"Try not to destroy any buildings he says."
As soon as she sees the three in the alley Zandra sings a few quiet notes and makes motions with her hands as though something blossoms from the ground and then clenches her small hands.
"If you struggle I shall grow thorns twice the size of your daggers, if that doesn't heel you, we'll never mind that. This honored monk simply had has a few questions we don't seek any bloodshed just answers."
School transmutation; Level druid 1, ranger 1
CASTING
Casting Time 1 standard action
Components V, S, DF
EFFECT
Range long (400 ft. + 40 ft./level)
Area plants in a 40-ft.-radius spread
Duration 1 min./level (D)
Saving Throw Reflex partial; see text; Spell Resistance no
DESCRIPTION
This spell causes tall grass, weeds, and other plants to wrap around creatures in the area of effect or those that enter the area. Creatures that fail their save gain the entangled condition. Creatures that make their save can move as normal, but those that remain in the area must save again at the end of your turn. Creatures that move into the area must save immediately. Those that fail must end their movement and gain the entangled condition. Entangled creatures can attempt to break free as a move action, making a Strength or Escape Artist check. The DC for this check is equal to the DC of the spell. The entire area of effect is considered difficult terrain while the effect lasts.
If the plants in the area are covered in thorns, those in the area take 1 point of damage each time they fail a save against the entangle or fail a check made to break free. Other effects, depending on the local plants, might be possible at GM discretion.
Quick Summary
Area is Difficult Terrain (all squares count as 2 for movement).
Creatures in area make a Reflex save.
Fail = entangled
Success = may move as normal
Any who enter the area make Reflex save immediately.
Fail = entangled and movement ends.
Success = may move normally
Any who remain in the area at end of casters turn must save again.
Can attempt to break free as a move action by making Strength or Escape Artist check vs. DC of the spell.
Entangled Condition Summary
Move at half speed
Cannot run or charge
–2 penalty on all attack rolls
–4 penalty to Dexterity.
Must make a concentration check (DC 15 + spell level) to cast a spell (or lose the spell).
Lau's Initiative: 19
Zandra's Initiative: 17
Thugs' Initiative: 11
Linkah's Initiative: 7
Turn 11
Street Thugs Reflex Check
Hammer Guy (Thug 1)
Dagger Guy (Thug 2)
Thug 1 launches forward at Zandra, hammer hungry for elf...
Damage:
Thug 2, entangled, throws his dagger at Zandra...
MISS
Turn 7
Linkah's Reflex -
The halfling draws a dagger, but attempts to back further into the alley. He clutches his chest,ppanic starting to touch his voice. "Kill them you fools! I'm not talking! I'm not talking!"
The last appears to be said to the surrounding alley...
Zandra took the knife wound in stride. "You will regret that, I was trying to do things without bloodshed, but . . . "
With that the chopstick grows into a mighty shillelaghs and the tiny elf brings it to bear with force well beyond what her tiny frame seems capable of.
to hit touch AC
to do subdual damage
[b]". . . How do you like that! CRACK! That's what happens when you hit a girl!
Lau's Turn - Flurry of Blows on Hammer Thug
Strike 1
Strike 2
Second blow hits for
The thug wielding the hammer is reeling, eyes going fuzzy...
"Stay where you are halfling or I will set my minions on you! You have been warned."
Round 3
This is for hitting me with your hammer, CRACK! Zandra drops the hammer wielding brother like a sack of stones. Then she points the loop of her shellelaghs at the remainding brother, "And now for you! That dagger nearly made my bangs lopsided. I suggest you pray to whatever gods listen to your sniveling, because if you wake up from the beating I am about to lay on you with this stick you are going to wish you were dead! . . . Or? You could always just lay down and start answering question and being civil as I asked you to do in the first place." Zandra ends with a crooked little grin.
Lau spins with a flourish of his nunchaku, a twirling display of martial prowess with one of the batons coming to rest under his arm, his other hand a stabbing fist of challenge at the remaining thug. "Continue the contest at your peril..."
Lau's Intimidate Check
He waits to see the thug's response, ready to spring...
Thug's Save
The second thug, about reach under his apron to draw another dagger, thinks better of it seeing what the elf can do. Then seeing the monk's display seals the deal. He raises his hands and calls over his shoulder to Linkah. "Sorry, boss. Didn't sign up for this..."
Linkah cringes, but deep in his eyes there's a glimmer of hope. He too raises his hand, but his first is still clutched to his chest. "Perhaps..." He looks to Zandra... "Perhaps a deal can be struck? Information for some elven assistance out of my predica..."
He's cut off mid sentence by his own shrill cry of pain. The halfling crumples forward to the ground, gives one wailing moan and ceases his movements.
The remaining thug raises his hands even higher. "Wait, mistress!" He's lolking in fear at Zandra. "Please, I surrender!"
"The halfling is obviously under the effects of something."
Spellcraft
Heal check for Linkahs condition
I am just not sure what spell, but maybe a charm.
Zandra casts detect magic in a dramatic fashion
"There now, lets determine if this man wants to tell the truth, or get the stick . . . Lets begin with something we already know shall we? What is the meaning of the tattoo you all bear?"
Assuming the thug answers and acts civilly, Zandra will motion to Lau that he is to watch him. She walks into the swirling mass of entangling plants which recede and pull back to allow her to disarm and do a physical check of the downed halfling.
heal
Lau nodded to the young elf and stepped forward, motioning for the remaining thug to keep his hands up. A quick search of the man's person - perception check: - yields three more throwing daggers and a sap. Lau presses the butt ends of his nunchaku into the thug's chest. "Better for you if you reply, ruffian."
The thug is still wild-eyed with fear, some for Lau but more for the mysterious (and surprisingly) powerful she-wizard before him.
"There now, lets determine if this man
wants to tell the truth, or get the stick . . . Let's
begin with something we already know shall we?
What is the meaning of the tattoo you all bear?"
"The mark is for tha Stttag Hhheralds...m'lady..." He was stammering, clearly fearful of what the elf had done to his boss. "We hires out, like...do things for others they don't want ta pay Barber rates for."
Lau's face darkened when the thug mentioned the Barbers.
Zandra glided to the halfling, gently rolling the small body over. She held her calm, but sticking out Linkah's chest was a dagger, buried to the hilt. More to the point, the hilt was made of crystal. As Zandra passed a hand over the wound area, the hilt seemed to sputter and phase in and out of visibility.
The elf's spellcraft detects something powerful emitting from the crystal dagger hilt. Her impression is that it's been there for quite some time. Combining her heal check it appears that the halfling is no more.
"Your companion has a crystal dagger in his chest. What can you tell me of that? And your overwatcher that was at the window over there, who was that?
Zandra had no idea what magic was at work here. She would see what the thug had to say, but perhaps it was better to take the body back to the temple. There would be people better equiped to determine what was going on with the halfling there, or at least recall his spirit in order to ask him a few questions.
"Your companion has a crystal dagger in
his chest. What can you tell me of that? And your
overwatcher that was at the window over there,
who was that?
The bruiser was tying to take in the questions as best could. Seeing his boss lay dead was a bit of a shock. But something in the she-wizard's question tickled the back of his brain.
The monk gave him no time to think, rattling the chain connecting the implements of his strange weapon. "Answer, miscreant."
"Look, dont know nuthin about no overwatcher." He nodded to his unconscious brother. "Me n Liam here just answer ta Linkah Four-fingers...leastways we did. No other bosses ta answer ta, thas why this was such a nice gig for us." He looked again to his brother's now snoring form.
Then he looked from Lau to Zandra, then to the crystal dagger hilt protruding from his boss' chest. "Wait a tick, you sayin' you didn't put ol'Linkah down?"
Wisdom Check -
There was the dawn of a new thought behind the thug's mud-colored eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. He shrugged, "Don't know why he's dead, just knew he didn't want to talk to you two."
We should leave quickly. Who knows who this shadowy figure portends? Lau came to a quick decision. They'd been exposed too long in the alley. Not knowing what killed Linkah...or whom meant an unseen danger still existed there.
He steadied himself and lashed out at the thug's head, 3 sucessive strikes:
Stunning Fist - Damage
Flurry of Blows
Strike One - Damage
Strike Two [ dice]1d20+2[/dice] - Damage
"Hey!" The was stunned, but not out... - Damage
Lau finished him off, the thug collapsing against the alley wall. "We must leave. Perhaps return to the tavern's stable."
Zandra winked the tangled foliage out of existance and placed the chopstick back in her hair as she straightend her clothing and brushed her hands over the spot she had taken the hammer blow. She pulled a sack from her bag and nodded towards the halfling. "Well he is about the size of a sack of potatoes. Sould we take him to the temple? They might be able to tell us more if they question his spirit."
Looking up towards the upper windows. "hopefully the boys finish up in the inn soon. This place rankles."
"An excellent idea." Lau nodded and bowed respectfully with fist to palm. "You conducted yourself well, my friend."
With that, the monk set about pulling his bag from his shoulders and shifting the straps to better support the weight of deceased halfling. Then he carefully loaded Linkah into the bag and shouldered it.
At tye mouth of the alley, Zandra indicated that the way was clear. The two left the alley and crossed back to tavern. This time, they headed straight back to the stables.
Perception
Zandra glanced upwards towards the second level, then towards the surrounding denizens slogging their way up and down the muddy street. No one appeared to be paying them much attention, nor was there a sign of the mysterious man in the window.
She thought back what she'd seen earlier. The cloaked figure was deep within the window, had she not been scanning the crowd, she'd not have noticed the figure at all. As it was, all that had been available was really a silhouette. But something held her mind's eye a moment longer...when the figure had gestured. Had it been the makings of an incantation? The fingers had been in a particular shape...swept from left to right, then the index finger had pointed skyward.
Clamping down on the memory in her mind-vise, Zandra made a mental note to inquire of the gesture she'd witnessed.
No sooner had Lau and Zandra left the tavern than Kreig returned from the back. He stumped over to the table, wiping a rough and hairy hand across his nose, dark and hooded eyes surveying the table and then the surrounding common room.
“Where’s yer lady frens, half-breed?”
Mal nodded over his shoulder. “Out watering the fish.”
“Hrmph.” The dwarf rested a hand on Bruiser, fingers caressing the handle of the notched club. He looked like all the pleasure in the world dwelt in getting a taste of someone’s skull cracking under ole’Bruiser’s ministrations. “Soon as yer done getting’ yer one on one time wid dis berry delight, Rook’ll see ya.”
”Easy…”, Mal flashed quickly to Karthan in woodland handspeak. Then to Kreig, “Rook still the same?”
Kreig shrugged dismissively. “Colder, faster…bedder at his job.” He glanced up to the private room upstairs. “Dat’s why he’s dere, n I’m here.” The dwarf turned around, heading back to the bar while casting a baleful glance towards the front doors to the tavern.
Mal looked to Karthan and grinned. “He’s really worse on the inside, if it’s any consolation.”
In elvish
"That this place is allowed to even exist let alone thrive here is telling of this land. I assume this Rook is an even more cunning and dangerous advisary. If we must treat with him then lets get on with this business."
Mal gathered the cards of the Harrow deck and stacked them for a quick shuffle. “I hear and understand,” he began, keeping the conversation in elvish. “…but the world is not so simple. All borders cannot be so well guarded that no evil is allowed to thrive.”
He gestured his chin towards the stairs leading to the upper room. “Take the Rook for example. His story starts with raping of his mother. The mother was cast out of her family and her land when she chose to keep the child of the union.”
After finishing his shuffle, Mal drew the first card out of curiosity, looked at the result, swallowed with a frown and returned the card to the middle of the deck. The Mute Hag… He knew that by itself, the draw intimated dark secrets and darker pacts. Maybe Karthan’s bristling at this place was spot on. Maybe it wasn’t worth it even to find out what happened to Lura.
Mal shook his head and continued. “The Rook grew up wrestling with his conflicting heritages and the growing hatred of those who’d driven his family from their home. Ultimately, when his mother killed herself, he returned to exact revenge upon his so-called homeland.”
He pushed the Harrow deck away and looked to Karthan. “But the Rook had 300 years to learn from his mistakes. 300 years to resolve his revenge and become his own being. He settled in Absalom about 80 years ago, and apparently has earned his seat at the table.”
Mal wasn’t smiling, his normal cocksure attitude left on the table with the Mute Hag. “I tell you these things so that you are prepared for what we’ll see when we get up there. You’ve done an admirable job holding your reactions and surveying the field with patience. I ask for further patience now , however, that is not my right to ask.”
“The Rook is sitmaire; his sire a vampire, his mother an elf. And we are in his Hold. It would seem that since the Rook has been elevated, we must obtain his permission to conduct our investigation.”
Mal’undil sat back and awaited the elf’s response.
"Very well, these are not my lands and not my immediate concerns. If has been given 300 years, and this (indicating the establishment with a slight rotation of the head) is the table he has chosen, and these . . . people . . . his dinner companions, I won't contest him for his seat. I expect more derision, but don't worry it won't cause me any hurt. Let us be on with it."
Mal sighed. There was much Karthan and Zandra would have to learn of this place. Perhaps bringing them straight to the Toiling Gent had not been the right idea. Leave it to the Scroll to let Mal’undil figure it out too late.
But they were there. Nothing to do but to carry forward. Sometimes you had to go deeper into the crevasse to find a way out.
“Well, I’m glad to report your expectations will be left wanting in the case of the Rook.” Mal leaned back in his chair and smiled wanly. “He has a healthy respect for elves, unlike a good deal of the population of Absalom. Either the people are stressing themselves to the breaking point to pretend all are equal, or – what I like better – they are set on respect being earned.”
The half-elf stood and stretched his back, trying to eschew the feeling of a thousand eyes watching him. He’d put aside his paranoia over the Harrow cards for the time being, switching his mind back to the words of Agidor, the tavern’s latest bard. The scrawny boy had no love for Mal and his friends, perhaps the song was meant as a jab.
The boy had known Mal and Emilura’s relationship. Maybe later, Mal could “press” him for answers, to put things in Fir’umil’s terms.
“Come, my friend.” He gave Karthan a squeeze on the shoulder. “Something to keep in mind, the Rook’s a hunter such as yourself. Perhaps your shared perspective will give you some insights into the conversation that I might otherwise miss. He is a very patient hunter. He doesn’t work in insults or grand hyperbole, either. Actually, you may find you’d like him if the circumstances were different.”
Karthan, face still stoic, looked dubiously upon the comment. Apparently his suspicions would keep such observations over for review.
Shrugging and nodding towards the stairs, Mal lead the way. Last time they’d met, Mal had been providing information for one of the Rook’s missions. One that had crossed the path of Caleb and been found in alignment with the old bard’s goals. Half-elf and Dhampir had parted company on friendly terms.
Hopefully that held.
As the two ascended the stairs, it seemed like the noise of the common room diminished with each step. Mal doubted that there was some form of expert architecture to the tavern to produce such an effect. His suspicions were confirmed as they rounded the landing to take the last flight to the second floor. There was warmth growing that did not feel like one emitted by a fireplace, more like a warm blanket being rested upon their shoulders.
As they reached the top of the stairs, the music and bustle of the common room below was gone. Elf and Half-elf could see over the railing to the room below, but the noise was all but removed.
Magic then.
“Feyd, is that you?” The voice was smooth and silky, a tenor to rival even Caleb’s melodious voice. “Come here so these old eyes can look upon my friend once more!”
Mal turned from the railing and saw that the second floor was arranged like an anteroom, the light of which was low but inviting, coming from sconces in the wall. At the back of the room was a heavy, wooden table about which sat three human males all clothed in casual outfits of breeches and soft tunics, master-crafted leather armor and weaponry plain upon their persons.
They didn’t look ready for action as they were playing at their cards, but fools were made making such assumptions.
Past the table, was an archway leading to another room. A soft glow of candlelight and hearth invited the two inside. “Come, come, let’s have it.” Came the silky tenor.
One of the men at the table just gestured with a finger to motion them through, no attempt to remove their weapons.
Mal responded to the invitation as he and Karthan walked through the archway. “Still alive, Sebastian?”
The interior was modest, but comforting. Well cushioned leather seating for four surrounded a small refreshments table. A barmaid was just finishing the placement of a wine carafe, teapot and glasses and cups prior to bobbing a curtsy to the man taking up one of the four chairs. She headed towards the right and disappeared through a doorway.
Behind the set of chairs, a small hearth kept the glow of a fire. At the foot of the fire, curled fur of black and grey rested a wolf of moderate proportions. At their entrance, the creature raised to a seated position, backlit by the fire, his silhouette stood 4 feet. Golden eyes observed them with cool calculation.
The figure in the chair, though, stood with a wave of the hand, stepping towards Mal’undil and motioning the Half-elf to do the same. “Still alive, Feyde?” At his gesture, the wolf appeared to relax.
The two embraced, Mal taken aback by the warmth in the Rook’s body, like a furnace in the Dhampir’s chest. As they pulled back, Mal commented. “The gods must have a grand sense of humor, old friend.”
“And more…” the Rook was wearing a three-quarter length coat of blended cottons, navy and black and red. He drew it back to reveal the hilt of an Aldori dueling sword. He looked down at it and glanced upwards from steepled brows. “What do you think, Feyd? Can you believe the old swordsman finally gave it over?”
Mal was surprised again. “How many years did Montalban take?”
The Rook dropped his coat with a flourish grinned from ear to ear. His face was smooth and clean shaven, the cheekbones high and well formed begging his elven ancestry. But the incisors gave way to the other half of his heritage. “On the twentieth year of my education!”
“Congratulations, Sebastian. An accomplishment of grand proportions for one of such advanced age.” Mal faked leaning forward to offer an arm. “Do you need assistance back to your chair?”
The Rook smirked. “I look better than you, Feyd…”
The wolf padded over, a gentle manner to his stride as he stood before Mal’undil and gave him a great sniff and lick to the hand.
“Glad to know he’s not still sore over me not giving him the rest of my mutton the last night I was in town.”
The Rook smiled down at his companion. “Agrinost holds no grudges, my friend.”
He paused and glanced towards Karthan. His smirk dropped, his face moving to a more solemn tone. He bowed and held his hands before him in the formal Elven Court greeting, and spoke in high elven. “My apologies for not greeting you sooner. It is not too often we have one of the Eldar-kin under this roof. Greetings under the stars I love, and the sun I will one day enjoy to its fullest when my days are completed in this world.”
Standing smoothly and observing the final steps of the formal greeting as he maintained eye contact with Karthan. “My name is Sebastian o’Tirith et’Faril, my humble house is yours. You may ask any questions you desire, one hunter to another.”
Karthan returned the ritualistic greeting in kind with the show of acceptance. He first touched his left temple with the fingers of his left hand crooked as to indicate the heavens then gestured with his right touching lightly over his heart.
"A star shines on our meeting, I thank you from my heart for your welcome. I in return greet you, but not as the world greets you, but with profound esteem and a prayer that for you, now, and forever, you find the day breaks and the shadows flee away. May you find your wished fullfilment in the sun, but may the leaves of your life never die."
Dropping the more formal tone, but still in an older more formal tensed verb form of elven he continues. "I am most pleased to be made known to you through Mal, whom expresses you to be as a friend like old friends who have shared their morning days of a new journey. I am Karthan Dawnsetter of the Greys. I have come across the seas from the lands still held by the Queen, I had not thought to have found such a greeting here in these lands. It is of quite a different tone than the one we received down stairs.
"If you're referring to my dwarven colleague downstairs, he is a dwarf of many skills of which I have need," the Rook spread his hands, a strange mimicry of his namesake. "Unfortunately, tact is not one of them."
The wolf was studying Karthan, golden eyes drawing in an uncomfortable amount of detail. Was it Karthan? Or his words that drew his attention?
"Agrinost, ift duisten dou filischti'hol..." the Rook's command was in a language of strange tones. A rumbling deep within his chest combined with a sickly sweet taste in the air. He gestured towards the fireplace and the wolf stood from his seated position and went back to his place in front of the hearth.
Sebastian watched over his shoulder until the wolf settled, then turned back to Karthan. "He finds you interesting." He turned and walked smoothly towards the gathering of cushioned chairs. "Come let us sit for a time."
They moved to the chairs, Mal and Karthan sitting across from Sebastian. The Rook looked to Karthan and furrowed his brow, thinking on how to continue. "As for the greeting, I am loathe to begin acquaintance upon the shoulders of deception. I learned the greeting from my mother, one of the Eldar-kin such as yourself. I learned it and used it to return to her homeland and exact my revenge." He crossed his legs eased himself further into the chair. His eyes closed, tranquillity settled upon his face. "That was nearly 100 years of my life, punctuated by retribution and a balancing of the scales."
He said it simply, with full count and measure. There was no remorse, no shame, only what had been. Only what had occurred long ago. It was a part of him now, as much as the curse of his father's heritage.
The Rook leaned forward in his chair to pour some tea. "I know what brings Mal'undil to my doorstep. But tell me, Karthan Dawnsetter of the Greys, what would stir your heart so, that you would leave Queen and country?"
Agrinost lifted his head from where he lay, golden eyes looking to Karthan again.
Sebastian smiled over the rim of his tea cup. "Come now, Dawnsetter, you've piqued our interest."
Karthan looked at the wolf wondering if it was a proper animal companion or an animal dominated through the Vampire's natural abilities or perhaps it was a worg that simply chose to tie himself to the creature. He listened to The Rooks story of revenge with no outward emotion. "Yes, knowing ones prey and habits definately helps the hunter. Did you visit any of your wrath upon your sire's line as well?"
Karthan indicates that he is having a cup of tea as he takes an offered chair. [b]"As far as why I am here, it is not exactly by my own design. Perhaps I was meant to meet more people such as yourself, but have no fear I was not sent here specifically for you, nor had I any knowledge of your existence until about 20 minutes ago. I know that someone plucks at the strings of my destiny from behind the curtain of the Elven Court and I can't hear the tune nor predict where the melody will take me. Although if you were Drow our meeting might not be as warm as this one." Karthan finishes by looking deep into the Wolfs eyes.
Looking back to his host Karthan lifts the teacup to his lips and takes a sip.
Mal sat back and sipped his cup of caffe, thinking on his own first encounter with the Rook. Sebastian had a way about him that put sooner at ease. It was interesting to watch how Karthan responded. But sooner or later, they needed to get down to business.
Sebastian smiled. He dropped a hand over the arm of his chair, Agrinost raising his head to receive a stroke. "Irony of ironies, my father made things easy for me. Being over confident and sloppy, following his trail was not all that difficult. Fighting him, well that is a story worth telling when time is not so precious."
"As for your troubles at Court, it is up to you how you live your life." He reached along the saucer bearing his tea cup, drawing away a tea leaf. "We are creatures of response, Dawnsetter. You can choose to float along..." He let the leaf float at the top of his tea, then grabbed it up. "..or you can fight against your prescribed fate..." He cast the leaf over his shoulder, sending it into the fire place to burn.
The potency of the leaf was surprising, the gentle smell of it emitting from its death. Sebastian closed his eyes and breathed in the aroma. "Both options have their advantages, but only time well tell which you will choose."
He set his tea down and leaned back into his chair. "Mal'undil is here to inquire after questions to which he may already know the answers. Tell me, Dawnsetter, what have you observed that would aid him in his quest?"
Agrinost rose slowly, going over to lick at Mal'undil's hand, then padded over to sit before Karthan, head cocked to the side and golden eyes staring. Staring and weighing.
"Well, since we are being open an honest, I would have to say first off and most immediately it is in everyone's best interest to maintain the current natures of our respective relationships. Luckily your doorman did nothing to alter that. If our goals are not mutually exclusive, perhaps we may find that there my be some mutual benefit to all of us in the future. It may also be that we are chasing after a dead woman, if so then he will have to examine where his business and personal interests intersect. Hopefully if we catch scent of her trail. . . " looks over at the wolf. ". . . the path won't lead us into the weeds. If it does then we will have to decide how far we are willing to follow it into the swamp." Meeting the Rooks eyes. "But hopefully you can reveal to us what you know of this humans passing through and crossing your path, for frankly, I would much rather hear tales of your hunting of your sire and other matters than this one."
Sebastian chuckled, swooping his eyes towards Mal’undil and back to Karthan he clapped his hands together, the tink of the few rings he wore coming together to match his mirth. “Oh, Feyd, I do like this one. Had I twelve more like him in my organization, imagine how much more quickly my goals could be achieved… How much more quickly I could manage this Barber situation.”
But the Dhampir shook his head wistfully and let his smile fade as he looked back to Mal’undil with a touch of concern. “Be aware, Dawnsetter, until you choose how leaf falls, be mindful of the impact of your own desires and words.”
Mal’undil, for his part, shook his head. Whatever expression that had been noticed by Sebastian replaced with raised eyebrows. “Don’t look at me, no offense in this area.”
“Do not lie, Mal’undil.” It was the first time he’d used the half-elf’s given name. “Fate is not so cruel a mistress that she would bring you here and not expect a bit more persistence in revealing Emilura’s situation than from one of the Scroll’s other devotees.”
The half-elf sighed, leaning an arm across one of his knees as he shifted forward. “We split over what you got her into, Sebastian.” It was short of an accusation, smoothed over by a wave of the rogue’s hand. “Emilura’s a big girl, I know she made her own decision.”
An emotive response drifted across the corners Sebastian’s eyes for the briefest of moments.
In front of Karthan, Agrinost remains seated but turns his head back towards the Rook, a questioning tone in a low rumble from his throat.
The Rook inclined a nod to the wolf and spoke in that odd, sickly sweet language, “Nuhndiska, se-Agrinost…” Then to Karthan, “Agrinost usually reserves himself for quite some time before he applies a name to those he meets. Usually his mind shares images that mean a certain combination of impressions.”
He tapped a finger against his teeth, hissing a bit as he considered what to say. “He calls you Young Stalker on the Ridge.” Sebastian frowned, looking back to the wolf, but Agrinost had already turned his golden eyes back to Karthan. The Dhampir shrugged and spread his hands. “He usually doesn’t take to someone so quickly. He must see something in you.”
The wolf looked back to Sebastian once more and then returned his eyes to Karthan.
“He wants to know if you will accept this name. Or should he give it more consideration.”
Karthan sipped his hot drink in silence while the Rook and mal exchanged words. Doubtless Mal and Karthan would exchange words as well, but far from this place. When the Rook spoke to him directly about what the wolf wanted to call him he thought for the briefest moment before answering. "I accept the title given to one hunter from another."
“I accept the title given to one hunter from another.”
Satisfied with the elf’s posture and response, Agrinost stood and returned to his spot in front of the fire, curling up and emitting a rumble of contentment.
“Took me nearly a year before he accepted me that quickly.” Mal commented.
“We were all different individuals, Feyd, very different.” The Rook gave a shake before memories could take hold of him and reached for a small, slivered bell on the refreshments tray. “Let us get down to business, shall we?”
The same servant-girl from earlier reappeared through the same doorway from whence she’d disappeared. She brought a rosewood case and rested it on the lowered table next to the refreshments tray. The latter, she waited patiently until all present deposited their drinking cups upon it before taking it with her out of the sitting room.
“Interesting thing regarding the behavior of rooks in the wild...” He remained seated, reclined in comfort. “They are a tight-knit community, usually flocking in groups well into the hundreds.” Sebastian’s hands elevated, fingers dancing as if to manifest a great flock of the birds before them. “I’ve heard tell of how ruthlessly they defend that community, even from those within it who would bring the flock harm.”
Mal’undil’s body language had changed. He was more present in the conversation, listening closely.
Sebastian continued. “If a pair of rooks seeks to depart from the group, creating a nest of their own, the main flock will descend upon them with abandon to destroy their new nest and force them to return. If after several times, this breakaway pairing persists, the flock sees no other alternative than to see their end.”
A sigh, that regret from earlier creeping into the Dhampir’s mannerisms. He turned fully towards Mal’undil. “I know the manner in which you and Emilura parted, Feyd. And you know that the business relationship to which she had attached herself could not be allowed to continue.” Sebastian folded his arms and maintained his relaxed posture, refusing to take an aggressive or defensive stance before the half-elf. “Lamech is not a person one gets involved with unless they are seeking to risk the chaos of his choices for the wealth and power he promises.”
Mal’s visage dropped into unveiled disappointment. “So the rumors are true? I had hoped Agidor was only digging at me…his jealousy over Emilura and I…”
The Rook’s jaw tightened. The Dhampir was clearly displeased at seeing his friend so crestfallen. “I’ll have a word with Agidor.”
“No need.” Mal’s shoulders firmed, his head came up and his eyes hardened. “Lamech, then?”
“Your anger may be towards me as well, Mal’undil.” Sebastian locked eyes with the half-elf. “Emilura had changed over the four years since last you saw her. Her normal craftiness and restraint all but disappeared working for Lamech.”
There was a realization on Mal’s face, clear and poignant. “You were going to deal with her, yourself?”
Sebastian nodded grimly. “I’d sent my men to bring her to me. Perhaps one more effort to bring her back into line before...”
“Where?”
“A small, two room house on the edge of Copperwood. She’d taken to using it as a home of sorts.” He leaned forward and lay a hand on the rosewood case. “When my men arrived, they found her there along with 3 others, all dead.”
He raised the lid on the case, enclosed were 4 crystal daggers resting on velvet. Agrinost raised his head, teeth bared and growling. Sebastian spoke his foreign words and the wolf reluctantly relaxed. “In all my years, I’ve not seen the like, nor the scrawled writings on their blades and hilts.”
“Who were the others with her?”
“A lacky of hers, one who trafficked in slaves, two human women I didn’t recognize but looked to be from the Coins by the cut of their clothing.”
"Those apear to make poor weapons of war, from Agrinost's reaction I assume they have some sinister or arcane purpose."
He was doing everything he could to not feel guilty. And he couldn’t hold animosity towards the Rook regarding his decision to have a final talk with Emilura. After all, when Mal had spoken with her 8 years ago, his mind had been made up. She was going in the wrong direction. Crime was one thing, thievery…the occasional sabotage… Even her work with the Barbers had been within the grey area he’d lived nearly his whole life.
But something had changed in him. Between his confederacy with Caleb and his involvement in Hal’dorel and Kheegan’s lives…Mal had grown apart from Emilura. It seemed that during that time, she’d distanced herself further from the woman he’d known.
He pulled the reins of his mind and focused on what Sebastian was saying. “The lackey, was it a man named Zel?”
The Rook tilted his head in curiosity and nodded. “Her connection to Misery Row, yes. He traffics…well, he trafficked in Halflings.”
The half-elf glanced towards Karthan. “I’m not one for coincidences. We’re looking for him too, and two young women who went missing in the Merchant’s Quarter.” He dry washed his face, pinching his nose and running through his thoughts and bracing himself for the next question. “Where are the bodies?”
Do I really want to see her that way?
Another look of concern on the Rook’s face. “Burned.”
“Burned?” Was that outrage in his voice?
“By one of my more powerful sorcerers. He saw those daggers, the way they behaved, and decided to gather the bodies and the weapons for burning.” He glanced down at the crystal daggers. “They survived, unharmed, the bodies burned to ash in the flames he conjured.”
“If you’re so concerned, why do you have them here?”
“I want answers. And I’d just assume they weren’t in the open in my territory.” He reached forward to close the case, but stopped short. “The case is heavily warded and only responds to my touch.”
Mal’undil scratched at the stubble on his chin. “What did your men see?”
“They followed Zel back to the house on the north side.” He leaned back and left the case open. Agrinost had been watching anxiously, hoping the case would be closed but lay his head back down in disappointment. “Zel had been stumbling along, according to one of my men. Clutching at his chest.”
Outside the room, one of the guards was speaking with a barmaid. The Rook frowned and glanced towards the interruption. Mal saw the guard nod to the Rook and gesture towards the rear of the tavern, some form of confirmation which Sebastian quickly dismissed.
“My apologies, it appears that Lau Fu Shan and your other party member have returned. They are at the stables.”
Mal felt relief, but pressed the Rook for further information. “Zel, the others, where were they found?”
“It’s an abandoned house, the owner long gone to seek his fortune in the north of the island.” He gestured towards the guards. “They can tell you where." The Rook refocused and continued his account. “When my men made their way into the house, all four were dead, Zel breathing his last against a wall. All had a dagger in the chest.”
Just like a vampire to not want someone in his territory, even a half blooded one. Karthan noted the guard's motion to his master a commotion no doubt involving the monk and his sister. They were following that halfling and he supposed everyone who frequented this dive would have reasons to not want to be followed. "How did these weapons behave when they were not contained as they are now. Could you also please explain who this Lamech is and the nature of your relationship with him?"
Mal'undil closed his eyes briefly, thankful for Karthan's questions. He needed practical answers, because all he could think about was revenge. He would need to take the lesson in stride. "Nothing makes a smart man more foolish than a lust for revenge." Caleb would say. Not that Mal fancied himself a smart man, but his years as a thief made him prudent.
Maybe he was feeling guilty for not trying harder with Emilura. Trying harder to change her course. Maybe if he'd not left. Maybe if he'd paid a visit to Lamech back then...
Mal dismissed the thoughts for the time being, waiting for the Rook's reply.
"How did these weapons behave when they were not contained as they are now. Could you also please explain who this Lamech is and the nature of your relationship with him?"
“There is a glammer placed upon all of them, tied to the runes carved upon their surfaces I suspect.” He resisted the urge to close the case and seal it. “My men found that when looking at the blades, they seemed to flicker between visibility and invisibility.”
He raised a hand to his chest then pointed towards the daggers. “Of more concern, when one of my men went to remove the blade to give it a closer look, he began shrieking...quite hysterical according to Jhig.”
“He’s still around?”
Sebastian’s smile returned briefly. “Who, Jhig, of course. He still claims you owe him 10 sphinxes.”
“I think he’s already figured out where he can stick that claim.”
The Rook chuckled, eyeing Mal’undil to verify the man was getting his head right. The half-elf already smelled of vengeance. Not for Sebastian, otherwise Agrinost would have been concerned…but for someone else. He put the questions aside and continued his story. “Jhig said the man grasped his hand, which was smoking, then bolted for the rear of the home, crashing through and tearing into the north.”
He shook his head. “Jhig sent another of the party after him, but the last they saw he was still running north, out of Copperwood and into the wilds. Haven’t heard from him since.”
“So how did you retrieve the daggers?” Karthan pressed.
“Jhig secured the home, sent a runner back here to call on Abnilos my sorcerer.” The Rook gestured as if to speed along time. “Abnilos gathered what he needed and headed out to gather the weapons. He used conjurings to avoid handling the weapons directly. But they were easy to pick up since the bodies were gone.”
“Gone?”
“I’ve not run across the like. Jhig’s men swore to me they’d not heard a stir in the house. But just before Abnilos opened the door, they heard the daggers clatter to the floor.” The Rook sat back in his chair. “Again, I’ve been around for a long time, but I’ve not experienced magic of this type.”
Mal shifted in his seat, his irritation growing again. “And Lamech?”
“He’s grown in influence east of here. A fool following those impudent Norgorberians…utter lunacy.” The Rook for all of being humanoid, would have puffed up agitated feathers. “He’d found inroads with the Barbers as an assassin, but since falling in with the Norgorber cult, Lamech’s expanded his skill set, becoming a freelancer of sorts.”
“And Emilura fell in with this guy?” Mal’undil was grinding his teeth.
“I’m afraid so.” He watched Mal. The half-elf was going to be all but useless if he continued this way. “If it is revenge you want, Mal’undil, then Lamech is as good a place as any to start.”
The Rook leaned forward in his seat, focusing on Mal. “But take it from me, it should be the start and the finish. If there was a corruptive force in her life, it was him.”
“Not you, huh?” Mal was resting his hands on his knees, eyes on the ground in front of him as though he were staring through the floor.
Agrinost lifted his head, golden eyes watching intently.
“Careful, Mal’undil.” The Rook didn’t move, but his eyes unfocused so he could take in Mal and the elf in his field of view. “…to go further would mean offending an old friend.”
"Norgorberian Cults, illegal and suppressed everywhere, but, the city of Absolon. They have no compunctions about using any sort of evil act to get what they want, they will do whatever they have to to achieve their aims and will not feel the slightest bit of remorse about it. Such people will break laws and posses no illusions that having any sort of code of conduct or operating within a legal system would make their actions any less reprehensible. This sort of cult follower sometimes commits evil for its own sake viewing it as the way the world is, or viewing such evil as an act of worship devoted to their foul deity."
"Huh, Norgorber believes in evil for the sake of evil, he practices and promotes lying, theft and assassination for their own sake, he may have some higher goal but his secretive nature conceals these goals from even his followers. The other major deity alligned with him is the disease loving Urgathoa who believes in spreading rotten corruption to every corner of the world."
"If she had fallen so far into that gods grasp, do you think you could have done anything Mal? Do not let your emotions boil over and transfer your guilt and malice to our host. After all he is giving us the truth of the matter regardless of how unpalatable it may be. There is no interest in causing you pain with his words and there is friendship in his eyes for you. Let us blood our blades elsewhere."
Karthan regards Arginost for a moment wondering what he had named Mal before looking Sebastian in the eyes. "So what are your suspicions of whom would seek to destroy theses people and plant these knives in their chests? Obviously it would be much simpler to just kill them than to go to the extent of crafting these magical blades. Or do you believe this is some sort of internal cult ritual or war?"
willpower F
Now there was a new aspect to the elf. Pragmatist…now mediator. Mal looked upon the elven ranger with a new measure of respect. Then he took his advice and swallowed down his anger, a bile-ridden effort the half-elf knew was the right choice. Even if it took relatively young Karthan to help him admit it, wisdom was wisdom.
He eased back into his chair and dry washed his face and focused on the daggers resting in their box. If not for Caleb, he very well could have walked the same fate. Maybe it would have been him with a glass dagger in the chest. He thought on the argument that had been the punctuation of his and Emilura’s relationship. Lamech had figured largely into that picture…
…the daggers danced in his vision, the runes, like frosted glass in their etchings quivered and promised and threatened…his world tilted on its axis…images began flashing before his eyes…a closed door, soft light coming from beneath it, the smell of mud and lilacs…
Mal’s Willpower Roll
He buried the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing at them to cast aside the sensations. The fog cleared like lingering tendrils drawing across his mind.
“My apologies, Sebastian.” the half-elf muttered, looking over to Sebastian. “Karthan’s right, my anger…should not be directed towards you. I…”
The Rook interrupted him, Mal saw the Dhampir rise from his seat in a single motion and go to the younger ranger’s side. “Dawnsetter, are you well?”
[ooc]Let me change perspectives…next post forthcoming…
For Karthan…
His words left his lips, an effort to diffuse the situation and get things moving forward. Conversations were necessary, information gathering for the hunt, but there came a time when high-sounding words were just those…words.
The elf waited for Mal’s response, raising a hand to his ear lobe and pulling. For some reason, he felt as though a thousand eyes were suddenly upon him. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that the Rook’s men were still at their table. Looking back to the Dhampir, he was refocusing on Mal’undil as the half-elf responded.
There was a growing heat in the room and Karthan felt a bead of perspiration trickle down the back of his neck. Then the heat grew, settling on the back of his neck like a hand coated in a warmed glove.
In the box, each of the daggers began to glow…specifically, on each of them, one of the runes began to glow…a dark light, at once drawing in the small amount of light in the room and then emitting that stolen light in a strangely twisted hue.
The grip on Karthan’s neck increased, not painful, but growing more insistent…the unseen force was turning his attention more solidly on the daggers…even going so far as trying to push him towards the box holding them.
The twisted glow of the runes grew in intensity. The shape of the runes brought pain to the elf’s eyes, it turned the pit of his stomach into braided knots of revulsion.
Karthan closed his eyes out of reflex, but the afterimage of the runes remained in his vision. Then other images flashed before him…a closed door, a soft light like that from a candle coming from underneath…the smell of lilacs and mud and excrement…then the sounds of murmuring from behind the door, the voice that of a woman…a voice somewhat familiar if only he could hear it more clearly…
…the pressure on his neck moved him closer to the door…
… but a shadow swooped up from his left, a hand touching his shoulder. “Dawnsetter, are you well?” The voice came from a distance, like someone calling from a faraway stand of trees. But the hand on his shoulder felt warmer than the one on his neck.
New Willpower Check (Unbreakable Heart cast)
Sebastian cursed and lashed out at the box containing the daggers. He slammed it shut and passed a hand over the lock to ensure the ward was in place. Then he looked into the elf’s eyes. “So, the daggers are still strong.”
He stepped back and allowed the elf to regain his composure. “My apologies. I wanted to close the box sooner, but wanted to make sure you’d asked all your questions first.”
Mal was up and at Karthan’s side too. “Where is your sorcerer? Can’t he ward these things more thoroughly?”
Sebastian sighed. “Unfortunately, Abnilos succumbed to his own madness yesterday.” He returned to his seat and gestured to the box. “His attempts to make these things safe for study cost him his life.”
Mal was looking to Karthan again. “Are you okay?”
"A vision from the daggers, a thousand eyes were upon me, then a heat came into the room and settled on my neck like a warm gloved hand. In the box, each of the daggers began to glow…specifically, on each of them, one of the runes began to glow…a dark light, at once drawing in the small amount of light in the room and then emitting that stolen light in a strangely twisted hue."
The grip on my neck increased, not painful, but growing more insistent…some kind of unseen force was turning my attention more solidly on the daggers…even going so far as trying to push me towards the box holding them. Perhaps to force me to plunge one of them into my chest.
The twisted glow of the runes grew in intensity. The shape of the runes brought pain to my eyes, it turned the pit of my stomach into braided knots.
I closed my eyes, but the afterimage of the runes remained in his vision. Then other images flashed before me…a closed door, a soft light like that from a candle coming from underneath…the smell of lilacs and mud and excrement…then the sounds of murmuring from behind the door, the voice that of a woman…a voice somewhat familiar if only I could have heard it more clearly…
…the pressure on my neck moved me closer to the door…could that have been my sister and Lau? Was I granted a scry?
Then Sebastian broke the spell before it could go further, thankfully so, it was magic most foul.
Agrinost was sitting up, studying Karthan and Mal’undil equally as though verifying the pack’s ill members did not require culling. He didn’t settle from his stare even as Sebastian continued.
“Yes indeed, magic most foul; foul and frustrating. It’s only been 3 days since finding these blades. Not enough time to be certain what these deaths could be a part of, to be honest. Nor has it been enough time to ascertain their nature and power. Add to that the death of my sorcerer…” He looked to the now closed box, resisting the urge to verify the latch was secured. “This could have been Lamech’s work, but poison…crossbows…even his bare hands, those were more his weapons of choice.” He tapped his chin, thinking. “I even heard rumor he used a dogslicer on more than one occasion.”
“What about the Barbers?”
Sebastian shook his head. “It would have been more obvious if it was them. Plus, I’ve not known them to use weapons of such…cursed nature.”
“You think they’re cursed?”
“Don’t you?” He ran a hand along the top of the case, a strange mixture of curiosity and concern gnawing at him. “They certainly are exhibiting the behavior.” He removed his hand from the case, rubbing his fingertips together and half expecting to feel an oily substance…but they were dry.
A look to Karthan, then Mal and he continued. “My next step was to have some other associates investigate these weapons, find out their true nature. Perhaps even the Arcanamirium…such an option would have been more tenable with Abnilos alive. As it is, I’d have to remain there long enough to present and open the case.”
Mal thought for a moment, looking to Karthan to view his condition. “Our goals are drifting in the same direction, old friend. We’ve been charged by the Temple of Iomedae to find Emilura, Zel and two women…maybe these two women you described if their identities prove to match. These daggers appear to be the next step for us too.”
Sebastian’s brows met in a v-shape. “Iomedae, eh? I take it you still are in association with Duneheim?”
“She’s Chaplain-Protector now.”
“I know. The title suits her.” Sebastian considered his options. All things being equal, it would be preferable to avoid entanglements with the temple. If he worked with Mal’undil and Karthan, he may be able to disassociate himself from the official investigation.
Official or not, though, he had to discover what force was behind these deaths and put it to an end if he was to maintain control over his territory. There was an order to things, and these daggers bespoke of a chaos the Dhampir would not tolerate. Always a precarious thing, his position and business, always a leech or poison awaiting his every misstep…
“While I can’t say assisting those misguided zealots of Iomedae is in my best interest, I also can’t deny the benefit in aiding you in your quest.” Sebastian stood and clasped his hands behind his back, his coat coming open to reveal the hilts of his paired sword and dagger. He was looking with measured concern upon Karthan. “Have more tea, my young strider. It will soothe any lingering effects.”
He turned from the gathering and headed to a trunk next to the hearth. “I’m finding that there are no surprises in this life, gentlemen, just events for which you choose to be woefully unprepared.” The Rook opened the trunk and withdrew a trio of scrolls. Without hesitation, he walked them over and handed them to Mal’undil. “Scrolls of Protection from Chaos. I have a feeling you’ll need them if you are going to continue this investigation.”
He returned to his seat and glanced towards the box. “I can provide you with instruction how to open the box if you choose to take these weapons with you. But you must swear to see them safely out of my territory. I can’t have them falling into the hands of my servants or enemies alike.”
“And your advice?” Mal inquired.
“I’d say this house on the north side of Copperwood would be a good place to start. Perhaps you will meet with more success at picking up your next clue…or quarry than my team.”
“Lamech.”
Sebastian nodded; hoping Mal’undil would be able to remain focused on the task and not let vengeance cloud his judgment. He sat back and waited to see if there were any other questions before seeing them out.
He thought over the options for a few moments. As much as he trusted his friend, he also knew his nature all too well. Better to take the mysterious weapons out of his hands while he was willing to part with them, before Sebastian kept them for their potential advantages.
“How do I open the box?” Mal asked finally.
Sebastian walked him through a series of motions that drew out the rune key for the ward Abnilos had set up on the box. It was the dead sorcerer’s access so he didn’t have to expend magical energies to open it. Once done, Mal stuffed the box into his satchel and immediately began counting the minutes until he’d be rid of it to Caleb’s care. Maybe he could send a runner when they reached the gates to the city to request him to meet them at the Arcanamirium.
The three men stood, Agrinost remaining where he was by the fire. “I wish you the best in your endeavor,” Sebastian concluded, then turned to Karthan. “Of course, upon completion of your task, feel free to return, Dawnsetter. My interest in your story is only rivaled by my desire to assist in your…education.”
“Watch it, Sebastian. He’s not for hire.” Mal’undil stabbed a warning finger even as he grinned.
“He’s a grown elf, Feyd, let him decide when the time comes.” He smiled broadly. “I’m just speaking of sharing stories.”
“Right.”
Mal and Karthan made their exit and headed for the stairs leading down to the main common room. As they descended, Mal expected to hear the music they’d left behind, but there was only the chatter and clatter of the tavern’s patronage.
At the bottom of the stairs, they saw that the trio of entertainers; Agidor the singer, the Varisian dancer and the drummer, were gone. Questioning the whip-thin bard would have to wait. He’d leverage Sebastian to get a solid location on him later.
“Let’s get to the stables,” Mal spoke as they crossed the common room to head for the door. “I have a feeling things are only beginning to get strange.”
Lau moved to Gertrude, Mal’undil’s camel was laying in a bed of straw chewing away. She looked over at the monk as he approached, thick eyelashes batting.
“I’m afraid you will not like this cargo, dear Gertrude.” He pulled his bag off his back, gingerly laying the dead Halfling in the straw next to the camel. “But if you are willing, I’ll ensure you receive extra food when arrive home.”
Gertrude looked away, shaking her head and flicking her ears and groaning a grudging acceptance.
The monk set about shifting some of the packs on the camel’s saddle to accommodate the bag. It wasn’t long before his stomach began to knot, anxiety of some form stealing over his normally calm core.
Willpower Check
He fell to his knees next to the camel, clutching at his chest and half expecting his hand to close over another’s arm. It was as though someone were reaching into his chest and attempting to draw out his Ki… The stables swam before his eyes so he shut them, trying to empty his mind of fear faster than it was being poured.
He tried to steady his core, but it was like holding onto smoke. Lau grit his teeth and removed his hand from the sack so he could rest back in a lotus position, hands on his thighs.
No sooner than he'd done so, the tremoring sickness at his core seemed to subside...
As Zandra looked over to the monk, noting his trembling form, Thorandil growled a warning from beside her. Someone was approaching from the mouth of the alley behind her that lead from the street to the stables behind the tavern.
The sun was nearly at its zenith, but the heavy cloud cover remaining after the past day’s rain diffused it and backlit the figure as he approached. Soft footsteps fell, the whisper of dark robes along the ground and the thump of a staff. The figure was tall and slender, hood drawn up and casting all but a finely shaped chin in shadow.
“And just what have you been up to, my busy little bees?” The figure rasped.