"Edward Fiorin. Pharasmin cleric with the Pathfinder Grand Lodge. Likewise."
An extraplanar being, and a Chelish bigwig. He'd hit gold. Ed gives a smile as he takes the offered hand and shakes it. "There's a lot of talking going on, so I figured I'd do some writing.
It's then that the captain arrives, and he nods an affirmative.
"I did what I could--the ones who didn't bleed out before we got there should be stable at the very least. The guard's tale is correct."
"For the most part," Mephiston agrees as the priest speaks with the guard captain. "The instigator also went over the edge of the pit, so he's conveniently not around to speak his half of this whole mess."
"Just another day in Absalom," Ahto replies in an offhand manner. "What they've attested to is pretty much what happened. One fella preaching something the other fella said was blasphemy blah, blah, blah. Weapons drawn, blood spilled, and the guy that started the fight went over the edge."
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The elf closes his eyes for a moment, gathering his memories -clear as if looking at them directly- before speaking "Twas a hand and a half sword, a beautiful one... Longer than average, 54 inches, maybe more. Numerian starmetal was used for the blade, Dawii Korim inscribed "The most beautiful rose has the sharpest thorns"... the original hilt was damaged years ago, now it should have a laquered mithral one with an eagle head in each side of the crossguard... The tip wasn't centered, instead raiaing from one of the edges... I can give you more details if I can get some time to think..."
As he finishes he opens his eyes and shows a shy smile when Varrren adresses him "Can this be... it shouldn't but it must be... Var? Var!" he exclaims as he finally recognises the accent "Sorry, I should introduce y'all. These two are Ahto and Pyrrha, they will helo me find... well, a relative of mine... but I'm not sure this is the place or time to explain. Who's that?" he asks pointing with his head towards Captain Varris and Toswuld.
"The instigator went over the pit? The message I received said one of the Disciple's followers went over the edge, but the instigator was accounted for. One of my men took part of his arm off, or at least that's what I heard." Captain Varris surveys the scene for a moment, and it's not hard to catch the magical glint to his eyes as he does so. He pauses on the one-armed man, and his eyes narrow. "This man has been coerced through magical means; whether they controlled his mind or merely encouraged his dormant thoughts I don't know, but he wasn't in his right mind." He gestures toward one of the Graycloaks and they pick up the wounded man and get him to his feet. "You there," Captain Varris says, gesturing to Mephiston. "You are attached to the Chelish Embassy, correct? Our headquarters is some distance away, might we use your chambers to speak with him?" He pauses for a second, then nods to himself. "I'll need you all to come as well. You're witnesses, and perhaps something he says might spur your memory. That is, if you're willing to do so; you've committed no crime and so I have no authority to force you, but I would appreciate your continued cooperation."
A few Graycloaks, now finished dispersing the crowd, return to aid with the others in gathering witnesses. Once they're all standing, they merely wait with their hands on their sword hilts, watching for any new danger. For the first time in a long time--perhaps as long as you've ever known it--the Ascendant Court seems eerily silent.
"I must have lost track of who was who in the scuffle," Mephiston says smoothly. No need to make a scene of a mistake. "But if you require an interrogation room, I'm certain that we can provide one, especially if he was under the influence of something unnatural. Of course, I would be required to sit in on the entire situation since the interrogation would be occurring on Chelish territory."
Ed holds up a journal with his thumb in the pages.
"I'll probably wind up jotting down what I can for the lodge's records later. If that's alright, then I'd be happy to join you."
"Well, Variel, it sounds like the authorities have the matter in hand. Shall we get on with finding this swordsman of yours, or do you want to go along with the Greycloaks and give testimony?"
Azulth gives a deep bow and nods. "Of course. It would ill befit someone of my office to avoid such assistance."
Although he keeps the rest of his glamer intact with the hat, Azulth reaches up and removes the very real doctor's mask placed over his face, letting it hang down on his chest. It reveals his lean, hard features, as well as his watery gray eyes. Now unmuffled, his voice is light, but crisp. "Shall we?"
A wide grin grows beneath the large man's beard. "I'd be more than happy to assist you in any way I can, Captain."
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"Don't think we have much choice, mate... Capt'n seems one of those that orders instead of asking, comes with the charge I guess." comments Variel, his eyes studying the Captain before pointing with his head towards Mephiston "Oi Ahto, who'sat? I swear my hearing gotten ill with the years, or else I'll be sure the Capt'n mentioned Cheliax."
An exquisite sounding blade to be sure. I do not recall ever seeing such a sword, even when I was still in the profession of crafting them. Pyrrha replies with a thoughtful tone. Ahto will do his best to guide you where he must, though I hope you are prepared to employ others in you search. The quickest way might be a through a reputable divine, but with convenience cones cost.
Peering over her shoulder as the captain arrives and requests volunteers to give testimony, Pyrrha shakes her head slightly and turns back to her conpany which has now grown to include Varrren. As much a pleasure as it is to meet you all, I will not be joining in on the questioning or the Chelaxian embassy trip. There is little I will be able to contribute on the matter. Pyrrha lends a slight nod of respect before turning to strive away. Until next time Ahto.
Varrren shrugs, "I will stick with you, Variel, if that is alright. I am not keen to lose track of an old friend, now that I know you are still alive."
While Pyrrha stays behind, the rest of you head along into the Chelish Embassy. The Graycloaks, now knowing that the man was apparently manipulated, seem a bit more careful with their prisoner. Once he's squared away and restrained, Captain Varris invites you all inside with him. "Sir, are you in your right mind? If you can answer some questions for me, I'll see what I can do about getting a healer for your arm. I detected the presence of a spell that was manipulating your mind, but I don't know exactly how. Could you tell me what happened before your altercation?" The one-armed man shakes his head slightly, almost like he was still waking up for the morning. He doesn't register the Captain's comments immediately, but eventually he begins to talk.
"I... I don't know what happened. I was headed through the Court and I bumped into someone, and I remember stumbling into an alley with him. He said something to me but I don't know what it was, I... next thing I know, I was in a fight with some Graycloaks and one of them sliced my arm off. I didn't know what was happening, so I fought back. Once they wounded me though, I fell; I forget if it was because it hurt or because I had tripped or been knocked down, and I didn't get up for quite a while. After that, he used his magic to heal me." He points with his good hand toward Edward, then continues. "Now I'm here. I don't know what happened other than that."
"I see." Captain Varris scratches at his thin beard, then looks to the others. "I don't suppose you all saw anything to that effect?"
Mephiston listens to the man's story closely. He seems to be telling the truth, for what good that does him. "I don't recall seeing such a man, but the sudden loss of memory seems to fit with a high power dominate spell. A suggestion or something along those lines would alter his mind, but he'd still remember acting."
Suddenly, Mephiston's imp companion appears on his shoulder again. "Hey, I saw that guy while I was keeping an eye on things," the little devil says. "He was sneaking off into an alley right as the fighting started. Looked like he had red skin too. Might have been fiend blooded, or maybe genie-kin. It's hard to tell without getting a solid look. Didn't think he was anyone important, but maybe he stuck around to watch the fun. I know I would if I set something like that up."
Mephiston nods slowly. "That at least corroborates his story, though it doesn't help find this hooded man unless he left some kind of trail."
"Now that you mention it... I saw something like that too. He bumped a red-skinned guy with a heavy cloak. I was noting him because I was wondering if he was a devil or some kind of elemental-blooded sort. They were between the buildings for a moment..." he trails off.
"Do you think--?"
"That he might have bewitched our poor fellow here? I think so." Captain Varris scratches his beard again, and sighs heavily. "But why? Someone using a proxy to attack the Last Disciple, or someone trying to turn him into a martyr? What do they have to gain, and who's pulling the strings?" He again looks down at the man in his chair, but has one of his men release the shackles on him. "Could you describe the man any better, perhaps? Any distinguishing features that you remember, maybe? Anything that might help us locate him." The man thinks hard for a moment, then something dawns on him.
"He had golden eyes, and a small set of horns on his head. But I remember his hands were... wrapped in tape or bandages. Something was on his neck, maybe a large scar or something of the sort? I'm not sure."
Varrren nods in agreement with the others, but does not speak.
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The elf nods, agreeing with the imp. "I remember it now Capt'n, clear as the sky, red skin isn't very common and he wore a cloak that looked heavy. I think I could point to where they stumbled off, between the buildings."
When the "prisoner" mentions additional details he scratches his chin, unconsciously caressing one of his revolvers' grips as he tries to think what could fit the description.
Ahto listens to the description of the red-skinned man, trying to think if he's seen him anywhere before.
As the other file away into the embassy, Pyrrha begins walking away, though something stops her along the edge of the streets only a few steps from entering one of the normally well traveled alleyways. She sidesteps to the corner of the building that marks the two roads crossing. Something wasn't right. Something was just beginning to show itself and that something had already been set in motion.
Blood and ashes, she swore as soon as she picked the outlines of the men in black sneaking toward and into the embassy. Quickly, Pyrrha spoke the words, threw out of the somatic gestures for her vampiric touch spell and sprinted toward the embassy. Warning the others. Warning Ahto, was the first priority.
"I only noticed the scene after the fighting broke out. This all seems very shady. I don't like the smell of it." Tosguld's eye's narrow as he examines the amputee.
"I don't either," Captain Varris says in reply. "Something here doesn't add up, and I don't like not knowing what's going on. This man ought to be taken to a healer, however." Outside, Pyrrha heads into the building after the cloaked men who each wrap their hands around the grips of their revolvers in unison. They don't seem to notice Pyrrha--or if they don't, they don't seem to be worried about her--and she follows them back toward a back room. Moments before they reach the door, Pyrrha can see the rest of the group standing around with Captain Varris. She only barely has enough time to give a warning to those inside before one of them throws open the door with their spare hand and levels his revolver at the amputee's head. Without a word, he fires. Captain Varris responds with an unnatural speed and deflects the bullet off his gauntlet and moves for his sword. "Stop them!" he shouts, his sword still scraping free of its scabbard.
"How did... Where are the f*cking guards?" Mephiston draws a black metal mace from his hip and his familiar vanishes into thin air. "Take one of them alive if you can. I need to ask them some questions."
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Before he realised what was going on, Variel's hands already were on his revolvers' grips. The bard's stories always mention elven supernatural agility and reflexes, but the way he drawed and aimed his guns, one arm extended farther than the other, had nothing supernatural to it... it was mechanical, ingrained into his mind, something he has been doing for so damn long it was as natural as blinking or breathing.
"Dammit! Dive for cover, they got irons!" he yelled as he pulled the trigger and the gun's hammer made a distinctive click.
Ahto snaps his adamantine dagger into his hand and flings it at the lead cloaked figure.
Varrren growls in frustration as he draws a wickedly sharp rapier from its place at his belt, "The worst part about fighting in a light-damned basement, is that you're fighting in a light-damned basement."
He studies the unexpected gunmen for a brief moment, sizing them up and finding their weaknesses, before stepping in with a lunging thrust and following it up with a swift cut.
Tosguld leaves his hammer on his back. In these cramped conditions, fists will have the do.
Taking advantage of their surprise attack, the assailants farther back in the room each draw their pistols and fire at the captive, but again Captain Varris deflects it with his heavy adamantine gauntlet. The men draw then draw a curved, serrated blade from their scabbards and brush their cloaks from their shoulders. Beneath, dull red breastplates are fastened atop black and grey clothes, and a second scabbard hangs from their belts. Both of them still glare at the injured man with an unsettling gaze, their faces partially obscured by a mask beneath their hood. "Relinquish him, or die." The voice is chilling and barely human. "He has been marked for death."
Initiative!
"The Mantis... lovely. Be cautious, they have spells as well as their fancy knives." Someone certainly wanted this man dead. This was turning out to be quite the interesting affair after all.
Look out! Pyrrha’s warning rung out only a moment before the first shot was fired. Then the moment froze, or at least it did in Pyrrha’s mind. Rarely Pyrrha found herself in overly dangerous situations, a fact she took some pride in, but the times she could remember it was always for the same reason. Loyalty. This loyalty always came into question of whether it was due or not, and she cursed herself for not remembering every single time. But here she was alone, on the wrong side of a proper bottleneck in a room literally filled with assassins.
With a flick of her wrist the moment unfroze and she waved a magical shield that only barely shone its blue surface. At the same time, with effortless grace she lunged toward the assassin in the rear that had not yet fully realized she was there.
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CRITICAL CONFIRM
Azulth stands by as the others question the captive, thinking about what he'd seen and what he could piece together. When the trouble starts, though, he quickly steps to the fore. Just as Variel draws his pistols with incredible speed and mechanical precision, a pair of daggers seem to leap into Azulth's hands, flashing even in the dim light of this cellar.
The Boneyard is always open to more souls.
Captain Varris scowls, his exit from the room blocked by the party and the assailants. His puts a hand to his chest and mutters a few words under his breath, and his body takes on a magical glow for a few moments before dissipating. "We can't let them kill him! Push back!"
The assassin Pyrrha attacks, while not caught off-guard as much as she thought, still doesn't move fast enough to avoid her blade gouging deep into his ribs. He grunts in pain and holds one hand to his ribs; when it comes away bloody, he breathes onto it as his body is enveloped in a fine, red mist. It swirls around him and makes his form shadowy and indistinct, but you can clearly pick out his wounds slowly beginning to close. "You will die with the rest," he says simply, drawing his blade as he ducks and rolls into place opposite his previous position, moving just fast enough to avoid her defenses. He swings his blade once and slices her across his back with his serrated sabre, but his second swing goes wide.
His companion draws his revolver and fans the hammer, snapping off three quick shots at Pyrrha. She somehow moves quickly enough to dodge the first two, but the last burrows itself deep in her gut and she doubles over in pain. Now caught between the two of them, she's in a bad spot unless she can manage to finish one of them off soon. The revolver-wielding assassin bites his thumb and lets the blood drip toward the floor, which envelops him in the same red cloud as his fellow.
Azulth darts forward, then springs into a somersault between the two closest assassins, his coat trailing behind him and confusing his whereabouts. When he lands on the other side, Varrren's lunge distracts his target long enough for Azulth to slash and stab at his weak points.
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The elf moved quick, jumping and sliding over the table till he was in front of the door, firing once before touching the ground.
"F%$*ing young'uns! I told ya to dive for cover, godammit!"
Once on the ground he fired again, alternating his pistols as he took aim and focused fire on the man right in front of the door.
Mephiston sighs. "Anyone who can't see in the dark, get out there and deal with them. I can handle cover." Mephiston waves his hand and a stream of shadows swirls off his hand and pours into the room, dropping the light to deep, inky darkness.
As Azulth somersaults past the assassins, the two of them react faster than he expects; both of them send their blades cutting through the air toward him as he moves. However, the Pharasman is faster still, and the swipes of their blades meet only thin air. However, the Pharasman retaliates with a flurry of motion as his daggers dig into the gaps of the man's armor and come away covered in blood. Azulth draws his dagger from the man's ribs as the assassin turns to face him, his sabre already whistling through the air, when the tip of Varrren's rapier plunges through his chest and out toward Azulth. The assassin's body slumps over before crumbling into a powdery brown substance, the color similar to rust or dried blood. It collects neatly in a pool at their feet, undisturbed. Variel unloads a volley of gunfire from his revolvers, and all but one shot slams into the back of the assassin attacking Pyrrha. He stumbles forward and nearly falls to his feet, but he quickly regains his composure and points his revolver toward Variel while keeping his sword trained on Pyrrha. The first assassin dead, Ahto instead flings his dagger toward the next available target, but the assassin sidesteps his throw with ease.
While he has a reprieve from the assault of the first assailant, Azulth quickly finds himself on the defensive again when the other assassin comes at him yet again with his blade. Shocked by the destruction of the first assassin, his partner's blade rips through Azulth's coat and deep into his flesh, flinging blood across the stone floor when it comes away. The assassin snaps off a shot with his pistol that hits Azulth in the gut, and he only barely manages to duck and roll away from the assassin's blade the second time. Two more shots follow from the revolver; one misses his head but the other burrows into his shoulder. The assassin towers over him, his blade leveled at the heavily-wounded inquisitor.
The room suddenly goes dark, and Ed sighs to himself. He can't see in the dark at all. He remembers where the door is, though, and moves his way outside to see the status of the fight. There's seven people still in the darkness now, plus two out here is nine. That's one more than he can selectively avoid harming. Azulth has an iron will, but since he needs the healing specifically it'd be a poor idea to let the negative energies hurt him.
The captain, Ed decides, is the next most likely to have the iron willpower required to ensure minimal damage--and even if he shouldn't have that, he can just apologize later. A cone wouldn't reach the girl who the assassins were attacking.
As Edward's magical energy radiates from his body, both of the assassins flanking Pyrrha disintegrate into the same strange powder as the first. The one next to Edward takes the brunt of the assault but the two farther away are able to ward off the magical assault more easily.
Tosguld rushes to the door as it goes dark and finds himself face to face with an assassin while he stands over the unconscious body of another. He swings once at the shady character with his adamantine gauntlets while assuming a practiced defensive stance.
The two relatively uninjured assassins look at each other and nod before splitting up. The first of them comes around the corner, his line of shot to Pyrrha blocked by the pillar at the center of the room, and instead opts to simply slice at her with his serrated blade. While still quite injured, she manages to duck and weave between his blows without too much effort on her part. The other assassin goes after Tosguld; he fires off a few shots from his revolver as he closes with the guardsman and also attacks wildly with his sabre. Two of the bullets catch him hard in the chest, but the third glances off his armor and both swipes of the blade are turned aside.
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"Damn it, boy, you f&@!ing blocked my line of fire!" exclaimed the elf, quickly going through his options... which amounted to waiting or doing some stupid and reckless s%*&. "I'm not one to wait." he muttered to himself before darting towards where he last saw the door, somersaulting over the table and trusting his luck and reflexes to duck when he had to.
When he bumped into Edward he knew it was such time "Move aside, altar boy!" Variel said before pushing in through the assassins with fluid, acrobatic movements.
Without waiting to breath the ranger darted towards the wall to the left, turning to shoot at the assassin as he did so.
Ahto catches his dagger as it flies back to his hand.
Seeing the doorway clogged with combatants, he looks for another way out of the room. He moves to try the door on the south wall, opening it to see if if leads out and around into the main hallway.
Ahto runs out the door and out into the main hallway, closing with the nearest assassin.
Ahto sighs and takes a step towards the door, looking for an opening to throw his dagger again. Assuming he finds one, he throws.
When the darkness fills the room, Varrren growls in frustration moving through the doorway and hoping that neither his allies nor the enemies he is sure are still there will not stick sharp things into him. Once he clears the darkness, he sees Pyrrha injured and fighting one of the foe alone, "You who brought a warning will not be left to fight alone!"
Closing in rapidly, Varrren studies his new target, gauging its weaknesses. He completes his movement with a lunging attack at the assassin.
Azulth grits his jaw as the assassin wounds him, and he allows only a single bloody spit upon the floor as he dodges aside. He spins around with another slashing flurry, once again positioning himself so an ally draws the assassin's attention--Edward this time.