"I could weave an obfuscation for someone to sneak in and recover the tome." B'yelka looks pointedly at Drosil, "Unless I have misunderstood your reputation."
Dantrian looks pointedly at B'yelka as she remains seemingly fixated on the act of breaking into the upper floor of the library. He seems about to speak and offer some form of rebuttal, but then stops himself and instead chooses to remain quiet.
Janos chuckles. "Ok, maybe we're getting ahead of ourselves. Dantrian, if you think Belik can help convince the Warden to allow you into his room for the book, by all means. No need for stealing."
The Halo of Dreams is a religious text, Dantrian? B'yelka, have you ever heard of it?
I might be able to persuade Belik to help us further, though I wouldn't want to put him at risk.
Dantrian nods to Anton, "A Desnan text, in fact, unless my suspicions about these Stairs of the Moon are wrong."
"I have never heard of any Halo of Dreams. But as you know, my homeland was not very fond of anything wearing Halos." B'yelka gives a small laugh as if humor would explain everything.
It's not a text I am familiar with. he shakes his head.
So what's our next step?
Arms folded within the sleeves of his robe, Ashan keeps his head down and listens intently as the others discuss their findings and the results of their research in the lodge. As the topic begins to twist and turn towards matters of the Warden and Belik, Ashan's masked countenance lifts and his black eyes scan the faces of his compatriots in steely silence. Finally, after a brief look to Janos, Ashan speaks.
"I can gain access to the Warden's chambers. Ir ghilas tu enas dorf banal'ras." There is a matter-of-fact explanation of this, a wave of one gloved hand, then a glance upward in the direction of the Warden's chambers. "I do not much care how he perceives this intrusion, provided that it moves us closer to our goal and the Way.Had we more time and the appropriate resources I could consult spirits of this place for more information. Unfortunately I lack the incense and ivory totems required for such a communion."
____
Has the Warden been elusive? the paladin asks. So far he seems to have been very accomodating, why don't we just ask him about all this?
Dantrain replies smoothly, but with a perceptible tightness in his tone, "We will call upon Belik first. If he is unable to render aid, then we can discuss other means of getting a look at this text." As he speaks, he shakes his head softly as he pinches the bridge of his nose. After taking a short breath, he continues, "We should also at least discuss the matter of the annonymous note Anton and I received. Though not explicitly stated within the note, it has an air of threat about it."
Personally I think it was a clear threat, Dantrian. And if possible I'd rather we not move about this place alone from now on. Still, that's another thing we could ask the Warden about and more often than not I'll know if someone is lying to me.
"Your concern for the opinions of the people in this lodge are holding us back." Ashan patiently explains. "We are surrounded by uninterested or uninvolved parties who may or may not have seen the Way come through this region. That the Warden of this lodge was ignorant—willfully or not—of the Way's passing through this area only compounds his incompetence and unimportance. While we worry about the appropriate path to get what it is we need, agents of the Way continue to expand the distance between us."
Wringing his gloved hands together, Ashan shakes his head and looks down at the floor. "The note is clearly a threat, which implies that we are in the midst of enemies. Whether they are our enemies because we are outsiders or our enemies because they are a part of this diversion," by which he means the werewolf situation, "is inconsequential. We need the book to learn more about our objective, the Warden has been wholly unhelpful up until this point and I cannot foresee him becoming more competent. We should take the book and be done with this place. I do not understand the need for half-measures here. The Stairs of the Moon will be dangerous enough going without further information, the restless spirits there tormented by Tar-Baphon's passing will not easily be calmed, and without knowing more I...[/i]" Ashan exhales a slow, calming breath.
"Time has ground my patience for these situations to dust," sounds less impassioned and frustrated, if only just.
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At the mention of angry spirits, Drosil's head whips around to stare at Ashan. "Are you suggesting that we might have to deal with more angry spirits than we have already? I got quite enough of that in that Gods-be-damned prison, and am most surely not looking forward to more of the same. Sure, we came through it alive, but only barely." He pauses, then says, more softly, "...and we had Tibideau."
Drosil's comment makes Ashan realize he may have laid bare more than he was intending. Taking a moment to compose himself, Ashan wrings his gloved hands together again. "That..." there's no putting those words back in his mouth, "is the case. If my memory serves me, Tar-Baphon is purported to have destroyed the Stairs of the Moon. Those that perished in his wake did not find peace in death, and their restless spirits have been bound to that place ever since."
Solemnly, and with a hushed tone Ashan adds, "That is why I was so insistent about offering proper last rites to that hung man we found. This forest has enough disquieted dead in it, it did not need another spirit born of violence languishing for eternity in its bosom."
Dantrian nods at Anton, conceeding to the Desnan's point. "Do you wish to call upon the Warden then, Anton? I only mentioned Belik as a go between as the Warden's tone with Ashan earlier was somewhat short. If you feel you will have some luck where Ashan did not, then by all means, please do so."
Then, turning to Ashan, the silver-haired alchemist listens, his fingers steepled before his chin. As Ashan's words continue though, Dantrian's face darkens and his brow knits with building anger. A moment later, and Dantrian's eyes flash yellow before his arms draw reflexively around his gut as he suddenly grunts in pain.
He falls forward out of his chair to his knees, his shoulders straining against fabric now too tight to contain them. As the curse exerts itself, muscles bulge, skin stretches, and silver fur grows thick and fast. After a few stunning moments, the change is done. Kneeling in the center of the group with his head bowed as he recovers, a low, rolling growl rumbles in Dantrian's throat as he slowly looks up, his yellow eyes fixed on Ashan.
"Don't speak to me of half-measures." The voice is clearly not Dantrian's and its tone is filled with violence and savage rage. "I've half a mind to rip your throat out you mewling littl-" as the figure voices its threat and seems to gather itself to spring, its words are cut off by another grunt. Stumbling back a step, the hulking werewolf falls heavily into Dantrian's chair, shaking its head. When it next opens its eyes, they are no longer yellow; they are Dantrian's once more, but they are all that seemingly remain of the alchemist.
He raises both clawed hands placatingly. "My- apologies." Though rough and bestial, the voice is recognizably Dantrian's once more. "That- was a near thing." He lowers his hands, the silver fur above his eyes arching in sadness. He looks to Ashan, shaking his head forlornly in the process. "If you weren't previously aware, perhaps now you see why we must tread lightly while here and why we- why I- need your patience for a bit longer? I understand your desire to see the Way thwarted, but my... condition complicates things. Especially here."
Dantrian's sudden transformation before Ashan's eyes cause the masked elf to pause, a certain stoicism—or is it paralysis?—replacing his hand-wringing from earlier. When the beast finally lurches into a slouched posture in the chair, Ashan looks to the others for recognition or surprise, to see just how much he has yet to discover about them. Then, finally, Ashan's head tilts to the side in subtle curiosity.
"I can take that from you," is all Ashan says, "if it is too heavy a burden to carry any longer." With that the masked elf offers out one of his hands, his black eyes seeming deeper than ever.
____
Dantrian's face twists in surprise before he guardedly asks, "How would you do this? You would assume this curse yourself?"
"Through magic," Ashan explains with his usual opacity. "And yes, I would take it into myself. But I am..." he hesitates on how to explain, "I am accustomed to dealing with such irregularities. A strong will and the knowledge to control the curse—and how to cure it—are all that is required. The remainder, the spirits will see to." The hand remains offered, and Ashan's impassive mask hides whatever confidence or concern may be behind it.
Dantrian shakes his head at the confirmation. "Then no. Thank for your willingness to help, but I would not see this curse pass to anyone, regardless of how long the magics would last. It is- a feral and willful affliction." Taking another steadying breath, Dantrian then turns to Anton, "Though this does remind me that you expressed some curiosity toward the so-called 'scar ward' Duristan had mentioned. Did you happen to look into it at all?"
Anton readies himself to retort to Ashan, his talk of half measures ground on his nerves. Had he forgotten that if it weren't for them he would still, at best, be swinging by a spider's thread?
But before he can say anything he watches in horror as Dantrian's muscles ripple and his bones twist and crack with the beginning of the transformation the alchemist had always feared.
Within a moment the silver haired man regains his composure and as he turns toward Anton to ask about the scar ward, he finds the paladin lowering his bow, a glinting silver tipped arrow knocked and ready to fire.
The motion had been automatic, without thought. At the first intonation of hungry anger, instinct and muscle memory took over and in a motion of a thousand practiced shots, he slid an arrow from its quiver, laid it on the string and drew, ready to end his friends life.
Firing would have been the hardest thing he had ever done. But he would have fired.
He made a promise to Dantrian. And he was a man who kept his word.
As he lowers the bow he says;
I... I did not get the chance. Perhaps we don't have the... Time to be diplomatic after all. Ashan if you can get into the wardens office undetected, I suppose we have no choice. he says, his eyes full of concern.
"We have at least one day yet, if I am the cause of your concern. It is unlikely the curse will take me again today. If the Warden doesn't prove accomodating to you, then, by all means, let's see how else we can gain access to this book." He looks next to B'yelka, then spreads his arms wide as if to put himself on visual display. "You wanted me to inquire further later, but now seems fine given my current state. I trust you see my interest in this visitor described to you? The woman you spoke to could have just as easily been describing me. So I suspect the person who met with our Quarry was a lycanthrope; likely from the same pack to which I can attribute my affliction."
B'yelka at first reaches out at Dantrian's distress, but as the beast within him asserts and threatens Ashan she is taken aback. She sees Anton's bow come to the ready and the tell tale glint of silver at the arrow's tip. All riled up! Ashan, was that your plan? Still not sure what to think of the masked elf, the Diva watches the exchange, the talk of taking curses and how Dantrian responds. No, don't give this lycanthropy to Ashan; that may be why he is here in the first place!
"Well then, now that the excitement is past let's get back to the task at hand. That foolish book. Ashan, how long would it take for you to get it and return? Can you do it before the dinner meal? Do you need us to distract the warden? I think I can arrange something on that order. I have been told I have a gift for manipulating crowds."
"Tsk tsk, Mister Almaeus. I suspected that too; the garou being so active here is not a coincidence along with our arrival." She stands up and adds, "No, my question to you was going to be, 'did your original attacker have silver hair, or was he a silver wolf?' But, I did not want to discuss that here with so many ears."
Dantrian shakes his head. "Truthfully, B'yelka, I can't say. It was dark in the flooded ruin and I carried an open torch. I saw little more than a shadowy, colorless shape before I was struck and my torch clattered into a puddle." The alchemist goes quiet at the recalled memory for a long moment. "I'd presumed the change in my hair was due to Petros' serum, but now I wonder if my assailant had in fact been a silver wolf, as you suggest."
I'll trust your judgement on that Dantrian. I'm sorry.. Ah... he looks suddenly embarrassed. About the bow I mean.
"And you have nothing to apologize for, Dear Anton. We all know the risk Mister Almaeus believes he poses to us. He asked us to take that final measure if need be."
Caught off-guard by something Dantrian said, Ashan mutters to himself. "Vir lasa ir'beneres arle ar'na..." But it is Anton's sudden acceptance and B'yelka's inquiry that shakes him out of his whimsy. Composing himself, Ashan straightens his robe and looks down to the floor briefly.
"I have a spell that can locate the tome's precise location, and another that can transform me into living smoke. I can't guarantee that the Warden won't realize someone was in his study. But I could be in and out within a minute's time, provided I can find a proper means of ingress—a cracked window, a gap at the bottom of a door." It certainly seems that Ashan has thought his approach through. "What comes after, however... We may need to make a hasty exit, depending on reactions."
Dantrian looks down at his twisted form. "Hasty exits are not exactly at my disposal presently. Seen as I am currently, the entirety of the lodge would turn violent in an instant. If you all feel gripped by some mysterious need to acquire the sought after book by larcenous means, then at least wait until the curse loosens its hold on me." He then adds as a quiet aside, "Presuming it does loosen its hold, of course."
Janos breathes a sigh of relief as Dantrian wrestles control away from the beast. His eyes widen as he realizes Anton was ready to do whatever was necessary to protect themselves from the werewolf. He tries to help the Alchemist, laying a hand on his massive, muscular shoulder. "Dantrian, try to calm down. We won't continue this until the curse loosens. If anyone were to see you like this, it would be chaos." The half-elf's hand rub the silver fur and he suddenly looks up.
"Wait, you think the man with the silver hair was a werewolf? Mathus is said to be comfortable walking among settlements. And the Mordrinacht pack are called 'Silverhides' for their appearance. We know he wants to be packlord. What if he's allied with the Way to achieve that? Whatever is going on at the Stairs of the Moon could be to further both his goals and theirs."
He looks at Ashan. "Is that enough for you? If Mathus is an ally of the Way, then he could know more about where they're going and what they're planning."
The Ranger is again surprised with the elf reveals he can turn to smoke. "You...you can do that?" He sighs. "Anton, what do you think? Ashan could really get in and out before anyone is wiser. Even if the Warden would allow us access to this book, it could be best not to even involve him."
"There is much you do not know of me, Janos," Ashan quietly states. "But this tenuous connection, it... intrigues me. Perhaps this Malthus is but a pawn of the Way, thrown in our path as an obstacle to arrest our progress. Perhaps he is a more legitimate ally. I find it a more worthwhile investiture of our time now. As for Dantrian..." Ashan shrugs helplessly. "Without illusions at our disposal, there is little I can do for his current form."
Angling his head to the side, Ashan notes, "With access to a mirror I may be able to get us eyes on Malthus. The spirit who offered his service to me this day commands considerable arcane power. He would aid me in scrying on our foes."
As Ashan's words die, screams begin reverberating through the lodge. They sound like they are coming from downstairs somewhere.
"Scrying upon Malthus was something I thought beyond our abilities. That's an excellent idea, Ashan. We should absolutely try to-" Dantrian's words are cut off by the sound of screams. He quickly waves the others toward the door. "Go. I'll stay here." Dantrian then looks toward the small table beside the door and nods. A moment later, Mosswick sheepishly steps out into the light and smiles brightly at the others. Clapping briefly and loosing a scratchy laugh, he flits up into the air and settles on Janos' shoulder. The little creature giggles again before pointing bravely at the door and tugging eagerly on the collar of the half-elf's tunic.
Drosil grabs his rapier and rushes down the stairs, leaping over stairs to reach the source of the screams as quickly as possible.
Janos grips Dantrian's furry arm. "Stay here. Bar the door and don't open it for anyone except us." he glances at Mosswick. "Yes, yes, let's go, little one." The Ranger follows Drosil down the stairs, drawing his sword. While the Fletchling seems to fly over them, Janos simply tries not to trip.
At least I was already standing! B'yelka hurries out of the room as best she can, trailing behind Drosil, I coud do that, if I didn't have this dress on... and Janos. While everyone is still close enough for it to matter she casts her Good Hope affecting everyone, even Mister Almaeus. And Ashan, too.