. Instead, he addresses Zander's third point. "Yeah, the meditating and the forms and katas, they're an Irori thing. I've been trying to clear my head. Ever since the dragon attack, when Ilyana made her, uh, her feelings known to me after that whole thing, ever since then I've been thinkin', 'well, maybe I should try to see what happiness I can scratch out of this city', you know? Maybe this can be a new start for me, too. But it'll take some work. So I remembered something Jemini said once, about learning from all the gods, and about praying to Irori as well as any other when a problem fell into his domain, and I though that was a good way to approach things."

Taisper falls silent for a moment, then glances over at Zander and asks "Zander...does Jemini ever...does she ever, um, does she get on your nerves?" He asks this very tentatively, as if confessing to a terrible sin, or blaspheming aloud in church during worship.

It has taken him some time to sort it out, but standing under the colossal bleached bones of the primeval dragon and facing off against their four bestial enemies, Verik now knows why the Master has put him here.

***************************

Of course it wasn't clear to him in the prior two days, as he stoically suffered in silence and put up with the tribal nonsense that Jemini and Nikolai had gotten them all into. Again. While Korak Kaag and the Rashkala tribe were true to their word as hosts in all the terms required and specified, the time with them could hardly be described as enjoyable. For one, the Rashkala believed little in private property or things owned that were not weapons, which seemed to include Verik's beloved tent and most of his provisions that were now distributed to everyone else. For another, the Rashkala apparently had a fascination with ever-higher bonfires that rendered the encampment as hot as a Osirion summer in the sands, which afforded them the convenient opportunity to wear little in the way of decent clothing for their human-ish anatomy. Not that this obvious fact was noticed or acknowledged by any but Verik himself, and he brought both points up to Jemini on more than one instance. But she just smiled and twisted him around with words as she usually did in her way, leaving him with the only recourse to pray and accept it. Fortune favored him that the Master did not punish him for this egregious display of blatant theft and unwarranted gift-giving.

Grudgingly, he had to admit that Jemini had again outshone the rest of them in engrossing herself in the knowledge of tribal "customs" and the Rashkala people, especially the role of their centaur women and how they cared for their young; twenty Kestens and a galley trunk of gold could not have performed better in diplomacy. Deep down, he envied that quality within her, that ease of selflessness and interest in the affairs of others that seemed so genuine.

During the archery tournament, it was clear to him that the centaurs put on their displays of prowess to show off their 'mobile' qualities and mock his own 'two-legged' skills, with not one proper crossbow to be found in the entire affair! Verik nearly inquired out loud if they could dispense with the premise of technology altogether and resort to pitching oddly-shaped rocks around the mesa, but in the interest of politeness he thought better of it. Oh, Jemini and Akiros seemed to have a grand time in losing, and even Nikolai did more than his usual scowling and posturing of blade and bulging biceps, which to Verik suggested he might have been actually enjoying himself - stranger still that he did so without drinking to excess either by day or by night.

For Verik however, there was little respite from the stares of the tribe and whispered distrust of humanity, much of which Verik discerned with his Comprehend Language prayers, though he did his best to not let on that he understood their crude language skills. He might have let himself go just this once and drank himself silly if Berrin had been there, but his friend was off and gone to Varnhold to secure the treaty that Korak Kaag required of them. So he stayed to himself and kept to his routines, keeping himself armored in his full plate as a twin measure of training discipline and self-protection. Thus, Verik came to learn of the sylvan word cherepakha that was uttered with mocking smiles and derision whenever he came past a group of the savages. At first he thought it meant "priest" or "holy man" or something befitting his devout nature, for while he did not profess his faith to Abadar he did not hide his morning devotions and prayers either as the sun rose upon the plateau. As it turned out, Cherepakha did not mean "cleric" or "shaman" or any of what he originally surmised. It meant "turtle" in their tongue. Specifically, a rather smallish round turtle that was found by the rivers, slow and somewhat docile. When this was openly mentioned at the last feast before their departure to meet the other tribes, it got a fine round of bellows and laughter from all around: Korak Kaag, his fat pregnant wife, Erdija, other stupid warriors like Erdija, the old haggish centaur that was the gatekeeper of meat and fire for whatever inane reason, Nikolai, Jemini, everyone.

***************************

Now as they squared off against their opponents, Verik dearly wished to be Cherepakha once again, with full measure of plate, chain and shield to ward off against these abominations should they break the sanctity of this place. But he had no armor, no shield, no warhammer or weapon of any kind. Yet, the battle was joined, and it was no mistake in his mind that the battle of wits was deadly, with far more repercussions.

As he stood there, mentally reciting the Mantra of Keys and Portals and trying to get over the sheer immensity of it all, it hit him as suddenly and surely as a hammer-stroke down from the Lawgiver himself. He was here not just as a guardian to Jemini, or merely as a Banker of Abadar, or even as a Founder of Newhaven. He was an agent of Order and Weal, here to stand against his counterparts of Chaos and Woe. As clearly put to him as pawns on a Taldori kingschess board perhaps, but active pieces on the board just the same. Without him here, now, they would have failed. Perhaps it was no happenstance that Berrin was given leave those days before, his own movement in this game of the powers more clearly understood. Verik was no more important than the rest, each having their own part to play. No, he was not greater than any of them, but he had awareness of his purpose, and the knowledge to do the best that he could with it. He would serve the Master and the powers of Weal, and do what he could to secure victory.

Round 1 Skill Challenge: Sense Motive on Ganghash Tribe
Sense Motive w/ STH on Ganghash Tribe DC20: 1d20 + 13 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 13 + 2 = 35

Verik feels Jemini's stirring words strike home with Korak Kaag and the Rashkala - a good beginning and a bold way to show common cause while diffusing Hargulka's intelligent but predictable words against them. Verik resists the impulse to sneer at the troll king and instead focuses his mind on studying the reactions from the other tribal leaders, committing to memory the brief review of tribes and chieftains by Korak Kaag before the meeting began.

Verik was by no means as skilled as a Druman in the ways of trade and merchanting, but he had done his fair share of trade negotiations, understanding the give and take of a flow of point and counterpoint. Once more, his time with his old Justicar mentor had shown him layers upon layers of nuanced diplomacy - Benervan Knesh had always told him the key to winning was not by grand talk, but by grand observance. He also had said to oftentimes ignore the talk of the lead negotiator and instead look at those that were watching the negotiations, for they would reveal the "tells" that could be exploited. Verik used those principles now, and watched the reactions of the Ganghash and Kolga tribal leaders as both Jemini and Hargulka began their opening moves of persuasion.

Gangash tribe may be the key to the whole treasure trove...see how they hold the other two tribes in check. Why? How? Hmmm...not moved much by either so far. What do they value? Strength, or guile? Forget Cangarit for now, pawns of Hargulka and what they espouse may be countered by Kolga just out of spite perhaps. Hmmm...if we turn Ganghash and lure Kolga, we could isolate Cangarit as dangerous to the other tribes and alienate them...or perhaps they would fold to the pressure of the other two. Interesting...we must secure Magrat and show respect, but not yet, not yet. If we go for Magrat too early after swaying Korak Kaag to side with us openly it may just split the other three against us...yes yes better to focus on Ganghash next and then see where the dust settles...

Verik watches the other centaur tribes closely, gauging their reaction to Jemini's speech. From what he gathered earlier, the Ganghash tribe holds together the Kolga and Cangarit; gaining their support would make it easier to gain the support of the latter two tribes. He watches the members of the tribe rather than just its leader, knowing that it is their opinion that will sway the tribe rather than just that of the leader. Verik can see that they have a derisive attitude towards Jemini's powerful speech - or Hargulka's argument about monster rights. They are brutish tribal horsemen, and understand just one thing: fear. If Newhaven wants the support of the Ganghash, Jemini will have to turn to harsh words - a language they will understand.

[/spoiler=Ganghash Tribe]The Ganghash prefer a position of power, impressed by bravery, bravado, and the threat of imminent violence more than flowery words or promises of peace.

Intimidate would be highly useful, and Diplomacy would be extremely counterproductive.[/spoiler]

Verik rolled a 30 or better and can select a second tribe's preferences or the result of the round. Which will it be?

Aid Another Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 8 + 1 = 19

Knowing the extreme importance of the next few minutes, of the words which flow from their lips, Akiros whispers a prayer to the Inheritor to guide his words, that justice, and honour, may prevail this day. After a breath or two, he continues on from where Jemini left off " 'His clawed grip...', yes, some of us are more familiar with the long, clawed grip of Choral than others." and, pulling aside his tunic, Akiros reveals part of the long scar, beginning at his neck and extending down, past sight, along his torso. "I received this beauty at the claws of a red dragon that attacked our home, Sanctuary, several months ago. It was not even a very big one, as far as dragons go, yet it almost took my life. It was only one of the many monstrous Reds that attacked and tried, yet failed utterly, to destroy us. Yes indeed...Monsters...there are many of us familiar with the claws of monsters, and the death and destruction they gouge out."

At this he allows his gaze to subtly drift to the clawed hands of the monsters before him. His cloudy vision first resting on the claws of the hated Hag, before moving on to the others. Eventually he brings his gaze up once again to the clan chiefs, resting last on Korak Kaag "Even now, as we speak, one of our number, a human, our general and one of the founders of Newhaven, rides out to secure a peace treaty between another human tribe and the Rashkala. This will be done. It has been said.. Which makes me wonder, what chance of seeking peace might there be with the evil Red Dragons, or he who controls them? Yes, there are but two sides in this coming conflict, the side of peace, of brotherhood, of good, of life. Or the side of war, of monsters, of evil and of death. The choice is yours."

The Darkest Timeline

Things can still be put right, Nikolai snaps as the pair finish their comments. He looks over to Jemini, at once hurt and hopeful. If our union were real, if we had an heir, if Jemini could see that I have done what is necessary to protect her, give her a chance to defeat the Conqueror at his own games.

He unfolds his arms, the corded muscle strongly resembles scaled dragonhide underneath the surface. He steps across the dais to stand next to Jemini, looking at her scarred form, dressed in that glorious gown. Be wary of playing at make-believe choices, Elsir. You did not bleed in the Conqueror's dungeons for the whole of your youth. You have not sat this throne, forced to deter suitors that come to liberate you Queen, but who would then end the only line that can free us all from evil.

Here, Nikolai starts to reach for Jemini's hand, but forcibly stops himself. He looks in her eyes and searches her face, as if this time the argument will win the day. Speaking to Elsir without looking, he says in choked, emotional tones. You have not scarred the radiant woman who gave everything for you, and yet gives you nothing. Not even to save all of Newhaven, Varnhold, and White Hart. You have not won a hundred battles with your only loss the heart of a woman who would rather kill herself than have you, but cannot because she would consign us both to damnation.

The Dragon Lord tears his eyes away from Jemini, dragging his gaze along that severed arm. He turns back to the elf. Whatever trickery you bring, whatever possibilities you believe you will travel to a past, understand this. All I have done was for Jemini. To preserve something of the kingdom she ruled. None of you can pass judgment on me. None of you could have done better.

He lifts dragonsbreath out of the throne, the liquid gold still bubbling as he sits over it in his dragonskin breeches. Lowering the great blade across his lap, he locks eyes with Elsir, a look that promises the Dragon Lord is finished for the night.

Get out.

"Wait," she says simply, then closes her eyes. When she opens them again she is holding on to a resolve that is carried out of unseen insights. Her voice carries a measure of hope, a promise that beckons in the hearts of those who hear it - even the guards.

Jemini lifts a hand, soothing the echo of Nikolai's angry words. "Nikolai, by now, I think, neither of us fears damnation - though I wouldn't welcome it, it would not stay my hand. We are still here, because if we would leave, then there would be little that opposed Choral. Looking at what is just here is not enough - we must look beyond to seek salvation."

She pauses as she shifts her attention to Elsir, the enigmatic wizard who stood before his time.

"Elsir. May I ask a favor? I wish to search your mind to understand what neither of us yet fully grasps. I must warn you; there is little subtlety in this act, if you agree to it, then you will suffer in a way that you may not have before, and might never again. Where the sanctity of the body sometimes may be compromised, it is rare, very rare indeed, that the mind itself is directly violated."

As Akiros makes his case to press home the line of advantage that Jemini has wrought, Verik moves in a calm fashion to stand behind her a couple of paces, hands clasped behind his back. He ignores the harsh stares of the hundreds of centaurs as best he can, and pointedly focuses on his words so that Jemini can hear them, putting her between himself and Hargulka's towering eyes so that he cannot see his lips move.

"Jem, the warriors of Ganghash deem themselves fierce and only moved by strength and power, and more than that you are not going to find a single chieftain over with them that they will obey without question. You must find a way to bully or cow them all with a vision that would cow hardened killers...how to do it without challenging their honor and desiring open bloodshed with us I do not know."

He walks then in a slow circle around to where he can see her face, and she can see his. "Then again, you broke the heathens at Dragonshead before we even charged the line, so I know you can find a way. You and Akiros keep talking, I'm going to sort out if the Kolga are only held to Ganghash by strength and fear as well, or if something else drives them."

With that, he walks his slow circuit away from the others, nodding to Akiros' words and pretending to size up the horrible hag that glares at them both, but in truth watching who rules Kolga and how they react to the revelations the 'humans' bring to their feet.

Verik selects Kolga to determine what motivates them

Somewhere between the tail end of the Dragon Lord's harsh explanation and his false Queen's mollification of them, a low guttural sound begins to echo in the hall from over on the far side. It begins low and like a moaning growl, but by the time Jemini is asking Elsir her dark request, the moan has increased in pitch and fervor, to the point that Elsir cannot easily answer her without raising his voice to a near shout to compensate for the echo.

Looking in a near state of pure frustration and fear, the dragon guard gestures with his bloodied club and gauntleted hand to the rest, clearly having no idea now what to do.

Over the passing months, Nikolai has become accustomed to regalia. Surrounded by the leaders of the nomen, and indeed by the Troll King's contingent, the barbarian wears the trappings chosen specifically for such a meeting. His dark brown breeches have a hint of red stained into them, brought out by the scarlet-and-blood of the dragonscale cloak worn over his right shoulder. His long black hair curled naturally when clean, adding a youthful, almost handsome touch.

Always, the great blade dragonsbreath flames at his back, held in the dragonscale half-scabbard that ignores the heat and flames. His chain shirt is stained black, favoring a ruddy appearance for his hosts, rather than projecting the gleaming silver others might.

Still a novice in the art of diplomacy, Nikolai waits his turn to speak. He punctuates Jemini's speech with an attentive nod here and there, but mostly he listens intently.

And loves her.

Aid Another, Diplomacy 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

The Dragonlord is irritated by Jemini's interruption, but still lets her speak. For long months, he'd hoped to involve her more and more, ruling together until she gave her heart to him. Their union would inspire thousands, and their heir would finish what Nikolai could not.

But the the wailing from the Fool began again, and the idiot guard trying to silence him reacted as if the Abadarian had never healed himself before. The pressure builds inside his massive chest and bursts forth.

Nikolai leaps from his seated position, not allowing Elsir to answer the queen. He'll show you nothing if this damned mewling won't stop!

The Dragonlord's wrath is so great that when he shoves the new guard aside, the poor man is lifted from his feet and lands on his shoulder. Nikolai shouts at the pitiful form, the Fool mouthing out half words through his scarred, burned lips. "Is there no silencing you, Fool?' Nikolai kicks the hunched man directly in the gut.

Power Attack, rage 1d20 + 44 ⇒ (2) + 44 = 46
Nonlethal damage 1d3 + 44 ⇒ (3) + 44 = 47
Power Attack, rage 1d20 + 38 ⇒ (9) + 38 = 47
Nonlethal damage 1d3 + 44 ⇒ (2) + 44 = 46
Power Attack, rage 1d20 + 33 ⇒ (12) + 33 = 45
Nonlethal damage 1d3 + 44 ⇒ (2) + 44 = 46
Power Attack, rage 1d20 + 28 ⇒ (3) + 28 = 31
Nonlethal damage 1d3 + 44 ⇒ (3) + 44 = 47
Power Attack, rage 1d20 + 23 ⇒ (9) + 23 = 32
Nonlethal damage 1d3 + 44 ⇒ (3) + 44 = 47
Total nonlethal damage: 232

The Dragonlord continues kicking for long seconds, a full-throated burst of profanity exploding from his red face. In those seconds, the Fool wore the faces of Verik of Abadar, of Jemini's first suitors, of Choral, of Lejian Plohr, of Kravek Klar.

Only when the Fool vomits blood and passes from consciousness does Nikolai stop kicking. The Dragonlord heaves for seconds, veins bulging through red skin, arms raised as his swollen muscles ached for more combat.

After several seconds, he turns his neck in Elsir's direction. "Do as she asks, elf. But do not presume there is a road home for you or your friends. This," he nods at Verik's soiled and bleeding form, "This is the only reality you have now. We keep what's left until an heir comes, and he will have the power to bring the Conqueror to his knees."

Round 1: Rashkala

Hargulka steps forward to counter Jemini's words, but his words echo through the skeletal meeting place without nearly as much grandeur as the Founders are able to muster. "Centaurs, you are called in the human tongue. I am surprised they do not refer to you as horsefolk! Our allies are numerous. Each has a vibrant cultural identity, though you would not know it from the language of humanity. Lizardfolk! Kobold! Troll! They ignore our heritage, and desire our land! Humans do not support you, centaurs. Ally with your own kind, and be saved from their expansion!"

The masked hag rises up from her bent back to pitch in support. "Humanity has hunted my kind into near-extinction, driving us into the swamps. For what? Because we do not look like them? Because we do not hew to their ideas of culture, or polite society?" Her voice is the thing of nightmares, raspy with a hint of dark secrets and malice.

The minotaur glares with dull eyes, watching the Magrat tribe. The beastly figure's hulking musculature is as fearsome as Hargulka's, but he doesn't have the same type of canny eyes that make the king of trolls so dangerous. He lets out a snort of frustration with a low-pitched growl.

The left head of the massive two-headed troll speaks, with a surprisingly reedy voice. "King Hargulka offers your tribes the same offer he has made to many others: live together in the common defense from humanity's envy, or fall as individuals. Many others have taken this offer, and many more will in the future. We seek no war, but humanity will bring war upon us all - whether or not you bargain to eke away a living as slaves for them."

Watching Hargulka's counter to Jemini's stirring words, Verik suppresses a smirk and orders his mind to keep watch on the Kolga leaders as the brutes all try to sow their seeds of fear. Right right you dreadful black hag, it could be those things that make your kind an enemy to us...or I don't know maybe the fact that YOU EAT humans and throw them into your pot? How about wiping out entire towns like your kind did with the ruins of Heibarr? Is that a cultural transgression? Phah!

As his slow-walk circle moves him back towards Jemini, he notes with some concern that the bull is trying to discern the reactions of the Magrat tribe, and he realizes both Verik and he are each looking to supply their leader with information to sway the others. Interesting... As the two-headed troll finishes his words and the centaur elders and warriors seem to be reacting to what they've just heard, Verik moves the final steps back to Jemini to engage in quick conference.

"Kolga is definitely tied to Ganghash, Jemini, but they stare at the other tribes with distrust and dislike nearly as much as they do us. I don't think threats will work with them at all, perhaps because they believe Ganghash keeps them protected, I don't know. It's not my way certainly, but perhaps guile and trickery are in order if you cannot win them by flattery. Oh and one other thing. Best secure them before you try to sway Magrat and certainly before Cangarit, else they'll never be swayed from the perceived insult. Up to you, but I'd write off Cangarit and go for the others first."

Opening his mouth to speak, Elsir is suddenly interrupted by the wailing of Verik and the savage beating that had just occurred. The goodness inside of Elsir made him want to rush towards the downed main and help him, but his intellect waged itself against himself urging him to wait. The beating was cruel and vicious. In all of his years Elsir had never seen such violence used so quickly and with such little provocation. If until a few moments ago he had wondered why Jemini had despised Nikolai, now he knew better. He saw the rage, the anger and the furious power that the man so callously put on display. It was at once glaringly clear that Nikolai was a power beyond reason. “Hubris be thy name” Elsir thought to himself and then stopped. This man for all of his savagery was no mere brute.

Taking a deep breath, Elsir tried to stop the thumping of his heart and the cold sweat that rand down his spine. This man was a tyrant. In the background he heard the whimpers of Verik, as he lay curled into a ball. He could smell the stench of piss and hear the rasping of breath. He saw the hard gleam in Jemini’s eyes as they bored into Nikolai’s back. He knew she would never give him a child. The loathing for the man was apparent. No… Nikolai would never listen to reason. He felt he had done all he could and nothing could change this darkened place. Best to listen and learn what he might, reason would have no effect on a man like this. He had made a foolish mistake.

Eyes turning towards the shackled queen, Elsir nodded. Jemini, In the last twenty four hours, Willas and I have watched ourselves die a thousand deaths, living through each terrible moment. Raggedly Elsir shook his head. I am not sure if what you ask for is worse than that. I keep my secrets close… but you may do as you wish. I will not resist you. Then, as the queen raised her one good hand towards the elf, Elsir had a start. All of this had begun with the linking of two minds. “Oh gods…” Elsir thought to himself a split second before the power took hold. “I hope I diden’t just make a terrible mistake.”

Jemini nods to Elsir. An expression of indeterminate pain on her face as she suffers through Verik's beating. After Nikolai's outburst abates a shining glow sweeps through the room as Jemini calls upon the channeled blessing of her own. The light mends and soothes, but it cannot hide the mournful nature of the manifestation. With a hacking cough Verik regains consciousness - and as bones and flesh mend a little the cough eases into a whimper.

"Nikolai, please. This is important." Jemini doesn't wait for a response, but fastens her eyes on Elsir again. "I will start now." The words barely escape her lips when the elf collapses to the floor, his hands grasp and claw at his head, his eyes are torn open wide in disbelief. Elsir feels, he knows, that Jemini is burrowing into his mind - and the nature of the intrusion is not subtle but rather akin to a mallet stirring inside his brain. To the shocked guards the process doesn't take very long - a few seconds - but in Elsir's head a small lifetime passes as memories and knowledge are violently drawn forth, grated and discarded.

Immediately after another wave of healing light washes through the room, then things go quiet and Jemini sits, her eyes closed. A tremendous strain is evident on her face, but her one hand is held up as a sign that she does not want to be disturbed. The hall becomes eerily quiet, the primary noise coming from Verik's whimpers and Elsir's rapid breathing as his adrenalin spiked body is reeling to recover from the trauma. Uncertainty is painted in the eyes of Willas and the guards, whereas the Cog and Nikolai stare at each other. Then - almost as suddenly as it began - half a minute later Jemini's eyes open again. "I understand."

Jemini stands up, "This is a time for truths and understanding; and perhaps a new tomorrow and a new yesterday. Elsir. Please accept my sincere apology, I know this was not an easy ordeal. You may rejoice, though, in the certainty that if you return with the knowledge you have gained here, then your fate may still be unwritten. But know, that before you can leave here, you must first help give this place a new growth."

Jemini gestures expansively, "Imagine a tree; a large, very large, tree. Imagine how its trunk grows upward and branches into ever finer branches, and these branches later divide into twigs upon which leafs grow. Now imagine that each of these leafs is in turn a tree, a trunk of its own that grows into splitting branches, twigs and more leafs. And these leafs again are trees, and so forth. We - that is to say this place, this reality - are one such a leaf. We are but one manifestation of many that are, and the start of many more that will be. When you return to your own leaf - a leaf that our current leaf came from - then you take with you the saplings that can give rise to new growth."

"Unfortunately, that cannot prevent this leaf. All leafs will grow. You can add possibilities, but you cannot prune them off. Elsir has died already, and he will so again. But Elsir will also live. All the branching possibilities will become real within themselves. Thus, when you return, you will be the soil from which fresh trees will grow alongside those that have already sprung forth. Some may lead to happier places, and some will lead here or more twisted."

"The same applies to us, now, too. Your presence here has already nurtured fresh seeds to split their shells. It is as if..." here Jemini smiles a genuine smile that evaporates misgivings in those who witness it, "as if the die have been recast."

To explain a bit, most of the mechanical actions for Jemini in this post (other than channeling) rely on the oracle of lore abilities "Brain Drain" and "Focused Trance". Depending on Jemini's exact oracle level, there is a real threat to Elsir's life (due to the Brain Drain) - but in my head I've settled on around oracle 6; which would have Elsir lose about 50% of his max life on average. The story component revolves around brain drain giving Jemini the basic knowledge of the theories in question - followed immediately by a Focused Trance for an additional +20 bonus to her understanding of the theories which should give her sufficient traction to make reliable statements.

Round 2

Verik moves into a convenient position to watch the reactions of the Magrat tribe in their deliberations, pretending that he is watching intently on Korak Kaag and the Rashkala deliberations with his senior warriors, but stealing glances at how Magrat is viewing the reactions of their closest ally. Friends or not, it would be simplistic to assume the motivations of Korak Kaag and the Rashkala peoples are the same motivations for the Magrat; by virtue of their numbers and geography relative to Varnhold and the other tribes could mean vast differences in outlook.

Round 2 Skill Challenge: Sense Motive on Magrat Tribe
Sense Motive w/ STH on Magrat Tribe DC 20: 1d20 + 13 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 13 + 2 = 35
Hahahahahhahahahahahhahahahaha

As Jemini, Nikolai and Akiros finish their pointed looks and brief murmurs to one another and begin to execute their plan upon the next tribe - most likely Ganghash but possibly Kolga - Verik watches for the Magrat reactions on what stirs their blood. Every look is a tell. Every frown, nod, snort or stamp of hoof a revelation as to what drives them. Suppressing a surge of excitement that he is actually good at understanding what is happening here at this place and this time, Verik can only give a thankful prayer to Abadar once again that he is here. An Agent of Order and Weal, in service to the Master and the other Powers of enlightenment, piercing the veil to put the pieces of the puzzle together. He understands, and plays his part that was designed for him. The minotaur brute fumbles about by contrast, his dim brain limited to feeling the intricacies and nuances of this game; Verik wants to laugh aloud and mock the beast at his pitiful faculties in this contest, but of course Verik knows better than that. The game is far from over, and each of them must do their part and best their rivals.

He continues to walk in a slow half-circle on his side of the clearing, watching Magrat, watching Cangarit, watching them all as the play unfolds into its next act.

Borodin has been holding himself still for these moments, awaiting whatever miracle Cog has promised. The beating of poor Verik brings him out of his meditative state. Then the one armed queen brings Elsir to his knees and speaks of time as endless trees. “That makes perfect sense and at the same time no sense at all. Here is hoping to another leaf…”

The guards all stand in shock at Borodin’s speech. Wasting no time Borodin walks calmly to the center of the room and in front of the golden throne. He looks up at the crazed king meets his enraged glare, and adds. ”Why don’t you start with me?”

Clutching his head, Elsir groaned in pain. He wanted to vomit. He had thought that seeing his other lives end had been terrible… he thought that watching the rest of his expedition die beneath the catacombs of the ancient buried cyclopedian city had been horrific. He thought he had been prepared. Like so many things of late, he had been wrong.

The feeling of the woman picking through his thoughts, discarding that which was not needed and callously snapping up that what was felt like a violation of the worst kind. He wanted to cry, he felt unclean, he felt dazed and confused. There was the sensation like he should remember things that had suddenly been ripped away from him. He could remember his name day, and the face of his father and mother… but their names had been stolen. He could remember his wife, the fire of his soul with red hair flashing… Ashandra. Pausing, collecting himself, Elsir involuntarily cried out. Gone! So much of it was gone… the first time they had kissed. The way she had smelled. The feeling him running his fingers through her hair.. all of it was gone. He could remember that he loved her. That she had been his and he had been hers but it was a memory of a memory.

NOOOOOOOooooooooooooooo. Elsir cried, wailing and shaking his head two and fro. The world swam around him. He felt light headed. He wanted to vomit again. Blearly he stumbled towards the queen. Give it back! That wasn’t yours to take. GIVE IT BACK DAM YOU!

Taisper falls silent for a moment, then glances over at Zander and asks "Zander...does Jemini ever...does she ever, um, does she get on your nerves?" He asks this very tentatively, as if confessing to a terrible sin, or blaspheming aloud in church during worship.

Zander thinks on that a while. "Not that I can say. I seem to have some extra raw nerves these days, and well, she ain't standing on any of them...near, but not on. I give her a lot of credit and cut her even more slack. I don't think any of THIS would be holding together long term without her glue. She is the only one willing and prepared to be the leader here. The rest of us can be stand ins, but we all have our faults. As you point out, she has hers too, but I don't think that detracts that much from what she means to Sanctuary."

Zander pauses to look back toward the town. "There was a time in my life where I could have been closer to Jemini, umm....or a girl like her, I mean. But I don't think people often get to grow up into who they think they will be....I know I didn't, although I think she did. And that probably has much to do with her will. But some of it too, is she moves in another world, with the games of the Houses. I leave it to her and the likes of the Orlovsky heir. We, the likes of you and I, have our feet on the ground and care for the things that really matter, and work at picking up the little loose ends for those who might have been forgotten. You can always count on my help in that regard."

Zander laughs, "I guess, I could have just said no. This is what I get for being bored in court all morning."

Nikolai stands more than a head taller than any human present, even taller than many of the centaurs under the great linnorm bones. Even without his dragonscale cloak and his immense flaming sword, the human exudes physical power and threatens danger. His face hides nothing, his demeanor is grim and close to violence. He strides to stand before the impressive chieftain of the Ganghash, looking him dead in the eye without raising his eyes. It is a new experience for him, not looking down to make eye contact. For a moment, he considers the now-familiar angle of his face when he looks into Jemini's eyes.

And instant reaction startles his. He feels a softness, a determination devoid of violent instinct. He recognizes this is not the time, and hardens his gaze before speaking.

"Leaders of the nomen, particularly the Ganghash, I stand before you as a man who can look you in the eye. Not up to your level, and not down on you as is the manner of giants or soft nobility. I am Nikolai Rogarvia, and when I make a promise, I will keep it."

He steps away, deferentially. They take your meaning when you stand before them like that...no reason to push it. Now...to the point.

"We have heard the troll Hargulka speak as if he is one of you, and as if the humans present a threat you ought be united against. I flatly wonder if you will feel the same when you see his kind eating the flesh of speaking races. I wonder what kinship you will feel when the hunger of dragons and trolls and beasts who pretend friendship, but feast on intelligent races, intrudes on your sense of honor."

Nikolai glares at Hargulka with undisguised hostility, even judgement, as he continues. "A brave woman, who had no reason to risk herself for me and did, sought the friendship of all here. She looks for an alliance against a resurgent evil. She looks for friends among races that can keep their borders, profit from trade, and keep one another safe in unsafe times. The troll in your presence spat on her offer and made threats out of our intentions. I come to you as a symbol of her considerable strength to promise you two things, promises I will die before I see broken."

Nikolai strides in measured steps among the gather nomen. He has practiced in his mind which words to say before which chieftains, even when pacing before the Trollking himself. In this moment, he addresses all, saving his harshest words for the harshest tribe, and of course for his enemy.

"My first promise is that if our queen, Jemini, promises you friendship, safe trade and secure borders, I will see it enforced. Not only do you have the promise that our benevolent leader wishes no conflict, but instead unity against more dangerous foes, but you have my word that if any agency of hers breaks that promise, they will answer to me swiftly. Justice and mercy reign under the Queen's rule, but when justice demands an answer for those who break treaty with her neighbors, it is I who descend on them with steel resolve and a flaming sword. You can trust her promise, and you can trust that her decree is obeyed by those who more closely share those borders with you."

Nikolai knows his pace has brought him closer to the trolls. Good. Now he will speak like the Nikolai of old. Though he is changed, he can still convey brutal strength, and the trolls and nomen must knows their decision will have consequences. He looks back to the Ganghrash.

"Consider then, that you have more in common with the humans than you do with trolls and the company they raise. The nomen hunt and cook, they make love and make war and are content to live life as the gods left it to them. Humans are much the same. They sometimes play at castles and courts. They sometimes offer themselves to sins that require judgment. But humanity as a whole hunt and cook the flesh of animals, tend gardens. and raise children. But consider dragons and trolls and the like. They eat the flesh of living, screaming men. They live only to subjugate those smaller than themselves. Even now, this Trollking" comes to you with giants speaking immediately of taking war to someone else. What war? You complained of humans encroaching and we dispatched a messenger to create peace. We were attacked by noble wolves who spoke of an alliance with you and this monster for their own protection. I slew their alpha in single combat, but only after offering him peace. I made that peace with the survivors, appointing a leader and promising them they may hunt and carry on freely, so long as they do not join Hargulka, and hunt neither nomen nor man, nor any creature that speaks and raises its children in peace."

He turns and faces the troll directly...even eyeing the larger champion without fear. "My second promise to you is this. Those who rattle sabres against my queen are forfeit. She brings peace and you bare your claws, then your answer is with me. We will not allow Choral a foothold within arms' reach of our home or yours. We will not allow races that capture and enslave others for food or labor. We will oppose any who pretend that we are the aggressors. Join Jemini of Lebeda, Queen of Newhaven, as friend and ally, and we will prosper and trade and hunt and share our lives as much as we want. Join Hargulka the Trollking, or anyone else who enjoys the flesh of talking races, or who bring war to our doorstep, and you have chosen your sides. Hargulka tells you the choice is peace and victory or war and subjugation. I tell you that is true. If you stand with Hargulka, you will have to reconsider when he is slain. Better to oppose his warmongering now and deal the Conqueror an early blow by having honorable kingdoms united in common defense, than to find your ally dead for his crimes against speaking races and his roll in the Conqueror's plan. Better my flaming sword is your friend, than your judge."

Nikolai concludes his last statement having returned to the Ganghrash. He holds the chief's gaze, his promise of violence against the troll every bit as clear as his promise to enforce Jemini's edict of peaceful borders.

Intimidate, with hero point and bonuses for being tall. :b 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (6) + 17 = 23

Intimidate: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12 Whoo!...Not : |

As Nikolai speaks, Akiros' gaze is drawn to the hated hag. As he looks, memories surface of the last such creature he faced, and the way it eviscerated his good friend, Corwin. Hatred pours out of the former Ronin's gaze, and were he armed, and would such actions not destroy the alliance with the Nomen they are fighting to create, it is clear to all that he would attack her, now.

When the heir of Rogarvia finishes, Akiros tears his eyes away from the hated creature and turns his iron gaze upon the Ganghrash chieftain "Look! Look at them! These creatures, these spawn of evil who lie and deceive and seek to gain your trust. Look at them! You know what they are. You know what they do! And yet you stand here, and even consider allying yourself with tools of evil and chaos?? Know this, Ganghrash, I am a tool of The Inheritor. I am a weapon of Justice, of Honour" here his gaze shifts back again to the hag "and I shall strike down, with great and terrible vengeance, all who walk the path of Evil." and, once more, looking back to the chieftain "and any and all who willingly ally themselves with such."

several months ago, in the darkest timeline...

The Dragonlord looked over the business of the day with irritation. Parchment, ink, taxes, conscripts, rangings - all served the purpose of going through the motions any more. His kingdom was dying, his enemy mocked him, and his subjects despised him. In his days as the Staglord, he'd simply raised his glass and drained more mead while sycophants and prisoners attended his accounts. There was precious little bloodsport in running a kingdom, even one that had shed as much blood as his.

His stewards waited for answers, even though he could see it in their eyes. There were no answers. Newhaven was failing and there was no help for it. He raised his eyes, pushing away the comfortable oblivion of unrestrained anger. These moments always made him want violence.

One of the stewards spoke up. As you see, Lord, the land has not enough wealth in it to pay both the conscripts and the Conqueror's tribute. We must choose one or the other. We choose war against the Conqueror, and pay the soldiers. Or we choose the tribute. EIther way, we will not have enough gold to pay either in a few months.

Nikolai Rogarvia narrows his eyes. His mood sours even as he makes his response. So we refuse the Conqueror and his dragons return for more sport, or we pay soldiers to soil themselves and flee when the dragons come three moons from now. I wonder why it is I let you live, Svargal. Why shouldn't I sell your corpse to a necromancer and pay Choral's tribute that way?

THe steward knows the question is not a joke. But he has lived a year longer than any steward before him, and for a reason. He retorts without looking afraid. My corpse wouldn't buy Newhaven a week, m'Lord. I say we pay the trinute and give the men a week at home in exchange for reduces wages. They'll return to their wives, make little soldiers, and work their lands and trades for a few days. Might be they cause enough trade to last us.

Svargal hesitates to continue, but knows this gambit has worked before. The Mad Dragon is fearsome, but predictable. We know why we're in this spot m'Lord, and we agree. The Conqueror wants Queen Jemini as consort, and until you give her over, you must pay the tribute. But we swore an oath. If she marries you, no tributes garnished until the heir inherits the crown. But so long as her virtue remains intact, the Conqueror will bleed Newhaven, and everything else she loves dry, until he has her. So we pay the tribute, until we can't. And when the Conqueror comes to claim her, you either slay him, or he burns us all.

Svargal holds the Dragonlord's gaze steady, though he is shaking inside. The effort to bleed Newhaven dry was a cruel joke by Choral. The red wyrm knew Nikolai would see the world burn before he gave up on his hopeless love. The tribute flowed mercilessly, forcing the Queen's own enforcer to violate her treaties, raping and pillaging like when he was young, bringing gold and goods to Choral's red dragon disciples in exchange for another three months' peace. In reality, the Dragonlord had taken sword and flame to the countryside for the Conqueror. Where Newhaven once barely had the strength to stand before the great wyrm, now the human kingdoms and their neighbors were divided, betrayed, burned down. Everyone knew the irony ate away at the Dragonlord's heart, until they named him the Mad Dragon for his bouts of rage and bestial slaughter of those who challenged him. But hope remained. If the Conqueror came to Newhaven, if Nikolai Rogarvia, who'd ceded all he had built in Brevoy to the dragon to save the woman who saved his soul, confronted and killed Choral, the nightmare would be over. The Queen would be saved. The centaurs and worgs, elves and human kingdoms would never trust one another again, but they would rebuild alone, and the great red wyrm would be dead.

But for Choral to come here, there could be no tribute, and no army. That much was clear after the Pact at White Hart was sustained. Choral and Nikolai fought until the wyrm realized it might lose face. Even killing Nikolai would be a defeat if it publicly suffered a grievous wound. So the pact became that until Jemini went to the Conqueror willingly, or until Newhaven's tribute ran out, she was free to choose a husband and heir.

Svargal knew Nikolai would die before he saw Jemini forced into a marriage she didn't want. And if she was going to marry someone simply to produce an heir, why not him?

But this is where the Dragonlord became as mad as he was mighty. Suitors from Brevoy, Taldor, and the River Kingdoms came bearing gifts of gold and jewels and soldiers. SOme intended to better their station as consort of as beloved queen. Some of them came to make their lands safe by strengthening the alliance. Some came for Jemini herself, drawn to to the passion and principle of a beautiful, noble woman.

Nikolai hated them all. Svargal believed the Dragonlord found himself unequal to their charms and gifts, and that drove him into a brooding shadow. It was not long before Nikolai began challenging suitors, believing their intentions less than honorable. He appointed champions to beat them, and then mocked them. They fled back to their homes, leaving their gifts behind, which Nikolai used to pay the tribute.

Svargal holds Nikolai's gaze as he remembers. He speaks in tones that convey regret, and desperation. He does not approve of the tactic but cannot deny it has kept the dragons at bay for several months.

"There is hope that we will replenish our coffers some tonight, Dragonlord. A suitor from Galt has arrived.

to be continued...

later, that awful night in the darkest timeline...

The Dragonlord frowns, seated on his great chair a step below Jemini's modest throne. Say that again.

The Galtan nobleman never stops smiling. He is truly without fear, truly believing there will be no consequences for his boasts. He bows again, a trite, shallow measure that conveys respect to no one.

As I said, to the Queen and to no one else, I come to relieve you of your brutish company and your enemies at large. I bring gold and silver, and a battalion of men who have never known defeat. They have not repelled a flight of dragons as your old companions are said to have done, but then that was years ago. Give me your hand in marriage, and I will take these burdens away from you. My family has survived—

The Queen speaks, which brings a chorus of gasps. It is well know she does not care for braggarts, and has never approved of this arrangement with the Conqueror. You have not survived battle with harpies and trolls, honored guest. You have not survived dragons and liches, not a siege of mad alchemists. You have never been in the presence of Choral. Have a care how you dismiss my companions. We have fought and overcome much, here she sweeps her gaze, indicating the whole room, then looking for her friend Verik, then settling her eyes on Nikolai. Together.

The Galtan actually rolls his eyes. Yes, my bride-to-be. We have all bested mighty challenges in our lives. You have never dealt with the constant criticism of your people, not the disloyal babbling of pretentious sycophants.

The Dragonlord looks pointedly at the priest of Abadar.

The Galtan continues, his smile never fading. I have researched my proposition well. The Conqueror assaults uncivilized lands. He particularly enjoys the torture and misery of your royal enforcer. I will give you military support, wealth to rebuild what you lost at White Hart, and together we will make multiple heirs with which to seal your treaty. And of course, my first act as king—

Nikolai actually stand when he interrupts. Leave your gold and your men. Take your presumptions back home with you. He steps forward, his face turning red with quickened blood. The change in him also causes Jemini to stand.

The Galtan, to his credit, grimaces without blanching, and steps aside to regain sight of Jemini. The act is pronounced because of the enforcer's height and girth. Exactly as I was saying, my pending love. Your rule is made worse by the oaf Nikolai. He lost Rogarvia even before he fully had his grasp on it. The centaurs hate you because of his brutality. Every noble house to send you a suitor fears or despises him. My first act as king will be to give him to the Conqueror as a peacemaking gift. And my second act will be to plant my noble seed—

Nikolai's strength is such that his backhand strike crumples the man. His legs buckle under the sudden weight, his jaw cracks audibly. A high-pitched shriek escapes as he falls. Nikolai steps forward and raises his hand in the air. The enforcer's great sword, dragonsbreath, leaps from its dragonskin scabbard, flying to Nikolai's hand swift and straight.

The broken Taldan looks up defiantly, though there are tears in his eyes and spittle drools from his slack jaw. He half-mumbles an arcane phrase and several look-alike Taldans appear, rolling and weaving across the floor. When Nikolai swings, three of them disappear. On the backswing two more. After the downstroke, only the original Taldan remains. He looks at the flaming sword, and into Nikolai's bloodshot eyes, and soils himself.

Jemini leaps from the dais, ducking under the sword as it raises high. She kneels in her royal gown, ready to speak a quick blessing to heal the broken Galtan and send him on his way. Just go. Your audience with me is over!

It is clear to everyone she is acting to save his life. Everyone but Nikolai. Her protective instincts have brought her under his sword a second time, and she knows as she looks up that Nikolai's vision is clouded with violent focus. She raises her shield arm, and instinct from years of battle.

Nikolai swings. Her cry of pain rings throughout the hall. The Galtan makes no sound at all as dragonsbreath cleaves through her forearm and into the young man's shoulder. The blade flares out white hot for an instant, cauterizing the queen's wound and causing the bones in her severed arm to crackle with hear. The Galtan dies instantly a look of horror frozen on his face. The spray of blood is incredible, the blade driving deep through the man's shoulder, ribs and spine. Flames spurt out of his torso on both sides.

No one speaks. It takes a full second for Nikolai to realize he has killed the suitor. He turns his head to make an apology to his queen and realizes she isn't there.

currently, in the darkest timeline...

You want death, you coward? Nikolai growls at Borodin. You want to judge me for my failure? Perhaps I could take your arm and you could sit with the queen and remind me of my failures.

An idea pops into Nikolai's head. A cruel punishment for the man's insolence. And an example to everyone else. He strides forward in big steps, reaching out to shove Taisper to the floor as he passes.

I'll tell you what, Cog. Your man doesn't need a tongue to remind me of my failures. He can just decorate my wall with his bowels, the way Choral's demons strung mine about the halls. Serves him right, he isn't near the self-righteous critic Verik was. It's unfair for me to take the Fool's tongue and let this idiot keep his.

Nikolai's claws force their way through his fingertips, the familiar pain driving his anger. He lifts Borodin up to the wall by his face, and closes the claws around his throat. Nikolai's blood boils out of his fingertips as red dragonfire gutters from each draconic talon.

In fact, Cog. Why don't you bear witness. Since I deserve so much judgment, why don't I just take this man's tongue—

Nikolai uses one great hand to push Borodin's head against the wall. The smaller man's faces turns purple from the strain, but his spine holds. His throat burns with fire from the searing claws. Nikolai closes his fingers inside Borodin's neck, tearing flesh and blistering his skin, and pulls.

Borodin shrieks for a second. The certainty of martyrdom closed in around the edges of his vision. Before he began to lose consciousness, he watch the Mad Dragon pull his throat and tongue out from his neck and cast it at poor Verik's feet.

There, Fool. Get your voice back, if you can. Watch what the Conqueror did to me, and will do to your queen every night. Watch me flay this man, and then judge me for what I do to him.

Nikolai reaches out his hand, catching the flaming dragonsbreath in his palm. Borodin gurgles, barely conscious with his throat open, as the Mad Dragon grips the blade, lifts his victim high into the air, and let's go. Before Borodin can fall dead to the floor, Nikolai swings dragonsbreath a full circle, coming to bear on its target in a wide, flaming arc—

The Cog's senses of touch and sound and smell, heightened by years of blindness, detect the increase in The Dragon Lord's pulse, hear his feet slide into a combat stance, hear the wet ripping of flesh as it is torn from Borodin's body, and then what he has most eagerly been awaiting; the distinct whistling of steel through the air. Ah. It is time. I am blessed. Thank you, Master.

With a speed scarcely to be believed given his broken appearance, The Cog leaps in the air towards Nikolai and Borodin. His aim is not quite perfect, but it is good enough -- the blade lands with an enormous thud deep in the Abadarian's infection-ridden body, cleaving him from shoulder to hip before Nikolai pulls it out with disgust and drops the wounded but still-living Borodin in a heap on the ground.

Those with the courage to look see that as his last breath leaves his body, the Cog is smiling hideously, his face a terrible parody of pious rest.

Light bursts from the Cog's body as Nikolai splits through him. His dead eyes light up with divine power as his body stops falling through the air. The flash of light envelops the room entirely, accompanied a moment later by a rolling boom of thunderous noise. Even Nikolai is too shocked to move.

For Verik, his mind works for the first time in a very long while. His mind was clouded for years, cursed and drained just enough for him to understand his loss. Deprived of a tongue and of the means to restore himself, Verik descended further and further into madness. Nikolai's most recent beating was one of many, an endless litany of violence that only further sent him into madness. Now, laying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, his mind is his own. His tongue fills his mouth, unfamiliar yet welcome. His body is his own. His mind is his own. For the first time in years, he can feel Abadar's power coursing through him. He stands, fixing his eyes on Nikolai. His blessed armor and blessed weaponry - scattered and destroyed by his tormentor for so long that he had forgotten them entirely - appear in a haze around his body. Faintly, he recalls the memory of Vinodragov returning their arms and armor to them so many years prior, and recognizes the hand of his god. Seeing Taisper's wrecked body floating in the air, he understands the price that his cousin paid.

For Borodin, his throat and tongue are restored to him as abruptly - though not nearly as violently - as they were taken by the Dragon Lord. He looks up at the Cog, barely believing what just occurred. This was the man who saved him, who trained him, who gave him a purpose. With his guidance, the Resistance harried the Dragon Lord's occupation at every step. What would they do now? Was this his plan all along? His mind rushes so quickly with questions that he barely notices that his weapons and armor have appeared - somehow - on his body and in his hand.

Jemini stands tall and proud, beautiful and strong as ever. She flexes her shield arm for the first time since Nikolai's reckless wrath tore it from her. She had refused his many penitent offers to restore it through magic, choosing to wear it proudly as a reminder to him. Her hand grips the bulwark that shielded the realm for years. The light from the Cog's body brightens in her presence, until it is nearly blinding.

Elsir's memories rush back into his mind with such force that he nearly wretches again. He lives his entire life up to this point in an instant, accompanied by Jemini's scrambled thoughts and memories. He understands what she has seen the last few years. He understands how Nikolai's good intentions led him here. He understands why he did what he did, and how they came to this very point.

The Cog, though... The Cog floats in midair, his body alight in a flame that does not burn. Finally, after a long moment, his feet touch the ground. He opens his mouth to speak. His voice sounds like a hundred voices speaking through him. "A deal was struck, Dragon Lord. My investment is paid, and now it is time for the return." The Cog's glowing body stands in front, morningstar in hand and glowing golden armor worn. "Elsir, you'll be going now." He holds his hand up, and a glowing set of runes appears below the elven wizard's feet. Elsir recognizes it as an exceptionally complex version of his own divining magic, given a swirling visual form. "In thirty seconds, this branch will be pruned, and a new tree will be planted. True civilization will bloom there, and this branch will wither and die."

Borodin, Verik, Elsir, and Jemini are all affected by greater restoration, regeneration (as if holding the affected body part in place), and heal at CL 20. (If you haven't created a stat block, Jemini and Verik are both 18th level. Taisper's revenant form is level 13, plus 5 mythic tiers. Each PC also has his full armor and weaponry (using standard WBL). You can roll Initiative if you intend to go to combat, but don't take any actions (other than speech) until everyone has rolled.

At the Linnorm Grave...

Jemini Intimidate 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (6) + 16 = 22

Jemini points to the leader of the Ganghash tribe. "You! Give me your attention! I demand[i] your attention, and your respect! I extended the hand of Newhaven in peace, but we are strong warriors as well. We will defend ourselves if attacked, but we are not aggressive to you. If Newhaven wars with King Hargulka, it shall be because of [i]his action - not ours. If we must defend ourselves, I will stand at the forefront with my champions at my side. They will strike themselves against the bulwark of civilization, only to be driven back. They shall rue the day that any of them dreamt that they could defeat Newhaven in battle. Stand with us, or against us on that day."

Hargulka waits a moment as her boast rings in the ears of the centaurs. He then lets loose a terrible roar, one that seems to shake the very bones of the giant linnorm. It continues long and unbroken for many long moments, finally ending in a laugh that is just as terrible. "We could have crushed your tiny, puny kingdom at any point of my choosing! Your champions would fall to my claws, or to Nagraundi's earth-shattering club, or to Tahngruun's horns, or to Ghorraneaux's spells. A single one of my champions could tear down her entire army, kill all of her champions and drink the marrow from their bones. No, Queen, you are wrong. Your kingdom lives at our mercy, not the other way around. Tell me, warriors of the Ganghash tribe, which do you prefer? The proud boasts of a woman who has never truly seen war, or a warrior who will truly keep you safe? Choose quickly, for if you choose to side with the humans, you will know our wrath as well."

The minotaur - Tahngruun, presumably - lets out a low roar and stamps his heavy hooves on the ground. "Blood will run down my horns! You decide whose!" While it's clear that the half-bull was going for striking an intimidating pose, his foot-stomp seemed similar enough to a petulant toddler that the centaurs seem to smirk at him.

The hag stares at the leader of the tribe, unnerving and unwavering. The centaur seems to shy a bit at her unflinching, terrible gaze. She whispers, "You will join us, or you will die in the fields." This whispered threat carries over the wind, loud enough even at a whisper for all present to hear clearly.

The two-headed troll seems to be scanning the other tribes with both sets of eyes. Unsurprisingly, he seems unfocused and unclear. Such is the limitation of having two minds; there may be interference sometimes.

That's Round 2. Who is primary for Round 3, and who is the target? Verik has the full rundown of the tribes in his inbox.

Sanctuary...

Nikolai and Taisper continue their conversation, discussing things as friends who haven't seen each other in a while. Suddenly, they are interrupted by a flash of light coming from the castle. They turn to look, seeing a bright light - glowing even in the daylight - coming from the interior of Founder's Hall and shining out of every window and every door. It may be a ways away, but it's clearly not normal.

Jemini's face quickly softens after her strong stand with Nikolai. Her features indicate that she's more at ease in parley than in violence. She gives one subtle look to the first representative of the Kolga tribe, easily dismissed by most as she turns her words to the troll king. "Mighty Hargulka speaks, and speaks many truths. He calls out how some humans overlook the nuances of other species. Different races of trolls, centaurs... all just beastmen! Perhaps this is true for many; the ignorant or arrogant. Which then, are you king of trolls? Is it ignorance or arrogance that dismisses the different tribes of humans? It is true that human nations dominate the Inner Sea, but these nations are vastly disparate and the people that populate them share little blood and thoughts with each other. Utopia. Tyranny. Revolution. Mercantile. There are places where humans are their own worst enemy, where dark pacts are made and people hide behind the strength of others; and there are those that stand in the way of evil, who stand vigil against onslaught of demon invasions and undead abominations, who lay their lives down to keep all of us blissfully unaware of the danger that may consume us all."

Jemini's voice softens a little. "Why speak of war, Hargulka, what does it bring but hardship and loss for all but a select few? It are not the ones that stamp their mark down with intimidation and displays of power that draw well-wishes and prosperity - but those that stoically stand-up, who protect their ways, who use the means available to better their lot in life. It is those who seek in places where the ignorant or arrogant don't look, who can find opportunity and future. ...it may very well be that in just a few years we have the chance to stand united against a threat to these lands not unlike those heroes who hold the World Wound and the Whispering Tyrant at bay."

Her words and inflections, meaningful pauses and subtle choice of direction, resonate with some of the Kolga tribe. Used to recognising words that are layered with hidden meanings they pick up on the parallels of their own position.

Bluff: speech hides secret meaning for Kolga 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (20) + 16 = 36

Jemini is only slightly taken aback as the events unfold - it takes but a moment to react and she turns to Nikolai, blade down, hilt held open towards the man in a gesture of peace. "Stay your hand Nikolai! These men are merely returning home. We... I have to confess."

Initiative 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (6) + 12 = 18

The old Archbanker of once-mighty Newhaven stands tall and erect for the first time in years, looking in wonder at the brilliant gold-and-white shield Baltharaius that he crafted long ago strapped to his right hand in vague familiarity; its central golden key shining with illumination that also matches the symbol shining upon his elaborately inlaid full plate, though the mirrored steel of the full plate is expertly meshed with dark red dragonscale upon the shoulders and between the intersection of greaves, vambraces and gauntlets. A stylized battle helm with a seven small plumes of white horsehair in a row mostly hides his bedraggled grey stringy hair now, and with a wonder he touches the side of the helm with his left hand, and then lets his hand drift to his mouth and tongue.

” Sz vuolic pz phuut, sz pnuyreln ic lqiniy! Qhelalel, bunwijel sel bun sz phict avvelqyacvel ub yrellel bahlel telhijelnelnl ub qnuqrelvz yrulel zelanl awu. Zuo felnel niwry. Zuo felnel lyelatbaly frelnel I bahyelnelt act baihelt bun uon Salyeln! I yracx yrelel cuf bun zuon Lavnibivel, act qnaz yray zuo bict wnelay qnusicelcvel ay yrel Wnact Yaphel ub yrel Salyeln’l nellitelcvel frelnel yrel Binly Jaohy nellitell! I as yracxboh yray I vac biwry ahucwlitel zuo, bun yril ucel haly yisel.”

Borodin wretches, gasping for breath. As the white light of Cog’s Sacrifice subsides, he can feel his throat whole again…can work his mouth…can taste the blood.

He springs to his feet, leaping out of the blood soaked area of the throne room and towards Elsir and Willas. Putting himself between them and the guards, he draws Augur and prepares for battle.

initiative: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23

Aid Another Bluff: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7

Being, to the very core of him, a direct and straightforward man, the hints and feints and dances of the of the Games of the Houses had much less than little appeal. Yet still, the stakes here were far to high for all of them to do any less than their best to win the Nomen to their cause. Eying the Kolga leader, the Oracle of Iomeade says simply "Many things can, and will be gained by the victors in this battle to come. Perhaps things long desired, yet never attained. I have known this woman, our leader, Jemini, for some time now, and I can say with all honesty, she always rewards those who aid her cause."

He tries to insinuate how much the Kolga may have to gain from this alliance, yet his distaste for the this talk of hidden meanings and veiled feints significantly hampers his efforts.

Zander laughs, "I guess, I could have just said no. This is what I get for being bored in court all morning."

Taisper chuckles softly, his hair obscuring his face for a moment. "Yeah, I understand, I just..." He gives a resigned sigh. "I always feel like she's correcting me, you know? I always feel...I guess...sort of less when she's around. Maybe that's a result of the whole Will thing you mention, and from her bein' a noble and all." He pauses, thinking, then starts again, speaking slowly, as if working something out for himself and unable to do so unless he's also talking. "In this book, Irori writes 'There is no mastery of the world, only mastery of Self.' I guess I need to see what it is within me that generates these feelings, what old wounds I-WHOA! What the heck is that?!" The Inquisitor stands, suddenly, and points at the now brightly-glowing Hall. "Wow! What are you guys doing in there these days, Z?"

"Verik. Brother. I can see the Vault from where I stand astride the planes. Here and yet everywhere at once. It is beyond everything we ever hoped. For the Master's glory, we fight. With love, and with honor, we fight." Taisper is speaking somehow in both Celestial and Common at the same time.

With that, he brandishes his morningstar and shield, joining Borodin interposing himself between the Dragon Lord and his men, and the Travelers. "Borodin." He says, not caring who else hears him speak. "You must go. Remember all I told you. This is not your fight. Leave with the Pathfinders. It is the Master's will, and therefore mine." The tone of Taisper's voice leaves no room for argument, especially bolstered as it is by what sounds like an endless choir of celestial servants. Truly he has become a vessel of the Vault and the Lawgiver, an ultimate fulfillment of the only thing he ever wanted in life, made bittersweet by its arrival at his -- and this branch of existence's -- merciful end.

Struggling to his feet, Elsir stumbled back his memories returned a thousand fold mixed with the still images from Jemini's memory. He understood know what had led the people before him to this place. Gazing down at his feet the prodigious mind of the elven wizard struggled to capture the image of the glowing runes that blossomed around his feet. It was a way home and more importantly a wellspring of power. The power below his feet seethed and rippled with streams of golden light. Shaking his head Elsir tried to close his eyes but the light was too powerful. He felt the weaves of power and possibility burn its image into his retinas. Even when he blinked the fading image of the golden runes continued to stay with him. His eyes watered and burned.

Though his mage sight he could see phantom images of the people around him but rather than future self's they were of the past. Shaking his head he realizes that no, this was not past selves but instead some mythical injunction of the highest sort. The hand of gods was at play. Arcs of fate swirled around the room tinged with the black of death and the white of virtue. The queen who stood proud before him radiated like a candle, but she was not the source of the light. All of it flowed through the Taisper... the man who was now known as the cog... the man who had sacrificed everything that he was and would be for this moment. Tears running down his face from the swirling images caught like half formed mirrors, Elsir grunted out a reply. "I will prune this branch. Taspir, your sacrifice will not be forgotten."

Throwing out a hand in a clutching motion, Elsir directed his will outward. Seconds before this timeline.. this darkened fateful timeline had been fixed. But now there was the potential for change. Seizing the strands of fate, the elf pulled them inward. Jemini's sadness and loss, Cogs determination, Verik's renewed faith, even Nikolai's rage. He tied these strands together and drew them in. His mind buzzing and his skin feeling like it was on fire, Elsir commanded all of this to become his own. He felt the moment. For a brief second everything was still and unmoving. It was as if time had stopped.

Across the room he could see the snarl of fury in the Dragonlords eyes. Then the moment of solitude shattered like a thousand glass goblets splitting into shards at the same time. Eyes blazing with an intensity to match that of the Dragonlord, Elsir heaved out a breath as his body shook. He stood ready.

_______________________
FA: Using Foresight. (8/9 uses remaining)
Initiative: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (2) + 10 = 12
Foresight: 1d20 ⇒ 14
Applying Foresight to Initiative. New Initiative is 24

Whoops. Forgot to do this: Initiative - 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

Feeling out the reactions of Kolga and the centaurs overall on Akiros Ismort's attempt to bolster Jemini's brilliant change of tactics to sway the tribes, Verik moves to his side and speaks openly for the first time to assist her.

Round 3, Focus on Kolga Tribe (Bluff)
Bluff Aid Another w/ STH & Centaur Boon: 1d20 + 2 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 + 2 + 2 = 24

"It is true what my brother says...yes in that she keeps her words on the bargains struck and oaths made. But more than this, worthy chieftains, warriors and tribe-folk, more than this WE understand the meaning of difference!"

Verik points to Hargulka in a scornful accusatory gesture, then raises his hand to the sky. "Oh strength and power are known, as you well hear. Maybe for some of you that is enough. But for the rest of you, what do trolls and minotaurs know of YOUR needs, or the differences between your tribes? All HUMANS desire nothing but to take your lands and enslave your own, to break all agreements? Some may, but not all! Do all tribes speak with one voice, with one set of cares and needs? I say again, NO! Differences, centaurs of the Nomen! Some fight, and some nurture, and some need or want different things than other tribes may need or want. Humans understand this, for their 'tribes' have these same issues, needs, wants, plans, struggles!"

He waves his hand at their adversaries dismissively. "Troll King sees your value as four-legged attackers against humans. Nothing more. You are strong warriors, but he knows nothing of all that you ARE besides this. You need someone who knows how you live and thrive. Humans..." Verik points back to Jemini with a flourish "...and She of Newhaven, knows of these things. Look to her."

Verik nods solemnly to The Cog, his cousin and compatriot. Nothing more needs to be said between them; by hope and grace they would soon have all the time required in the hereafter to renew their talks and bonds of fellowship. All the while the Archbanker's body shimmers as more relics of his past return to him, symbols of his devotion to craft and the glory of a bygone era. He actually smiles as he pats his beloved adamant warhammer Vae Victus at his side, the dwarven hammer claimed from a ruins so long ago, empowered and strengthened over years of acquiring and understanding crafting lore. His left hand moves then to briefly touch the war-belt "Valnyr's Glory" that the hammer is strung from, the belt that he crafted for Berrin and took to wearing in his honor after his dear friend's death in battle. Berrin's famous red sash also is there, as is Verik's distinctive cloak that he wore in all his prior struggles, including The Fall. His helm hides the circlet "Perfection's Joy" that now familiarly adorns his brow, giving him even more understanding and presence.

"Right. Let's get to it then. Confess all you want of your sins of pride and hubris, though the time for that has long since past." He slaps his hand upon the key of his shield, the result of which sends a resounding chiming clang throughout the hall as if in challenge. "Take my tongue you traitorous twisted bastard! You should have ripped your own balls off instead, and we would have been far better off with the result!"

Initiative: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10

Initiative 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16

The bright light resembles the white-hot flames of the Conqueror's forge from Nikolai's youth. It is no longer blinding, but it is unexpected. Whatever the Cog's intentions, Nikolai sneers at his body while the former inquisitor rises. "So your god has abandoned you all these years, forsaken these lands and all we did to build and protect them. And now your god's game is to damn your queen by spending your strength to attack me."

He twirls the great blade, which flares hot and crackles with red flames. He looks at Taisper and Verik with disgust. "Very well...end my pain, damn your queen, and give all the lands you fight for to Choral uncontested. You always were fools."

INITIATIVE
24 Elsir
23 Borodin
18 Jemini
16 Nikolai
12 Willas
10 Verik
7 The Cog

As the Dragon Lord faces off against his former companions, bedecked in the arms of their greatest power, the two men out of time (and their new companion) gaze down at the ground below them. The swirling runes gathering around their feet are a promise of safety. The terrible figure before them - once a hero of Newhaven, and still so in his own mind - would cut any of them down without so much as a grunt of effort, but the trio of heroes stands between the despot and their salvation. It is the shared salvation of all those enslaved by Choral, for they will receive a second chance to make right what went wrong here. Even in this moment, Nikolai does not see that they are fighting for his soul and his future as well; in his twisted mind, his decisions have made the best of a bad and inevitable situation. Their meddling will likely simply hand Choral the whole of Newhaven. He shouts loudly, "My pack! To my side!"

There is a howl in response from the courtyard of the keep. The Dragon Lord has called forth his loyal minions. Borodin has seen the pack of worgs many times, patrolling the city and terrorizing the populace into submission. It seems that many of them are coming, and will be upon them in mere moments.

Remember that Nikolai is an NPC for the purpose of this battle, so Elsir, Borodin, and Jemini can act. Once Nikolai posts, I will post Willas. After that, Verik/Taisper/Elsir/Borodin/Jemini can post in any order for the round. Borodin, take note of the standard format - as this is your first combat with me. You can find it in many of the combat posts in the story.

Round 1, Initiative 23
HP 55/55; AC 20/13/17; CMD 17; +7F, +7R, +5W AP4

Effects: Mirror Image 40 rounds, +1 to Sword 10 rounds

MA: Move to Elsir and Willas
SW: 1 Arcane Point for +1 Enhancement to Weapon
SA: Casting Mirror Image
images: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

Borodin holds his sword in front of him in a salute to his foes. Augur’s blade, already glowing a pale blue, pulses with energy. He drops the salute, mutters something under his breath, and with a flick of his wrist, three creates copies of himself. They all crouch slightly on the glowing seal, waiting for the attack.

"Borodin, did you not hear what I just said. This is not your fight. You will depart with the pathfinders. If you refuse to attend them, then all I have done, all we have worked for, will be for naught. I thought you more disciplined than to let battle-lust cloud your mind. Yours is the greater quest, for our time here is done. This entire time is done. You go to aid in the creation of a better future. Now, LEAVE! Do NOT disobey me aGAIN!"

The Cog then turns to the Dragon Lord. "Nikolai, your faithless and hateful soul is not capable of grasping what is happening here. All we have done has led to this moment, it is the only outcome. What was built was a lie; a parasitic vine strangling the great tree of time, a pebble in the perfect clockwork meta-machine built by the Master to keep the Great Cogs turning and ticking. It must be destroyed, and to do so is the apotheosis of all our existences. It is exACTly what Verik and I have fought for, not this barbarous mockery you insist on parading before us as "the lands" or "civilization". What you rule over is a burned-out husk, a poor facsimile, the ruined memory of an empty promise."

Everything the Cog says is stated as an utter fact, and spoken with the sureness of the truly faithful. "The lands will not go to Choral, because the lands will not exist. Choral will not exist. And as for being damned, well..." he looks around the room, his gazing sweeping over Jemini and Verik and stopping on the Dragon Lord himself, "...that happened a long time ago. For what were these last decades, Nikolai, if not Hell?"

"I am attending the pathfinders Cog. And I'm not going anywhere near that bastard. I'll leave that to you. I'm waiting for those damn wargs!"

"Come on meta-machine. Hurry up already..."

Round 1, Initiative 24
HP 44/33, AC 18/18/18; CMD 15; F+4 R+7 W+7
SA: Cast haste (targets: Elsir, Borodin, Willas, Cog, Jemini, Verik)

Elsir felt the stone under his feet, he felt the hateful rage raiding off of Nikolai and he could see the power that rolled as waves off of Cog. He felt all of this and more. Potential, probability, fate and conjunction, all of it was present in surging depths. Reaching into his pouch, Elsir felt around. The seconds felt like minutes. Everything hung in the balance now. He could sense time quickening around him, ready to drag himself and the others into the swirling vortex back to whence they came. Hand settling around a blackened twig he grasped it tightly. So too did he grasp the weaves of time as they exploded around him. Channeling it outward he siphoned a sliver of that power. He felt his limbs grow light and time slow even more. Raising the twig of black licorice he weaved it around himself in a complex pattern before snapping it in twain. The smell of the rich odor flooded his nostrils and rankled his nose. Pushing the power outward he felt the ticking of his time piece that he kept near his heart. Tick.. Tick… Tick…. Tick….. Slowly he watched as weapons were drawn. He could see the rise and fall of chests as the gathered players took their places. He pushed the power, the quickening towards each of them, adapting his spell to ensorcelled each. I may not control time, but I can make it do my bidding. Just as the years have been stolen from each of you, let them return and aid you in this most critical of moments.

The assumption is that Nikolai and his minions are evil, something that Jemini would know by now over the last year through detect evil

Round 1, Initiative 18
HP 137; AC 50 (62 vs Nikolai)
Move action: move to have allies within 10ft of Jemini
Standard action: activate aura of justice (2 uses of smite evil)
Swift action: activate smite evil vs Nikolai (1 use of smite evil)

Due to Aura of Justice, allies in this fight can spend a swift action before Jemini's next turn to benefit from Jemini's smite bonuses for 1 minute. They can smite an (evil) target of their own chosing. The benefits are: +12 to hit, +12 to AC, +12 to damage vs the target, and bypass DR if applicable.

"Don't raise your hand in anger Nikolai! What was started when you blinded yourself for me, it will end now. All of these before you are protected by Sarenrae - leave them be, and stay your minions too! You want to know the truth that you've been too blind to see."

Round 1, Initiative 15
HP 468; AC 40
Move action: move to threaten Jemini, Taisper, Verik
Standard action: activate unrighteous armor
Swift action: yell at Jemini
Free actions: enter rage, activate boots of speed, yell at Jemini some more.

Nikolai takes heavy steps forward, his height and weight increasing as his anger turns over. "Raise my hands, Jemini? Why would I be angry? Because you withhold our destiny together? Because you let your cowardly lickspittle friend mock me every hour of every watch until I cut out his tongue? Damn you and your gods! They left me in a dungeon to rot! They let my sould be scorched! They gave me you, and just enough hope to make me believe I wasn't in hell. But like your turncoat meddling gods, you have abandoned me, and for years have watched me suffer!"

The barbarian's skin thins outwardly as scales burst through wth bloody spray. Nikolai's claws recede, but dragonsbreath burns white-hot in his left arm as it lengthens in his immense grip. The Mad Dragon spews boiling spit into the air as his faces reddens to match the blood and scales dotting his body. He leans over, larger than even Hargulka's trolls.

"Tell me, my love, why would I be angry?"

It comes as no surprise to those who have fought with Nikolai before. Spectral dragons crowd around him, nodding and hissing and drooling ephemeral smoke. The souls of those dragons claimed by Nikolai at Dragonsfall lurk and menace, their ghostly pink-white images sneer at the remaining companions, looking past them to lock eyes on Elsir and Borodin.

They snap and growl inaudibly at Verik and Taisper, but Jemini remains out of reach. One of them cannot wait to sate its hunger, it stretches out to clamp down on Verik's leg.

Sprirt totem negative energy damage vs Taisper and Verik 1d8 ⇒ 1
Sprit totem attack vs. Verik 1d20 + 29 ⇒ (12) + 29 = 41
negative energy damage 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13

Remember to use Italics, folks in the Darkest Timeline.