Dris lazily floats by, in cloud form, catching the Ambassadors last statements. He shifts and addresses their new arrival "Greetings and well met. I am Drisquar, and I would be happy to sign whatever paper work you so require. We currently lack any building of your specifications, so you'll need to construct it, with our assistance of course. No need to not offer aid, right?" He says politely.
The Ambassador shakes his head. "Are you thinking of Glabrezu? Because they have hands, too. But I recommend never using the term 'construction devil' again. My Attachés are here as part of their training and evaluation before being granted their own command in Hell's armies."
"But I already have a pre-existing agreement with Asmodeus, whose authority, I'm sure you recognize, is the only one in the multiverse that matters. You can read it if you like. I am tasked with constructing or purchasing a suitable embassy on one lot of precisely seven thousand square feet; but for courtesy's sake, I'd prefer a signature of acknowledgement from a local resident of importance."
"I wasn't really debating that you have an agreement with Asmodeus, I was just trying to inform you that I don't think I count as a local resident of importance, and literally none of them are here right now... sooo uhm.. yeah.."
Telepathy to Drisquar:
You do NOT want to sign anything a devil has written. Like, ever. I'm trying to stall until one of the super-smarty people like Anaxian or Crimsy can look it over.
Out loud again:
"I think we need one of the color people, Dris, like Jiator, Sir John, or Crimsy."
"I can show you our charter," the Ambassador replies, "If you're hesitant to sign it just because of my occupation. Ahem." He sighs, and then, in a low and crackling voice of foreboding clearly reserved primarily for mortals, he reads in Undercommon from a parchment that appears out of his sleeve,
"'Under the auspices of the greatest, the most powerful of all the princes of Hell, our most proud and capable Asmodeus, who commands the Infernal Legions and the Greatest of the Planes,
We enter into at the present a Treaty of Peace and Friendship with the Reborn City of Lavosha and its leadership, all the articles of which have been framed in accordance with Hell's best intentions and sincerity, written and expressed in such manner as to leave no doubt of their contents.
There shall be a perpetual and constant peace between the City of Lavosha and the magnificent realm that is Hell, and also a permanent friendship, which shall more and more increase.'"
And here the Ambassador takes his first breath. "When servants and soldiers of Hell shall come within the dependencies of Escarra to carry on commerce there, the same respect shall be paid to them which the merchants of other nations enjoy; but they shall not carry on commerce in holy objects, nor in prohibited articles; and if any one shall be detected in a contraband trade, he shall be punished according to the laws of the city. If Escarra's citizens seek refuge within the Church of Asmodeus, no opposition shall be made thereto, provided appropriate religious deference is observed; and when traveling the planes, they shall be free to avail themselves of such interpreters as they may judge necessary, without any obstruction, in conformity with the usages of other Just nations; and if an Infernal subject shall go to establish himself within the dependencies of Escarra, he shall be treated in like manner.'"
A second breath. "'The subjects of the two contracting powers shall be under the protection of the Prince and under the jurisdiction of the chief of the place where they may be, and no other persons shall have authority over them. If the commandant of the place does not conduct himself agreeably to justice, a representation of it shall be made to us.
Each of the contracting parties shall be at liberty to establish a consul in the dependencies of the other; and if such consul does not act in conformity with the usages of the country, like others, the government of the place shall inform his Government of it, to the end that he may be changed and replaced; but he shall enjoy, as well for himself as his family and suite, the protection of the government. And he may import for his own use all his provisions and furniture without paying any duty; and if he shall import merchandise (which it shall be lawful for him to do), he shall pay duty for it.
If the subjects or citizens of either of the contracting parties, being within the possessions of the other, contract debts or enter into obligations, neither the consul nor the nation, nor any subjects or citizens thereof, shall be in any manner responsible, except they or the consul shall have previously become bound in writing; and without this obligation in writing they cannot be called upon for indemnity or satisfaction.'"
A third breath. The top of the parchment has reached the ground, "'If a citizen or subject of one of the parties shall kill, wound, or strike a citizen or subject of the other, justice shall be done according to the laws of the country where the offense shall be committed. The consul shall be present at the trial; but if any offender shall escape, the consul shall be in no manner responsible for it. If a dispute or lawsuit on commercial or other civil matters shall happen, the trial shall be had in the presence of the consul, or of a confidential person of his choice, who shall represent him and endeavor to accommodate the difference which may have happened between the citizens or subjects of the two nations.
If any difference or dispute shall take place concerning the infraction of any article of the present treaty on either side, peace and good harmony shall not be interrupted until a friendly application shall have been made for satisfaction; and resort shall not be had to arms therefor, except where such application shall have been rejected; and if war be then declared, the term of one year shall be allowed to the citizens or subjects of the contracting parties to arrange their affairs and to withdraw themselves with their property.
The agreements and terms above concluded by the two contracting parties shall be punctually observed. And for the maintenance and exact observance of the said agreements, we have caused their contents to tee here transcribed, in the present month and year, (to be filled in).
Signed,
Prince Basileus, Herald of Asmodeus'"
(Space for second signatory.)
"I defer the decision," Jiator responds to Sir John. "I only meant that if we do wish to pass through, then you, the dragon or the drow could aid our passage by traveling ahead first and making sure the route would be peaceful."
"You raise good points. We will contact the Ghouls later." Anaxian rumbled. "In the even that they contact us as we pass, a missive to have them bring to their leadership might be a good idea. A simple invitation to send an envoy to Escarra."
"I defer the decision," Jiator responds to Sir John. "I only meant that if we do wish to pass through, then you, the dragon or the drow could aid our passage by traveling ahead first and making sure the route would be peaceful."
"i too am indifferent. Whatever we do, if like to make it entertaining. Either view the city or level it. Either way. "
"That is... not a bad plan," Jiator responds, and ponders for a few minutes. Eventually, he presses two small diamonds into the eye sockets of an itinerant zombie, scrawls a message on its back in some sort of magically-conjured ink. After another day of marching through hills and stalagmite forests, Jiator spots the distant lights of Nektoria, and commands the zombie to walk mindlessly towards them.
"An invitation, like you suggested," he explains. "And an old bone—one with a bit of life in it, and not so easily digested. Whoever consumes that zombie's flesh should become a future scrying focus."
Skirting the ghoul-controlled segment of river also means avoiding the majority of Gug lands between Lake Nirthran and Escarra; and the passage proves surprisingly uneventful, as the few aberrations the party spots keep their distance, unwilling to attack a Shoggoth and skeleton horde without greater numbers.
"Yeah.." Illia-'s response to the droning on and on and oooon of the contract was wide eyes at first, and then obvious dread and fear. "Um, I'm sorry, but we just don't have any of the council of colors here right now. Me and Dris don't have the authority to sign. They should be back in about four weeks though."
"You don't have the authority to sign anything? I suppose that's to be expected." The Ambassador sighs.
Over the next few weeks, the devils sit patiently on the outskirts of the city, watching their embassy construct itself.
Soon after the restoration of the town hall, the first Drow wagon rolls into town, pulled by a pair of large, deformed, eyeless lizards. From inside the wagon steps a succubus who approaches Drisquar where he is overseeing the finishing touches on restoring Escarra's town hall; Drisquar and Illia- recongnize her as Captain Ayiyasha, Delyliath's servant and consort in her rule of Lavosha.
"Delivery from Lavosha!" she announces smartly, standing at attention. "First of many. Mostly fungalwood, sturdy logs and beams; the city's forests stand as strong as ever. But we've also got some settlers on the next few wagons. When Baron Filias joined Our Lady Delilyath's inspired reign, he used the opportunity to end two of his family's rival houses; but as General of the city, he insisted on banishing those servants not important enough to execute."
She cocks her head, and continues. "So Queen Delyliath says 'Very well, we'll send them to my old pets. Maybe they'll eat 'em, or animate their skeletons, or put them to construction—they'd probably be willing to work for a few mushrooms and a little water, because if there's anything a Drow hates it's starving to death alone in the caverns. And I'll be back in a month," and the Succubus vanishes in a flash of teleportation.
Sure enough, two dozen muddy and tattered Drow—some of them clearly children, or families—have begun to unload the five wagons now parked outside the city; one family has begun to half-heartedly lay out a tarp and a few blankets.
Jiator and his party return to the city two days after the arrival of the Drow. Hungry Doom and the Mouthers peel off first; Jiator explains that the shoggoth has claimed ownership of the nearby river, and plans to sustain itself by eating anything it finds not wearing a sigil of Escarra. Supposedly, the Gibbering Mouthers plan to assist it as some sort of border patrol, but the actual words and shouts involved in this conversation are very hard to separate from gibberish.
Next, the party passes the three lyre-zombies overseeing construction of a small mine overlooking the city. Jiator acknowledges the work, and sends the skeletons and zombies off to tunnel—or, at least, to sit in the tunnels until appropriate mining gear is supplied. "There are no mindless dead in Escarra," he explains, "Unless Black John has already explained that to you, which I suppose he must have." And then, seeing the ruined state of the city, he laughs and shakes his head.
Illia- pops over to Anaxian upon his arrival.
Hey. Um, there are some devils here that want a contract thingie, you should like, look it over for loopholes and stuff.
Popping back over to the Drow, "Uh, hi there... So... Uhm... Is anyone skilled in finance?"
Anaxian mentally grumbled about the interruptions to his work, and gave Illia what amounted to a telepathic nod and disappeared back into his portable hole.
Inform the ambassador I will treat with him at the end of the week.
Again the dragon went through something of a chrysalis. The small one had spent weeks traveling, and another week in the new city locked away in his portable workshop. The larger one had been digging out a massive, impressive lair for himself beneath what would eventually be the central tower. The excavation was fast for a creature that could melt stone at will and dig through nearly any substance like clay. All the displaced rock was brought upward to a temporary quarry where Anaxian, John and Jiator's minions set to cutting and shaping large stone blocks.
By the time he emerged Anaxian had changed again. He was getting better at switching between the various fragments of his soul. His "primary" personality, that of the clever, prideful necromancer, was currently embodying the form of the powerful armored graveknight.
The graveknight's armor had been significantly upgraded. Now it was a full set of draconic barding carved with runes, the heraldry of the Crimson Stranger glowed emblazoned on the chest plate.
His smaller body was still in his workshop, yet another personality fragment in command, directing traffic over a small horde of skeletal workers who were doing the more detailed work in his new lair.
The catsuit made it's presence made around the city occasionally, a glint of intelligence in it's eyes. It reported back to it's master frequently, acting as a liaison between the busy dracolich and his allies.
When he went to meet with the Contract Devil he was focused, even excited, to pit his mind against a worthy adversary.
"Right," the Ambassador says, and holds up his seal of office. "The all-too-kindly one tells me you're the authority around here with the time and means to approve a diplomatic action." And he holds forth the long scroll he previously read to Drisquar and Illia-. "Feel free to inspect the charter and requests I have been given, and if possible we need a signature on it before I can officially purchase the embassy building your bards so nicely built for us."
"Authority, yes. Time, we do not trade away so freely." Anaxian rumbled, his voice echoing hollow from within his armor. "I will review the contract and return it with my own revisions. Then we may begin negotiations."
Anaxian, from both his knowledge and observation of the Ambassador's speech, gets the feeling that, while this devil would be no match for his graveknight in battle, it's likely as capable a liar, negotiator, and judge of intent as anyone else in the city.
Anaxian adds contract language allowing for re-negotiations of terms every ten years.
In addition, he adds language requiring the charter-holders and proprietors of the embassy to conduct themselves with the best interests of Escarra being given equal weight to the interests of Asmodeus and Hell.
Lastly, should the ruling council of Escarra reach a majority consensus that the charter-holders, the Embassy, or it's proprietors are not acting in good faith or in the best interests of Escarra, the charter may be revoked in it's entirety.
The only hidden clause Anaxian notices is that mentions of "commerce" could easily relate to the soul trade as well as standard merchantry.
The current contract has a similar revocation clause that provides a one-year "waiting period" during which both sides can either repair the agreement or take the entire year to evacuate their citizens safely. The Ambassador sees no reason to budge on the one-year waiting period, but is happy to amend the contract to account for decisions as made by the ruling political council in Escarra, which he artlessly pretends to know nothing about.
"It appears we have a mutually agreeable contract here." Anaxian said later.
"The only step left is to discuss what hell is offering in return for the signing of this contract."
"A word of caution," the Ambassador replies, "Devils respect taxes, but do not enjoy them. If you wish to impose levies on our trade, simply know that you may receive less interest and assistance from my compatriots in this region. That was a statement, not threat, and I see no issue."
And then he smiles, his teeth surprisingly white. "Hell is offering not to perceive you as a threat, nor a target," he explains. "That is a rare gift, and one offered to precious few nations and mortals alike. But your interests align with our Prince's, more than any larger nation on this half of the continent, and for that he offers friendship. Proper gifts of Hell, too, should you or yours choose to accept them at a later date. And should you wish to set up an embassy or trading post at the gates of Hell, we would allow it, subject to our own specific building laws."
"Those things are appreciated, and fully enumerated within the contract itself." Anaxian said, clearly enjoying himself.
"The issue of taxes is, likewise, enumerated. The possible help of theoretical compatriots who may or may not be in the region at any given point is more... nebulous. If you would like to fully document what those benefits would be and what they are worth, in lieu of taxation, we could certainly negotiate that."
"However, none of this addresses the indisputable fact that Hell is gaining far more out of this arrangement so far than Escarra is. Governments willing to give Hell an overt embassy in their capital and willing to conduct trade in good faith are rare. Even rarer are population centers where other divine forces do not already have a foothold."
"This contract would allow Hell to gain a solid presence in Escarra well before any other churches attempt to move in and vie for the souls of the populous."
"Such a headstart is valuable. Certainly worth more than the mildly backhanded threat of "we will not view you as enemies."
"While I appreciate backhanded threats as much as anyone else, I believe negotiations should be mutually and equally beneficial. So I have not mentioned, for example, that I could summon and bind a dozen or so of your brethren and compel them to negotiate against you on Escarra's behalf. I do not believe such things are necessary between two like-minded people who's goals are transparent and aligned."
"So, what I propose, is that we each look at the contract from the other's viewpoint, a thought exercise, if you will, which allows us to attempt to gain the most mutually beneficial contract possible."
"For instance, were I in your position, I would attempt to include an exclusivity clause which would prevent other divine institutions apart from Asmodeus and the Red Lady from entering into similar contracts with Escarra for a period of, say, five years."
"If you were to initiate a proposal like that, what do you think I should ask for as fair recompense?"
The Ambassador shakes his head. "You think like a dragon, not a devil. Hell does not hoard. Escarra has little material wealth, and no population to speak of, but it has the potential to grow into a new moral anchor for the Darklands. Here in Sekamina, a continent dominated by demon-worshipping Drow and Ghouls, this city may spark new and more lawful cities in place of the old and corrupt ones. But granting Asmodeus special religious position in your city would only draw neighbors' animosity, and mark you as part of Hell's holdings. The Princes of the Pit have little stake in the demon-infested worlds underground; we only wish to make our teachings known, and see that this city does not fall to an invasion of demonic savages."
"So I were you, I would ask for a piece of that which Hell provides best: safety and order. The Ambassadors of Hell are more capable than you realize; ask for the right to call upon us and some small portions our patrons' wrath in defense of this city against a siege. Should safety truly be your priority, perhaps ask Malfeasance to establish an Asmodean Hellknight order in this city, training some of your new refugees in the discipined guard tactics of Hell."
And the Ambassador shakes his head. "But I do not play games. I follow commands, and write contracts. Let me know when this document is to your satisfaction, and I will return to Dispater to await Basileus's signature on the updated version."
"Very well." Anaxian said, going back to his revisions, adding in contract language relatedto thier discussions. "It should be ready in short order."
With negotiations concluded, the Ambassador shifts back to Hell, returning three days later with a signed contract. Immediately, he and the four Barbazu move into their new residence. Currently, Hell's embassy has dozens of rooms, most of them empty; but as Drisquar followed the Ambassador's construction requests precisely, it is likely that they will not stay likely.
By the end of the month, Mal and his imps have taken charge of the embassy's Eastern wing, and run daily combat drills with two of the Barbazu in a nearby yard; a few of the young Drow boys appear occasionally as spectators, though they keep their distance.
It's been over a month, but finally the Crimson Stranger reappears at the gates of Escarra. Over the next few hours, she calls the party—and Jiator, and Sir John—to a meeting in the newly constructed town hall.
First, she apologizes for such a long absence; she is happy to see Jiator returned alongside his impressive retinue of bards, but did not expect the party to accomplish this so quickly. "I spent the past month searching for allies," she explains, "In unexpected places. We never investigated the Rain of Stars in our search for immortality, Jiator—and that was an oversight. Strange things have crawled out of the Silver Mount in the last millennium, and Numeria is a nation transformed from what you may remember. Not much of the magic of the Androffans has made its way underground, let alone to Garund, and I may have found a new and secret weapon for this city. The Technic League called him 'a perfect instrument of death,' when I tortured the agents who refused to treat with me; he is an ancient wizard of Old Androffa, who has found a path beyond death through artistry entirely different than our own, and all he seeks in exchange for his secrets is a chance to conduct his research away from the nuisances of surface life. And perhaps a few assistants, and some rare metals, and aid in testing a few weapons, but these are things Escarra can provide."
And then she sits up straight, and imposing; for the first time, you see her pale skin briefly flicker, and for a second the Crimson Stranger is a translucent skeleton wearing too many layers of see-through flesh. And then she is whole again, and speaks with a different voice, at a frequency that seems to resonate the very room you sit in, shaking dust from ancient carvings of stylized rainbows and skulls. "So, now begins the first meeting of the Council of Colors in over twenty-five hundred years. Red, black, and violet preside, hosting petitioners; the meeting will proceed in Undercommon for the convenience of our audience."
The Stranger returns to her normal voice, though it is still more resonant than before. "This city has been restored—and I offer you all the chance to be a part of its leadership and growth, should you so choose. Escarra was built as a refuge, a palace of freedom where the world's truly powerful and uninhibited could study magic and war uninhibited by the petty concerns of the living. A place where I could contemplate eternity, Sir John could perfect his reanimations, and Jiator could see his artistic vision realized properly. Others, too, who came later. This hall was once the seat of the Council of Colors, Escarra's ruling body, and it is only its layer upon layer of protection magics that allowed any remnant of it and my libraries to survive at all."
"But the Council is small. For those of you who wish to join the three of us as equals, I will explain its charter. One, Escarra has no true rulers—our titles are those we craft, and earn, for ourselves—though in the past, I have served as the city's governor, overseeing its administration. I do not wish to take on that role again." And she pauses, listening to a telepathic message, before continuing. "Though Jiator, apparently, has a new-found interest in leadership. Hmm. Such an appointment, as most major decisions in this city, would need to be approved by a simple Council majority."
"Point two. Council members are inducted—and can be expelled—by a simple majority vote of existing members. However, we require three things of all such petitioners, to be argued in writing, speech, or some other form. First, members of the Council must have found a way to defeat death, in a permanent fashion. Second, members must offer a unique or exceptional talent to the success or survival of this city. Third, members of the Council must be master of their own soul, and their own destiny."
"Should you wish to remain in this city, build your own residence, and even take on a role of local leadership, there is no requirement that any of you join the Council of Colors. Should you wish to do so, however, Jiator, John and I will be happy to hear such petitions now, or over the next few weeks."
At some point during the meeting, Jiator begins speaking to you telepathically; he explains, overlapping with the other conversation, that the building you sit in was once used to create new liches, and he'd be happy to show you how to put the finishing touches on your own transformation once this room is not being used for another purpose.
"Soo, I'm cool with Jiator leading, if you don't want to, though, um, I don't actually get a vote on that. Though, I'd want to know what you'd like to do in the city, if anything. You're obviously capable, but you don't seem to want the responsibility."
"If you don't feel like doing anything, we've been talking, and we think it might be a good idea to contact our old members, like Iranaset and Myse. We could use the help, and they were pretty competent and didn't betray us. Now, contact's very much within our abilities, but getting them here within the month might be a bit harder. Any help with that would be awesome!"
"On the subject of council-ship, I'm wondering about "defeat death". I don't age, never have. But I can totally be stabbed to death if the person stabbing is really good at stabbing. Do I count on that one?"
"While I can not currently 'defeat death', achieving such, and possibly ascending to the Council of Color is a noble goal. In the meantime, I would like to offer you my services as your personal assassin"
"Angels are not simply created," replies the Crimson Lady. "Nor are Azata. You were both petitioners once, mortals full of ideals and passions so strong that, despite how misguided they may have been, they turned you into creatures of afterlife. Neither of you fear old age, which should be sufficient for the future; but to have defeated death, it would be sufficient to learn who you once were, when you were mortal."
And at Drisquar's second comment, she laughs, a surprisingly human sound. "I have no need of a personal assassin. But an impersonal assassin could be quite helpful. This city may very well need someone to root out the foreign spies and demonic mischief that once plagued it, and your skills would be ideal for the task."
"And Illia-: should you need to contact one of my former agents, I would be happy to provide the necessary Discern Location spell."
Anaxian the Larger listened attentively. He was in the very presence of the entity he'd accepted as his personal God. His eyes burned brighter, hotter than usual. His whole body looked like it had been carved from slate grey basalt, the fissures where his scales met glowing from beneath like lava beneath stone.
He sat proudly, somewhat catlike, his newly polished armor displaying the heraldry of Adrexa drawn in molten fire on his chest.
"I will serve. Wherever is best suited. I meet the criteria. With your approval, I will claim a seat on your council as Anaxian the Grey"
"And I, as Anaxian the Pale."
"Hmm." The Stranger ponders. "Young dragon, ask again when you have lived a lifetime of experiences that are your own, not a single month. But the elder dragon here may be ready."
"I serve an ancient and obtuse entity known as the Watcher. He powers my spells and requires very little of me beyond the typical obedience rituals. We get along great because of this. Currently, your (Crimson) goals and mine align quite well and I'm happy to assist. I have some grudges to settle and as such I'd like to build a powerful Drow house here in Escarra. The understanding being that at some point in the future i'll be moving on a couple of specific matron mothers located elsewhere that slighted me."
*Meredian looks thoughtful for a moment* 'I wonder if they're still alive. ... A question for another time. Regardless, i'd like to set up a base of power here. We can be mutually beneficial to one another. "
"As there is a large influx of Drow I'd like to give them the option to join my soon to be thriving house. If they decline you may do with them as you wish."
"I digress. I too, will serve Escarra as it serves me."
"Hmm." The Stranger ponders. "Young dragon, ask again when you have lived a lifetime of experiences that are your own, not a single month. But the elder dragon here may be ready."
"With respect, I think you misunderstand the nature of what we are. Everything I have experienced up until my counterpart's creation, he remembers. In terms of memories, our experiences, up until a few months ago, are identical."
"Even now, due to our telepathic link and our penchant for sharing a single body, our experiences are, perhaps, seventy percent similar."
"We are, in essence, one being spread across multiple bodies. where we differ is primarily in our intellectual focuses."
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"And physical stature." the larger dragon rumbled aloud.
Anaxian the larger was a little closer to living. He wasn't yet above short jokes.
And organic structure. a new voice echoed from the smaller dragon, black void drinking in the violet energies that had been there before.
The larger dragon spoke again, the red flames beneath the stony scales dying completely leaving his body looking carved of rock, his eyes glinting like polished metal and his new voice clang and rasp of grinding steel.
"One entity."
A fifth voice added to the chorus from the mind of the smaller dragon, this one causing a flare of green energies from the little dragon's eyes and running along the usually hidden runes and tattoos tracing his skin. This Anaxian sounded like a fast monotone, almost a series of clicks rather than words. It hummed with life but was completely devoid of emotion or artistic flare. It was as if someone had replaced Anaxian with a very energetic golem.
"Five points of view."
Meridian raises an eyebrow at the dragon game of musical soul chairs.
"Remind me to stay on your good side."
She says flatly.
"...Or sides as the case may be."
"In that case—" the Stranger thinks, "Well, it's a unique feat. I have met other dracoliches who did not share your proclivities. Perhaps, for the purposes of this Council, we should then consider all of you to be the same creature."
"... lest they form a majority." Sir John adds.
"... lest they form a majority." Sir John adds.
Meridian points at Sir John and nods. The implication being that she concurs.
"Other Dracoliches are short-sighted. It is the fundemental limitation of power. Ambition is ever the drive of those who consider themselves as prey. Once at the top of a food chain, the concern shifts away from progress and more towards thwarting the progress of others. Dragons are predators first and foremost. They are victims of their own nature. My goal has ever been to avoid the pitfalls of my kind."
"The concern that I will form a majority of one is reasonable." The smaller Anaxian agreed. Perhaps in lieu of a standard color moniker, 'The Prismatic' would be more apropriate."
"Well," the Stranger concludes, "We'll have to discuss this further. For now, I have been traveling, and will need some time to recover."
Over the course of the next week, the party finds appropriate leaders and volunteers for every task and committee that arises in the new city. The Drow summoner whom Illia- named "Myse" is found drinking away her sorrows in a Lavosha tavern, and is transported to Escarra via portable hole teleport, willing to act as a representative for the new Drow in exchange for something, anything to do.
Not long later, a strange creature called Inubrix shows up, requesting land and resources on which to build a research lab.
Along what remains of the road north from Escarra, a solitary creature walks tirelessly toward the ruins of the city gate. It stands in place momentarily, as if lost in thought. Abruptly, it begins walking again, along the "streets" of the city, searching for the first intelligent being it can find.
The creature's face, deep within the cowl of a rich blue cloak, appears to lack a mouth. Under the piercing eyes and faintest slit of a nose, the face is smooth; clearly constructed though the entire thing is artificially humanoid in shape. Among lavish-looking clothes, the creature wears armor that consists of coin-sized plates of pale green crystal affixed to a thick jacket of cloth-like material. One shoulder is fully covered in a pauldron of this material, affixed to the back of which is a device that looks like a shipping crane, though scaled down to the size of a humanoid arm and folded compact against the construct's body. It walks with a strange staff of sorts, approximately as wide in the middle as a human forearm and burgeoning to nearly the width of a human thigh at each end. Consisting of six large segments, it is covered in an amalgam of metal plates of varying colors.
The construct walks to the nearest intelligent creature it can see, a drow woman in tattered and dirty clothes, and begins speaking to her.
"Greeting: Hello. Query: I was invited here by the Red Lady, will you direct me to her or her designated representatives?"
Getting no answer apart from the woman shrinking from it and sliding into the shadows of an alley, the construct stands up straight, rigid with possible disappointment or confusion. It then turns and walks down the street to the next being.
"Greeting: Hello. Query: I was invited here by the Red Lady, will you direct me to her or her designated representatives?"