"I can handle the spell, once we have a suitable gem. The way I see it, the tent is probably best for it, since everyone'll be on the move. And Havakhad should probably be present, Selkatiri is probably going to be disoriented."
To the late-arriving soldiers, "Please gently restrain the unconscious woman over there. She was placed under a magical compulsion to attack me prior to your monarch's gentle tap to the head removed her from the fight. I don't know if the spell has run its course."
"Assuming there is a location we can safely use teleportation magic, we should be able to exit well enough. What we look like when we arrive, even how many of us are obviously present, those are elements we can obscure."
Gil pulls Ez aside given the opportunity. "The disappearance of the Riedran witch bothers me a great deal. We don't know if she's actually left or if she has some means of jumping bodily into a host as the quori do. What if she's riding one of us? Would you see that with your augmented sight?"
Prince Kor wearily waves a hand. "Don't worry about the bodies, we can dispose of them, we have experience in that. And naturally, we have a number of ways out of here which don't involve walking out of the front door." He waves over the remaining technician, he limps up and nods. "Show these guests to the night gate so they can make their exit." The prince returns to the discussion between the leaders of the Five Nations.
"I will stay with you for the moment," says Havakhad, "Until Selkatiri is returned to us." The tent is quickly erected and Havakhad accompanies Selkatiri's body inside, gawping in surprise at the palatial space inside the gaudy exterior. Meanwhile, Janosz expels the goblin Jeeboo from his comfortable incarceration at knife-point, handing him over with a few words concerning cultists and abominations in the depth of Sharn.
With the tent stowed again, the adventurers are led out of the chamber. The Citadel headquarters in a warren and after being led through dusty back corridors and down narrow staircases they are soon thoroughly disoriented. After what feels like about half-an-hour of walking, they reach an anonymous door, beside which lounge two guards who straighten up and eye the group suspiciously. The technician pushes it open, to reveal an open alleyway, above which rear the towers of the central district far above. "This is Myshan District. It's pretty quiet, you can pick up a skycab round the corner."
There's the sound of running feet and a page in Citadel livery runs up clutching a velvet bag. "I've been told to deliver this to Master Soranath," he pants. He hands it over. Inside is a single diamond.
We'll get the diamond to Kaz in the tent. Then - skycab to the Cathedral? Should we attempt to affect some sort of disguise before setting out?
"Gil does her shape-changey thing, gets ahold of a skycab and brings it back here. We all board it and fly to see the Flamish big cheese."
"Or everyone can get in the tent and I'll walk us there through alleys and sewer."
"I would suggest that three of us remain outside the tent. That's not such a large group as to make a skycab crowded or necessarily draw attention, especially if I can craft an illusion to make us a bit average in appearance. Father Xativa, I thought that you and Janosz made the most sense to remain outside the tent. What do you think?" She grins, "And what do you want to look like? If I can imagine it, I can do it. Perhaps a pair of lizardmen? Or savage halflings from the Talenta Plains!"
"Sounds good to me. How 'bout three Valenar elves? Nobody tangles with a group of Valenar."
"That sounds delightful. Just so long as we don't run into any real Valenar elves ... Runzyl excepted of course."
"Pray we don't run into a trio of true Valenar. That could be awkward."
The swashbuckler pulls his cloak up and over his head to obscure himself while he changes form. When the cloak is lowered, Janosz is startled to see Jalana looking back at him - or a very good imitation. Seeing his eyes widen ever so slightly, the changeling says, "It's kind of a tribute to a friend and ally."
Using a pocket mirror to watch the progress, she adds a small mole to her chin and adjusts her eye and hair color, the former to a very dark brown, the latter to a reddish gold. "It would be disrespectful to copy her too closely, but her image is a good starting point."
"As for you two..." She begins casting a spell and the magic washes over the three of them, augmenting her disguise and creating theirs, and soon Jalana is accompanied by two Valenar warriors, similar enough to be her brothers. The three of them smell faintly of leather and woodsmoke, as though they've camped their way across the continent and haven't been in Sharn all that long.
She offers Janosz a look in the mirror. "So - let me do the talking, if we must talk at all, right? And what do you think?"
"Damn. This is a good illusion." Still grinning, Janosz' face changes into a fierce snarl. "Anidlye, filthy human! I think I'm ready."
Rod practices walking like Runzyl.
The three faux Valenar saunter round the corner, two of them trying to look casual. A rank of skycabs is lined up not far away. At the front, a goblin driver sits in the cab with his nose in a newssheet. He glances up and gives them a quick appraising look. "Where to?"
"Cathedral. Cleansing Flame," Rodergo answers laconically.
The goblin nods and jerks his thumb towards the back of the skycab.
Elf-Janosz gives the back of the skycab a quick onceover before getting in.
Gil-as-Jalana motions for one of the men to climb in first so she can sit in the middle. Settled in, she silently casts a spell, her hands going through the motions. She leans over to each of Valenar-Rod and Valendar-Janosz and whispers, "Nondetection. I should have cast it earlier."
"Hey, Ez - any way we can make the dead talk to us? They are bound to know a thing or three about that Inspired temple-thing they are building across the river."
"No. With preparation I could animate their shells, but to contact the spirit you would need a priest. However in this case it could be complicated. The giants are of this world, but not. We can not know if it was truly the soul of the giant in control and present or if it was merely a vessel inhabited by another Quori. You might contact the original spirit of the body to find it had actually died fifteen years ago or was technically alive, but unaware of the world around it. Or... it might work. In either case, it is outside of my area of study."
Gil pulls Ez aside given the opportunity. "The disappearance of the Riedran witch bothers me a great deal. We don't know if she's actually left or if she has some means of jumping bodily into a host as the quori do. What if she's riding one of us? Would you see that with your augmented sight?"
"Possession, no. I am not sure I would be able to see that once she was inside a host. She would need a willing host to merge with though. I do not beleive her enchantment on an unconscious host would qualify, but the psychic abilities of the Reidrans continually surprise me. So, I do not know."
While Kazadar prepares the body for his ritual, Ezreal stiffly observes with hands clasped behind his back. During a mometary pause he says, "It occurs to me that in a foreign land where we know neither custom, history or people we could use a guide that we trust."
Gil pulls Ez aside given the opportunity. "The disappearance of the Riedran witch bothers me a great deal. We don't know if she's actually left or if she has some means of jumping bodily into a host as the quori do. What if she's riding one of us? Would you see that with your augmented sight?"
Some cabdrivers like to chat. This goblin isn't one of them, but he at least steers the skycab through the evening traffic efficiently. The Cathedral is also in Central and it doesn't take long to get there. The three "elves" pay the taciturn driver and the skycab speeds away.
The Cathedral towers above the plaza, an imposing presence of high stone walls, statuary and stained glass. The doorway itself is and impressive twenty feet high, the doors open to invite in those who might wish to save their souls through the worship of the Silver Flame.
Rodergo, Gil and Janosz stroll in. Beyond is the huge expanse of the central nave, endless rows of wooden pews in a forest of fluted columns that support the decorated vaults of the ceiling above. Light streams in from the high windows in a riot of bright colours and the air thrums with prayer, incense and the chants of a distant choir. Supplicants murmur in rapt worship, heads bent and eyes closed, while priests in white cassocks walk about their business. The aura of holiness is almost palpable even when, as now, there is no service currently in progress.
Rodergo murmurs a prayer to the Flame and glances about for a quiet, unoccupied side chapel in which to change back to their normal appearance and unload Rolund (and anyone else who wishes to emerge) from the tent.
Kazadar will help the newly resurrected woman briefly orient herself to what happened, then leave the two kalashtar to discuss with each other their future plans. He will emerge when Rodergo does from the tent.
As the reunited group emerge, this time in their own forms, an elderly priest walks up. Glancing disapprovingly at their weapons he asks, "May I help you?" He then notices Rodergo.
"Father Xativa? Ah, I take it these are your associates. How may I assist?"
“Father Brion, the Flame smile on you old chum. I do apologise about the weapons, but dangerous times you know. We must see Lady Agan on a matter of some urgency. She may be expecting us …”
"On another crusade, Father? Of course, this way."
Father Brion leads the group to an anonymous door and leads them through. Beyond is a cloister, a quadrangle containing a carefully tended garden surrounded by a covered walkway on all four sides. Some lay brothers look up curiously from where then kneel, doing the weeding, as the adventurers pass by. Through another door, and down some stairs, they pass under a raised portcullis to reach a guardroom where two knights eye them coolly but do not stop them. Heading down a corridor, which echoes to the sound of distant sword practice, Father Brion halts and knocks.
"Enter," calls a woman's voice.
Father Brion opens the door. "Lady Agan, Father Xativa and his associates to see you."
"Thank you, Father Brion, I have been expecting them. You may go."
Aris Agan sits behind a desk dressed in a simple tunic tied at the waist, quill in hand. However, there is no missing her warrior's poise from her broad shoulders and the scars on her muscular bare arms. Her blond hair is carelessly tied back and she sits back, fixing the group with her piercing blue eyes.
"Father Xativa, it has been a while."
Rodergo presses the fingers of both hands together in the sign of the Flame and bows to his superior. “Flamebearer Agan, good day, Flame be with you. Ah … well, things have been busy, fighting the good fight and all. I … may have been a little lax on my reporting, but not in my duty I do hope. Lady Agan, these are my companions;”
He begins introducing everyone; “ … and lastly, Haladon ir’Tarravan, lately and again of the Silver Flame.”
Haladon takes a bow. "Lady Agan."
"Ma'am." Janosz nods respectfully at the Flamic warden. "It has been a while since the opening of the Cloud Citadel. How is High Deacon Hoppe these days?"
"Of course, Father. Not to worry" - she gives a rueful smile - "the newssheets have kept me quite up-to-date with your movements. And High Deacon Toppe is much the same, Sir Frogshanks, as I'm sure you would expect.
"I received a message from the Keeper that you would be coming here. I understand you have a long journey ahead of you. The Keeper requested that I provide you with whatever assistance you require.
"In addition, I understand that Sir Haladon has had a change of heart. The Keeper has asked me to assess him for readiness to rejoin the Church as a Knight."
"I am confident I am ready to rejoin the faith."
"I'm sure you are. However, I understand that you have all had a trying day. Any discussion can wait until morning. Please feel free to rest here tonight. This place should be safe."
"We accept your hospitality, my lady."
Gil-as-Jalana opts for her room in the tent unless that seems inappropriate to the holy folk in the party.
Besides, being in an extradimensional space while being hunted seems wise.
Kazadar will rest in the room provided, guarding the entrance of the tent as necessary.
Gil-as-Jalana opts for her room in the tent unless that seems inappropriate to the holy folk in the party.
Besides, being in an extradimensional space while being hunted seems wise.
| 3 people marked this as a favorite. |
The adventurers all turn in.
Ezreal crosses a bleak, lifeless plain. His footprints stir the dust which falls listless back down in the still air. The sky is roiled by dark grey clouds that hide the sun. As he walks his feet crunch on something, his boot crushing a human skull.
He knows this place from personal experience. It is the Mournland.
Ahead is a tower. It seems far away, yet he can make out its details quite clearly. Atop the tower, something is shining with an intense silver light. The light is so bright that Ezreal has to turn away.
A voice whispers, "Bring the light from the dark."
As he averts his gaze, he notices movement in the soil. Something is crawling out of the earth. An hand, then an arm, head, shoulders - a humanoid figure tears itself from the ground. It turns towards him, and Ezreal realises it is a warforged soldier. All about him hundreds, thousands of warforged are emerging across the plain, birthed from the sterile land.
A voice behind him grates, "The fleshed must be destroyed." Ezreal turns to see a powerfully-built warforged, eyes glowing crimson, its cloak whipping restlessly even in the still air. Darkheart raises a hand and bathes Ezreal in agonising crimson fire.
Ezreal awakens in the dark of his room. Somehow, he knows this was not just a dream.
The night passes uneventfully. A page finds the group and requests that they meet Lady Aris in a chapel within the cathedral precincts. They find her finishing her morning prayers. She is now more formally dressed in her shining silver armour, two sword hilts poking above her shoulders.
"Thank you for meeting me here. I would like to discuss with Sir Haladon whether he is ready to rejoin the Church as a knight. I may need witness testimony to make my decision."
She turns he gaze to Haladon. "You killed your mother. Then you fled to a land hostile to our faith to escape justice, and joined an order which revels in undead filth. Tell me why I should not strike you down now as a murderer and a deviant?"
Rodergo glances at Haladon askance. Killed his mother ... oh. True or false? And if true, was that 'Haladon' or 'Rolund'? he thinks.
“Please allow me to reveal the nature of my curse and the true reason for my betrayal,” Haladon responds and proceeds to remove his coat and shirt. Once he does so, all can see the aberrant mark on the left side of his body. A dark purple miasma of madness and death marking his fingertips up his left arm, on the left side of his chest and lower abdomen, and crawling up his neck.
“The death of my mother is one of the few memories that have not faded. And I am thankful to the Flame for that grace.”
“I know her death was an accident now. But at that time, my passions took over and I let my mark rule my actions. Something that I would have let it continue to this day if I had not seen the courage and honor of my friends and the faith of Father Rodergo and Lightbringer.”
“They helped me regain my honor and my faith. They stood by me when the mark threatened to consume me. And ultimately, they made the tough decision to save me by leaving me with the Master to regain my sanity.”
“As you can see, the mark remains but I am hopeful that with the aid of my friends and my faith in the Silver Flame, I will be able to hold the curse in abeyance.”
Haladon remains quiet for a moment while he gathers his thoughts.
“You spoke of justice for my mother. For that I can truly offer no excuse. And if the Flame wishes to take my life, I will not resist.”
"I am sure Father Rodergo is a true servant of the Flame. But isn't a man the sum of his actions. You put the blame upon your mark, yet if you had faith in the Flame would you have acted the way you did? Would you have joined the Bone Knights and consorted with undead? Does the blame lay with the mark, or with you?"
Kazadar remains silent, watching the discussion with his helmet off. Few members of his faith were allowed to see the inner workings of another faith so closely.
She turns he gaze to Haladon. "You killed your mother. Then you fled to a land hostile to our faith to escape justice, and joined an order which revels in undead filth. Tell me why I should not strike you down now as a murderer and a deviant?"
"50 gold on the warden," Janosz mutters to Ezreal. "I'll throw in something shiny for the bird, too."