Argon is confused by the old woman's actions, until he recalls that one of the facet of Nethys is craziness. This woman shows that side, seemingly, or at least pretends to. Or, if it as it seems, she is testing Ssilax and possibly the rest of the youths.
He sees Wrathe move quickly, and joins him, urging the others to do the same.
He also watches for the admonished guard, to say something to him quickly if he is able
Daxniss felt relieved that they were allowed to leave, Baba Yaga's web was avoided for now. It was going to be a matter of time before the group was going to be caught in her web. Moving out eotg the others she keeps an eye out for any that might be interested in the rest of them.
Letting out a quiet breath of relief she was glad one of the others has opted to carry the pouch and scroll. After all, Daxniss had no idea if they were safe to touch.
Slipping unnoticed through the groups of Nethys's faithful, Dorian learned that the rumors where already running rampant. The monk bets the clergy and mages here probably gossip more than the wives of fishermen. He heard every thing from "It was a dragon in human form"; to "Nethys testing their faith"; or "a devil coming for it's payment"; the best had to have been "some freak in face paint." The half-living monk falls back in step with his friends.
Other than a few serious faced robed clerics walking up and asking if they had seen this boy, (casting an illusion of Ssilax that rotates in the air), nobody pesters the group. Daxniss doesn't notice anybody paying any real attention to the group. A few curious glances, but the faithful where more focused on finding Ssilax than paying attention to them.
Coming across the young acolyte that had stared at them in awe, the boy, Vomas, silently points down the hall towards the main door. He smiles at them widely, putting a finger to his lips and joins a search group heading to the Altar room. The massive set of doors appear to be nearly closed, one of the door is opened just enough for a person to squeeze through. As the least of them slip through, the door closes with a click.
Before they can head to the garden, a grisly sight greats them. The commander that had been shouting at Jensen, lies flat on his back, eyes staring blankly into the night sky. The reason more than likely has to do with the fact his throat has been torn out, almost to the neck bone. His blade lay snapped in half on the ground. Jensen sits on the ground, a terrified expression on his face. He, and the wall he leans against, are covering in crimson lines of arterial spray. Looking up as the group approaches he shakes his head "No" so violently, the thought that he might break his own neck occurs to you.
"I didn't do it! I was just doing what I was told to! Nobody said he was Marked! They told me a group of lepers and beggars were going to be trying to sneak in and to get rid of them!" the young man babbles, tears streaming down his face, cutting paths through the bright red slashes of another blood. He looks at the commanders corpse. "That elf changling did this! They where running out and the commander tried to stop them, and he drew his sword, which made the elf mad. They started fighting and the Marked got inbetween them to break up the fight, only he got hit by the commanders sword. I-I-I think it he was struck intentionally, it really looked like it. The commander paused for a second and then slashed." Jensen takes a shuddering breath, looking absolutely terrified. "The elf flipped out and turned into some big cat thing and tore his throat out with one swipe. She picked him up and her and that dog ran off! That's all, I swear it!" Jensen looks as though he expects one of them to run him through.
Wrathe takes a second to glance in the pouch. There is a small scroll cylinder, with the Mask of Nethys on both ends. The Cursed would put gold on it being Arcane Locked, and with a glance at the magic spectrum, he is almost positive that's what spell surrounds the case. A smattering of gemstones, facets winking at him in the dim light. Oddly enough, there is a handful of gold coins in the pouch as well.
The door leading through the wall is open, the open space shimmering with it's ethereal mirror like surface. There is Ssilax sized bloody clawprint on the door frame.
Baba Yaga's words ring in your head. "Ssilax cannot stay here. There are to many vipers working for the current Arch-Magus, the boy would have been killed within a fortnight's time." With a glance at the commander's corpse, a fortnight might have been a generous guess on the dragonkin's projected lifespan within the Temple walls.
Argon says, quickly, after seeing the body and the guard, "Quick, let's catch up to Ssilax!"
He doesn't much wait for others as he runs out of the temple and heads toward the druid grove. First, though, he does a quick scan to see if Ssilax and the druid are in sight.
Confident that obvious threats are not apparent, he secures the items for Master Dainoth and exits the building.
Wrathe would throw up, at the sight of the mangled corpse, but luckily he had already emptied his stomach of its contents earlier. The story is ignored when he learns that Ssilax has been hurt. Ignoring the happenings within Nethys' psychotic sphere of influence, he continues to give chase, though this time he is running, careful to avoid touching any of the blood...lest he incriminate himself.
Trust was not easily extended, especially here.
Memories of Penelope did not come quickly to the distracted wizard-to-be.
Daxniss shakes her head, the boy was foolish that much was certain, keeping an eye on him, she quickly skirts the growing pool of blood. Inwardly wincing at Argon's footsteps as he managed to avoid stepping through the pool of blood.
Daxniss was glad that she hadn't eaten much after the teleporting magics had struck her stomach, the wyrmtouched girl managed to avoid spewing the feeble contents out at the sight of the corpse and Wrathe's addition to the smell.
The Rogue looks at Jensen and clicks her teeth, she had no chance to question him or try to get more of his story out of him. Keeping an eye on Jensen, she pushes whatever anger she has at the moment aside, as one of the people responsible was lying on the floor dead.
Following the other's Daxniss manages to spare a few moments in reflection about Penelope:
The predatory monk and detail minded slayer come to realize where they think they have seen Penelope before. She looks fairly close to Rygear, perhaps a cousin, and seemed to have a few of Dainoth's lecturing traits.
Reflexively steeling his mind against the scent of vitae splash around, Dorian notes several things with his keen senses. When he was dragging his eyes away from the open throat, he notes a faint green sap-like liquid on the opening of the commander's sword sheath. The half-living monk can practically hear the terrified guardsmen's heart pounding in his chest. As he closes in on the shimmering doorway, he catches a scent that stops him in his long legged tracks.
The scent from Ssilax's bloody clawprint was unlike any the monk had imagined. It was a smoky, spicy scent, mixed with copper almost making him want to sneeze and drool at the same time. The dhampire is reasonably certain that he might be able to track the dragonkin. As long as he happened to be close to the fresh blood.
As Argon emerges from the shimmering portal, the sounds of the city sudden come back to his ears. Sounds of distant voices, raised in panic reach his ears. It calls his attention to a group of people talking to a group of four guardsmen. He can hear mention of a strange cat monster running out of the wall with a something on it's shoulder.
It looks like the two where seen fleeing the temple. On the bright side, the rest of the group hadn't been noticed yet. Doing so would probably mean more questions. They weren't exactly dressed to fit in the Ascendant Ward.
A few splotches of blood on the cobblestones glint wetly in the lamplight. Heading in the direction of the alley way they had emerged from. It's very reasonable to think that they are heading back to the druid's small grove. If not..., it was a large city.
It's not nearly as quick returning to the grove as it was being guided away from it by a druid. The route she appears to be taken back is much more direct. It's Dorian's keen sense of smell for blood that stops them from running right past the three.
Stopping the group, Dorian turns down several side streets the scent getting stronger as he moves. The streets have a distinct feeling of almost being forgotten about. A several streets of packed together houses and simple shops are barely noticed as they race down the worn cobblestones.
At a dead end, built against a massive stone building is a small shop with a living quarters above it. The sign on the front of the shop has the symbols associated with a metalworker. The shop appears to be closed for the night, although the door had been thrown open as the owner exited in a hurry.
Which much be the who the tan robed figure is, kneeling down besides Storm. The druid has a slightly anxious look on her features, looking down at Ssilax. The dragonkin was on the ground, leaning against the wall.
"I've tried healing him three times already!" Storm says to the robed figure. "His wound isn't closing, someone from his own church must have done that." The druid looks angry. Dog barks once, his tail wagging briefly when he spots the group. They get closer to see whats going on.
Ssilax is missing a large chunk of his robe which had been torn into strips and bound tightly around his torso. The bandages looked soaked through, the black fabric sticking wetly to his scales. The dragonkin's are closed. He appears to be breathing very shallowly.
"What in the name of the All Mother happened in there?!" Storm says in manner of greeting.
"Poison, I think," says Argon, bringing up the rear. "There was a... an enemy of the church, I think, a kind of spy. Maybe he tried to kill Ssilax because he is chosen. It's what the old lady warned about. A viper, she said. Look, if you're not sure you can cure him, we know someone who surely can."
He looks at Storm, and at the unknown person. They must know each other.
The thought of going 'home' with two of their members dead is too much to bear for Argon. He moves to retrieve Ssilax.
Wrathe moves forward, gently placing his hand on Argon's arm before he can retrieve the dragonkin. "We need help. Run for our master Argon. You always were the fastest of us. Dorian can carry Ssilax and meet you at whatever point you and the old man can return to."
The Xthian fully trusts Dorian's perfect control, and would trust his own life in the monk's hands, so he never even considers how the bloodlust might be affecting the dhampir.
He establishes a known and expected route by which the slayer, returning with unguents, antidotes, or hopefully old men bearing alchemical assistance.
Wrathe takes a moment to ensure that everyone is in agreement.
"I will seek out Rygear, and bring him along the same path." He had once thought of joining the church, having tagged along with Ssilax during his initial training, but quickly grew disinterested in the constant talking to the ceiling. While his connection to the cleric was only peripheral, he was confident that he could locate the man.
Perhaps Rygear was a traitor, though he doubted it, and the man had a communication stone (so did the gravel-voiced man, but that was likely a dead end) and could reach Master Dainoth much faster than the speed of sinew, muscle, and bone.
His knowledge of injuries was as limited as his love of devils, but the amount of blood anyone carried was limited, and Ssilax was bleeding so much. If a powerful druid, a healer of no small expected means, was unable to intervene, then he would put his stock in the man who had performed miracle cures of poisons before their eyes.
This became even more pressing with the Holy Mother's warning about 'vipers', and the expected attack a viper would employ was poison injected from the shadows.
Wrathe's mouth quirks at the monk's caution and he claps him on the shoulder as he moves past him speaking before running back toward the pit of vipers they just escaped, his voice is strained with worry for yet another teammate felled on this ill-fated reconnaissance, "I agree, but it's a measured risk against the life of a friend, and I would accept the risk for any of you. Act based upon what you both think is best. I will hie for Rygear."
With that he takes off at a frantic sprint, robes flapping and sandals slapping with each step.
If there was one thing he was confident in, it was the best way to prowl about it, since he had spent years exploring.
It was just too bad that he wasn't in need of a prostitute, since he had spent far too much time among their company.
" I'll go with Wrathe as well, I know a number of other urchins that might be able to help us as in getting a message in Rygear. " Daxniss says, throwing a wink at the other's the rogue starts follows after Wrathe.
Daxniss lethe form smoothly follows' Wrathe's footsteps, when she gets closer to Wrathe she calls out " Await a moment, two pairs of hands will be better at locating our friend. " Daxniss curses under her breath, displeased by the mad scramble at the most recent turn of events.
Wrathe nearly screams as the wraith slips up next to him. He clutches his chest, his eyes wide, before smiling and nodding to his friend, thanking her for her assistance.
Argon nods as he sees the logic in Wrathe's suggestion. Going back home and to a halfway point will be faster than going back home and all the way back here. He tries to memorize the route Ssilax says.
He turns, notes the store and alley it is in, and the new person's face and shop front. To Dorian he says, "Stay with Ssilax, please... I'll be fine."
Then he runs full out to the Puddles along the appointed route, and to his regular entrance to Dainoth's secret stronghold.
Daxniss flashes a smile at Wrathe, taking a brief moment to enjoy the fact that Wrathe had almost soiled himself when she startled him and says ' La, you spook far to easy. Now we can ask a guardsman if he has seen Rygear as we have a message, on the same token we should ask some of the urchins to pass the message along that we are looking for someone. I'll point out who we should ask for the urchins since we are in the temple district, the guards are a last resort. Since I can mostly pass for normal I can do that. "
" We might need to range out to another district at the moment this one isn't the best choice for any of us. " she finishes her voice pitched low, she start looking around for those that are down on their luck, or at least appear that way, her thoughts racing around as she tries to recall if she had heard of any other rogues that might operate in this area.
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Dorian watches his friends go in two opposite directions. He sighs.
It seems that I shall forever be torn in two.
Irori guide their steps.
He looks to the druid.
Perhaps, Madame, I could assist? My natural lust may be a boon here. I could attempt to suck out the poison with your monitoring of it?
Dorian kneels by Ssilax.
He is my friend!
"Friend or not, if you think I'm going to stand here and watch some half dead freak suck the blood out of him, your mad," the elf growls. The monk can see fur starting to grow from her skin, and her muscles seem to be shifting under the skin.
Cutting the mounting tension, the tan robed man clears his throat.
"Storm, he is concerned for his friend," the brown skinned human says, putting a calming hand on the changling elf's shoulder, squeezing gently. Looking at Dorian, he nods to the monk. The older human's features are sharp, as if cut from a dark stone, his nose resembling a hawk's beak. Grey peppers the human short black hair from what little seen from under the robe.
"My name is Kai'lit, and having some skill with the healing arts, I don't think sucking out the poison would work. I believe it is spread though out his system by now." Kai'lit pauses. "I don't think he would survive the blood loss.. The middle aged man seems more concerned that someone is bleeding to death than he is that Ssilax isn't human.
Racing around a corner, the realization hits Daxniss that she knows almost no guild members that operate out of the Ascendant Ward. Not a terribly big surprise, as she isn't a full guild member. Any urchins would be more than likely hanging around a church, or anywhere people where gathering, and the guards would tolerate their presence. Which was again, unlikely in the district they where in.
Wrathe's knowledge of the city tend to be through the Underpaths, not surface paths as much. Unless it was the Puddles district or the Ivy district. Thinking of the Ivy district, Wrathe suddenly remembers the ancient elf, Velinioas, that had been teaching Ssilax the healing arts. The elf's shop was a block away from his favorite bordello. The coins in the small pouch he was given clink together. More than enough for a carriage to take them to the Ivy district. He reasons that the healer would be closer than trying to find Rygear, who was the god's know where in the city. He estimates the healers home is perhaps a little more than a mile away.
A line of carriages sit waiting in front of a popular eating spot for the rich and powerful of the Ascendant ward. A number of the carriages have marking of the family that they belong to, most however, are unmarked. Meaning they serve the almighty gold coin.
Argon runs as fast as he can towards the Puddles district and Danioth's home. It is a little over 2 miles to get there, but the young Slayer has a decent map of the city built into his head thanks to his training time with the elite guards.
Fearing for his friend's life, Argon keeps running.
Suddenly he appreciates his training. They had been pushed to the limit, and beyond, having to sneak, think, and fight for hours in a row, more times than he could count. Twice they had gone all, day, all night and well into the following morning. They had learned how weak, stupid and clumsy they are in that situation. If someone is trying to kill you at that point, you'd better be able to keep up your strength.
His endurance and strength had both improved, and now that is paying off. He had been one of the smart ones in his group, and had payed attention to details such as which streets and alleys were congested at what times of what days. Now he avoids those, using the most direct and least congested routes wherever his is able.
His mind goes back to the guard commander, and Jensen. Jensen was a jerk, but he may have been goaded into kicking one such as Ssilax. The commader, however, had been some kind of spy, or enemy. A Viper. He had tried to kill Ssilax because Ssilax was Marked, and therefore a threat. Argon resolves to find out what group or faction the commander was working for, though he realizes it may be difficult.
" Argh, that's right, no one that might be in the same style of skills would be here, we've got some carriages here, any ideas Wrathe? I have a feeling we might not be able to locate Rygear before it is too late. Wait a know that look in your eye! You've just thought of something, out with it. " Daxniss says looking at Wrathe's face.
Wrathe eyes the carriages and draws out the small pouch, pulling forth a few coins and awkwardly hands them to the preternaturally-graceful wyrmtouched rogue, "See if you can hire a carriage to follow the path, starting where we last saw them, that Dorian was going to carry Ssilax to pick them up and speed the process. I will hire another to search out assistance and meet you along your route."
Perhaps they would come along Rygear on their travels.
Padding off he approaches the closest carriage, taking a second to catch his breath and politely asks if he can hire a carriage to travel to the Ivy District and back. Wrathe holds up a gold piece and smiles, offering a tip if they could move with alacrity.
At first, the man looks like he is about to dismiss Wrathe completely. Then he gets a good look at the gold coin in his hand.
"For one gold I'll get you there and back," the driver says with a nod. He hops down and opens the door for Wrathe, pocketing the gold piece. "Where are you heading?" Getting the address, the carriage takes off with all speed.
A handful of minutes later, Wrathe reaches the home of Velinioas. Light can be seen behind shuttered windows.
Argon reaches Dainoth's home perhaps a quarter of an hour after leaving the others. Breathing heavily he stands in front of the house door, remembering the pass knocks and phrase to get thought the door.
Now that Dorian is kneeling close to Ssilax, he could faintly detect something harsh underlying the unusual scent of the dragonkin's blood. The monk figures it was the poison running in his vein, polluting his blood. The monk's willpower hold true against his Bloodlust,
Wrathe knocks on the door and pushes in to relay the immediacy of their need, who is involved, and the conjecture regarding the injury. He offers to help collect whatever is needed and hurries Velinioas back to the carriage, so they can angle themselves to meet up with the others.
By the time Argon reaches Dainoth's home, Wrathe and the elven healer are heading out. Upon hearing his pupil had been poisoned, Velinioas wates little time gathering his gear.
On the way back, Wrathe is pretty certain that he sees the wagon that Daxniss had approached.
Leaning out of the wagon he brings his curled thumb and forefinger to his lips and whistles to hail the other wagon, then yells in Undercommon, "Are you on a 'scouting mission'?" His eyes play over the wagon, looking for drips of blood that might show on the wood from having moved the dragonkin.
Wrathe directs the driver to bring them alongside of the other wagon, and prepares Velinioas to depart.
Huffing and puffing, Argon comes up to the nondescript door and knocks thrice. Counts to two, knocks twice. Then counts to three and knocks four times. Then he whispers to the door, "None shall pass," as he had done so many times before.
In his mind he had prepared what to tell Dainoth first, to get the old wizard moving. "Ssilax is injured, likely poisoned, and the bleeding won't stop! He needs your help! Dorian may be bringing him here from the metalworker's. I'll explain all later."
Not knowing if Dainoth had a magical means to travel quickly, Argon had also memorized the look of the shop, and is now ready to describe the shop and its sign out front.
Now he waits for the door to open, hoping Dainoth is here, and ready to move.
Watching the dhampire keep watch over the dragonkin, and carefully transport him, Storm bits her lip. When they are piled into the carriage, the druid looks at the monk.
"I..., apologize for what I said earlier," the elven druid says, as though the words caused her discomfort. "I can see now that you do care for your friend."
The door had opened, and Argon had run downstairs, finding the second door still open. He sees Dainoth sitting at the table, smoking his pipe and reading a book. Looking up at Argon, his eyebrows raise, reaching for this thin hairline. Wasting no time, Dainoth instructs Argon to grab several satchels from with the alchemy room. The old wizard had gone to his chambers to grab a few things.
Meeting Argon back in the main room, Dainoth looks to be wearing a belt with a number of wands sheathed in holders. He carries a black metal staff, the ends tipped with silver-white. Getting the location of the shop from Argon, the old wizard frowns for a moment and begins chanting. The shadows gather up around the two.
With the sensation of teleportation almost becoming familiar the two teleport to the the metalworker, Kai'lit, shop. Walking out of the shadows, the middle aged man jumps at the sudden appearance of two. Describing the carriage that they had left in, Dainoth's nods to the man, thanking him. Walking into the alleyway out of sight, Argon in tow, the old man chants again. The two rapidly rise into the air. It takes Dainoth a few minutes to locate the carriage. Made much easier due to the two carriages being pulled over and the elder elf and Wrathe getting out.
Dropping like a pair of stones into the nearby alleyway, Dainoth calls out to his apprentice and the group reunites once more. Looking at Ssilax leaning against Dorian, the old man looks..., incredibly angry. Reaching into his belt pouch, he hands the drivers a handful of gold each, and tells them something about "Official business" and walks back to the group. With a long string of arcane syllables flowing easily out of his mouth, Dainoth teleports the group, himself, Storm and Velinioas back to his home.
It is a very close thing, but through the groups persistence and quick thinking saved Ssilax from bleeding to death.
Four more years pass....
After the first two years pass by Dorian come to live with Dainoth and the apprentices. His master feels it is time for him to be around others for longer periods of time. The old monk is confident that his student's self control is such that Dorian will not be hunting people down for their blood.
The odd changeling druid forms a friendship with the shy dragonkin, coming by sporadically to visit. The theurge enjoys Storm's company, usually discussing philosophy, magic and it's impact on the Natural balance of life in the world.
And much else takes place with in that time.
A slender figure draped in velvety soft ebony robes stands before you. The sunlight glints off of silver threads making up the stitching around the depths of his voluminous cowl. The shadows of his cowl obscure the lines of wisdom carved into his face, revealing only the chaotic glint of pale silver eyes, glittering with cold fire, and pearl-white teeth revealed 'neath a smoulderingly crooked smile. The boundless energy of his infectious smile are kept hidden from the masses now; in its place is a stoic mask that only cracks rarely with stolen smiles. Scars bedeck his body, including a brand new scar that mars his right check, which he attributes to an overly affectionate lover. The truth of the story had never been revealed, but there is ever a playful glint in the retelling.
While Phia had never been a lover, she had become one of his closest friends. As he was a man of learning, and dusty tomes, she was a creature of the world. Gone was his constant distractions, and in its place a razor's focus. Through her he learned so much.
As ever he hides the upside down pentagram that had been crudely carved into his left hand, act as the remembrances of the cursed nightmare of his birth and the price of insolence. It is a wound that will ever remain painful, and never fully heal. As fresh a torment years later as the moment it was burned into his flesh: a reminder of his eternal damnation and death sentence made flesh.
Never has he forgotten what awaits him when the curse runs its course, which has led him on a quest to vanquish time itself: Wrathe will become an immortal and take his fill of ambrosia among the gods as an equal.
His power had manifest like a supernova. Wrathe lusts after exploring what can be done with his magics. Gathering tension of a spell, and the almost clarity of focus required to concentrate that tension into an effect. He loves the practice and the theory, the research, experimenting with new spells, and most importantly loves when he can use his talents to make a difference in the world. To this love he will give everything, for this love he will risk anything.
During the next four years, Ssilax grows almost visibly. The dragonkin now stands a little over 6'3', and is rather broad shouldered. Upon reaching maturity, his scales thicken, becomer more metallic like. The set of four horns growing from the crown of his skull at about a 45 degree angle increase in size rapidly as well. The larger set of horns are about 7" long, and curve slightly towards each other. The smaller pair closer to the top of his skull, are about 3" long. A group of 4 small spikes grow from his eye ridges, less than a 1/2" in height. The young Dragonkin tips the scales at a little over 210 lbs. When wrapped up in his hooded robe and cowl, the dragonkin is an imposing figure.
Gleaming like the rare metal itself, the dragonkin's platinum scales almost shine with an inner light. The scales of Ssilax's clawed hands and feet, up to the mid-forearm and mid-shins, looked to have been dipped in a shining liquid gold. His horns (when polished) shine like ivory. The dragonkin's eyes are still a warm, deep sapphire blue.
Starting as the base of his neck, a line of spikes, growing out of his spine, run down his back to the tip of his tail. The spikes are about an inch lengthwise, rising through his scales about 3/4 of an inch, and are slightly diamond shaped when viewed. They grow at a slightly downward angle. His tail is about 3 1/2 long, and is a bit more flexible than the typical males, almost prehensile.
The Mask of the Lord of Magic is still sets perfectly within his face scales and down his short muzzle.
Dog trails Ssilax where ever he goes. The a lovable mutt of a dog (lab-husky-shepard mix), is a little over knee high, and about 65 or so pounds. His right ear is always flopped over at half-mast, as if it only worked partway. The short haired dog has white fur with a trace off yellow along the spine and on the ear tips. Intelligent grey eyes sparkle with mischief.
Thanks in part to Wrathe, Dorian and Storm dragging him out of basement, Ssilax begins to become more familiar with the area and the people that live there. Still, he only ventures out wrapped up in a hooded robe with a extra deep hood to cover his muzzle. Along with a cowl and long gloves or usually strips of cloth to act as covering for his clawed hands and feet. Ssilax wear a somewhat faded midnight blue robe, his cowl is a an off white, both appear to be well worn.
From growing boy to young man. Argon looks rigid and upright to some, and it's an impression he sometimes cultivates. But he's much more relaxed than that. However, his propensity to focus in on something intensely and at length is still around, and it makes him less effective at some things than you'd expect.
In the next four years his training continued at a good pace, and he learned a great deal. He became stronger, faster, and smarter. His voice is deeper, and his reddish hair has grown so long that he keeps it in a warriors tail. Though muscular and oh so strong, he is surprisingly spry. He moves with purpose, but there is a grace there reminiscent of elves.
He learned the city, as it was his to protect, ostensibly, though as Dainoth was paying for his training, he is under no obligation to serve. Any obligation there lies to Dainoth himself.
Though he appears humanlike, Argon's skin is thick and tough, and his eyes betray his heritage. When dressed in his armor and helm, though, it is impossible to tell he is not human.
After the time Ssilax was poisoned, Argon had kept the metal crafter Kai'lit up to date with Ssilax's progress, and after that the two had become friends. If Dainoth was a father figure for the magic ones, Kai'lit became that person for Argon. And Argon learned much from Kai'lit, about metalworking and about Ptah; for Kai'lit was a Cleric of that god from far away. He had few followers, but Argon felt an immediate connection with the god, as if he had been there all his life but Argon simply hadn't known it. The things he loved - fire and earth, metal, metalworking, architecture - all these were in the purvey of Ptah. Argon has since seen Kai'lit getting older, and has so far tried to become a protecter for him, needed or not.
There was an interesting story, with Kai'lit. The metalworker had found an obsidian carving in one of his travels, and it was a flat carving in the likeness of a volcano. Kai'lit had no love for obsidian, nor for volcanoes, but the carving spoke to him - he felt he should keep it, put it on the wall. And so he did. But one day Argon saw this carving, and Ptah took it down and gave it to him. He realized, just at that moment, he had been saving it for someone, and now that someone was there in front of him. Argon loved the look of the carving, and vowed to keep it in a safe place, but where he could set his eyes upon it every day. It was a piece of home, in his home; fire and earth forged, and skillfully carved into a simple shape.
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Slender and tall, muscular and agile, still as a gargoyle and posed to pounce like a jaguar, Dorian smiles. His perfectly pronounced pearl white fangs only redirect the on looker to his ice blue--and mesmerising--eyes. The perfect black of his well tailored clothing (complete with polished leather boots and top hat), contrasts with his pale white skin. The hint of long, but neat, blue/black hair teasingly tumble to his shoulders.
Well now, my lovelies, what shall we do?
Daxniss spent more time learning how to survive as a rogue, how to blend in with the crowd, the art of the lie, and how to overhear things that people will say in front of a servants in one way or another. Picking pockets and being a cut purse was something that Daxniss hadn't spent a lot of time on, she knew that basics but that was about it.
Daxniss had grown into her body, she has a figure that one can't help but take notice and some have to avoid staring at her. Daxniss does use this to her advantage sometimes, inwardly she does feel uncomfortable about the extra attention that she does get at times, hiding it behind a persona that she has created.
With out make up, you can see the scales on lower checks, but you have to spend some time looking at her. Her skin is still the same Alabaster in color as her skin doesn't hold a tan, as the scales protect her hide from danger as she her dragonic nature is interested in protecting her.
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The Last Four Years
Dainoth felt very sorry, and guilty, for what he had put you all through. First there was the one mistake, missing the clues that should have told him the space you were sent to investigate was owned by another. He did not forgive himself for that, though he did not dwell upon it, or even mention it, after the entire story was known.
He also felt guilty about Ssilax, wondering if he should have introduced him to the church of Nethys sooner. Perhaps the group would have been in a better position when they made their visit there. Further, he was sorry he had not sensed Lilith's demise and replacement by a demon. In neither of these things was it obvious what he could have done that would have helped, nor that he could have foreseen the events that unfolded. But you could all see he was mentally kicking himself for it anyways.
He had, however, been impressed by the group's mutual trust and cooperation in the event of an emergency (Ssilax's poisoning). You feel that he was proud of that, and that he hoped he had something to do with it (in guiding you all).
A bit more puzzling, perhaps, was that Dainoth felt he had somehow stolen your youth from each of you. Having grown up in hard times, and desired training in very specific areas, you had been happy with the training and the life he had arranged for each of you. Perhaps in his youth he played more, or ran free on the streets more - you are not sure. But after the near death of Ssilax, and the discovery of the demon inhabiting Lilith, Dainoth made a change. He arranged that every month, he and the five of you, and sometimes Rygear, or others such as Storm, Lia, Velinioas, Kai-lit, or Nelina would have a big dinner together. You would have a twenty-four hour break from your regular routine, from noon to noon the next day, and you would spend the time eating, drinking, and enjoying each others' company. Once per year, on the anniversary of your big adventure, he moved the venue; once it was in a regular house, which made some of you recall your old homes and lives; once it was in a very 'royal' building in the Ivy district, where you were served by what seemed like royal servants; and once it was in the back room of a tavern, where the food was hearty and the ambiance spilled over, just a little bit, from the common room where you were discouraged from going.
These monthly get togethers solidified the strong relationships you all had with each other and with Dainoth. He couldn't give you back your youth, and he couldn't give you a normal adolescence since none of you were what would be called normal. This was all he had, but it was a lot; as people entered and exited your lives, you always had each other. He hoped the trust would continue, and continue throughout your lives.
Walking into the hidden basement, Ssilax nods at his gathered friends and Dog gives a greeting bark. The dragonkin had left earlier in the morning at the frantic request of a soon to be father. The man had heard that the a healer lived at Dainoth's home, and had pounded on the door until the door opened. It was fortunate that Dainoth enchanted the upstairs so that a ringing tone alerted those in the basement, or the man would still be pounding on the door.
Sliding out of his robe and cowl, Ssilax lays them over the chair he had placed his satchel. Covering a short yawn with his clawed hand, the young theurge smiles at his friends.
"Busy morning, I helped to deliver twins." The dragonkin smiles and sits down. "Did I miss anything interesting this morning?" the sound of his grumbling stomach is hear. He sighs, "Other than breakfast."
Wrathe is fashionably late, having fallen too deep into his studies and totally lost track of time.
Standing among the forest of tall companions, being the only one to be able to look Daxniss in the eye, he finds it easy to fade into the background, and draw his journal out and sketch with chalks, and coals.
Daxniss footsteps make little noise as she walks down the steps in Dainoth's basement carrying two meat pies one of them has a bite taken out it, wordless handing one over to Ssilax. Looking over at the dragonkin she shakes her head saying ' Yes you missed breakfast, lucky for you I had a feeling that you were going to be missing out on eating. "
Heaving a sigh, shaking her head at Dorians words she says " I'm sure you say that to everyone you meet. " She finishes with a smile taking the sting of an insult out of her response. Her clothes are of decent tastes, avoiding dresses that most women of her age would wear. Seeming to prefer standard trousers that still somehow managing to accent her hips, along with her short coat with her boots that her trousers were tucked into her boots as well, her leather tunic adding to her figure as well. Her Lethe form had filled out and her everyday attire accenting her figure. She was distracting to say the least, a number of heads would turn.
Daxniss midnight blue hair was still cut short as well however, only in poor light would one not be able to tell she was a woman. Her cloak was a dark color, along with her clothes allowing her to blend better into the shadows. Her boots came up to her knees, the supple leather was well broken in and her clothes appeared to be cleaned recently.
Taking another bite from a her meat pie, keeping an eye on the other's had been challenging for the last few days, warning some of the other small fry to avoid trying to take their coin purses had cost her very little. Informing the other members of the guild that they had no coin or any challenge.
"Thank you," Ssilax smiles curves up his short snout, revealing his sharp teeth. There could be no argument that those teeth where those of a carnivore. Taking the offered meat pie, the dragonkin quickly devours it. Dog watches, drool hanging from his maw. Having saved several pieces of meat, Ssilax feed them to Dog, who apparently, is starving.
"Oh, Dorian, I have a present for you," Ssilax cleans off his claws and walks back over to his bundle of robes and equipment. Pulling a wrapped object from the mess, he slides the covering off. Ssilax hands over a walking stick to the monk. It is made from a dark wood, a black varnish has been applied, and the walking end is capped in steel. The handle is also steel, fitting nicely in ones hand. It is complete with Dorian's chosen symbol. "I saw it and immediately thought of you," the dragonkin chuckles.
Glancing at Wrathe sitting down and sketching in his book, a sneaky grin slides across his snout. Chanting quietly, he cast Prestidigitation, covering the page of the open book with midnight blue squiggles. The dragonkin was in unusually good spirits. He was pleased the delivery of the twins went smoothly, still feeling a touch euphoric in his small part in bringing two new lives into the world.
Gathering up his mess of gear, Ssilax heads over to the sleeping chamber to put away his possessions. After a few minutes he walks back to the others in his slow, dignified gait. Rubbing an old scar along his ribs under his sleeveless tunic. The tunic and half pants that Ssilax wore under his robes where faded grey wool. Another advantage of his scaled hide. Making a quick detour to the kitchen, Ssilax pours himself a cup of coffee and rejoins the others. He keeps his own coffee separate from Dainoth's or Wrathe's, as he makes it's ridiculously strong. Dainoth wouldn't touch his coffee, saying he didn't feel like having a heart attack.
Taking a sip of his coffee as he sits down, Ssilax sighs contently. Using his claws he adjusts his choker, a gift from Storm. Three rows of porcupine quills, followed by a series of black stones, another set of quills until it completed a circle. A small, coin sized bit of metal served as the center piece. It was similar to the Mask of Nethys, only elongated for a being with a snout, and a set of four horns at the top. Ssilax thought it eerily similar to the symbol he had seen years ago, and he had no reason to suspect that Storm knew anything about Nethys's various prophecies.
Daxniss smiles, not surprised in the least that about Ssilax and his love of the bitter drink which she very rarely consumes. Preferring Tea and as her stimulant of choice, for the morning and sometimes at the noonday meal.
Taking a small chunk of the crust of the meat pie, she idly tosses the small chunk at Wrathe, followed by ducking for cover, not trying to hard to hide herself although, a number of stacks of books made it easy.
Wrathe idly reaches out to retrieve the errant piece of crust and absently drags it into his awaiting maw.
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The invitation had come a few days previous, by voice and your new amulets. Dainoth had said he had something interesting and exciting to show you - a few things, actually. There might be some danger, he had said, and you should prepare for undead - skeletons or zombies. You might have guessed he was being overly cautious, but since he singled out undead, it seems he may have a real reason to believe such things might be found. However, you also might have wondered where such undead would be found. In any case, you were to bring all the exploration, travel and combat equipment you have, or buy some if necessary.
After a bit of research, the only solid things you found about skeletons was that they are best hit with blunt weapons, that they were not intelligent, normally, and that they were fairly nasty. For zombies, it would be slashing weapons that worked best on them, and that more often than not they were slow, not intelligent either, and liked to try to eat your brains.
The day was a Dinner day, with a capital D, but he had asked you to come early - in the morning, after breakfast. The task should not take too long, and you would all have Dinner later, with many of your adult friends invited, and celebrate the last of you finishing your official training, which was complete last week. He had emphasized many times in the past that your training was never over, and that you would be student of your crafts, and of life, for the rest of your days; as he was now.
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The rain outside is hard, and those of you without protection arrive somewhat wet and cold. As you arrive, singly or in pairs, he greets each of you as normal. It has been hard for him to let go, for though he encouraged you to grow up quickly, he still sees you as his family, his children. "Daxniss, lovely cloak you have there. Dorian, you are dressed like the gentleman that you've become! Wrathe, I had a new thought on that spell we discussed; but later, perhaps. Argon, have you finished growing yet? Ssilax, I hope you didn't spend too much time on those pies -- Big Dinner tonight!"
Once you're all gathered, he brings you into his laboratory, where he has set up five small spheres in a pentagram shape. Each sphere, about two inches in diameter, is supported by a small bowl, to keep it in place.
"I have made a few discoveries recently, and was prepared to deepen my investigations immediately. But I've realized that I'm but one man, an old one at that, and that sometimes I need some help. So let me start with my investigation of spaces under the city.
I have found a new space, a very old space. In my research, I cobbled together evidence that there was a library containing great knowledge, in the location of this city, long ago, and deep underground. Like the previous location four years ago, when I sent you into danger, this is another hidden space. But its magics are much older, and its promise is much greater. I have done my utmost to ensure it is not a place that is held by any entity today, and I truly hope and believe I am correct in that thought. So today is a day to find an ancient library.
The second thing is something I've been onto for a while. I assume you've all hear of the Astral Plane, or Barzak? It is a place which, among other things, is often used as a passage between other places - other planes, or other places in our own Prime Material. There exists on that plane a creature most extraordinary. It is called, in the scant literature in which I have found it mentioned, an Amaranthus."
The word is a familiar one to you all. For, about half a year ago, at an earlier Dinner, Argon had asked Rygear what the strangest creature he had ever encountered was. He had mentioned some large gelatinous and square thing that ate flies and anything else that came its way. But Dainoth had his own answer, and it was the Amaranthus. Amaranthi, it seemed, were inhabitants of Barzak. They were not smart - essentially they were animals. But they were big. Estimates had them at around a mile in diameter, if they could be said to be circular; but rather, they were very roughly circular, and their shape could change. So big in two directions, but in the third, very small. They were wide and thin, like a piece of paper. Yet they were so thin, even most inhabitants of Barzak did not know of their existence. Dainoth had surmised that indeed, they may not have any thickness at all, being strictly two-dimensional beings in a three-dimensional space. He used the word manifold to characterize this two-dimensionality, but only a few of you even knew what that might be.
Very little was known of the Amaranthus. They came in groups, sometimes. When two of them got together, their sides would join and create a line in space, very straight. They fed on magical residue, though they never seemed to bother other creatures, or magical items owned by others. They had a knack for creating a gate onto the Prime Material plane, from which they could feed on the residues of dweomers here. And that was about it. Nobody knew where they came from, how they interacted, reproduced, fought, or even moved.
Dainoth reminds you of the characteristics of Amaranthi. "In addition, I have been experimenting with them. I have created spells to locate them, lure them, and make use of their wonderful gating ability. I have found that if I create a gate to Barzak, and another from that location in Barzak to the Prime, I can in effect create a double gate, which acts like a dimensional door. I can step through, and be at another place, though it must typically be within a half-mile of my current location."
He pauses to let you take it all in. If you have questions, you know now is the time to ask them. He looks expectantly at the Xthian wizard Wrathe.
Master Dainoth had spent many an hour recounting stories of the inequities of mankind towards wizards and those of different heritages. At least on an intellectual level, being hated for what he was, or the vocational choices he had made had been something that Wrathe had felt he understood.
He knew nothing.
Months prior he had come upon the charred remains of a staked "wizard"; or perhaps one defamed with the label as a an excuse to put them to death. Their blackened mouth open in an eternal silent scream. An agonized statue carved into his memories as a permanent warning as to the price of inattention.
Such fear.
Such hatred.
He stood with his mouth agape for hours as tears carved rivulets down his face. Wrathe drank in every detail of an intimate scene made public, so that he would ever be able to close his eyes and "see" her again.
The lesson was learned of how dangerous the game was. Gone was any romanticism about flouting rules.
Steel found its way into his eyes, and with a firm jaw he walked away, never to look back at humankind's inhumanity.
He would not call attention to himself, of that he was positive, unless another was slated for burning. He would intervene, even if it meant his own life.
Since then he seemed distracted as he processed how that revelation had impacted him.
Wrathe greets Master Dainoth with warmth, as one would a close relative; his facade of stoicism cracking as he finds himself among those he can trust.
An ancient library was a dream for a scholar such as he.
A wry grin fills his face as he uncharacteristically remains silent, winks at Dainoth, and gives room for the others to ask their questions first.