Fang and Shackle (Inactive)

Game Master Kagehiro

When things return to normal, or what would pass for normal this night, Vincent allows the magic he was channeling to subside, as it would appear that they had defeated this foe. He does not lower his blade, however, but instead maintains a readies posture as he catches his breath.

At the half-orc's question, Vincent responds, "Now, we continue looking for this Rud, and whatever it is causing the madness that has descended on our city."

As he steps towards the core, passing where the metal monster had once stood, before adding, "And pray to whatever gods you hold dear that we don't run into anymore of those things...or worse."

Adurus lowers his sling arm before releasing the stone, seeing his allies' attacks drop the metal monstrosity in a suitably impressive manner. Adurus is a little disappointed that the creature left no remains; he is very curious about its methods of generating attacks and what might have powered the thing. With a sigh of relief, Adurus mentally moves past the disappointment.

With another moment of focus, Adurus causes a second burst of healing power to emanate from himself.

Channel Energy: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Unfortunately, his foot slips on a still-slick part of the bridge and he loses focus, causing the resulting burst of energy to be rather underwhelming. Adurus scratches the back of his head in embarrassment and concentrates again.

Channel Energy: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Unfortunately, trying to use the power again while flustered proves to provide a similarly poor result.

/facepalm...

"We should look inside this thing at least. Maybe Rud is there," Sampson says, motioning to the suspended sphere with his blade.

Eldred reloads the blunderbuss and nods agreement. "Yup, why not?" He puts the butt of the weapon to his shoulder, barrel canted downward and moves forward.

Stealth: 1d20 ⇒ 18

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9

Zeltresh breaths a sigh of relief as the .... whatever it was....finally falls. He has a flash of regret as the thing vanishes, the opportunity to study the thing lost as it folds in onto itself.

Only a flash, though, as he knows there is still work to be done. He retraces his steps back across the bridge to the group. "Sampson's right, whoever put a sentry like that here was clearly guarding something."

Not willing to take any more chances, the gnome quickly casts a spell on himself as the group prepares to move forward.

cast Mage Armor, AC is now 17

Everyone should heal 2 hit points from my bursts.

Nathmir had no need to pray, while Nethys may not have seen fit to grant him exceptional luck in bring down the metal construct. He had seen fit to leave his servant unharmed by the whole encounter.

"Shall we move on then."

He kept the crossbow out just in case. Nethys did not reward foolishness after all.

Looking over their path, Vincent says, "It looks like this is the end of the road, so I don't see much point in risking a scout. Adurus, Sampson, and myself will form a front line. We are the best armored and trained for this sort of thing. Eldred, Zeltresh, Rutilus, you three provide ranged support behind the front line, ten feet behind our position as we advance. Arzazel and Nathmir, I'm trusting you to guard our flank, and keep a keen eye for any assailants from the rear. If it appears that we won't be attacked from the rear, join us up on the front line."

Vincent tests the weight of his shield on his arm as he waits on the others to either voice their opinions of his plan or to take their assigned positions.

Fine with the plan myself.

"Hrrmph. And here I was hoping to stay and examine our recent encounter. Alas, considering that it imploded upon itself, that opportunity is no longer available. I suppose I have no choice then than to follow."

As he speaks, the tiefling steps back onto the metal bridge and falls in line as ordered. It appears he feels more regret towards losing an opportunity to take a look at the metal monstrosity's corpse than seeing his allies injured fighting the thing.

Sampson nods moving up to the entrance of the globe and peering in.

"Understood, sir," Eldred responds, shouldering the blunderbuss and stepping back to stand alongside Zell red hand the demon-spawn. He works his back where the nerves along his spine pinch and fire at random intervals.

"Nathmir, if yer god will take a shine to it, ya think he could spare a bit of healing in this direction? I'd like to be ready for this next fracas."

"Well we will see if he is agreeable of your services in his interest."

He moves into a position to cover as many of the party as he can then calls upon Nethys to hear his servant.

Channel Positive Energy: 1d6 ⇒ 6

A white wave pulses out from Nathmir.

Edit- lol I am the chosen one. xD

Well now you're just showing off. :P

Just to clarify....the big dude imploded leaving ZERO bits behind? Planning ahead for that 3rd level crafting feat and the need for reagents............

All of the worthwhile parts were sucked into the singularity. There are still bits and pieces of mechanical components blasted free when Eldred unloaded a blunderbuss into its guts. In general, these amount to a scattering of nuts/bolts/rivets/wires. Not inherently valuable beyond the fact that they were created with space-age technology. It would basically amount to being a small handful of a metal bits created with an advanced titanium alloy (stronger and lighter than steel, and way more durable). All told, you can scrounge together enough to gain an Uncommon Reagent (+1) that is applicable in any sort of metalwork.

  
 
Of all the marvels unleashed upon those present, the immense core before them proves to be the greatest. It is not just the hull of the sphere that is worked in skymetal—the entire structure is, and in varieties not limited to adamantine. Lights of varying color and hue line the floors and ceilings throughout its entirety, and the entire core itself seems to hum with vast energy. At regular intervals, a nearly deafening rumble tears its way through the confined hallways that travel along the perimeter of the structure.

A descending spiral along the outer wall proves to be the only path forward for much of the investigation within. While there are myriad doors along the way—seamless indentations along the inner wall without handle, lever, or any other discerned means of unlocking nor opening—gaining access into them proves an impossible endeavor. It is difficult to say how far down you have gone when an open doorway is finally encountered. It opens into an immense cavity within the core that seems to stretch nearly from the topmost point to the bottom of the entire structure. A dozen railed balconies line the walls all about the interior wall, also answering where the many closed doors opened into as the portals are all plainly visible.

Dominating the center of the room are two spires, bulky metal monstrosities that are laced with thick cords and wires in addition to various access panels of unidentifiable origin. The pair of structures emerge from both the center of the floor and the ceiling, interrupted where they might otherwise meet in the air above by an almost hive-like metal sphere. Inside is a roiling mass of smoke and flame not unlike the composition of the strange entities encountered on the city streets above this same very night. Some form of electric-blue energy stretches across the hives like protective panes to keep whatever that cloud is contained. The lighting of the room is awe-inspiring as a result, a muted blue dancing along the walls in unison with a smog-like red cast off by the interior core.

Eldred is relieved to find Rud present and accounted for, though he is joined by one the corporal has not encountered before. Whatever it is, it shares the same overall design as the pair of sentries that were posted at the entryway far above—the missing double-doors—that wielded the strange pair of metal staves that served as obstruction to further intruders. This one differs from those encountered previously in that an image of a vaguely human-like face is projected over its face plate. The golem is currently moving from panel to panel around the base spire, hands nearly a blur as they dance along the surface of each rune covered surface it encounters. And while it seems wholly consumed by what it is doing, the other man present is a different matter.

Rud is clearly getting on in his years. What hair remains on the mans head is a greasy, wispy horse-shoe stretching from temple to temple. His skin is pale, blotched, and ruddy. Atop a nob of a nose, sharp and angry eyes peer out above a deep scowl. The aged Alkenstar man raises his firearm to point directly at the approaching band of "intruders". His gun is of a similar craftsmanship as the core that currently accommodates those present: skymetals and flashy parts. It would not be readily apparent that the thing was a gun at all were Rud not aiming it directly at everyone. Appraisals and wonder would have to wait, however. Rud Nail-Spitter was, perhaps understandably, not in the best of moods.

"Best hear somethin' worthwhile drippin' outta yer cunt-mouths before I fill em with light an' fire."

And if it weren't evident, you guys are basically standing in the warp core of a star ship.

Vincent raises his shield and steps in front of the rest of the party. He calls out, "Easy! We are looking for Rud Nail-Spitter. My name is Vincent Teldas, Field-Squire of the March. I seek an answer to what is happening to our city and it's people."

Upon seeing the scatter of bits the party's weapons blasted from the guardian, Zeltresh quickly scoops them together and collects them in the empty scroll case in his pouch. I wonder what this amazing metal can do?

As the enter the core the vast size of the space and its contents dazzle the small gnome. Again, he finds himself drifting closer to Arzazel as they traverse the stairs. The sight of the legendary crafter also awes him, so much that for a moment he does not even register the fact that the man has a weapon leveled at them.

He hopes Vincent can quickly resolve the situation. Zeltresh would much rather have an amicable relationship with the man who has all these wonderful toys......

Having quietly stayed in position during the group's arrival, Rutilus quickly decides that, upon seeing the gun pointed at the group, that he's not particularly interested in getting shot, even if the threat of fire doesn't scare him. Gently, he gives Eldred a nudge foward while whispering to the gunslinger, "He's all yours, 'bub'."

_______________

Juuust in case theres anything interesting, Rutilus's is going to be keeping an eye out.
Perception Check: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (19) + 10 = 29
Note: Preleveled Perception score

Arzazel continues to add to his memories of things that he's never even imagined. He straggles along behind Zeltresh trying to maintain his scholarly curiosity while being completely awestruck.

Eldred slips a glance toward the demon-spawn, daring him to touch him again. Emissary or what-not, ya touch me again ya devil-humpin' monstrosity, I'll add an eye ta that red forehead of yours.

He starts speaking before his eyes leave Rutilus. "Easy, ya old lead-flinger." The gunslinger turns his attention forward and steps easy to the front of the group next to Teldas. He draws his hat brim back and grins his "dreadful grin" as Frig used to call it. "Friendlies, Rud, friendlies. Corporal Eldred Pentwert, 2nd Regiment Fusiliers, at your service." He keeps his hands raises chest level and palms out. "Mind lowerin' whatever in the pits o' hades ya got pointing at us? Like the Field Squire says, we're trying to figure what's got a hold of the city."

Did the thought cross your mind that Old Rud's with these lunatic machines? Frig asks in the back of his mind.

Yup. Ya think I'm so old I can't draw ol' Lia quick as a jackrabbit?

You've seen how fast the old man is, he's got iron - or whatever that thing is - pointed right down your gullet.

Eldred holds his peace and awaits Rud's response. But in the dark recesses of his mind he hopes the old man hadn't forgotten him. Else, the gunslinger won't be around to see the others die...it'll be a race between himself and Samson as to who gets the sky light installed in their heads first.

Adurus, though his oracle's curse prevents him from viewing the entirety of the chamber, is nonetheless impressed into slackjawed speechlessness by what he can see. The sheer value of the chamber itself would be enough to feed several kingdoms, never mind whatever the fantastic contraptions inside might do. He remains slack-jawed and speechless as Rud points some device angrily at the group; Adurus is so blown away by the situation he can't even comprehend that Rud is threatening the group with a weapon.

"Stopper yer woman parts. I only needed to know if any of you boot-licks were still people instead o' babblin' shit heels." Rud relaxes the tension in his trigger finger and rests the length of the gun over his back and across his right shoulder.

"As t'what happint to YER city an' all the wastes o' passion you call citizens, go ahead an' blame those gods damned sons o' whores yer Imperial Guvner told me were fit fer payin'. I told 'im, ain't no men fit fer trustin' but mine, but that brainless cock sucker insisted. Now the whole thing's gone t'shit; I'm stuck here holdin' my dick an' tryin' to right the boat." Rud snorts loudly and expels a disgusting specimen of a loogie out of his mouth. "Let me guess. If yer here, that more-expensive-than-all-o'-you-an'-yer-entire-families contraption I put in front o' the bridge ain't functionin' any more. F#~+in' Molthuni. I shoulda stayed in Alkenstar."

Sampson follows behind the others. What place is this? How can I use this information? He crosses his arms over his chest in his typical silent manner and watches the social interactions of the lesser beings.

As the man rants about his city and his neighbors and kin, Vincent did his best to keep his temper under control. However, the night's struggle when it should have been a celebration has worn on his restraint.

He started walking towards the man, and says, "If you know what has beset this city, then you need to start telling me how to put a stop to it. It is clear that something more than the creation of firearms has been going on here. We need answers, and need them quick. The longer we stand here bickering and wasting time, the more innocent lives are lost out there. You may not care, but I do, and I am going to do whatever I can to help my friends, neighbors, and family."

Ever the diplomat, Rud's response is unmeasured and all vitriol. "Y'wanna help 'em? Turn yer sword on yerself and spare 'em the agony o' dealin' with any brats you'd manage t'squirt into a lady blind an' dumb enough t'fall fer whatever charm manages t'crawl outta that cunt you call a mouth."

Ignoring Vincent momentarily, Rud growls out a question to the golem still working feverishly at the core's consoles. "Carrot! Y'bout finished, darlin' or do ya need me t'set fire under yer ass?"

"Fingers" still flying across the panel like a pair of lightning-fast spiders, the automaton turns its head towards Rud, its face expressing a facade of embarrassment. "This unit is designated 'Caretaker', gentleman Rud."

"Sure ya are, Carrot. That fire-belchin' crawl in my a*+~~@% contained yet or not?" Rud scratches the back of his neck with the barrel of his strange rifle.

"This unit is designated 'Caretaker', gentleman Rud. Further anomalies are unlikely; the entity is operating well within standard protocols. Infection beyond the core remains in effect. This unit can not cleanse previous anomalies."

Rud turns around and offers a half-hearted gesture in the golem's direction. "There's yer answer, Sunshine. Don't suppose that'll do t'shut yer cunt flappin' in my ear, huh?"

Nathmir steps forward his staff beating the floor with every step.

"Truth be told I am no patriot, it was not required. But I do have a vested interest in this city and it's survival. Spare me your cursing and flair for dramatics. Speak plainly of this night. If you are the cause, then your death is the solution. If not you would be wise to make it clear. Least you find yourself with enemies indeed, instead of would be allies. Clearly your defenses are not up to the task if nothing else. If they were we would not stand before you."

After he has said his peace his expression remains neutral and non threatening.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (20) + 12 = 32
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (16) + 11 = 27

I said it once and I will say it again. I am the chosen one! xD Dice hate combat but love social encounters it seems, so nutty just saying.

For a few moments, Rud gets that look on his face. Eldred has seen it before only a couple of times, thankfully. He's not a man that tolerates trifling, and he's not a man to be trifled with. Though the rest have not met him or been party to the terrified tales of those who have incurred his anger, Eldred knows all too well the man could put a hole in each and every one of them before their weapons cleared leather. Thankfully, the enraged look evaporates in favor of a raspy wheeze of a belly laugh.

"Y'hear that, Carrot?"

"This unit is designated 'Caretaker'-"

"Aw, shut yer metal face. Y'got balls—I'll give ya that, kid. Y'might be careful with who yer bandyin' threats at in the future. If I didn't like yer guff I might o' turned yer face into a cloud o' dust. An' believe you me, yer Imperial Guvner wouldn't bat a lash at yer departin'. I know what I'm worth to Molthune and Teldas, even if the lot of ya don't. As to what happint, I already told ya. One of Teldas' men turned coat an' wreaked havoc on my hardware. Bastard knew what he was doin' too; barely got that storm contained before it spent itself on Braganza." As he says that storm he gestures towards the swirling mass of fire and smog contained within the hive-like core above. "Little shit scampered off before I could give him five new a**&&*+s fer his trouble. Figger he knew I'd be stuck here holdin' my cock tryin' to fix his mess; too expensive not to."

You got him to friendly with that roll. As to the sense motive, he seems pretty direct with his speech. Doesn't strike you as bravado or deception.

"Perhaps then, it would be better if we sought out this turncoat instead of destroying Rud's defenses and distracting him from the obviously important task of fixing whatever happened here? I doubt any of us, even myself, as knowledgable as I am, could assist him in repairing the havoc caused on his 'hardware', given the nature of the technology."

Although still standing behind numerous of his compatriots - the taller ones especially - in case Rud decides to whip out that gun again, Rutilus finally speaks his mind after minutes of being relatively quiet. "Unless, of course, that our mix of colorful characters of various skillsets could help in a way unforseen by myself? At the ah, very least, we could give a description of the turncoat to our superiors, if not seek out to reclaim the man directly."

Eldred finds himself unfortunately agreeing with the demon-spawn. "Can't say this menagerie you got runnin' here gives me a case of the warm and fuzzies, old man. But huntin', yeah that's something I can do. If ya got a name and face fer this traitor, I'm put some lead in his diet."

He let's the blunderbuss slip from his shoulder and plants it butt first on the deck. "I borrowed some gear from yer stores, I can leave it here with ya or take it back to that vault...but the doors busted." He makes to unbuckle the quick draw holster too. "Course if a huntin' we will go, I could be persuaded to hold on to it, mebbe switch out the bussy for that musket if you're feelin' generous."

Vincent turns and rolls his eyes. Another commoner with a grudge against those born of higher station. Why can't they take someone as an individual instead of lumping us into an assumed lifestyle. I've bled more for this city than most of those who share high births, hells, more than many of the common folk of Braganza. And I've shared drinks with them as well.

He stands aside and lets those that have won over the crude man handle the interrogation. No sense in causing more harm than good by feeding into this man's prejudices.

He moves over to Adurus and Sampson, and says quietly, "A traitor is responsible for this, so he claims," tilting his head back slightly towards Rud. "I don't like the thought of that, as where there is one traitor, there is likely more. We will need to keep vigilant for any signs or evidence."

A carefree waggle of his hand dismisses Eldred's attempt to return what was taken from the storerooms. "Keep it. I'll go 'head an' add that onto the growin' stack o' compensation I'm owed after all o' this racket."

Rud grins wide. Somehow, it is the most terrifying expression the man has unleashed yet. "An' don't worry yer purty rose of a face, devil-kid. I'll find plenty o' things fer all o' you t'do fer me before too long. Mean time, y'may wanna see 'bout subduin' all the crazy cunts up top. Ain't no magic lever," Rud waves his free arm and fingers to emphasize the words, "we can toss t'fix an addled brain. Carrot's got th'maelstrom locked up nice an' tight now. Shouldn't be any more happy hours on it's account."

"Can't say much fer the shit that caused this. Cunt's name was Leovarde, but th'name won't matter much fer somethin' what changes its face an' clothes faster'n a breath."

Zeltresh stays silent throughout the exchange. He knows that between Vincent and Eldred the situation should be well in hand. And looking at all the amazing things around them, the gnome would rather Rud be indifferent than angry at him.

While he has only been in the army a short time he too feels the visceral reaction to the word "traitor". He nods his agreement as the talk moves to tracking this Leovarde down for what he has done.

That thought does bring with it another .... What exactly did he do?

Arzazel tries to keep up with and understand the colorful Rud. He thinks there was some traitor but doesn't think that Rud has identified him, yet. He finally closes his awestruck maw to attempt to look like he belongs with the Knight Squire and Fusilier.

Excellent, I shall feed you his blood.

Trying to get hints about what the traitor might be according to descriptions...

Knowledge (planes): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10

Apparently not.

Similarly to Arzazel, Adurus regains control over his jaw and proceeds to close his agape mouth, then finally speaks up for the first time to say to Rud, "Y'think he could change shape with magic, or maybe was he somethin' not quite human?" Looking to Arzazel, Zeltresh, and Rutilus, Adurus mumbles, "Sorry, din' mean it like that..."

Adurus has a dozen questions on the top of his head which he wants to ask about the strange surroundings the party is inside, but he would rather not risk provocation with such inquiry, especially in a time of emergency as this one.

Hmm.. 'what changes its face an' clothes faster'n a breath'... there could be a number of things that could do that, myself included with the right spell. I wonder if this 'Leovarde' is using magic, or is some kind of creature that has the ability to change shape at will? Likely the latter. Now.. what kinds of creatures did I read about that could do that..

Rutilus is searching through his encyclopedic brain :P He's still not using his level 3 stats yet though. Add +2 to both of those if you want him to, as I added two ranks to each.

Knowledge(Arcana): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (3) + 9 = 12
Knowledge(Planes): 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (16) + 12 = 28

There's not been a lot to go on in terms of figuring out what specifically is responsible here. You can certainly come up with any number of shape-shifting creatures or spellcasting types that would be able to change their form at will, doppelgangers figuring prominently at the top of that list . . .

Intelligence Check (Rutilus): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6 (Oh, wow)

. . . but something about this seems too specific. The intruder would need to be in possession of a particular skillset to be able to infiltrate and sabotage technology as grand as what Rud owns. Rutilus finds his mind racing through possibilities, but ultimately he arrives at one incontrovertible conclusion: this is the work of a cosmic dragon. Dragons born of the dark tapestry, though never officially confirmed as actually existing, are notorious for their crippling addiction to technological plunder. They can take any form they choose, though in their normal forms they are ten times over the size of the most elder of wyrms, and like to encase their void-like bodies in a vast layer of armor made from elusive skymetals.

Come to think of it, that seems like a badass creature. (Runs off to stat out a cosmic dragon)

Not to pull the curtain back too much, but I'll go ahead and cover a couple of things here in OOC.

The group as a whole has a couple of options before them, barring any independent enterprise someone is dreaming up that I'm not party to. Rud and "Carrot" have more or less said that they've managed to put a stop to what was causing the chaos above. Unfortunately, there's nothing to be done down here for people who were already afflicted—this is going to boil down to trying to wrangle up violent madmen without killing them and then hoping that a combination of time and curative efforts will return them to their senses. The other option is to go chasing after some sort of shapeshifting technological genius with no leads (one glaring exception; see below) whatsoever.

Might seem a bit anticlimactic after clawing all the way down here, for which I apologize, but not every problem can be solved through a heroic dungeon clearing—it is my aim to kinda eschew the typical adventuring format. Worry not, that doesn't mean you're going to be a superfluous adventuring company. I just want to remind that this opens up into a sandbox, and some threads are going to run deeper than others. Not solving the mystery right away shouldn't be seen as a waste of time or a failure, I suppose, is the more succinct explanation.

Sampson: You possess the one and only means of tracking down this Leovarde. The shade of the Kuthite lingering inside of you claims it can help find where the traitor went. This trail will unfortunately go somewhere that isn't practical to follow immediately, and there is yet a lot of cleanup to be done in the city. The shade isn't pleased at this development, but it demonstrates patience and delivers on its promise earlier than expected (as incentive to fulfill Sampson's obligation to it). An immediate question I pose to you in that regard is: how are you going to go about collecting blood?

Does it have to be from a freshly killed corpse?

Nope. So long as the blood is still in liquid form, it will suffice.

Cool. Thanks for the sneak peak.

Arzazel cracks his knuckles and is ready to knock some heads. Improved Unarmed Strike allows him to the nonlethal without penalty.

Sampson will grab a bucket and make his excuses, saying he needs to go check on his dog. He then goes out into the streets, finds a freshly dead corpse and picks it up, taking it home. If anyone stops him, he says it's a family member he's taking to bury. Once home he strings the corpse up feet first and slits its neck, letting the blood drain into the bucket. Then he conducts the ritual he saw in his head from the Kuthite spirit.

Woops! I thought my last post was in the Discussion thread

When Sampson leaves, Arzazel looks to Zeltresh and asks, "What now?"

Zeltresh looks up at his tall friend and shrugs, honestly unsure of the next steps for them. As a battlemage he is not well equipped to subdue people still under the adverse influences so they can be helped and healed. Singe the, sure, but subdue them?

A wry grin crosses his face. I haven't been in the military long, but the one thing Ive learned so far? No need to make decisions when your commanding officer is nearby!

His head swirling with ideas about what better tools their little band might need to track down this traitor, the gnome looks to Vincent to see what the new orders might be.

Going to be updating tonight, probably the first of many dealing with downtime. I'll be doing these in 1-week snippets to allow you all time to adjust or explain what your respective characters get up to. There will be a lot of "scripted" things happening, but most of the time here is going to be open to your players and their own devices.

"Perhaps.. perhaps it is best if we simply notify our superiors about this man and let them handle his.. ah, capture. I do not believe that our strengths are particularly suited for searching for a turncoat that can change form at will. Instead, we should probably focus on simple damage control. That, or whatever else our superiors prefer us doing, yes? Our original mission of finding out whats going on in here is completed."

Rutilus was right. There appeared little they could do to contribute here.

"Everybody prepare to move. We should go report and help in capturing any of the afflicted. That is, unless there is anything we can aid you with, Mr. Nail-Spitter."

"Don't worry yer precious lil' head 'bout me an' mine. I'll send yer bill soon as we figger out how much of a mess y'made."

For many, the trip back topside is bittersweet. While they had been successful in locating and securing Rud's safety, the matter seemed to have been resolved independent of their own efforts. An intruder without a face, only a name—Leovarde—was the culprit behind the entire ordeal. There was little time available to reflect on the night so far, and even fewer leads to follow that might bring it all to a peaceful resolution. Those in the grips of madness would continue to be for an indeterminable period of time. It was not the report Vincent hoped to return with, but it was all they had to offer.

Bailiff Terandar Ravnagask yet remains where he had last spoken to Braganza's would-be heroes. He and those under his command have seen a great deal of fighting since you parted ways. When he sees Vincent emerge from the boiler site with his companions in tow, he appears hopeful, though the report that follows dims such hope soon enough. Nevertheless, it provides the commander of Braganza's remaining sane forces a clear path forward. Runners are dispatched to the Golden Glory and various barracks throughout the city. Plans and strategies are hashed out hurriedly by the upper echelon of the city's inhabitants. Emboldened by both numbers and the full weight of the Abadaran clergy, strides are finally made in seeing an end to the chaos.

It takes the better part of two days to round up all of the crazed. Efforts are initially focused on those entrenched on the doorstep to Rud's Wastewares, a pitched battle that rages on for several hours. From there, the armed forces march through the city district by district, block by block. As dawn approaches on the second day, those persons who are still afflicted with insanity are either imprisoned or dead—an unfortunate and unavoidable consequence. In the wake of the madness wrought by the maelstrom's brief containment breach, the city has sustained a staggering amount of damage to both citizen and structure. The full ramifications of it all will likely be felt for months.

Sampson Klein is notably scarce following the return from Rud's foundries (most of you will assume he was stationed with another troop, however, rather than being suspicious of anything). Unknown to the rest, he absconded from the scene to follow up on a dark pact made in secret under their very noses.

 
 
Several days following what is eventually coined the Storm of Madness, the Ravnagask brothers have managed to restore a measure of stability back to the city. While it would be some time before the fires still raging in the city were finally doused, the criminals and the crazed were dealt with, and the disaster declared officially over. For those that remained, however, the prospect of rebuilding loomed tall. Before such sobering work would be undertaken, the Prince-Archbanker would ensure that matters of dire importance were taken care of. Naturally, a grand banquet celebrating the city's perseverance over a nameless evil would be demanded, as would a great ceremony honoring those champions whose actions were instrumental in stemming the tide of chaos at its very source. (That's you)

It will take some time, given the devastation, for them to make the hasty arrangement required to celebrate the "victory" and honor you all for your heroics. Cole Ravnagask is desperate to put a positive spin on things to salvage what's left of morale in the city, and this banquet fits the bill.

In other words: you will all have roughly five days of free time to do whatever you want before the celebration starts. I'll spend a few days addressing any activity then shift us to the next week and the grand feast.