Isme spots her; clinging to the tower wall, furious, spear ready.
Spectrum repositions to keep pace with the glittering outline of the invisible lamia, and tosses a vial to hamper her.
Spectrum's burning bag lights the lamia afire as she screams in irritation.
Crushed on the pavement, the boy struggles to collect himself and stand.
Kejal charges up, aiming another fist at the Lamia. It lands, dealing another painful bruise. She heals herself up more as well.
Letting out a cry of fury, the Lamia leaps into the air and charges straight up, spear first, into the bomb-throwing mage. Kejal tries for a passing blow but it swings wide.
The furious Lamia shrieking as she struck out at his companions, Wyam rushed his way over to edge of the clock tower.
"No! Face me, foul creature! Face me, and know retribution in the name of Iomadae the Inheritor, for your crimes against the common people!"
Isme quickly ran her options through her mind. Most of her spells couldn't get through the lamia's defenses; her main method of support, her control over supernatural forces, was tenuous; and regroup was a last resort considering it meant letting the lamia escape for good. At this point, her best use would be supporting her allies directly.
Still invisible, she flew up, hovering next to Spectrum just enough to whisper to him to stay still as she presses a foot on his back, twittering a calming tune as she wills magic to heal his wounds.
She hovers just above and behind him, still invisible as the most serious of the damage done to him is repaired.
Glimmer flew back to Kejal and touched her with a wand to heal her some more.
Spectrum adjusted backward out of reach and unwove the spell allowing the Lamia to fly.
You can also use a targeted dispel to specifically end one spell affecting the target or one spell affecting an area. You must name the specific spell effect to be targeted in this way. If your caster level check is equal to or higher than the DC of that spell, it ends.
Spectrum's spell fizzles against her monstrous demeanour.
Bart shivers and shakes on the ground.
Kejal charges up and makes a punch; she heals herself as well.
Furiously focused on her target, the lamia hones in on Spectrum. "The common folk barely deserve to be at my mercy! Now FALL!" She stabs out at Spectrum.
"Then perish!"
Wyam's blows swing wide.
Isme telepathically contacts her party. "Glimmer, Array! Can one of you go and heal Bartimaeus at the bottom of the tower?"
She then flies above Wyam and attempts to muster her supernatural gifts to grant Spectrum some good fortune.
Glimmer hadn't gone far, so she banked and flew to heal the weird guy Isme was indicating.
Hey Barty! Hold on, you're going to feel better pretty quick.
Once she'd touched him with the wand, she dropped the potion on his chest. It appeared once it fell from her claws and wasn't subject to the invisibility spell Glimmer was still under the effects of.
Drink that!
Spectrum twisted sinuously in the air, moving out of the Lamia's reach and retreating next to and just below Wyam. Then he flicked his wrist and launched a ball of green energy at the snake-woman which erupted into acidic mist.
Spectrum's blast breaches her magical defenses, though she nimbly dodges over the worst of the acid.
Bart groans as a few of his wounds heal.
Kejal unleashes a flurry of blows.
54
Kejal tears chunks off of Xanesha, forcing her to lose her focus on the mage above. She lashes out at Kejal.
Lashing out with her spear, Kejal is left barely conscious, gripping onto the tower as she bleeds profusely from new and old wounds. Then, a final thrust explodes straight through her chest, crowning its head with blood and ruined flesh as she falls to the ground silently.
Wyam finds a similar dangerous spear-thrust directed at him.
Despite her own wounds, Xanesha laughs and laughs and laughs. "Little birds, plucked from the sky to fall to the ground below! Fly, little birds; fall little birds, fall!"
Wyam didn't even have a chance to fully register that Kejal had died before he found a spear piercing into his chest forcing him backwards.
With blood rushing its way up his throat, Wyam grabbed a hold of the spear and thrust himself off. Inhaling a ragged and desperate breath, he quickly put his hand to the spear wound and called upon his holy power to mend the wound closed.
The healing energies helped to stymie the blood flow and refocus his mind. Gritting his teeth against the diminished pain, he took aim and fired as fast as he was able to draw more arrows.
Isme eye twitches when she hears Kejal's body hit the ground. With most of her mysterious power returned from Bartimaeus's healing, she immediately begins weaving supernatural threads around Xanesha, leveraging any small advantage against her.
Her act breaks her invisibility, but she takes the risk of drawing attention as she caws loud, strengthening the small amount of weavings on the lamia.
Spectrum's lips pursed together in cold fury as he watched their new ally fall. This creature was turning out to be a significantly more difficult problem than anticipated. Luck seemed to be against them every step of the way. It was time to change that.
He dropped down lower, out of range of the Lamia's lethal spear, waited a moment until the little dragon became visible when the wand's spell targeted the snake-woman, and tossed the explosive he'd been holding since they'd began this ill-fated fight. It had been intended to be part of their ambush, but it had never happened. Now though, perhaps it could make a difference.
As twin blows slice off fingers from the lamia's armored hands, the first glimmers of fear show in her eyes under her mask. "Wait... no..."
Her fear vanishes along with most of her body as a single precisely-throw bomb vaporizes her head and half her torso, leaving a single spasming tail to fall to the ground with a meaty SMACK.
Silence attempts to fall on the busy square as the chains binding the Lamia to the outsider on the ground dissipate into nothingness; but the square is racked by the sound of the great bell in the tower ringing a resounding elegy for the fallen lamia.
ding...
ding...
ding...
Snakeskin Tunic
Impaler of Thorns
Sihedron Medallion
Ring of Protection +1
With the mistress of the tower gone, the party eventually search through it. Footsteps in dust indicate faceless stalkers who turned and fled as their mistress fell. At the lowest floor of the tower a great scarecrow golem lies silent and unmoving with its magical connection severed.
Searching the lamia's nest at the top of the tower reveals a long scroll, bearing an extensive nest of names and professions, many crossed out, under the heading 'Sihedron Sacrifices'. Some names are from Sandpoint, but most from Magnimar- merchants, moneylenders, gamblers, adventurers, thieves. It also lists Lord-Mayer Haldmeer Grobaras, along with extensive notes on his residence and daily movements.
At the bottom of the tower, ling amid smashed cobblestones, the dark-skinned boy turns onto his back and links his hands behind his head to lay on as he looks up at the sky with a new expression of calm. "...damn that feels good."
After the battle, and after searching the tower for remaining enemies and anything of note, Isme excuses herself momentarily as her party rests to search for Bartimaeus.
She finds him lying at the bottom of the tower, seemingly content where he is among the ruined stones. "So," she begins, looking up at the same piece of sky Bartimaeus is observing. She wasn't worried. She considered the being a friend and sponsor, and the ring she wore that bonded the two of them served as protection anyway. Nothing strong, but possibly enough to give her warning. "what now?"
She had many questions: what could Bartimaeus tell her about Xanesha and the Brotherhood of the Seven? Of plans they might have overheard? What was he doing here in the first place; was there anything he could do for Kejal? Would he be staying here long, and what would she tell the others in her party?
But Isme says nothing and lets the moment pass, lets both of them a little rest after what had occurred. She could have spent a long time there, but there was much to be done. She sighs. "Xanesha was not the master you spoke of when we first met, and I know not if the ownership had transferred, but it is good to see you face-to-face, in this space of the material plane."
Spectrum drifted down to Kejal's body and used the magic of the Lamia's pendant to preserve her. It was not right that she had joined them such a short time ago only to be ushered into her death simply because she had chosen to help.
He was bleeding. It stained his usually fastidious clothing. He frowned at the bloodstain, looking at it like it had personally insulted him. He pulled open the cut in his shirt where the Lamia had stabbed him to inspect the wound, wincing in spite of himself. He did not know exactly what had been damaged inside him. It hurt, but it did not seem life threatening. He glanced down at Kejal and knew he'd been lucky.
He hated luck.
"Wyam, would you mind?" he said sounding a bit exasperated.
Glimmer flew up to where Array was, high above watching.
Did you see me!? Well, no, I guess you didn't since I was invisible most of the time, but did you see? I helped, and I saved that Barty guy, and I saved Kejal too! Well, for a little bit. She got stabbed again.
How come you weren't down there too?
I saw. I don't think they would have won without you. Array said. Of the two he was certainly the more stoic, but in this case he sounded proud.
Spectrum told me to watch, and stay clear in case you were all defeated. He wanted to make sure someone survived to tell others in case of failure. I think he figured you would be more useful in this fight than I would be. I was angry about it earlier, but I think he was right. Your knack with those wands and potions saved the day.
Bart remains staring at the sky. "No, she was my master then; however much I had to hide that to keep to the terms of my imprisonment." He raises a hand carelessly in front of his face and watches it very slowly begin to fade. "With Xanesha gone, my bonds are unravelling. I'll be returning home rather soon, Isme. If you want to ask anything in person, now's the time."
Isme pauses, thinking of what to ask, but takes note of the wording Bartimaeus used. "I assume we will still be able to communicate? I would have liked to hear your story, ask you questions of what we faced, and will face, but first, while you are here, is there anything you can do for my fallen companion?"
She allows herself a small smile at the grim wordplay, gesturing towards where Kejal's body literally fell. "I have not known her long, and I would not call her a friend just yet… but she could have been a friend and my party at least owes her for her assistance."
Wyam makes his way to Spectrum. "Yes, this should help."
After healing his companion, he quickly made his way over to the fading outsider. Wyam kept back the part of himself that wanted to rush Kejal to the Temple. She had fallen defeating an evil within the city of Magnimar and he would do everything he could to bring her back. But for the moment, he wanted answers and the only one who was willing to give them was about to disappear.
"In many other circumstances I would thank you more properly for your assistance earlier, but we need to know things immediately. How long was Xanesha planning this? Do you know where she came from... or where she planned to go if her plot succeeded?
Was Xanesha the leader of this whole plot? If not, who did she serve? We have evidence suggesting some sort of Demonic or Dark God worship is involved. What is her connection to the Sihedron runes or Thassilonian study? Did she have suppliers or message runners that would come about once in a while? How was she recruiting? Were her only connections here in Magnimar from the Brothers 7? Anything! Anything you can tell us may be vital."
He shrugs. "I'll be able to talk; but being home has a way of... disconnecting me from the Material Plane. Things just seem... so far away."
"But I do owe you, Isme, so I'll try to keep in touch."
He shakes his head at Kejal. "I made my deal with you to avoid having to grant any wishes; I hate what that does to me. I did what I could" a gesture takes in the crushed cobblestones around him "beyond that, it's up to you. Tell her thank you, when she awakes and I am gone."
He sighs a little at Wyam's questions. "Ugh... I hate learning all these mortal matters. Thinking in only three dimensions, it clogs up my head. I hate even more the way I have to want to do it to escape the mortal ties that find me..." He recofuses. "But I'm going now, so... alright, Paladin."
Leaning back and adjusting into a more comfortable position amid the dust, he speaks. "My name is Bartimaeus; Xanesha summoned me. I'm not sure how, I should be beyond someone of her power, but the summoning was partial; she was seeking to extract a wish from me. Almost got it, before you showed up."
"Xanesha arrived here and took over a cult within a cult- Skinsaw within Norgorber. Turned them to her ends, which were killing certain people and marking them in a certain way. She was also keen on feathering her old bed; acquired some sort of fungus from a man named Foxglove to sell to an assassin's guild. Otherwise, that's the extent of her dealings in Magnimar, as far as I know."
"Was she the leader... she served someone or something, back from where she came from. The deaths, the marks, all in aid of that creature, somehow. You're right, there's the stink of Thassilon all over her, all over what she was doing, but I can't tell you much about it. I wasn't there when Old Thasillon fell, or the years after, though I was there for its height. If you want my advice, look at the men targeted, the men you've found targeted; find some common ground, and you'll find the reason."
He pauses for a second, and adds "She did mention a half-sister... Lucrecia. And another name they both served; Mokmurian. That wasn't the name that all three served though, I can tell you that much."
"That's about all I can tell you. No runners or messengers, no definite plans. Just another group of sinners foiled; and good job with that to you all."
He grows ever more faded. "Time's almost up; home's calling me..."
He grows ever more faded. "Time's almost up; home's calling me..."
With the guards' help, a stretcher is fetched and Kejal's form is ushered up to Pharasma's temple. Chaise sits on a bench outside, much more colour in his cheeks, waving with a smile as he spots you. "So soon! I... oh" his voice drops to a whisper as he spots Kejal. Bowing slightly, he opens the door for you.
The aged woman with the burn mark greets you, and enters, clucking her tongue disapprovingly. "Another taken so soon, our valiant Iomedean? Ah, shame, sin..." She presses a hand against her foreheasd then blinks in surprise, turning to you. "...you preserved her quickly; Pharasma is proud... and Pharasma is generous." Fetching no diamond dust, she inscribes a symbol in chalk on each hand. Pressing them against Kejal's chest she presses once twice, thrice, then bends over placing her lips against Kejal's, forcing air into dead longus; with a start and a hint of gold sparks, Kejal blinks back to life, coughing bloodily then wetly then normally as her ruined torso is fixed by bright healing light. A few further sparks from a wand quickly repairs the rest of her wounds.
A day after Kejal makes her report to the Magnimarian authorities, the party finds itself stoppedin the street by a man with gold and purple livery. He makes a formal courtly bow, and presents a gilt-edged letter.
His genteel honor GROBARAS, Lord-Mayor of the Most Ancient city of Magnimar, requests the presence of Sir DAWNTREE and his DRAGONS, sir MARSHAL, knight-lady KEJAL and their honorable raven ISME to attend supper at his residence, DEFIANT'S GARDEN, on the third night following this, for the purpose of learning of the lord and ladies' GREAT SERVICE to the city and the worthy REWARD for such. Signed WITH RESPECT for lord GROBARAS, his personal secretary, VALANNI KRINST."
Come the appointed evening, the party find themselves in the entrance gate of Defiant's Garden; the immense estate-cum-manor-cum castle owned by the city and formally moved into by Lord-Mayor Grobaras. Normally used for receiving diplomats from great nations, you can see the full eight floors, each rumoured to be fully-staffed and filled with luxurious lounges and salons.
A footman in formal attire requests you to follow him to suffer.
The past days, those since her resurrection, had gone by in a blur.
Kejal stands now with her companions, dressed well at the entrance to the Lord-Mayor's hall, wishing that it had all been a dream, as it somehow felt like it was. Her death felt simultaneously as if it had happened seconds ago, as well as if it had happened centuries before, and to someone else. After two days, she was still struggling to feel at home in her own body again.
It wasn't simply that it felt like it was rejected her. It felt dead. Her movements felt stiff, and sluggish. But that was only part of what made it feel like a prison. She could still feel the echoes of her internal screams from when they revived her, as her soul was pushed into a body that was still dead, a body with no working vocal cords. They had come back, as movement had come back, but those initial seconds haunted her.
The other thing that haunted her were visions of dying.
When she looked down at the scar on her chest, she still saw a spear protruding from it. Despite having washed, she still smelled death on herself, still tasted blood sometimes. Her companions had insisted that she wasn't ready to be back out - after all, Chase was still recovering. Granted, he'd been dead for longer, but, well, it wasn't exactly a competition. But she had felt like she must be out here, trying again.
Meditating didn't help. While it did take her mind off of her body, other thoughts filled her focus, and all she could think of was what had happened between dying and coming back. Her life had been hard, but she had helped people, and she had loved, and she had given that life in trying to save others. And when she had died, the white light had embraced her soul, and she had felt nothing but love, and acceptance, and coming home.
Standing in the entrance, she shakes her head, and blinks through tears. That time had passed, and it would do no good to dwell on it. She was here, now, and there were things to be dealt with. She didn't know if she had been pulled back by force, or if this was where she was supposed to be, and she supposed it didn't matter.
She smiles politely at the footman, and let's Wyam take her arm to escort her in. The top of her dress is closed, less to hide her cleavage, and more to hide the scar from the wound that had ended her life. The dress makes up for it by showing a surprising amount of her legs. Even that part of the dress was intentional - it wouldn't do her well to not have a degree of mobility. After all, she had no intentions of dying a second time.
Spectrum hadn't wanted to go to the party but begrudgingly agreed after some prompting from Wyam and Glimmer.
Upon acceptance of his fate, it turned out he knew how to dress well and behave in courtly manor. That said, it was clear to those who knew him that he was treating the whole event like a despised chore.
He wore resplendent white wizard's robes trimmed in draconic scrip, rather than the plain tunic and trousers he was comfortable in. His usual webbing of belts and pouches was left behind, only a single large-ish pouch at one hip. Bleached leather pauldrons gave a hint of armored decoration to his ensemble and gave Glimmer and Array a durable perch. A substantial opal pendant hung in the middle of his chest.
He stood next to Kejal and gave a small sigh. "I find it easier to face down monsters than engage in the illusions of high society." he said quietly as they waited to be presented.
Smells yummy though! Glimmer added, eyeing the feast tables.
Yes it does. Smells of gold...
Array craned his long neck and looked out over the wealth displayed in the room and the crowd.
Kejal gives a very unladylike snort. "You're not the only one." Whispering back, she turns to face Specturm more. "At least monsters tend to look you in the face when they stab you in the back." She winces painfully, realising what she had said. "I... I just meant it's more honest." She adds quickly. "Here... You don't know who the threats are. You know?"
"We did cut off the head of the serpent, so to speak. It is my hope that for now the threats are passed. I would imagine the Lord Mayor will be rather pleased when we show him the scroll noting his patterns and the list showing him as a future target. " Spectrum said.
As Bartimaeus started to fade, a realization suddenly struck Wyam Wait... A wish! His gaze fell to Kejal. Her soul is leaving. His eyes narrowed in determination as he turned back to the outsider, speaking quickly. "Wait, Bartimaeus! I... I have a wish! Bring her back!
You say Xanesha nearly got her wish. I do not know how this works, but we helped to free you from her. Kejal died helping to do this. So please, bring her back! I would be forever indebted to you if you were to grant me this wish instead!"
Unable to think of much else to ask the Outsider, let alone being able to determine exactly what kind he was, Wyam lowered his head to Bartimaeus, awaiting his answer.
The thought of the Assassin's guild somewhere in Magnimar bothered Wyam but he didn't think it had much to do with this current predicament. The Half sister of the Lamia named Lucrecia, and the man Mokmurian. He would remember their names, and he would find out more about the Thassilonian ties all of this had.
But he did not dwell on this matter as they hurried through the city, seeing Kejal to the Pharasman temple. She was lighter, than he thought, as she lay so silently and still in the stretcher they had quickly fashioned. Part of him wanted to abandon his armor so that he could move quicker, but he did not.
As they cleared the gates, he acknowledged Chase with a nod as they carried her in.
Then Wyam watched the old woman work her magics on Kejal. Her words heartened him and eased the tension he'd felt. When she'd opened her eyes and began coughing, Wyam was elated to see her alive again. He smiled as he walked up to her. There was a great many things he wanted to say at that moment, he wanted to thank Pharasma, and Iomadae. He wanted to tell her that it was Spectrum's quick thinking or Bartimaeus, but instead all he could say in the moment was
"Welcome back, Kejal."
Wyam glances at his companions and believes they trust him with the decision.
This is our best chance to find the connections between the victims.
Falling back on his courtly training, and trying not to seem eager, Wyam waits an appropriate moment before speaking.
"Let Lord Groboras know that we will gladly accept his invitation to dine with him three nights hence. " He made sure to say nothing of the reward or remark on the service performed as accepts the gilt edged letter with nod a firm hand shake.
Wyam spent the next few days trying to quickly instruct both Kejal and Spectrum on the better etiquette of court. He was sure, Spectrum and Kejal both understood, but wasn't sure if they would grasp the finer techniques in time. Kejal he knew, with her charm and other-worldly heritage would fit in just fine perhaps even better than Wyam, but feared that Spectrums abrasive and standoffish nature would cause some incident.
Then he taught them to dress for the occasion. On the day following receiving the letter, he immediately took them to find some of the best tailor shops in Magnimar. They did not have time to wait to make proper sizing's so they simply had to find the kind of clothes that fit closely and then some quick hemming, cutting and fast stitching to clear up any missed sizing.
Wyam gave Kejal his arm as he eyed her appreciatively. Dressed in finery she was a rather stunning woman, and he was certainly glad she was still alive.
He examined their surroundings as the others talked. It was certainly impressive, if not surprising given the size of the city. He was used to seeing such exemplifications of wealth and status.
Wyam felt very comfortable in his clothing. Despite it having been a while since he'd last worn anything like this.
He'd only just broken in the boots after wearing them all around for the last two days. He'd gotten them a new shine and polish from a young man working the streets earlier. He wore black trousers, a long white shirt under a black nobles vest, tinged with silver embroidery. On his black leather belt he wore two red velvet pouches in which he kept some gold in one and a curative potion in another. He did not wear his armor or his sword but he did keep his dagger with him in a newly crafted leather sheath. He wore the ring which still gleamed with the magic it offered for protection and he currently wore his protective cloak as well but intended to remove it once they were inside.
Turning as he noted Kejal's faltering speech, he spoke clearly. "Be careful what you say around here, Spectrum. To some it may seem an illusion of high society but I assure you, it is far more real to them than most of what we do. What we've encountered will seem more like a dream or fantasy. We're lucky that the smart ones realize it is much closer to them than most think.
For now let us entreat the lord and any of his other guests to the niceties of their world and not speak of our current engagements unless asked first. Remember what I've taught you so far and if we get separated and anyone tries to engage you in something we don't wish to speak of simply infer that the company is perhaps too polite and come find me."
Then with good humor, he holds out his arm again and turns to follow the footman. "Shall we be off?"
Spectrum was patient as he listened to Wyam explained the ins and outs of Magnamar's political and social etiquette. He listened while alchemical agents bubbled. Glimmer asked many questions. Spectrum only nodded.
When the lesson was over, Spectrum simply said "Thank you."
Bartimaeus frowns severely at Wyam; his skin becomes unblemished, unnatural. A soft aura of smoke surrounds him as his eyes whiten. "A wish hurts and disfigures me, Paladin; it's forced from me or freely given, and I have not had cause for the latter in centuries." He stares a moment, then relaxes back into his boyish form. "...wishes also tend to raise mountains and break down cities; using one to raise a fallen... ever squeezed a pond into a thimble?"
"You're adventurers; and you just did a pretty good deed for the city. They'll care for her."
He fades even more.
"Anyway, I think that's me going. Nice to meet you all... any friend of Isme's is a friend of mine..."
Barring further questions, he fades away into nothingness.
The old woman frowns a little, and stares piercingly into Kejal's eyes. When she finds a moment alone with the rest of the party, she quietly mutters to them "Care for that one. Believers, paladins especially; some survive their first resurrection like a duck's first dip in a pond. Some bring death back, don't want to let go. Keep an eye on her."
The liveried man returns the handshake, and making a short bow, gracefully departs.
After an approving half-bow from the footman, you are shown through finely-trimmed gardens along a sparkling cobblestone path to the door to the manor proper. A sternly-garbed manservant receives you, and politely requests you to follow him further.
You are shown into a dining room; an exceptionally small one. The central table seats only eight, designed to narrow to provide a wide edge for the head of the table. Carved of mahogany and inlaid with designs of symbols of Aroden and ancients charms of good fortune, it merges with the rest of the room with quiet elegance. Ornate portraits of rulers and heroes past and very-past survey from their positions on the walls as partially drawn maroon velvet curtains allow a sliver of moonlight to play across the table between the golden flickers thrown by the silent magical braziers.
Requested to be seated, the manservant rings a small silver bell as discretely as possible. "His genteel honor requests pardon; due to affairs of state he will be attending come the final course, and it falls to me to recite the menu. Tonight, his honor's personal chef is pleased to offer you two light courses. The first, a choice of chicken soup garnished with chicken quenelles and sauteed asparagus tips and chervil, or a fine turtle soup flavored with sherry. The second, a choice of a fine sorbet made from sour Chelish cherries augmented by a fine spirit, or a selection of mixed small pastries filled with sweet mousses of various fine flavors. His honor requested that I strongly recommend to you the turtle." He pauses, and turns to face Glimmer and Array. "...the kitchen would be happy to offer to your dragons a plate of fine grouse." A quiet order out of the room brings forth two ornate gold perches that are duly attached high on the wall for the pseudodragons. Slightly disbelieving, he turns and bends over near to Isme. "...might I ask if madam requests anything for her repast?" The manservant bows, and returns to his place next to the door.
Pondering their meal, each member of the party finds itself faced with their matched dining companion.
Spectrum finds himself placed alongside an aged gentlemen in a dark black suit and puffy white shirt, with a monocle. His eyes vary between aimless fluttering and precise focus. "Hrmph; Sir Edgar Barnarsby the 3rd's the name, boy. Welcome to Defiant's Garden; a rare treat for you I'm sure." He sniffs a little, then slackens into a polite smile. "Why, just like when my old friend Oillius was invited into Barrack-Master Harthom's personal tent for a meal; why that was a fine old do..." he arrests his story as the meal comes. When it does, his eyes grow piercing again and track their way over to him. "Not that old Harthom would have accepted a knife-ear, pardon my Chelish, in his tent. Oh no, old Harthom was an old sort- kept up, what was his term for it... 'standards'. Of course we think so differently today... for better and for worse..."
Wyam finds himself seated next to a statuesque woman with red hair curled into a precise and fashionable cut, the first wrinkles of age along her neck and cheeks and a long black down augmented by bright ruby earrings and a silver bracelet. "Widow-Duchess Alcheska of a number of northern fiefs" she introduces herself as, offering a firm yet delicate hand for the paladin to kiss. She stands to patiently wait for Wyam to pull her chair out for her, and sits down and moves in with a graceful movement. She deftly arranges her napkin and gestures for wine to be poured for her, before turning to her companion. "So; we find our table graced by a paladin, I do believe? This is a rare honor; too many in this city find a paladin too nerve-inducing a guest, making the other attendants antsy about their personal affairs..." she studies Wyam for a moment before offering the smile of a much younger woman. "Though perhaps that is the way you prefer it." She quietly suggests the sorbet for the second course, before continuing "I must confess, I've always found myself rather drawn to the... intensity that fills rural nobles. Perhaps closer agrarian ties truly do reveal the essence of true nobility, perhaps the city has a way of making a man uncertain and unhappy with his lot in life... regardless, I do not see such weakness within you, my dear sir." She raises her glass and takes a deep sip. "Should we expect your company in future, dear sir?" She smiles again, and lightly touches Wyam's wrist with a soft fingertip.
Isme finds herself seated next to a man with a barely-trimmed thick brown beard and sun-tanned skin. His aged yet muscled body seems ill-suited to the fine dining suit he wears, and he stabs at his soup as if the minions of hell itself resided within its depths. He seems keen enough on ignoring the raven, and the averted glances among the other dining guests.
Kejal finds herself seated next to a young man with dark brown Garundi skin, dressed in a relatively plain burgundy shirt though garbed with golden medals and a silver and cotton sash. "El'lan As'ssani, second son to the Osiriani ambassador, if it pleases you, ma'am." He smiles, some of it reaching his eyes, as he gracefully pulls out Kejal's chair to help her sit. As the first course is served, he begins speaking. "I believe you are the lady Kejal, ma'am? I confess I've heard little of you, though I'm sure that's more my fault than yours; what great things can you have done for the city to be invited to this fine event..." He studies her for a moment before breaking into a charming grin. "Of course, it is the duty of a fine supper to seek to be worthy of the finer ladies who might choose to bestow their presence upon it, far from the reverse." His gaze narrows. "Though naturally, Magnimarian hospitality rather rarely extends to sharing a manor used normally for highest diplomacy with others..." A pause, then he reaches out to touch her wrist for a moment. "You must be special indeed."
Spectrum raised a perfect eyebrow.
"I have been here before, Sir Barnarsby. With my parents, when I was but a youth of fifty years. My name is Llevyn Dawntree. I am pleased to see the gardens have been kept up so nicely. There was concern that humans would not adiquately care for such a gift."
"I do not remember meeting any representatives of the Barnarsby family at that event. A recent title? Or recent favor with the Lord Mayor? In either case you have my congratulations."
Array loved his golden perch. He lorded above the people below with the kind of aloof condescension that only dragons and cats are capable of. He preened absently, showing off the iridescent sheen of his black scales.
He listened to the inane conversations happening below, taking particular intrest in the female speaking with Wyam.
She wishes to mate. the dragon's mind-voice said inside Wyam's head.
Glimmer liked her perch, but she quickly became bored, and she also didn't like being looked at by so many people she did not know. Flustered, she flew down and landed on Spectrum's shoulder.
In the days leading up to the Mayor's dinner, both dragons had molted. Where Array had darkened, Glimmer had become lighter in shade, and her scales even more reflective. Her pattern seemed to shift based on her mood and the lighting now, and her wings were nearly transparent but caught the light like prisms.
"What's a Kinfe Ear, Sir Barnarsby? she asked telepathically.
Everyone within sixty feet heard her in thier minds.
Barnarsby blinks and goes a tiny bit pale before casting a glance up at Glimmer. "Hrmph? Voices from the roof? What's up there my dear fellow, I need my better monocle... reminds me of the time my wet-nurse Atry swore she heard bats in the rafters..." he pauses and blinks, looking at Spectrum. "...but why am I telling my in the rafters, sir..." he enthusiastically attempts a long ramble about grouse-hunting in the country.
Isme nods to Bartimaeus, expecting the answer, but she had to try. Wyam interrupted her before she could ask her question and his earnest emotions made it hard for her to interrupt him. After he's rebuked, however, and Bartimaeus fades away even more, Isme poses a question. "One last thing. Do you know what wish Xanesha wanted to make?"
Later, after Bartimaeus has gone, she gives Wyam a cutting look. "You should let someone knowledgeable with outsiders deal with them, especially if that someone is acquainted with the outsider in question." She holds her glare a moment longer before she sighs. "And you shouldn't be so quick to owe a deep debt. I asked for aid as a favor, but a wish is another thing entirely. Consider it luck you asked it when he still had mortal ties and was in a good mood from his release. In any case, I understand you may be feeling emotional, but what we did for Chaise, we can do for Kejal."
Isme nods to the old woman, showing her understanding but saying nothing else.
Isme smiles in amusement after the liveried man had gone. "Their honorable raven Isme? Very ambiguous wording. I suppose they don't know what to make of me." She tilts her head at Wyam. "I can take care of myself. I won't cause undue trouble."
Isme seemingly hadn't given much thought to the mayor's dinner during the period leading up to it, mostly seen watching over and speaking with Chaise. When not doing that, she was seen busying herself with arcane and supernatural tasks among others, appraising and trading with dealers, making sure the scarecrow golem they found was kept safely before they decide what to do with it, and so on.
When she appears for the dinner, however, her feathers are well-preened and a necklace of gold coins rests around her neck. Her black-webbed ring remains on her left foot and her body is covered with a shawl of deep red, crimson flowers subtly patterned on its fabric. Thin scarlet ribbons wound around body, trailing freely from her feet and wings, yet none of them interfere with her movements, flowing easily with every gesture.
Entering the dining room, Isme quickly takes in the social situation, assessing where the party stood and the nature of their invitation.
It seemed rather promising and honest so far. The raven perched on the back of the chair that seemed reserved for her, amused that the servants were confused as to her presence. However, the hosts must have had a good idea of her intelligence and status in the group to seat and regard her like this. But how much did they know?
Isme tilts her head to the manservant in acknowledgement. She spoke and the words came out a dark smokey whiskey, smooth and seductive. ""The turtle soup flavored with sherry paired with the cherry sorbet will be fine." Her voice was still recognizable as hers, but it would now be a better fit to an exotic woman than a small raven, no matter how beautifully clothed that raven was. "Serve it as you would any other guest, though in smaller portions."
Leaving the manservant to his job, she assessed the person next to her. An interesting choice to seat her with. He did not seem adept at hiding his disposition and his posture and clothing agreed with the idea that he was not used to social situations. His placement next to her, however, must mean he had a good level of importance. Was there a message the host was trying to convey? But as for the man himself….
She left the man to his thoughts, allowing him time to introduce himself to her if he had been piqued by any of the cues she'd given him or if he had been asked to entertain her. His identity would give her good understanding of how much the host really knew about her.
Still, there was some time before her food was served and Isme spent it subtly assessing the room, checking the state of her party and the person next to them (she would leave them to their own devices for now), absent-mindedly checking the furniture and decorations for a trap or ambush (just in case, you could never be too careful, the cult's hand could reach further tan they knew) and poison on any of the cutlery or dishes (was there anything special about the turtle soup? even if the host were not duplicit, servants and chefs could still be reached).