" I've spent some time with the lovely ladies before and as plesent of a time it was, I had other things that required my attention. " Daxniss finishes with a wicked grin.
" I think we should retire to another place today, as we have many things to discuss and this is not a secure place. I'm willing to bet we have an eye or two on us right now. " Daxniss finishes in a distracted tone as her eyes dart around the group.
Daxniss worried that Ssilax would be even more reclusive then before time would tell what could have changed. Daxniss smiled at dog's actions at greeting Ssilax, as she felt the animal's joy, even though something felt a bit different about the dragonkin.
Pushing that thought into the background of her mind, she knew that the group would need to resupply and she would also have the unenviable task of convincing the group to make a trip back out into the Umbral Lands for a Tome.
Rain continues to fall, though it is a mere shadow of how much it had raged in the small hours of morning.
The jailhouse is a literal stronghold, and though designed to hold people in, it does more than an apt job at keeping individuals out as well.
Inns bedeck Caern, providing opportunities for meals, some degree of privacy, and much needed slumber. Resupplying will be simple as the city has nearly anything anyone would want, especially those in your financial bracket.
Wrathe does not make a big show of it as he offers Ssilax all of the remainder of his belongings back.
"I have been considering this for a time. I still have our master's ring, which is no doubt worth more than all of our belongings combined. Should we sell it?"
The faces of the arcane casters would haunt the dragonkin's dreams for many, many years to come. The hopelessness carved into their haunted faces was forever burned into his mind. Those he failed to save, despite his best efforts. The knowledge that he still was powerless to help them did little to improve his thoughts.
Walked out in a daze, Ssilax is suddenly blasted by current events as Dog plows into the dragonkin a string of happy barks. The impact lights up the fresh lash marks cut into his flesh, making him wince slightly as pain flares back up. It takes a few moments of petting and scratching Dog before the animal calms down. Looking at his odd family, the dragonkin smiles wanly.
Scaled face dripping from elven blood and brains, the dragonkin looks up into the early morning sky. He turns to look at the guardswoman seeing the hate full in her eyes.
"I am truly sorry for your loss. If you ever wish to talk, I will be honored to listen. Keeping that trauma bottled up within you is not healthy, something I know personally," Ssilax says to the angry woman with a small bow, making his bloody back scream. Blood soaking into his torn scholars garments. Trying to avoid aggravating his back further, he slowly turns back to his friends and puts his midnight blue robe. It takes hims several moments, and a few short gasps and curses.
"I am elated to see everyone. I really wasn't sure what was going to happen. A few things have happened since we last parted," the young dragonkin says, looking back at the others. The young dragonkin's shadow stares back at the jail, a sense of anger lingers in it's path.
"Let us walk a distance, I have much I wish to discuss, and would you mind carry my pack for a little bit longer." Slowly, he leads them away from the jail. Getting out of eyesight of the jail, he stops near an alley that is empty of people. Leaning into the alleyway the dragonkin noisely vomits. Accepting the pain as part of his punishment for failing the other casters, he wipes his maw clean and spits several times.
Slowly standing back to his full height, Ssilax closes his sapphire orbs and concentrates on breathing.
"I spoke up, trying to save a room full of people with arcane abilities. My words might have spared my own life, but not theirs. I plead to at least have the caster geased, rather than burned, so that could fight on behave of Cearn. The magistrate is nothing more than a filthy sadist, finding pleasure in sentencing the arcane blooded," Ssilax says, rapidly speaking in Undercommon. "They tried to geas me as well, so that I would be forced to kill arcane casters. They where almost successful, but, Nethys feels that having me geased would not be beneficial to his plans."
Quietly, Ssilax prays to the Masked One, seeking to remove the taint leftover from giant's attacks on Wrathe and Argon. Removed from the magical shackles, he can feel the presence of Nethys. It replaces the emptiness that was in his being from the loss of arcane abilities. With another short prayer, a burst of healing energy rushes through both himself and the others.
"I also found out where our.., father is being held, it is not here, but in Sigil. Not located in this plane of existence. Oh, and something of note did occur recently. After pleading with the Masked One, he has set me upon the path I was to walk from being hatched. The dragonkin continues speaking in Undercommon. He looks at his family and smiles, looking slightly relieved.
"I should probably stop by the temple. But first, I would like to see Storm, since her Circle is in the same district. I've already been flayed once today, if I don't stop by, she'll probably pluck my scales out one by one, the dragonkin finishes in common, chuckling slightly. With a short prayer, Ssilax summons water above his head. Flushing the remains of the elf from his scales, the dragonkin looks sadly at the run-off.
"That was the remains of another of our father's students. He gave the message, knowing it would cost him his life. So much death..." Ssilax briefly shudders then looks at his friends.
"Once, I was content to ignore this. All I wanted was a nice, multi-chambered cave with a house attached to entertain the occasional guest. I just wanted to be left alone to my studies. That attitude is part of the problem, given the slaughter of beings that are bless and cursed in this world by arcane magic," the dragonkin looks off into the distance, his sapphire orbs seeing something else. "No more, I must change this.., insanity against the arcane. Otherwise, this plane of existence might as well be handed over to the devils and demons." Ssilax looks.., determined, something that appears somewhat odd for the emotional dragonkin.
Looking back at the others, Ssilax looks a little embarrassed. Reaching down, he scratches Dog's ears.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to rant there. Umm, shall we be off? I would like to stop at a vendor for food, it's been a while since I last ate.
About to step out of the alley way Ssilax stops and glances over his shoulder.
"I should probable mend my clothes and put my cowl on. And use the damn hat this time," Ssilax says with a chuckle and shake of his head. Remembering what Wrathe had said, Ssilax thinks for a few moments.
"Not a bad idea, but let's wait until we can find a seller that will not rake us over the coals. I think we have enough to get by for a little bit," the young cleric says after thinking for a few more moments.
Ssilax feels the gnome's magics try to slide insinuate into his thoughts to make him destroy magi. His will is barely the stronger, and though the sorcerer slave recognizes this he says nothing. The experience gives more than a little insight into why the average person has so much fear towards such magics.
The guardswoman stares at the cleric for a time, taken aback. She withdraws without further comment, looking confused.
Argon' straining gives him a completely different view of his surroundings. Like a predator he senses weakness in members of the guard. Closer scrutiny shows signs that they are accustomed to working alone: mercenaries. It is something that could easily be exploited.
Sigil burns its way into your mind, as it is something that all have heard of, but until now you thought it was just a story for children.
(please include a knowledge: planes skill check in your next post, if trained)
You depart the area, but are followed by the screams of those charged with atrocities against the people of Caern. Lines of smoke drift lazily up, fighting against the rain's attempt to let cooler heads prevail, offering a serene contrast to the horrors below. It is hard to ignore the gathering crowd, or their cheers as the flames do their work.
Argon and Wrathe feel their vitality returned to the with a few gestures from the cleric (restoration, lesser), which is made all the better as he heals the freshest of wounds (channel energy).
All but Dog and Wrathe appear to be different somehow. Some aspects of the change are more obvious though.
Daxniss is confident she can get a decent price for the magic ring, and she is offered 4000 gold for it.
Food and drink is located and finds its way into your stomachs. You have found your way into the city.
Wrathe shakes his head, uncharacteristicly silent when it comes to matters of research. He looks torn, feeling that it is not real, but feeling it would be disrespectful to mock the elf's last words.
"No repudable source I have ever encountered has ever corroborated any of the accounts hovering about. Perhaps he misspoke, or you misunderstood?"
(critical failure)
The wizard pales at the thought of how dangerous things had just been for him without his knowledge. Being murdered by a friend should not be a surprise, considering his past, but still it takes him unawares nonetheless.
"I read about Sigil. It's a real place, is it? I thought he might be far away, but not that far..."
Argon also has a place to visit: his mentor, Kai'lit. Argon would like to spend a day with him, if possible. And he needs a holy symbol - he would have to smith it himself, but it would need to be blessed by Kai'lit himself.
He also finds his mind wandering and wondering about Me'lar, but knows it would be too dangerous for her if he tried to find her.
What little Daxniss can remember from her overhearing things about the planes and the creatures that dwell there, Sigil wasn't anything that she had heard or read about. " No clue what or where that place is, as for the bauble, I might know some folk that might be interested in it. What does it do, it might be worth holding on to it. " Daxniss says in Undercommon.
Daxniss gives a shudder at Ssilax's words about what had happened with the magistrate, wondering what was going to happen with him. Daxniss would find out latter that much would be certain, she thinks after all, it wasn't like she had asked Duran for details. Clearing her throat she says " After we got the things that we need I have an idea of where we might be finding out a few things and some possible loot. I won't say any more here, until we are in a better place. I wouldn't put it past the wankers to not try something while we are on the streets. "
Wrathe returns Ssilax's backpack to him and hands over the ring to Daxniss.
"The Ring of Mind Shielding hides the thoughts and personal auras from all who use magic to try to discern them. It is all but useless to me, but if one of you can use it more than thousands of gold..." With a rare chuckle, he leaves the thought in the air.
The wizard considers for a bit before offering, "Perhaps we should split up and speak with our respective contacts within the city, then meet back resupplied in a few days."
Argon remembers reading enough reputable material on Sigil, or the City of Doors, or the Cage, which is located on the inner surface of a ring. It is a land without sky that is entered and exited only by portals. The ruler of Sigil is the mysterious Lady of Pain, who does not concern herself with the laws of the city. Sigil is, theoretically, a completely neutral ground: no wars are waged there and no armies pass by. Furthermore, no powers are allowed to enter into Sigil; the Lady has barred them from the Cage. Even deities themselves are barred by the Lady of Pain.
The Flirty Friar, a brand new establishment to Caern untouched by the most recent attacks, offers a relatively central location for everyone to meet, which also is advantageous in that you have never been within it before.
It is a three-story building fashioned from crude wood panels over roughly-hewn logs. 12’ tall double doors led into a large room filled with tobacco smoke and other foreign scents. It is quite a bit warmer insides than outside, especially considering the rain, as the room was heated by a central fire pit. You get a few looks from the assortment of patrons gossiping at the counter and around the room. A few stares fall to your weaponry, but none more to question your armament, as most are armed as well, or better. Those in robes get the longest glares.
“What can I get you friends?” The large woman behind the counter asks cheerfully. Those with training in melee combat notice the bulge at her hip, suggestive of the hilt of a weapon jutting out, likely a dagger. The long shadows of morning's light invade the expansive space through filthy crude panes of glass. The rising Sols permitting the help to douse the lanterns set out to drive the shadows out of every visible corner of the structure.
Rooms are fairly expensive at 3 gold per night, but before such conversations take place, you are invited to clean yourself. You go to the privies to perform ablutions, splashing water from the communal bucked over your face and body to wipe the road from flesh.
A sign above the bar boasts that The Flirty Friar has a banyan bathhouse within, which is free for any that stay the night.
After getting clean enough Daxniss pays for the four of them to have rooms, slightly unsettled by so much light in the such a place. No lover of shadows enjoys full light as they many prefer shades of grey however, this would do well enough for the group as part of the price was probability tied to security in keeping it's patrons safe.
Once the others get back from the quick wash, Daxniss looks for a table that would be away from the others so the group could talk with less chance of being overheard. Daxniss smiles at the woman and says " Aye Mistress, I'm sure my friends and I could do with a meal and an ale if'n you would be so kind, also I'll be needa bowl o' food for my friend's doggie. Also we would be needin' rooms for the night if you have the avaible space, two would be fine as long as they have separate beds. "
Once the food as arrived and the serving lass has left the table, Daxniss finally answer Wrathe's question " I've already met with a contact from my friends and I might have a lead on something that they are looking for, along with some possible items that we could use. More importantly things that you would be interested in, as what I have been tasked with is finding a book for a friend of a friend. It would require us to go back out there, but I can get us back into the city with no questions asked. " Daxniss pauses to take a drink of ale, using Undercommon for this conversation.
" I can off load the bauble for us and divide the coinage out to each of us, I have directions to a druid's grove as well. Once we are away from prying ears around us, I'll say more, for now let us enjoy a meal. Daxniss says in undercommon but finishes the last phrase in common with a smile.
It is an elven Xthian that walks the city.
Wrathe shakes his head in wonder of how fast the rogue can gather information, while he and Argon only returned with a perfect mental image of cleavage.
Undercommon flows around food and drink, "Were you able to learn anything of those friends of ours that we have not spoken with in awhile?"
He scratches his chest long enough to bring attention to his copper amulet, torn on whether they should use it to try to speak to the Umbrae members. Paranoia felt like a wise course at this juncture, which made him uncomfortable to be sitting out in the open as a group.
Wrathe raises an eyebrow, asking the others if they should try their copper amulets.
He adds some counsel, "Perhaps when we are away from the city."
Daxniss provides each member of the group with 1000 gold each from the sale of the Ring of Mind Shielding.
"I wish I was wrong about what the message that was passed along to me. His words where exact, and he was certain of his words. Plus, he knew of me by sight." the dragonkin cleric had said to Wrathe before they had left the alleyway. Ssilax thinks for a few moments about Sigil and the planes.
Adding bits of what he knows to the conversation as they make their way to an inn, Ssilax looks back over his shoulder several times. The dragonkin was looking back towards the square they where burning people at the stake. Even though it was hidden from sight, Ssilax's mind put what was happening to the arcane casters for him. Falling silent, the dragonkin follows the others into The Flirty Friar.
Sitting down with a sigh, the sapphire orbs of the dragonkin dance around the room. Taking in the gathered crowd, Ssilax notes the looks that the group is getting. Especially the glares that where aimed at Wrathe and himself. Or more specifically, the robes the two wore. 'That won't do at all,' the cleric thinks to himself.
Pulling the hood of his damp midnight blue robe, and lowering his cowl, Ssilax looks around. No one stood up and pointed in shock or screamed, so the dragonkin was certain his Hat of Disguise was working.
A tall, lanky bald human looking to be some where in his early 20's grins at the others at the table. He looks to be well tanned from a life time in the sun, and bright sapphire eyes look over the crowd again. The tall human's features were very sharp and angular. Ssilax had made sure to shape the illusion so that his horns added to his height, rather then just making them look as though they where not there.
Smiling as Daxniss heads over to talk to the woman behind the counter, he looks over at Argon and Wrathe.
"I really, really hate this form," Ssilax says still smiling, quietly speaking in Undercommon. "Oh, and I am going to have to get some new clothing, not to mention armor." The smile turns fades into a grin. "I think I will need some pointers from you in that area," Ssilax says to Argon in common. Listening to Wrathe, a slight frown grows across his face.
"I'm a little leery of splitting up to honest with you," Ssilax says glancing over to where Daxniss talks with the woman behind the counter. "Especially for several days. This morning has given far more insight into what Caern is turning into then I needed." A shudder runs up Ssilax's spine. "I mean if that ends up being our best bet, then how about meeting back up tonight? It seems a safe enough spot to get a couple of rooms for a few days." The disguised dragonkin grins.
Nodding to the rogue as she returns and sits, the young dragonkin thanks Daxniss and smiles again. Ssilax listens as Daxniss answers Wrathes questions, briefly wondering if the Druid circle that she mentioned was the same Storm guarded.
"Oh, and I still have that statue that I've been cleaning for about the last year or so on and off. Might as well get rid of that as well, mostly because I am tired of carrying it around," the tall human says after the food had been served and the server had left. Ssilax almost looks like he is about to start drooling. He wastes little time attacking the dreaded meal monster.
Dog had "Wuffed" when the food was delivered and his plate was set down in front of him. His tail was wagging so hard, his rear end was swinging. The white furred dog digs into his meal after a friendly scratch on the ears from the server.
Once in private, Argon tells the others what he knows about Sigil. " I've no idea how to get there, though. Probably some powerful evil magics are needed."
It is certainly a comfortable feeling to be clean, fed, and relatively safe for a change. He enjoys the food provided, and lets himself indulge in some ale. He had bought some new clothes, not stylish but tough, functional, and comfortable.
He had also paid a visit to Kai'lit's Forge, to pay respects and gain wisdom from the Smith Priest.
Ssilax could corroborate everything that Argon knew of Sigil, plus one more detail: the way to get to Sigil. While researching a spell he had come across mention of a portal to the City of Doors in one of the dark holes of the seas. It lay at a very specific location at the bottom of Kharbdys, which something likely to lead to the group's doom if his information is inaccurate.
Kai'lit
At the end of a small alley is a stone building, with a small metalworking shop attached. A sign over the door indicates a hammer and and anvil, and inside the shop works and lives Kai'lit, priest of Ptah.
Kai'lit is not associated with Dainoth, Rygear, or any of that crowd, so Argon feels it is somewhat safe to visit him. Still, he takes a long and convoluted route to get there, and makes sure he is not followed. Paranoia may be a sickness but it can also keep you alive.
Kai'lit may be good and warm, but he does not show his emotions easily. So when Argon arrives all Argon sees is a half smile out of the corner of his mentor's mouth, and the hammering does not abate. "Argon, my young friend! How are you? Have you grown, or is it just that fuzz on your face I am not familiar with?" Kai'lit's accent is still there, and probably would never change.
Argon shows off the dagger he made, and says he would have created more things if he had not been so busy avoiding being killed by a wide variety of beings, while trying to make things better for the people of Caern. Kai'lit takes that comment in stride, and provides Argon a thorough critique of the dagger. He makes Argon recite all the things he must do differently to make the weapon much better, next time.
The afternoon is spent thus, and Kai'lit works with Argon to create a holy symbol of iron, looking something like this: Djed, Ankh and Was
Kai'lit has many words of wisdom for Argon, who is wise beyond his years but who still has so much to learn and understand. Argon listens and learns. The ways of iron and steel are many.
Me'lar
Argon would not try to visit Me'lar, he'd decided. But as he walked through the city, after having told his friends where he was going, his feet somehow found their way to the street of Nelina, where Me'lar was to have been housed. Now he stands a few hundred feet away, holding his still-warm djed-ankh-was of Ptah, watching the side door Nelina always used. After just a few minutes, after he is lost in a myriad of thoughts, he rejoins the present, and decides to leave. And then the door opens. Nelina does not emerge, as he half expects; instead it is Me'lar.
Argon feels guilty, for spying and possibly endangering the girl. Young woman, actually, for she would be sixteen now. He wonders if she ever got word to her father, whether he survived whatever sanctions were meted out in that ill place in which he lived. The young woman, looking less pale than she had, more confident and purposeful, turns the other direction and starts walking down the street. Argon does not follow.
He is truly glad she is alive, and appears to be doing well.
At the inn/tavern
" I didn't hear anything about our friends, after all I'm not sure that my friend of a friend would even know plus, some one else could have overheard and gotten some coin. An order does exist but some folk don't play by the same understandings. Daxniss says with a smile.
" As for rooms, I ve got that covered for this night as well as our food. The rooms I went with two of us per room, sense Dog will sleep on Shard of course, so whomever had deal with Dog's snoring can stay in the same room. " Daxniss lifts a finger towards Ssilax.
" If we have to split up, watch yours3lves, I've got a no touche agreement with other friends of friend. It doesn't mean folk won't listen, if you see urchins with a red cap on them, you should be okay. I'll spread some coin out to those in the know. " Daxniss finishes with a wink.
" I'll see if I can find a buyer for the piece of art no promises. Daxniss says
Even barely lucid they remembered The Huntress' lessons well: back arched, pelvis thrust forward, provocatively presenting the triangular temple of flesh that drew the drooling masses to their doorstep.
The trim and voluptuous whores were naked except for a sheen of perfumed oil, and scraps of coloured beads. Erect fools occupied benches drinking cheap wine, fondling whores, and haggling over the price of both. Had anyone been sufficiently sober they would recognize how easily women of the evening laughed, their heads flirtatiously thrown back in conscious mirth that did not reach their papaver somniferum-glazed eyes.
Wrathe sat watching mercenaries, merchants, and cutthroats alike. Around him were rising moans and sighs, but mainly the gasping of sexual pleasure. The sounds intensified and he began to perspire.
Phia drew back the curtain, laughed at the wizard's obvious discomfiture. Her hand was in his, the flesh pliant and warm, and his fingers relaxed. There was always an ache in his heart around this woman. She made him feel as he had never felt before, as if all things were now possible. Wrathe was sure his chest could not contain so many emotions soaring within him at once.
His voice was hoarse, "My friends..."
Grinn
The Coins' Grand Bazaar is big, always bustling, and somewhat dangerous. The flow of coin provides a venturi effect in which urchins and pickpockets follow the flow of least resistance. Luckily for Argon, he is large, armored, and keeps several weapons with him, and this makes the urchins and the less skillful thieves think twice before approaching him.
Argon knows his friend Grinn ran a stall selling all manner of equipment, along with his father, a year ago. He heads to the same location to see if he's still around. After searching for a bit and not finding it, he decides to widen the search a bit, but still has no luck. Going back to the original location of the stall, he starts asking the other merchants there about Grinn and his father. Before long he is directed to a shop just off the Bazaar, and sure enough, he finds Grinn there with his father.
It is the day after his visit to Kai'lit, and thus it's still before noon. Grinn, of course, is busy working, so after a short chat Argon agrees to meet him later, after it gets dark, in a nearby tavern. Argon spends the day visiting smiths, weaponmakers and armorers, hoping to see their work, evaluate it, and learn from it.
He finally sees Grinn after dark, and it is as if they have not not seen each other over the past three years. The two share a meal of duck and potatoes, and some wine (Grimm's choice), and recount their respective lives to each other. When Grinn mentions the young lady he is courting, a sixteen year old who was raised in a religious cult below the undercity, Argon turns white. Grinn nods and smiles, and explains that she had mentioned the name Argon as one of her rescuers (though she also saved them); and Grinn had figured it had to be his friend Argon.
Argon is quiet for a bit, and it gives Grinn a chance to explain about his mother - she was burned at the stake within the past year. She had some inborn magical talent, and could not or did not always contain it; and it was her downfall. Since then, Grinn has payed more attention to his father, and to the politics of the city. Effecting change seemed almost impossible, but Grinn is waiting for an opportunity to do just that.
Argon is at first speechless, and then after condoling with him, explains about his own friend. "He's a very close friend, and a priest of Nethys. He narrowly escaped the same fate as your mother, because they thought he was a wizard. I shouldn't talk about this here, but let me just say I have the same mindset as you. Waiting for a chance to act, meaningfully."
The two sit in silence for a while, then continue their conversation. Grinn turns out to be a good source of local news, though he is a little naive still on the underlying forces and behaviours of the different factions. He's smart, Grinn, but still young. His father seems more savvy to the political scene, even just based on what Grinn says.
On the streets
Daxniss starts to wonder the streets after spending time locating Jack a man who ran what Dax called the 'Red Caps' spreading some coins out to Jack to have his urchins watch over her friends for her, sense a good portion wanted to wonder around alone. It cost her 25 gold but it was money well worth spent if it meant that the group was going to be relatively safe guarded from the local cut purses.
" Jackie boy, I'm sure that you have heard a few other more important things going on, I'm going to need to know more, any new factions that have sprog up, new edicts that have come into light. " Daxniss says with a shrug, as Jack would have some more insight into what his boys and girls had been learning before traversing down to see if Lia had any information about Rygear.
Jack had nothing more to add to what Duran had told her however, Daxniss had learned little that was note worthy, as it was the price to pay. Daxniss knew that she had to complete the task for Duran, it might not have a time frame sense she would be in the wilds for a number of days if not weeks. Something still doesn't set right with her as Caern seemed to be much worse in the year or so that the 4 of them had fled.
Daxniss throws a wink at Jack and starts moving again, she could almost feel the eyes on her from someone watching the rogue's progress, so Dax started to take round a bout ways to get to her next stop: Abraixus
At Abraixus Emporium
Daxniss knew the owner well, he handled all sorts of odds and ends from weapons to well a little bit of everything. Daxniss had used Marcus as a way to get things specialty made and he knew how to keep his mouth shut. Marcus did have a patrol that came through once a month but nothing ever came of it, most likely he had enough clout and knew enough secrets to bribe the patrol.
The shop was in an area that straddled the border of the docks district and the merchants district, the building looked like it was well maintained. of course one would need to cut through an alley which could have someone waiting to take everything you had to reach it. Daxniss started to walk around the corner and was shocked to see that the building in front of the rogue, was no longer an alley. Abraxius had expanded large enough that it had it's own warehouse and shop.
Daxniss shakes her head, as Marcus must have made enough profit to buy another building or, had finally 'acquired' another building through a different means. Walking into the shop, Dax could see that Marcus was talking to a woman who was behind the counter with him.
Marcus a weaselly looking man, his hair slicked back away from his face, the patchy beard wasn't doing him any good, that much was certain. " Oi now, I said you should never have grown the cheek fuzz out, it never suits you mate. "
Marcus turns and let's out a raspy chuckle " Oh the lady who thinks she's funny! What are you looking for this time a new sticker? " Marcus asked with a mock wounded look on his face.
" Yeah one that the hilt doesn't wobble would be nice, something better quality. " Daxniss says with a smile.
Betrayal is unpalatable, whether expected or not.
The footsteps of the guard scream of their hobnailed advance mere heartbeats before the tavern door splinters inward.
All eyes in the room cast about, then follow the three guards' stare.
Argon.
Grinn averts his gaze, his voice apologetic as he whispers his apology, "They are holding Me'lar. This is the only way I could get them to promise to release her. I am truly sorry Argon."
An explosion of motion emanates from the entrance of the tavern as the guards' advance.
Argon fails to make the expected meeting time with his companions.
It was not long before the before everyone decided that more can be done if they split. Not that it was the dragonkin's preferred option, a thought that floats across his mind once. Even though he was disguised, changing his form once more, to be as average and forgettable as possible, Ssilax could still feel eyes upon him. 'I would brush it off as my mind playing tricks on me, but not after this morning,' Ssilax thinks to himself with a glance over his shoulder.
Sticking to the main streets that the young dragonkin knew, Ssilax finds that the further away from the walls one gets, the more people are unaware of the troubles on their doorstep. They carry on as if it's just another day, making coin, laughing, arguing. After stopping briefly to make note of several different armor shops, listening in a few different conversations, Ssilax realizes that he is wrong.
The people here are all to well aware of the terrors that the siege represented. The young cleric sees the frenzied undercurrent driving the people living here. It was a subtle thing, had the dragonkin not have lived in Caern for all those years, he probably would have missed it entirely. People where going about their lives intentionally as if their wasn't a war about to spill into the street. They laughed a little too hard at jokes not really that amusing, haggled with a bit too much energy. It was as if they could force the war away by aggressive pretending that they would be fine. Or perhaps by forcing themselves to be as alive as possible.
Ssilax shakes his disguised head slightly, amazed at the level of determination that something like took. Between the barbarian armies outside (not to mention the Umbral Lands), the devil, demons and other troubles brewing inside the walls, and who knows what else, there was a lot to attempt to ignore, or at least put out of one's mind.
'Of course, I really doubt anyone knows anything about the devils infiltrating the noble houses,' Ssilax thinks to himself. The dragonkin is lost to his thoughts, fortunately for him, his clawed feet knew the way. Finding himself standing in front of a small park, a grove of trees in the middle. Blinking in surprise, Ssilax looks around , trying to make sure that he wasn't followed. Dog looks back between Ssilax and the Druid's Circle before letting out happy bark and runs into the trees.
"Well, I guess Storm knows that we're here," Ssilax chuckles to himself. Walking closer to the trees, he notes that the seem closer together. It almost looks like the vegetation had closed off the circle to keep prying peoples out of her home. After being gone, Ssilax could only imagine what has transpired during the time.
Standing before the trees, close to the spot where Dog had slipped in, Ssilax suddenly pauses. About to announce himself, the dragonkin realizes that he was nervous. Really nervous, to the point that if he could sweat he would be drenched. Trying to get his pounding heart under control, the scent of the forest washes away the stink the city had left in his nostrils. It carries away the worry that he was being followed by some crazy guardsmen with a scaling knife and a hundred other little worries.
The thick vegetation shifts, ever so slightly, and Ssilax spies a path for him to take in the grove. After several seconds of walking through a blindingly thick wall of trees, thick leaved plants and vines, Ssilax walk out into the clearing. Having dropped his illusion, the dragonkin looks around as he slides off his hood and cowl.
Ssilax was always amazed by the sight of the inner circle. A small bit of untouched bit of Nature in a sea of civilization. The tranquil feeling of a warm summer morning washes over the dragonkin, instantly relaxing the young cleric. Looking around, it was easy to spot the currently sleeping treant, a massive weeping willow. Storm knelt nearby the roots, giving Dog apparently the best tummy rub in the world. His familiar lay on his back, feet twitching and tongue hanging out in canine bliss. Listening faintly to a few songbirds, Ssilax catches a hint of lilacs and something sweet in the air.
"It is wonderful to see you once more," the dragonkin says, a happy smile spreading across his scaled muzzle. Storm stands up with her usual smooth liquid grace the makes his knees a little weak. As she stands, Storms thick silver hair falls like waves of the ocean down her shoulder and back. The elven druid walks towards the dragonkin like a cat stalking prey, the simple leather breeches and tunic clung to the woman like a second skin. "It looks like you strengthened the walls of the circle," Ssilax says, trying to think of something to say as the elf moves closer, a slow smile spreading across the druid's features.
"Um, I've missed you a great deal during.., the dragonkin trails off as Storm keeps on going right up to the dragonkin. He had slowly been backing up with out thinking about it. There is a slight "thunk" as the cleric's back runs into the thick trunk of a tree.
"You talk too much, dragon," Storm says, mischief twinkling in her violet eyes as she looks up at the cleric. Kissing the surprised Ssilax on the tip of his snout, the druid slides her fingers under his robe and along his shoulders, slipping the garment off. "And you wear far too much clothing," Storm says with her smile turning wicked as she leans back slightly. Before the dragonkin can react, the druid leans in and kisses Ssilax, finding a surprising effective way to silence the dragonkin.
***********************************************************************
Slowly regaining the ability to form coherent thoughts once more, Ssilax floats on a cloud of content euphoria. Lying on his side, the warmth from Storm against his scales was threatening to steal his consciousness from him. Before long, his body conspired against his plot of staying like this until Time itself ended. His arm that Storm was using as part of a pillow was asleep. And his tail was twisted a bit awkwardly between their legs.
Trying to avoid disturbing the druid, he shifts around slightly to free his tail. A sense of relief floods the nerves at the base of his spine as he does so. His arm, however, was going to be another problem altogether, as he didn't want to wake up Storm.
"What is with your inborn ability to ruin a moment?" sighs Storm, turning her head to look at the dragonkin. She gives his snout a little peck to steal the venom from her words. Most of it, she was a bit annoyed.
"Sorry, my tail was twisted. And my arm is kinda asleep. Possibly dead at this point, but it was completely worth the loss of a limb," Ssilax says giving the elf a nuzzle. Not having lips, the dragonkin found this less awkward then trying to give a simple kiss to show affection.
Laughing merrily, Storm gracefully slides to her feet, looking down at Ssilax, she arches an eyebrow.
"Only the loss of one limb? I should be insulted," Storm says over her shoulder, the sunlight turning her waves of silver hair molten. The dragonkin can't help but stare as she walks over to the nearby pile of discarded clothing and gear. Digging out a pair of rations, the druid returns with the grace of an elven hunting cat. The dragonkin had enough of a presence of mind to sit up and was leaning against a tree, trying to massage blood flow back into his arm.
Setting out the meal, adding a bit of fresh fruits and berry with a few muttered words and gestures, Storm sits down next to the dragonkin and leans against him, sighing happily.
"Going to survive, o noble hero?" the druid asks with mock concern before popping a cherry into her mouth.
"It will be close, but I think I might," Ssilax answers with a lazy smile spreading across his muzzle. Trying to wiggle his fingers, the young cleric wincing as feeling begins to creep back into his limb.
"Well, seems like you've done a little growing up in the last three years," Storm traces a pattern she can make out running along the scales of Ssilax's side. "Tell me about the last few seasons while we eat. And before you ask me, yes I'll tell you what has been going on in the city." Storm says, while reaching up and tapping the side of his snout.
Feeling a bit sheepish, he closes his muzzle about to ask Storm that very question.
"Hmm, I think it would be best if I start off with what happened that caused us to have to flee and go from there. I'm not much of a storyteller, so sorry for the lack of embellishments," Ssilax rumbling chuckle can be heard as he nuzzles the druid's cheek. Selecting a bit of jerky, he thinks about how the day had begun.
"Dainoth had arranged for all of us to have some time off from our various duties, and we where all brought together at home..." Ssilax begins his tale of the travels the group of friends had been on.
A crucial moment is provided as Grinn stands, his open hands held above his head to indicate submission to the Caern guards' authority, but whether intentional or accidental he momentarily blocks the onrushing guards.
Argon is faster than he looks, and the window afforded is all he needs to jackrabbit.
The courageous Alman explodes out of the tavern at a sprint. This is far more elusive prey than the guards had expected. Wise, intelligent, and having cut his teeth on these very streets all conveys a distinct advantage.
Being an almost perfect physical specimen does not hurt either.
In short order he realizes that there simply are too many of them, and they are too well-coordinated. Luck has played a role in him staying out of their clutches, but more guards join the chase, which makes it unlikely that they will fatigue before he does.
Coming around a corner he finds a guard in his path, but he gets the better of the collision. Nearly 200 pounds of armoured sinew and bone leave the guard senselessly blasted from his feet.
Snipers start to clamber onto rooftops to gain vantage points to call out his position, and to hole his heart if the opportunity presents itself.
A bird call grabs his attention as he passes by an alleyway, and a quick glance shows two street urchins, or possibly thieves guild rats, that glance about and beckon for him to follow them. The alleyway is a dead end perhaps 45' behind them.
"...and that's what lead me here," Ssilax finishes up his tale. Leaning forward a bit to pick the last of his meal, the dragonkin leans back. He had noticed that Storm trying to hide a surprised expression, her trade mark little superior smirk absent. Arms snaking around Ssilax, the elf brief hugs the dragonkin.
"That was quite the tale. It almost excuses you from contacting me," the elf says, leaning against Ssilax. "Almost."
Storm begins to tell Ssilax about what has been going on in Caern over the last few years. While the druid rarely leaves her circle, she has a number of friends and allies, not to mention animals, to keep her surprising well informed.
Listening to the druid, Ssilax begins to think that Caern was slowly going mad. Once, the city had almost been a refuge for those of the Arcane. Now, it seems the Caern was little better than any other magi hating city. The young cleric had a pretty good idea what the populace would turn to once they ran out of arcane casters. He shook his head, thinking that Caern seems ready to implode, saving the invading army the trouble.
Daxiss leaves Marcus and his current wife after an hour, facing up to the thought she was going to have to talk to Lia provided she was available. As Daxniss leaves the shop, her new rapier sitting comfortably on her hip, along with a new stiletto hidden up her sleeve, she looked around to make sure she didn't have anyone following her.
Daxniss starts to move towards and alley, wanting to change how she looked so if anyone was following her wouldn't know if she had left the alley or not. Daxniss enters the alley and ducks behind a large enough pile of broken wood and trash and uses her ribbon to change how she would look. The person that leaves the alley is a human woman with long brown hair, dressed in a simple dock worker clothing, she goes off in a different direction, as she had more information to gather.
________________________________________________________________________
Dock Ward, The Nameless Tavern
The Tavern never had a name, it would never have one as if thumbing the nose of other Taverns, the clientele almost always left each other alone, humans and non have been here. The Tavern held no standards on the folk that could be here, as long as you paid per drink and your meal you were welcome. Being barred from coming here was the worse thing that you could do, sense it would mean that you had managed to break an unwritten rule. The interior was clean, and lit well enough to see where you were going, there was enough shadows to hide in.
The same half elf that was behind the counter, and nodded at whomever shambled up to the bar. The reason why everyone was welcome was the fact that Lia had enforced that agreement, she came here at random times a day, and no one ever saw her enter, only leave.
Daxniss walked up the same table in the corner, the same one that Rygear and her had walked to all those years ago. Daxniss ordered two spiced wines and two stews, knowing that was merely a way to pass a message to Lia.
Daxniss didn't need to wait that long, as her teacher showed up at the table still dressed in black clothing. " I don't know you which is odd, since I know all of the members that I have trained, you look familiar enough to me. " A husky voice that still sounded like whiskey was a stable part of it's diet, reached Daxniss' ears.
' Aye, whom else would cause this much trouble within a few days of getting back into town though, I've been away for a little over a year, I'm sure you remember Shiny skin. " Daxniss says with a grin still keeping the disguise up.
" I would like to believe you, things have been difficult and at the moment trust is in short supply. I recommend you don't try to play me false at the moment, no one will report a dead body in here. " The voice hardened
Daxniss knew she had let things go for as long as she could, Lia had more then likly seen through the disguise and wanted to make sure her eyes hadn't betrayed her. Daxniss pulls her cloaks cowl back enough and reverts back to normal.
" Korist kid, I had a feeling you were back after you disappeared and than after a year, come back to call in your favor's with old Duran. [b] " Lia says, sitting down and lighting up a cigar, the half-orc had a little more grey in her hair but was still the same.
" [b] I'll tell you what I can later, I hate to cut this short, Duran had caught me up to speed for the most part. I haven't seen your bed warmer in the city yet, and there are other things I didn't ask Duran about. Daxniss said keeping a look out over the crowd, one eye still on her mentor.
[ooc]
Diplomacy check using a hero point
[ooc]
It is a street urchin, with one hand cut off for stealing a loaf of bread, that provides Daxniss with the very specific directions of where to go next. It takes the rogue a moment to process the words, for they are to travel to the southern edge of the Crystal Lochs, and almost atop where the group has been residing for the last weeks.
In retrospect, perhaps this should come as no surprise since the Umbral Lands are a blighted place where one would not expect to find growth, yet you were among flora and fauna, rather than despoliation and death. Only predators that feed upon the weak and unwary remain.
A rare bronze oak sapling, carefully wrapped in moist burlap, is handed over. No words are offered, but you understand this to be the "writ" that will speed your travel to Enwas, and secure your return to Caern proper.
At sunrise, the time of rebirth, you are to plant the sapling in the enriched soil and open yourself to your surroundings. Only then will you possibly understand.
Argon wonders why the guards are fingering him, as he is no wizard. Simultaneously his mind reels with the words of his friend. Me'lar in custody? Why? She is the most innocent person he can think of. Then he recalls the circumstances of their departure from Caern...
It seems the best course is to make a hasty retreat at this point. With city guards surrounding him, Argon becomes aware that he is going to be captured soon, or killed. His fast running won't help against those in front of him; nor against quarrels. A sign arrives, in the form of a bird call and a pair of urchins. It's enough for him. He doesn't hesitate, hoping to Fire and Stone that these are somehow connected to Daxniss. He turns down the alley and follows the two young ones.
As he runs, he tries to spot the location of egress from this dead end.
Ships burn in the harbour, lighting the night as flames climb high into the sky.
The attack is well-coordinated to come in within a short span of time from one another. Some ships press into the harbour, while others landed ashore to target the walls. Hard pressed are the city's defenders, and the walls are breached anew. Caern's only warning was that only a handful of messenger birds had failed to return in recent days. Shamans spells protect the barbarian hoard as they breach the walls. Their efforts coordinated on the partially-repaired sections of wall that they had earlier targeted.
The horde floods the streets with death anew, and more fires light up the night.
Poorly trained, ill equipped slaves are sent for to do battle. Really it is little more than using the slaughter of their bodies to buy their masters more time to escape.
Lean, sun-darkened, muscular nomads holding themselves as erect as spears throw themselves at the Caern defenders. Naked bodies are stained with yellow-orange silt except for wide stripes across their grave faces and festooned with black tattoos. The thin white slits of their desert eyes clearly show minds actively contemplating magnificently horrific acts of slaughter, and sexual depravity. It is a plague of that arrives from the desolate wastelands of Ryuen from which they were birthed. Tyrant King Eoes IX will not let these men rest until Caern burns.
As before they soften the defenders' resolve before drawing back to their ships and leaving for a time. Each attack weakens the ability of the guard to fend off the Umbral Lands on one side, and the barbarians on the other.
Blood flows in the streets.
Debris is hastily cast aside, revealing a tight squeeze for the Alman into a crawlspace beneath the building. His broken arm will scream at the mistreatment, but it is better than filling a cell for the rest of his natural life.
Clearing out cobwebs reveals that this is a little used passageway, or one with thousands of arachnid residents, but it is one that his darkvision shows to run much further than one would expect.
The boys lead him to a small chamber, where they wait silently for hours. Finally the boys point for Argon to continue along the passageway, while they backtrack into the city. One boy moves right up to the Alman's ear and whispers that he will tell Daxniss where to find him.
An eternity of claustrophobic crawling later, having been stuck a dozen and more times, and with all of his armour and gear dragged along behind him, and the slayer finds himself seeing light at the end of the tunnel, and hearing voices nearby.
A crude ladder leads him upward to peek out from between roots that are covered by sod sewn to cloth he discovers that he is outside of the city, having escaped via one of the little-used smuggling passages.
Mahina steps aside, its time of Reverie at an end, permitting Sol'Daemos to shine its dark crimson light intertwined with the meagre illumination from Sol'Dragos' froidure.
It is a somber Caern in the mornings, for there are many dead, and the feeling is one of impending doom at any moment.
At the meeting place and time you gather minus Argon. It does not take long for Daxniss to be informed of where the slayer could be found. The two urchins hold out their hands with impressively-large grins painted across their proud little filthy faces.
Beyond the city gates they will find their friend and the opportunity to share what each had learned.
"Aye, I can tell by the look in your eyes you are thinking that you can go and fix everything," Storm says with a snort of amusement. Tracing the underside of the dragonkin's muzzle, the druid smiles, looking both sad and timeless. "I think you're completely mad," the druid says with a light laugh. "Fortunately, I rather enjoy that about you."
Effortlessly, the elven druid slides into his lap, facing the dragonkin. A stormy violet gaze bores into his own sapphire orbs.
"You'd better not go and get yourself killed, dragon. Promise me that." Storm says, raw emotion raging behind her violet eyes.
"I promise," before enveloping Storm in a mighty embrace. After a few tender moments Ssilax adds, "it is actually something I actively try to avoid doing."
Laughing, Storm shakes her head.
"Ruining the moment once more," the druid sighs. "What am I to do with you?"
"Well, I might be able to think of something," Ssilax says, almost looking innocent.
"I bet you can," Storm says with an amused chuckle, before stealing the dragonkin's breath with a passionate kiss.
************************************************************************
A while later, cleaned and dressed, the two sit in silence for a while, simply enjoying each others company.
"All right, you'd best be off. If you don't leave now, I might decide to keep you around for a few more seasons," the druid smiles warmly at the dragonkin.
"I wish that I could stay," Ssilax says returning the smile and nuzzling the druid.
Suddenly realizing something, the cleric looks over at the Weeping Willow treant. A large green eye winks at the dragonkin before closing. Sitting on his haunches, Dog's tongue hangs out, Ssilax could swear the animal was grinning at him. Storm's black panther animal companion gracefully hops out of the treant and lands near Dog.
"What?" Storm says innocently. "At least you can preform well with an audience. Important hero quality." The druid says with a frankly naughty laugh. Looking at the dragonkin, she leans in close. "I made you blush, I can see in your eyes." She says, draping her arms around Ssilax's shoulders.
Ssilax would be a deep crimson red if not for the thick covering of scales. He opens and closes his maw several times to speak but really can't think of anything to say. Returning Storm's embrace, he earns a kiss on the snout.
"Alright, be off you big oaf," Storm whispers and breaks the embrace taking a few steps back. Reluctantly, Ssilax nods and begins walking to the thresh hold of the Druid's Grove. He is quickly joined by Dog.
Pausing, Ssilax turns and looks back at Storm who smiles roguishly at him.
"Be well, Dragon."
"You also Storm. Be Well." Ssilax smiles and enters the bush, activating his Hat of Disguise as he does so.
Thoughts a few thousand leagues away, Ssilax disguised feet lead him to the Temple of Nethys. Not that the journey was that far considering the districts neighbored each other.
Looking at the pair of guards at the disguised entrance, Ssilax nods to the guardsmen.
"Greetings. Would you mind letting the Holy Mother that her distant grandson has arrived and would like to borrow a few moments of her time," the rather bland and unremarkable human in plain clothing says. Dog sits next to Ssilax and waits for ear scratchings.
The two guards look at him like he is mad, not really that surprising, . One of them mutters, and his eyes glow blue as he looks at the disguised dragonkin. The eyes of the robed guard grown large as he looks beyond the illusion.
"Of course, it would be an honor, I'll send the message myself. If you would please step inside, someone will escort you to the waiting chamber," the guard says trying to not trip over his own words as he makes way for the dragonkin. His companion looks at him quizzically and steps to the side. As he walks through, he can see the two whispering behind him.
Walking through the portal, Ssilax drops his illusion, knowing that the magics in the temple would negate it anyway. Smiling behind his cowl he looks around. And is instantly struck by the sheer mad bustle that is on display. Acolytes and clerics run about, checking supplies, and preparing healing magics and items. The smile fades as the reminder of the war is once more hammered home.
"Brother Ssilax?" asks a vaguely familiar sounding voice. Dog "Wuffs," in greeting as the dragonkin turns to his left. He sees a young acolyte sporting a clean shaven head looking up at him with hazel eyes wide. Ssilax nods, catching the faint scent of burnt hair. He sniffs the air a few times.
"Brother Vomas, I didn't recognize you at first! How have you been?"" Ssilax greets his friend and message transporter to and from the church. He tries unsuccessfully to avoid staring at Vomas's shiny head as they walk into the temple and head to the waiting room.
"I had a slight miscalculation with a spell. I was trying to change my hair color, instead I sort of set my head on fire. Yesterday was a busy day, other then the whole war chewing on the walls, I've been doing quite well," the acolyte smiles broadly. Vomas was almost determined to be cheerful, and see things in a positive light. A trait Ssilax had always envied a little .
Ssilax had garnered only a few glances, as people seem far too busy to wonder who the robed person is being lead around. The two enter the waiting chamber, which looks exactly the same as it did all those years ago when he first came to the temple. It has an odd timeless quality to it. The dragonkin remarks as much as he sits down, pouring a cup of tea for Vomas. The other pot held coffee by the smell of it, which he gleefully pours for himself. He slides off his hood and cowl, and sniffs at the cup of steaming black liquid.
"What has been happening in the last few years? I would guess we have a few minutes before the Holy Mother will be here," Ssilax says with a smile, sipping his piping hot black coffee.
Vomas eagerly fills Ssilax in on the coming and goings of temple in the last few years. More pressure from the Arch-Magus, more trouble from the nobles. The Umbral creatures had been probing the walls more frequently, even before the invading forces made their presence known. Other than that, it was the same happy madhouse that it had always been around the temple. The Holy Mother demonstrated her near legendary political skill several times, always shifting favor back to the church.
"I've even heard mention that some call her the Twisting Spider," Vomas leans in, whispering conspiratorially as if sharing political secrets of the nobles.
"Is that so, young brother Vomas?" comes the rasping voice of the old crone from the door. Vomas winces as though he had just been cuffed across the back of the head. Frozen in his chair, Vomas closes his eyes as if waiting to be turned into a newt.
"Well, you've done well warming my chair, now be off with ya boy, and wait outside the door till I summon you." Baga Yaga rasps as she walks in, her twisted root of a cane clicking on the ground as she approaches. Vomas scrambles out of the chair, bowing and heads out the door. The ancient woman sits down with a grunt. Sniffing the air, she looks at the coffee with disdain.
"How you and Dainoth drink that vile concoction is beyond me," the Holy Mother says with a shake of her head. She looks up at Ssilax, one eye covered by a white film, the other black as night. "Let me get a good look at ya my boy, you look as though you've done a little growing up in the last few years." The old crone peers into Ssilax's sapphire orbs, as if peering into his very soul. She smiles, revealing teethed long since stained by tobacco leaf. "I see ya finally be walking on the right path tell, me about what set you on the path." The old woman says as she packs a long stemmed pipe.
Ssilax tells the Holy Mother of what transpired with the shadow giant and very shortly afterwards. The old woman's eyebrows raise at mention that Nethys might have actually responded to the dragonkin's plea. She looks torn between skepticism and belief at the events that took place. Puffing furiously on her pipe for several moments, Baba Yaga is silent, lost in her thoughts.
The old crone looks at the Mask upon the scales of the dragonkin's face, and smiles slightly to herself.
"Looks like your head is finally on straight," the old crone chuckles around a cloud a smoke. "Oh, sonny, I don't be envious of the bramble that be in your path." Baga Yaga says with sad smile. "I have but a one little bit of advice for ya, so listen well to your old gran. Nethys will always guide your path, not matter how lost or alone you might be, the Magic One always cares for his own."
Puffing on her pipe the old Holy Mother cocks her head slightly to the left.
"And I think you be the right one to be remind those that listen that Masked One does hear his faithful," the old witch reaches out and pats the side of Ssilax's muzzle. "Now, I have a lot to do yet, so you be off. Ya be staying any longer, we'll be putting those pretty golden claws to work. Vomas will take ya to the quartermaster, our stocks be a bit depleted at the moment, but he'll find ya something decent. Be well boy, and tell your grandfather he needs to come and have a chat when you collect him." Baga Yaga says rather mysteriously as Ssilax gets up and bows respectfully to her. "Keep your skin attached lad, I'll be seeing ya again," comes from the ancient woman as the dragonkin leaves.
After letting Vomas know that he is not going to be turned into a newt, the two head off to see about getting the dragonkin re-equipped.
A process which Ssilax finds doesn't take nearly as long as he thought it was going to. It probable helps matters that he is a rather tall, broad shouldered individual, there is not much to chose from. There is a rather plain, but well made set of breastplate that fits him like a second set of scales. With a few modest spells, the quartermaster of the Church attaches some thick fabric in Nethy's two-tones to help to disguise his scales. It flowed between the bits of armor like it was how the armor was designed. He also modifies a set of gauntlets so that the dragonkin's claws can be free. Selecting a cloak with a black backing and white inner lining, the robed dwarf mutters, and slightly enlarges the hood to cover his scales. Taking the dragonkin's cowl, he sows it into the lower part of the hood with a golden needle. Finally, he a adds set of metal snaps, so the dragonkin can quickly remove or reattach the cowl as he saw fit.
Thinking about the few weapons he had trained with, Ssilax makes a few changes to his personal armory as well. Finishing up, Vomas checks back in and apologies to the dragonkin.
"Sorry, I've got about a thousand different things I need to be doing" he says, looking a little embarrassed. "We'll have to catch up on things next time you come by," he smiles ruefully at Ssilax. Looking over at the quartermaster, he nods to the dwarf. "The Holy Mother said to inform you that the gold for your services will be arriving tomorrow." The quartermaster nods packing himself a pipe and beginning to rearrange the armory.
Escorted out by his friend, Ssilax promises that he will be back, and that he wouldn't disappear for years with no word. A promise he truly plans on keeping. Feeling a bit odd wearing so much metal, Ssilax makes sure his disguise is in place before stepping out of the portal onto the streets.
Glancing at the sky as the sun just begins to sink towards dusk, Ssilax plans his way back to the Flirt Friar to met up with his odd family. Dog barks once, happy to be on the move once more. Grinning, Ssilax reaches down and scratches his ears.
Cape billowing out in a breeze that gust up the street the tall armored cleric, cloaked and cowled starts walking.
Argon looks up at the sky, and at the surroundings. Amazingly, he is out of the city! His first thought is that the Rogue-to-be had said Daxniss would be told of this location, which also means, in his mind, that she will come and get him. He's thankful to her, and to the helpers along the way.
He carefully looks around and inspects the site before climbing out. Stepping into an ambush would be stupid indeed. He hears voices, and tries to recognize them, and determine how far they are.
Once he deems it safe, he climbs out slowly and silently and looks around. There is the wall to the city. He listens again, for where the voices are.
He thinks for a second. The fish got off the hook, so the bait is still on it, most likely. He fears for Me'lar.
Before all hell breaks out
Daxniss had stuffed a few items into her back pack and after off loading the statue, Daxniss leaves the nameless tavern. Making her way through the crowds back to the Flit Friar, waiting for the others, Daxniss wonders if the Task that Duran had given her was going to get her killed.
At the inn
With a growl Daxniss wonders what in the nine hello was taking Argon so long when two urchins approach her, whispering in her ear what had happened with Argon and where they had lead him brought a smile. Her safety net idea had worked, letting out a quiet chuckle she pays both of the urchins 5 gp each.
The voices the slayer heard were guards atop the wall, their voices carried by the wind, far enough from his current position that he does not worry about a casual glance discovering him. The large tree, one that has a strange double burl facing the city, provides him the perfect place to hide from prying eyes.
Ssilax returns a tad more spent than one would expect, and the flush of his scales betrays much more than he expects to the sharp-eyed others. They had been friends too long, but each was just happy to see him smile.
Wrathe, Daxniss, and Ssilax are solemn as they make their way past the still smouldering corpses of those sentenced for wielding arcane magics. Each skull is frozen in a silent scream until the birds prise their ligaments free. It is a stark reminder of the stakes they all play for as enemies of the city, let along being literate.
Using the Underpaths, that Wrathe knows so well, they navigate their way through the city and only surface when they are nearest to the gates.
Picking their way through the bloodstained and rubble-strewn streets, the trio find their exodus from Caern is simplicity itself. It is a wonder if the city always this porous to people entering and leaving.
Citizens stand with stunned expressions on their faces; tears having carved trails through the smoke ash that stains their skin.
Caern might not be here when you return. It is concerning, though you truly doubt that the city of your youth still exists, and it is likely changing dramatically each day.
Argon is found exactly where the group expected him to be. Finding this spot, about 70 paces from the city wall, has provided the group a means of traveling in and out of Caern without needing to worry about guards, or walls. It is a wonder how many places like this exist.
As you step outside of Caern you feel the primal magics gather, bunching up until they release impossible and possibly deadly effects. No plants or wild animals are found beyond the wall, as if the ground was made of poison.
Rumours abound:
Dainoth had spoken of double gates, utilizing Amaranthus dwelling in Barzak, to act as a dimensional door. Perhaps the Arch-Magus experiments had brought him to the attention of the denizens of Sigil, or the same forces that had dealt with Umbrae had also subdued him. His cooling right hand, laying in a puddle of the blood it once contained, warned of the potential follow of whatever the wizard was involved in.
Those friends of Umbrae that remain have taken to calling themselves Lux et umbra, which means “Light and shadow” in a tongue so ancient that none of them know what it stems from.
Daxniss estimates that avoiding guard patrols will likely make their journey to the south end of the Crystal Lochs take the better part of a day.
At the Inn, before the attack.
Greeting his friends, stops by the counter to order himself and Dog plate of stew each and cup of wine for himself. Sitting down, he places Dog's dish on the floor, before digging into his own meal. While it might not have been a race to see who could finish first, it seems that way to an onlooker.
A relaxed smile on his disguised forms lips, though the illusionary tall human looks pretty tired for someone who was walking around all day. Not to mention, the tall human looks a bit flushed in the lantern light. Sipping at his cup of wine, Ssilax inquires as the whereabouts of Argon, as the dragonkin had been running a little late himself. He uses this to rather skillfully shift the conversation of what he had been up to all day.
After a short period of worry, Daxniss provides the answer to the mystery of their missing Slayer. She informs them after paying to ragged looking street urchins. The grin of a cat that got the cream and mouse at the same time has nothing on the grin the wyrm-touched was wearing. Relief washes over Ssilax, who had been approaching the thought of going out and finding the Slayer themselves. They head up the the pair of rooms they rented, conversing a little bit on some of the rumors that they had heard. Trying to form a decent plan, however, without Argon's input, it didn't really change from the plan they had.
Having done away with the illusion in the room, sits on his bed, leaning against the wall. His eyes slowly begin to close during lulls in the conversation, and it is not to long before he bids the others goodnight. The dragonkin is asleep almost before he curls up under his blanket. Dog hops onto the bed and looks for a good spot before circling a few times and lays down with a yawn.
At night, during the attack
Woken by a loud crash, Ssilax throws on his illusionary human form and looks out the small window. It is far too bright for the middle of the night. Quickly running out of his room, he heads down stair to see if there was anything he could do.
Noting the lights where doused, and the doors and windows barred, the workers and patrons of the Flirty Friar where ready for whatever tried to break in. Fortunately, the battle never came far enough into Caern. It was another hit and run skirmish meant to where down the defenders. A tactic that was working all to well on the fractured city.
A short time later, Ssilax returns to his room with Dog. Dropping the illusion as soon as the door closes, Ssilax goes and sits down on his bed. The dragonkin sits in the darkness, examining the problem Caern faced from as many angles as he could. The problem being, he lacks solid information and facts, and has little more than rumors to work with. Eventually, he lays back down and tries to sleep.
The morning after
It is a grim sight that fills their eyes on the way to Argon. They had little choice but to pass the square where the celebrating magic user burning takes place. Ssilax is stomach knots painfully at the sight of the those he failed to save. Thanks to all of the training in the Healing arts, his mind coldly gave him an estimate on how badly they suffered due to his ineptitude.
A short growl lingers in the air as they pass. It is difficult to tell if it comes from the tall human, or the curiously twisted shade that trails in his wake.
Before reaching the hidden spot that would drop them into the Underpaths, they get a fresh look at the war that has come to the city they called home for some many years. He feels stunned, almost knocked over by the abject cruelty of it all. Growing up, he had read several novels detailing the supposed "Romance of War." To think of something like that after actually witnessing the aftermath of a small skirmish, was offense to those who suffered such loss.
Ssilax wishes that he could stay and help, do something to ease there pain and suffering that floated in the air like a poisonous fog. Logically, he knew there was little he could do directly, even if he were to use all of his magics, it simple wouldn't be close to enough. They had to cut the head off of the corruption that gripped Caern. That was the only chance the people of the city had.
The dragonkin just hopes who or whatever's metaphorical or perhaps literal head is getting cut off only has the one.
The reunion with Argon is truly a relief, beginning to suspect that something had happen to the Slayer as they get closer to his location. Back together once more, Ssilax drops his illusion form, and smiles at Argon.
"I am glad you are safe," Ssilax whispers to his friend.
Argon looks to see if he can safely move behind another tree, waiting for a good opportunity to do so.
He waits for the others, remaining hidden behind the tree, so that the guards would not spot him there. He drops a few silver coins on the ground in case someone finds him there - he'll be able to say he was searching for coins out here.
He meticulously observes his surroundings, both in case of combat, and to remember where this secret entrance to the city is. Seeing the smoke, and hearing the noise from the city, he thinks something has happened. Perhaps that's why he was made to wait underground for hours.
When the others finally arrive, he is relieved, to say the least.
"So good of you to come! I had my own little adventure in which a dozen city guards tried to apprehend me. Apparently they have Me'lar, and are using her as bait to get my 'friend' Grinn to lead me to their hook. Luckily I ran, and Daxniss' little future rogues helped me slip off the hook, and out to here." He rubs his sore arm.
Information verily spilled forth from his gaping maw. He was proud of what he had learned, especially since such missions were almost never given to him.
Sliding through the storm clouds that had obscured the boy you grew up with is a bit of Wrathe's old mischievous self, "It was good of you to permit your friend to betray you. We have rescued a damsel in distress without even lifting a finger."
His eyes dance as he waggles his brows at his friend.
Turning to Daxniss he asks what in Asmodeus' gaping nostrils they were doing. They had just got into the city, and here they were outside its walls.
"I hope that's true," says Argon, morosely. "But they might not be pleased that they didn't catch me. Who knows what the deal was?"
" Well a price of helping get Ssilax out of the prison and get a different magistrate, I called in a some of my markers. I didn't have enough clout to get him out on my own, so long story short there is a Tome I have to get in the Umbral lands. At the cusp of the Umbral lands there is a spot where I'll need to plant a sapling. " Daxniss finishes and clears her throat while going over the directions she had.
" If I don't complete this task then, I'll be taken care of the same way the late magistrate was. "
A rumour had worked its way to Daxniss' feet, though exhausted from its journey, caught its breath, and torn at her belief in the sanctity of all life: she might be indirectly responsible for an innocent man's death. Perhaps the magistrate had fallen victim to simple crime, but the words ring hollow, for that would be too convenient. The wyrmkin is confident that her request had set Duran free, and as a result flesh parted to the advancing blade.
What is truly distrubing is you will never know if the magistrate's death affected the result of the trial.
Howling wind surges against you, screaming profanities into your ears and slashes at your exposed flesh.
The road before you is paved with the corpses of innocents and assailants alike. The dead are strewn about, like a child bored of its toys. So much meat rotting, flies fill the air, a chorus of feeding. Scavengers, those with carapaces and those tiny befurred quadrupeds, are drawn to the death and decay, flitting freely back and forth to take part in their sumptuous repast.
" It's not even like I thought that was going to happen I mean, I know there is a chance but I was thinkin' more along the lines of a big enough Bribe would smooth things over, crows take me, I didn't think it was that bad until after I spent a day in town. Maybe he had already been slated to get off. Bugger all I just don't know anymore, on the scale of things, it seems like Caern is just damned and we are just limping along before the end. " Daxniss punches a tree, frustration evedent as her voice has picked up tempo.
" I've already lost more than most, seeing your whole village wiped out, including your mum and da. I'm not going to lose my new family if I can help it, argh. " Daxniss stops and takes a few deep breaths, trying to regain some of her normal aloofness.
" Look, I'll explain on the roads, we have a day of travel to avoid patrols and I'll bring you all up to speed, I promise once we are away from the guards. I have a feeling that the guards wanted Argon because he was one of the more easier targets to get a hold of. I'm glad I had the foresight to have some people be an over watch for me while I was busy. I'm sick of smelling old death and while we sit here, patrols could be looking for us. " Daxniss says not facing the others. a mixture of rage and shame rolling through her at the moment.
The Sols hide behind clouds, teasingly peeking out for a heartbeat and disappearing. You walk under overcast clouds, that bluster, yet never fully commit to precipitation. Fog tendrils cling to the land, since there is insufficient warmth to burn it away. Oppressive humidity thickens the air, as if to warn you away from your course of acton.
A distant patrol stops your passage, though it is not of Caern guards, but of Ryuen Barbarians stalking to flank the defenders of the city. Tilestu is what they are called; an ancient tribe. This vantage provides you a perspective of the savage beasts made manflesh, standing fully a head taller than any man you've seen before, and festooned with corded muscle bedecking battle scarred frame. Their shamans perform divination auguries utilizing anthropomancy to provide powerful divination regarding the future.
Many hours are added to your journey as you carefully pick your way across the desolate landscape moving from rocky outcropping to small hill to avoid the patrols. A "rain" of cala lilies aids your escape, adding a surreal blanket of white and green across the areas...before it simply fades as if it was never there.
http://www.d20pfsrd.com/magic/variant-magic-rules/primal-magic
Your approach to the Crystal Lochs is untrammelled, save for the occasional bloated corpse of animals or man. They look to be infected, as green-black pus thickly crawls forth from their open wounds, as their inflamed skin ruptures on its own. Pestilence fills the corpses of the fallen creatures that attempt to cross this cursed land, who wriggle with maggoty contents.
As you travel you find an expansive area where trees and grasses grow. Grasslands, interspaced with outcroppings of stone, lay before you. Hardy trees rise up, their shallow roots both above and below ground like sea dragons. The flora gets thicker and thicker as you approach a place that is familiar to you; the place you had camped lo' these many days.
While the poorly named Crystal Lochs are little more than brackish swamps, you are almost tempted to drink from shoreline from this area of regrowth, for they almost appear to be potable...almost.
The day stretches into night, and though that is normally the time that you are the most effective the fatigue of your recent trials drags you down to you knees kicking and screaming.
There is work to do in the morning.
You find no reprieve in sleep due to the immediate onslaught of your nightmares: The dead dominate your dreams, but as withered shadows of their former selves writhing in eternal agony, their mouths open in silent screams. Amongst those you have met, and those you have loved, is a barrage of fleeting images of paper-thin amorphous creatures fashioned of a grey transparent material haunt your dreams. More than once in the night you wake up screaming, ragged breaths gasping for air, your skin crawling with sweat, and your eyes wide with fright.
The next strange occurrence within the Umbral Lands is as likely to take a life as not.
A storm of acid energy sweeps through the area forcing the group to sprint to get to edge of it (please include two DC 21 Reflex saves in your next post for half damage, damage is 21 per round).
As the Sol climbs into the sky the bronze oak sapling's roots desperately clamps onto the ground right next to the southern edge of the Crystal Lochs. Around you is a vibrancy that is almost impossible to comprehend, especially considering how much death and desolation that can be found just a short distance away.
(please include a DC 20 perception check in your next post)
The wizard consults his travel journal as the group considers their next move. He had paid good money to gather information on necromantic rituals, and had recorded his findings within the small tome.
Death would fall to its knees and beg his forgiveness for its insolence, of that he dreamed.
Wrathe is not known to be light on his feet, especially when compared to his soft-footed companions, but somehow, perhaps with the intervention of the gods, he drags himself free of the area of magical effect after suffering horrific burns initially (3/35 hit points remaining).
(critical success)
The sharp-eyed wizard glances about, taking in everything at once.
Wounds are seen to. Exposed gear has been ravaged by the storm, and some permanent scarring weathers your exposed flesh further.
Wrathe finds eyes upon the party from every direction. Animals of all sorts cast their attention to the 4 as they skulk in the underbrush, and treetops, their alien intent unknown.
By paying attention longer the wizard recognizes that the growth gets more vibrant and thicker, if only by tiny degrees, in one direction. The group is not quite to the epicentre of the area of vibrancy.
The entrance would be missed more often than not, had you not been searching for something in this very area.
Thick roots formed the walls of a shallow entryway. The dark mouths of crawl holes opened among them. A larger hole in the floor opened onto a stairwell hand-carved from a single root. An orange glow came from somewhere below.
The lower chamber was hewn out of living roots. Irregular seams climbed the sides of uneven walls where the roots had grown together. The floor was hard dry earth, a deep red ochre. A stone fireplace and chimney had been built within the cavity of the roots. Beside the fireplace stood a woodpile, an anvil, and assorted tools: hammers, tongs, a barrel of rainwater. The floor was cluttered with empty earthenware jugs, wooden cups, broken crockery, and bones recently chewed clean of meat. At the centre of the room was a table. On it were several cups, a wine jar. The far wall supported a wide, deep shelf with a washbasin, a dirty cloth, a pitcher, and barber’s knife. Beside the shelf wooden pegs held assorted black furs, armour and weapons stolen from those too weak to stop the theft.
A spider, about the size of well-fed dog, skitters around under the table where sits an imposing shape. The large creature's body language was definitely one of surprise. Another clue of his discomfort was the curved blades, a wicked kukri and magical scimitar, that simply appeared in his hands and the homicidal look that momentarily flashes across his face.
You each feel the intense heat as the scimitar in his right hand appears to be crafted from holy flame, which appears to be painful for him to hold as if acid was pulsing through his forearm. You smell his flesh blackening 'neath the weapon's hilt, but wield it he does., complete with being able to see the truth of any situation.
His features where hidden by a deep cloak hood and scarf, though as he stood, an action that permitted him to put his back to the wall, revealed he was wearing leather of some sort, dyed black. The weapons find their way back into their respective sheath. With an outstretched hand he halts the large spiders that stalked in behind the party from entombing them and sipping them like coconuts.
With a shake of his head he crosses his arms in front of him and glances at the party once more, than basically ignores their existence and continues his meal.
Reunions are usually warm affairs, but not with the arguably least social being in Caern, if not Sel Torin, it appears.
Most of you directly owe your life to this half-orc.
"Gravel Voice"
"The Man in Black"
Or if Devas can be trusted this is the enigmatic immortal Grendel, a druid prince that sacrificed everything to save existence by selling his very soul to the King of Daemons Asmodeus for a millennium.
Argon had never felt the sting of acid, for his thick skin was mildly immune to it as it is to fire (Acid resistance 5). But it stings! Realizing the danger it poses, he starts to run, but then realizes he does not want to leave his companions out in it, he helps Ssilax exit the area as quickly as possible. If the Cleric should fall or be in danger of falling, Argon can quickly revive him or carry him to safety.
He calls out to Daxniss and Wrathe to stick together.
After getting out of the Acid bath, Argon suggests healing, and does a Channel on the group, which doesn't work overly well. So he considers another, but defers to Ssilax's advice and power on the subject of healing. He uses Create Water spells to wash himself and other off, and tells them he can mend things later if needed.
Keeping his eyes peeled, he joins the others in searching for the most lush part of the island of nature they have found themselves in again. He notes the trees, and structure of the passage and stairs - they are alien to him, for he is used to seeing stone and wood. Perhaps like wood, only alive, and thus it's not so different?
The anvil piques Argons interest, and he keeps an eye on the big spider as he inspects the smithing gear. As Gravel Voice is revealed, Argon smiles and says, "Greetings old friend. So this is where you like to hang out when you're overwhelmed by the City? Is it true your name is Grendel?"
(HP 47/67)
"Well, the magistrate I ended up with needs a dagger lodged in his spine. Or to be burned at the stake with a low heat fire, or a number of other ways I could dream up for that bastard to die," Ssilax says quietly. He would never forget that morning as long as he lived.
"I agree, even if a portion of the rumors that we heard where true, it seems like trying to hold back the tide with a leaky bucket. I have to believe that we will find some way to help save the people of Caern caught up in the nightmare their lives have become," Ssilax says, the dragonkin sounds confident. He blinks a few time, looking at his friends. "I have no idea how, I guess we will have to figure that part out as we go." The dragonkin says with a grin.
As they made there way away from the city, avoiding a number of deadly encounters thanks to Daxniss, the get the brief chance to spy upon the Ryuen Barbarians. The knowledge that they were using anthropomancy to focus divination magics. That would give them a tremendous edge in battle, one the Barbarian where keen to continue to use.
After they had but a mile or two of distance between themselves and the Ryuen Barbarians, Ssilax glances back in the direction they had been seen.
"Their use of anthropomancy is interesting. The divination's that would come from would explain some of the barbarians success," Ssilax whispers to his friends, once more thinking out loud. "There might be a way to use that against them."
The first night spent in the Umbral was simply horrible. Ssilax had long suffered from nightmares, but these where special horrors. It was as if the darkest part of his mind had a brain storming session with some Horror from Beyond. Distracted by thoughts of translucent wraiths that seemed to be a reoccurring element of his nightmares, Ssilax is quite in the morning. Mentally, he pours over the texts that he had read, seeing if those wraiths where real, or a figment of his imagination.
Feeling the odd rippling effect just before the Primal Magic, Ssilax eyes go wide. Not that it was any form of advance notice, as the resounding boom-crack of mana tearing open reality and reshaping it faster then an eyeblink.
Hissing and snarling in his pain, the dragonkin scrambles to get out of the path of the sudden storm of acid. Howling in agony, Dog rolls around on the ground, trying to rid the burning from his flesh.
"Wrathe, quick wipe the acid off us with prestidigitation!" Ssilax calls out to his friend. Several burst of healing energy flow from the cleric immediately after, easing the pain and healing the wounds the acid carves in delicate flesh and scales. After healing everyone some more, a bit further from the Primal Magic disturbance, Ssilax pauses to catch his breath. He looks around the area the happen to have stopped in for the moment. Glancing at there clothing and gear, Ssilax was confident he could restore it, given a bit of time. Nodding his thanks to Argon and his untold ability of creating water, he made a note to inquire about this. Being curious, (or nosy, depending on who you ask), the dragonkin keeps his eye out for a holy symbol of some sort of Argon. He was curious to see if he could identify who the Slayer worships with having to ask.
Dog calms after the first waves of healing wash over him, taking the horrid pain with it. After being healed up, acid gone from his body, the animal thanks Ssilax for healing him up.
"And warn me the next time something like that happens!" Dog loudly complains to Ssilax. It sounds like an odd string of dog speak to those around him, but, the dragonkin understands his familiar perfectly. He had read about this with familiar's and their masters, but had half discounted it. It was hard to do so when faced with the reality of it.
"Right, sorry, I will make sure that I do that when caught surprised by a random acid storm," the cleric says with an amused snort.
Not the most observant being walking the surface of the world, it is a surprise that Ssilax spies the hidden entrance. He points it out a moment or so after Wrathe is already pointing. He grins sheepishly, lower his arm. Following the others down the hidden tunnel , surprise is very much the young cleric's only solid reaction. Fright was a rapidly climbing second at the sight of the the dog sized spider. He swore he could here more skittering legs.
When the figure drew it's weapons, Ssilax's mind went blank for several life threatening seconds as he stood and stared in shock. Even when he realized who it was, Ssilax didn't really feel all that much relieved at the sight of the Man in Black, Grendel. His mind recalled the time spent in the strange Planar Sphere without his asking.
Glancing over his shoulder at the retreating spiders, Ssilax breathes a sigh of relief.
"It is a surprise to see you. Here. I meant to say see you here," Ssilax says, stumbling over his words as his mind plays catch up. "I had heard the rumors that all of the members of the Umbrea had been captured. I am glad to see that is false. At least I hope it is false," the young cleric thinks for a moment. "Did the others get captured?" the dragonkin asks.
Noticing the the half-orc? Devil? seemed to be in the middle of a meal, Ssilax pauses, a rueful smile on his muzzle.
"Also, my apologies for interrupting your meal. And thank you for not siccing the spiders on us."
Argon had forgotten to show the others the holy symbol he had crafted himself. It was part of the ritual of becoming a cleric of Ptah. Many acolytes, of course, were not as good with a hammer and anvil as Argon was, so they typically required some help with it.
When Ssilax looks at him questioningly, Argon simply shows him the iron amulet.
Many of the fallen Caern guards had been eviscerated, which anthropomancy explains in a much different way. Auguries of this sort took minutes, some of which were many minutes in length, and the thought of possibly carrying out such magics while the guards were still alive was a special sort of Hell.
Water is what works best against the acid, as prestidigitation fails to have any effect on it until the burning had ended.
Nothing substantive that Ssilax had read cited anything that would give more than fragments of his nightmares. The angel had recounted the tale of the four that had traveled into the world of eternal night and the creatures they had encountered were exactly as the nightmare depicted. Each wraith was little more than the remnants of a person, devoid of body, but able to fully comprehend the eternal horrors that awaited them.
Daxniss had remained quiet for a good portion of this part of the trip guiding the rest of them as she knew where the guards were going to be patrolling. Daxniss had managed to see evidence of a patrol, and found a decent hiding spot for the group to hide in, with the chance to observe the Ryuen Barbarians.
Daxniss hears Ssilaxs' words and shrugs a shoulder, her mind busy with introspection and the directions when she looks up and sees the storm coming in. With a curse she tries to duck for cover from the acid, not thinking that she would enjoy the effects in the slightest.
The first wave was easy for Daxniss to avoid however, that had set her up to take the full brunt of the second one. The acid burned and she could feel it eat at her scales, cursing she wipes off what she can, using water and a strip of cloth.
Daxniss had filled in the others on what she had found out during her day away from them as she felt they were far enough away from Caern that there would be little chance they could be overheard. After the trek, drawing closer and closer to the Crystal Lochs Daxniss wonders what was going to be the next surprise.
One nightmare seemed to stick out more in her head, after waking from that terror, in which she had turned into a Stalker as it had spent this long infecting her. The only good thing about the ring was the fact she only needed a few hours of rest, as Daxniss hated to fall asleep.
Daxniss didn't see anything out of the ordinary, Wrathe and the others were more alert to say the least, when they pointed out the entrance she let's out a huff of annoyance. Stalking through the cave and seeing all everything that was lying around didn't surprise the rogue as it was took a spider, along with the man in black to show up. Perhaps it was more the fact he was wielding a scimitar of free and didn't seem to thrilled to see them.
Daxniss wanted to say something first and then Argon had beat her and just started talking and asked him something that she would have worked into the conversation. Daxniss raised her hand to cover her face, rubbing at her temples, and counted her breaths for a few moments trying to gain some measure of calm.
" I apologize for our bluntness, I didn't think that anyone we knew was out here, as what little information I had about this spot didn't inform me of much thinking beings. " Daxniss says in polite tones while, she slowly slipped out of her back pack. Daxniss keeps her mind on just how many things were out in this spot that would more than likely consume her, and pulls out the bronze oak sapling.