Elaydren gathers herself and responds to Tierney. "There are mutliple groups involved that seek to use its power for evil. The Lord of Blades seeks to destroy all of the flesh races. We have also heard of other powerful agents in the city looking for it. I will do my best to put it where no one with ill intent can find it!"
"Indeed, there was a map. Is it important?"
"I am not sure. May I look at it?"
"We have no objection." Adir lays the map on the table. "It seems a bit older. Perhaps Friend Tierney will have more information. He is much more studied than we are."
Quietly friends. We have been observed. I assume this location has a suitably discreet exit, or you would not have chosen it. I believe it would be best for us all if we travel together to somewhere more secure.
Sense Motive 1
Sense Motive 2
Quietly friends. We have been observed. I assume this location has a suitably discreet exit, or you would not have chosen it. I believe it would be best for us all if we travel together to somewhere more secure.
Jarot's warning grabs Adir's attention. He looks around, blaming his failing on the emotional and physical toll of the day's events. Then he gives the wolf a look, as if questioning her.
"Thank you, Friend Jarot. Should we find refuge elsewhere, Elaydren?"
We were followed for some time, I wasn't sure if I was simply being paranoid due to the events of the day, but once we arrived here, and having no prior knowledge of the area, I could not think of a way to verify it without becoming lost and vulnerable. Now that we are here, it is clear they were following us.
My Lady, perhaps this will be your chance to experience the joys of repeated ambushes, as we have grown used to today. Though as you can tell, it is hellish on the wardrobe.
Jarot offers Elaydren a weary smile as he surreptitiously hands over the signet ring.
Lady Elaydren looks around and catches Talulah's eyes. "Are we safe? The halfling smiles, "Yes m'am. We have six agents outside watching the building."
The Lady turns back around and spreads the map out upon the table surface and takes a long, wistful moment to gaze at the proud country of Cyre... as it once was. "I think we are safe here."
"Interesting," she muses at the points upon the map. "These are likely hidden facilities. I will be honest, I can only identify half of these. This is... so very interesting," she continues, tracing her finger along the borders of what is now the Mournland, singling out those marks which lay within and without.
"Is that Rose Quarry?" her warforged guard asks, pointing to a mark within northeastern Cyre, now Darguun. "I was from Lyrenton. I was assigned to a platoon nearby" he says, pointing to a dot upon the map which marks a city. "When the Lhesh turned against Cyre, we fell back there to make a stand. But Cyre was so pressed by Breland and Karrnath that Queen Dannel could not afford to reassign more soldiers to beat back the Ghaal'dar," he straightens and sighs. "Lyrenton was destroyed and all who remained were either slain or enslaved by the Ghaal'dar."
Lady Elaydren listens earnestly to his story, glancing back to the map and the marking of the ill-fated Cannith-owned quarry. She purses her lips, takes one last glance at the rest of the marks, and brusquely rolls the map. If you did not know any better, you'd think that a tear escapes the corner of her eye. "You may use my name at the Bank of Kundarak to avail yourself of its services," she says, tucking the map away and rising abruptly. She does not look at you as she speaks, perhaps uncomfortable at showing any emotion. Suddenly in a hurry, she turns to go, ignoring any further questions or attempts at conversation.
"You have my thanks" she says over her shoulder, pausing only long enough to get the words out of her mouth, "... and the thanks of my house. Periodically, check in with the House Sivis message station at the Barmin Tower. I may leave a message for you if more work becomes available."
She approaches her bodyguard, nodding to him that she is ready to leave. The warforged gives a slight bow before moving to the door to ensure that the way is clear and safe to proceed. You suppose that you are not the only ones that the Lord of Blades dispatched his agents to pursue...
"I need a bath...and some new clothes."
The Halfling, Talulah, responds to Tierney. "I will have a hot bath poured for you. You all are welcome to stay for free while in Sharn. Something tells me you will hear from Lady Elaydren sooner rather than later."
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
The hot bathwater is soothing to Tierney’s aches, even if it does rekindle the sting of his leg wound. In a disturbingly short time, the tub is sickeningly tainted by the effluvia that washed off Tierney’s skin. Even the scents that Talulah added to the bath are no longer detectable. But the important point to Tierney was that he was now clean. He reached out for a towel and was shocked at what his fingers grasped. Such softness he did not even know existed. For a moment, he was not even certain what to do with an extraordinary accoutrement.
In the end, however, he put the towel to its use and made his way to his room. Talulah had provided a robe. This too left Tierney out of sorts for a moment because he had never even contemplated that such attire would be needed by anyone. The baths that he had had, prior to today were Spartan, at best. One could grow used to such things he told himself.
Despite great fatigue, the magus poured over his grimoire before resting. The demands that the last days had placed on him were beyond his expectations, yet he surprised himself at what he had accomplished with his spellcraft. It bolstered his confidence in himself and convinced him that there are more heights to aspire to in his magic. Almost as if in answer to his increased ambitions, he studied a fire-spell that he had copied from the book of Provost Bonal. Understanding came through to him quickly now, if not exactly in an epiphany. This would have been wonderful to know when the centipedes closed on us he thought.
The elation of new magic to be wielded faded from his mind when he looked up from the book and saw the new sword that lay across his desk. Putting the book aside, he grasped the sword and unsheathed it. ”Death Blade” ; it has a name. He could not say how he knew this to be the sword’s name, however. He was not able to read the runes carved along its length. Had Razor told him? He could not remember. But he was unable to plumb the question because he then became aware of whispers at the edge of his hearing.
For long moments he strained his hearing in order to capture a coherent word. Even grasping the character of a voice speaking them would have sufficed. But the whispers eluded him. And it was only when the candle on the desk began to sputter that he realized how much time had passed in this effort. Yawning, he climbed into bed and immediately lost consciousness. No dreams troubled his sleep.
When Tierney woke he found that his hostess had placed a set of clothing on his chair and filled a cistern with water. Nothing else had been disturbed. Truly she thinks of everything. One thing surprised him greatly, though. When he looked for the sword he found it in its scabbard and beside held in his right hand.
He did not remember putting it there.
"I think we can all use a bath or two. Especially you," he says to the wolf laying by the fire. She sits up and nips him affectionately, though not gently. He smiles as he pulls his leg away quickly.
After bathing, Adir and Ghost exit their room, walk to Servitor's door, and Adir knocks."Servitor, it is Adir. We'd like to come in and speak with you if you have some time."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Servitor takes the remaining trip and celebration quietly.
After some time, he approaches Jarot. "Friend Jarot, may we speak?" Servitor retreats to its room, and quietly sits down, and begins to repair itself.
"When I was... born, I signed a contract to work in the mines. Soon, I began to dread every moment following the last. Days meant nothing, all that you did was mine and mine and mine, there was no sun to tell the passing of time. I hated every moment as me and my brothers toiled away in the dark with no end in sight and no personal driving force. My brothers all spoke of past occupations, dreams for the future, things I could not understand. Eventually I was caught in one of the many mine collapses, my frame and strength kept me conscious through the event. And I could only help but wonder 'why?' Why was it that I had to suffer so? Why did my brethren have to suffer so? Once they dug us out and began repairing us, I asked one of the guards who worked there. His response defines me, as he simply told me it was my place to do so.
It may seem a simple thing, but suddenly I understood. Humans could not have survived the cave in, humans could not have survived the pockets of poisonous gas that we found from time to time, humans do not have the strength or endurance to mine effectively even. For every ounce of suffering I had felt, I spared a human the same suffering two-fold, and this is what I was built for. This was the reason I was given life, it is my place, to suffer in the stead of you fleshwalkers, what clearer meaning could I derive from being 'warforged?' As your tale tells, it is of little joy for the soldiers who fight in the wars, or even for those who just support them to be in the war. So I was created, my people were created, to excel in battle and suffer in the place of your kind. Yet in doing so, find purpose, and lessen the suffering of the world.
This is why I cannot abide Razor and those who think like it, they do not understand their place. And because of this they lay blame upon fleshwalkers for the troubles born from their own hearts, stealing, killing, rebelling for a satisfaction they will never find in their blindness. Never once, do they realize that the role set out before the warforged is one of the greatest boons of our condition: we never have to suffer as your kind does, wondering what meaning our lives have. This is why I do not understand. I have removed Razor, and his ilk from this world. Yet why do I not feel satisfaction? Why do I not feel as though I have completed my purpose once more? I removed suffering, yet more than ever I feel incomplete for it.
If your research could be furthered at all through me Friend Jarot, do not hesitate to ask. I am warforged, I am Servitor, it is my duty and my joy to serve, doubly so for a friend."
As the knock resounds on the door, Servitor stands and opens the threshold. Before Adir stands the massive warforged, chest splayed open and painfully similar in look to the end that Razor met. "Friend Bloodmoon, please, enter."
Jarot will spend some time in the local neighborhood meeting with various other war veterans (humans and their kin only of course) and helping them with his newly found understanding of medicine. As part of this he will try to locate a local herbalist or alchemist that will allow him to make use of their facilities at times. Can't have thieving little halflings disturbing his work.
Alchemy:
Alchemist fire x4(40gp)
Acidx5(25gp)
Bottled Lightning x2(40gp)
Burst Jar x2(35gp)
Liquid Ice x2(40gp)
Iron Pellet Grenade x2(50gp)
Sneezing powder x2(60gp)
2 Liquid blades premixed with the drow poison razor had(40gp)
10x Vermin Repellant (25gp) No reason :)
This is all assuming half cost for crafting, oh and buying a mw alchemy kit. Keeping this stuff in the haversack for obvious reasons. total 315gp + 200 for the alchemy lab.
Potions:
Enlarge Person x2 (50gp)
touch of the Sea x2 (50gp)
Cure Light Wounds x2 (50gp]
150gp
total of 665 gp
Will put the info for the uncommon alchemy stuff in the my character. they are on the prd as well.
Good Servitor I will think on what you have said as well, it seems you have a visitor that may be able to answer the question better than I can. We can continue to repair your damage later. I would also like your assistance in examining the messenger that we removed from Razor. Perhaps we can learn something from it.
Jarot nods to Adir as he exits the room.
Adir smiles and nods to Jarot as he exits, clapping him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. Ghost follows Adir into the room. Observing Servitor's state, he says, "We'd like to discuss some things that happened so that we might better understand each other. But first, let me see if I can help with your injuries. My gifts seem to struggle to help you, but perhaps I can learn." Adir summons healing energy, which causes his hand to glow.
/2=2
When he releases the energy, it makes little difference. His frustration is evident. "We know you are living, and we believe you have a soul." He looks to Servitor's eyes briefly, as if looking for confirmation. Adir swings the doors of your chest back and forth, testing them. "Maybe if I concentrate just on this..." His hand glows again.
/2=4
This time there is a brief flash of a vision of the night sky, but there are no details before it is gone. He tests the doors again, seeing if they swing any easier. "I hope that is a little better. We will hopefully achieve better results with more time and experimentation." He chuckles slightly. "That sounded a bit like Jarot, didn't it? Adir pauses, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I should just be direct. When you... dismantled Razor, did you understand why others had such strong reactions to that situation?"
Servitor dutifully replies. "Because it is not justice." Servitor lets out a small utterance of pain as it begins working on a different wound, the healing magic taking care of the majority of the wound left behind by Razor. The machine works in relative silence. "Perhaps because of... Provost Bonal? I..." Servitor breaks its own silence, still deep in tone but almost timid before lapsing back into it. "No, I do not know. Friend Bloodmoon, I do not understand what has happened. Destroying Razor was a fulfillment of my purpose, a removal of a source of suffering in this world has done nothing to please me, I do not feel as though this was my purpose..." Servitor looks up suddenly, excited? "Sorcery! That is it, isn't it? Razor cast some kind of sorcery to try and save itself before the end. That is why we all felt so empty, disturbed." Servitor nods, seeming satisfied with the answer.
Adir shakes his head sadly. "You are correct in that the action was not justice. But it was not sorcery that made any of us feel that way." Adir watches Servitor repair himself, fascinated by the matter-of-fact way that he assesses and fixes the problems he encounters, yet still pays attention to the conversation. Meanwhile, Adir searches for words that will resonate with the warforged. "Provost Bonal had purpose, many purposes even. Indeed, a life is not limited to a single purpose.
When his life was ended, some of those purposes had been fulfilled, some had not. One of those purposes was to be our friend. We felt sad because he could not fulfill that role anymore. Each unfulfilled purpose is a possibility that no longer exists. It might be overwhelming to think about, but each life that we encounter is full of these possibilities. Even Razor had the potential for fulfilling good purposes. He chose not to do so, but because of that potential, even his life was precious. But because he chose otherwise, his life became forfeit to justice."
Adir pauses to give Servitor a chance to voice any responses or questions. It is important to him that this remains a dialogue, and not a lecture.
Servitor nods slowly, slow enough that the lack of understanding becomes clear. "Yes, that is why I destroyed it. It no longer served any purpose but its own, that perversion from its duty turned itself from taking the suffering of the fleshwalkers and bearing it itself, to denying this task and instead seeking to be the cause of this suffering." Servitor speaks the words slowly as though talking to a child, unsure if what it's communicating will be understood.
Despite the tone of the response, Adir is pleased with the two of them finding common ground in their language. "Justice was done, but you did not feel fulfilled. Perhaps that is because it did not negate your sadness from friend Bonal's death. Vengeance never can. Sharing that pain with your friends can help ease that burden, though." He waits for a moment before continuing, gathering his thoughts, trying to use Servitor's language.
"Razor... its death served purpose, to prevent others' suffering, but its suffering did not serve a purpose. We are hoping to help you understand why it was wrong, not just that it was wrong. Does this help in that regard? And do you have more questions with which we might help you?"
Jarot walks over towards the Halfling bartender and stands awkwardly. She looks over at him. "Can I help you Jarot?" He fumbles a little with his bag as he answers. "Where. is. an. apothocary?" Talulah smiles at the gauche vivisectionist and then starts scribbling on a piece of parchment. "Here is a map. It is right around the corner." He will fit right in there. The Halfling laughs to herself as she hands it over. "Ask for Basilius. Tell him you know me."
Jarot heads into the streets. The light of the suns peers through the towers and illuminates Mid City. It appears that it would be a beautiful day for those fortunate enough to live in Sky Way or Upper City. The shadows increase as he heads into the trade district. Jarot follows the map until it turns down a dark alley. There are a couple of beggars lying under blankets sleeping off the previous night's cheap liquor. Jarot tip toes over them to the end of the alley. He looks back and wonders if anyone would notice if he "borrowed" one of the beggars' bodies for research.
Just ahead he sees the sign for the The Mortar and Pestel. Jarot moves up to the door and pushes it open. The inside looks like a promised land to the half Daelkyr. Potions and Jars/Testubes fill the front room. Body parts from all different types of creatures hand dehydrated from hooks on shelves. A bell rings as Jarot enters. He hears a deep chest cough from the back room. An old human man,adorned in long dirty robes, steps through a curtain into the front room. His face is covered in ash, causing white beard to appear an ugly darkish grey. From what Jarot can see through the ash, his face and head are littered with warts. "May I help you young man?"
After a couple of days of sitting around the tavern, Servitor is a little lost. The monotomy of the days has seemed to wear on him. He was not created to sit for so long. He is lost in these thoughts when he hears the door open.
Sevitor turns to the door and notices Lady Elaydren's warforged body guard enter. The fiercely armored warforged crosses the room and heads straight to Servitor's table. In a mechanical voice, "Good afternoon. I am Stalwart. May I please sit here and speak with you?" The silver armored bodyguard is covered in a royal blue tabard with the shield of House Cannith on it. He has a shield strapped to his back and a large mace at his side. His glowing blue eyes appear to pierce through whatever soul Servitor may possess.
"May I help you young man?"
Jarot, his eyes bright at finding such a trove of potential ingredients in such an out of the way place actual grins. A less than reassuring sight. Yes, I believe you may. Are you Basilius? I may be spending some time in the area and I was looking for a location for ingredients, as well as perhaps space to rent to perform my own experiments and alchemy. Also, I would like to assist our people with my knowledge of medicine. They tend to be overlooked in this area, choked as it is with goblins and other such filth clogging the streets. If there is someone that represents the human population here it would make my efforts more efficient. Oh, I am Jarot Tennet by the way.
Kinad had just returned to his office at Morgrave University. He had been accompanying the archaeology department on a three month trip to ancient ruins in Xen'drik. The expedition had been a success. They were able to recover multiple artifacts and the museum at Morgrave University was able to add to its ancient Drow culture's exhibit.
It had been quite awhile since Kinad had been able to sit and just reflect. He now sits in his high back chair decompressing from the trip. His academic responsibilities at the school have expired and he is now free to spend more time traveling Khorvaire. Deep in his thoughts, he fades into a a trance-like state:
Kinad stands in what appears to be a quarry of some kind. Surrounding him is several well armored men. Out in front is one of the largest warforged he has ever seen. His large maul is held high as we stands in a defensive stance before the group. To Kinad's side is a strange looking man. He has daggers drawn. The dagger in his right in surrounded by dark shadows. He had just chugged some bubbling alchemical conncoction and now strained as the effects twisted his appearance,causing visible discomfort. Over his shoulder, Kinad sees a half man/half beast. The shifter holds a staff high over his head with both hands and inspires the group. A large, beautiful wolf stands in her stance low awaiting orders from her master. To his other side, a tiefling crouches with a black blade drawn. Arcane words fill his mouth as he looks ahead keenly.
The men appear frozen in time. Kinad walks around the scene and begins looking around. Bodies lay strew on the battlefield. In front of the large warforged is a half man/half devil with long sharp fangs. Covered in black robes, he holds a unholy symbol high. Blood trickles down his chin.
BANG...BANG...BANG!
Kinad is startled awake by the banging on his door. "Enter" The door opens and a student Kinad knows well enters. "Good morning sir! We missed you. Have you heard about the Provost?" The human student's face saddens at his question. He is holding a letter in his hand sealed with Bonal's crest.
Servitor stares across the table to Stalwart. "Yes, you may sit. What is it you wish to speak of?" The warforged in its standard lack of good etiquette skips any form of introduction itself.
Tierney awakens bent over in a chair with his face resting on his grimoire. Thankfully the page remains un-moistened. With a groan and an aching back, he stands and stretches. Must have fallen asleep at the desk he thinks. It occurs to him that swordplay would be the perfect way to limber up and he takes Deathblade in hand and unsheathes it.
Once again the whispers tease his ears. Nothing intelligible can he heard among them, only hints of words. Even the accents, if there are any, and the nature of the voices escape recognition. In a similar vein, the runes along the blade defy Tierney's attempts to interpret them. For long moments he stares at them, trying to coax some long-dormant knowledge from his mind that will reveal their meaning.
After a few moments he begins his exercises. The sword is light in his hand and enables him to make nimble movements. At times he thinks it guides his hand as he strikes at imagined foes. Even its hilt allows a more perfect grip than any other he has held before.
When he has finishes his sword practice, Tierney sheaths Deathblade, collects his spellbook and seeks out Ms. Sweetwater. If he is to effect what he learned from his studies, he needs certain things that she likely knows where he can procure them.
Downstairs he sees the proprietress and stands close to her so that he can speak in a low voice. "Do you know where I could find a tattoo parlor? Also, I need to find a library" After a pause he remembers to greet her and says "Oh, good morning, by the way."
. . . Kinad is startled awake by the banging on his door. "Enter" The door opens and a student Kinad knows well enters. "Good morning sir! We missed you. Have you heard about the Provost?" The human student's face saddens at his question. He is holding a letter in his hand sealed with Bonal's crest.
Misreading the mood a bit, Kinad jokes No I haven't had a chance to see the little goat. Did he get caught taking favors for grades? He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
The student's eyes drop to the floor. No, sir. Nothing so simple.
Finally catching on, Kinad's voice softens. Well, sometimes bad news is best when gotten over quickly. He gestures with an open hand to the chair in the corner, there not being enough room for much more in the office than the the small desk, two chairs, and various shelves he had tacked on the walls and filled with books and nick-knacks. The organized chaos only partially left space for visitors. If you'd like to sit, go ahead.
No. I think I will out with it. His gaze meets Kinad's and says The Provost was killed in transit on the airship from Starilaskur to Sharn. It was bandits.
Bonal Geldem... dead? He shakes his head in slow denial, dread creeping across his person. If he hadn't already been sitting, he would have fallen right there. No. He was talented. He would have seen it coming... Kinad's voice trails off as his thoughts slow and stop entirely.
The fellow holds up the letter and then puts it on Kinad's desk. The Provost left this for you. I shall leave you to it. He says, beginning to step back, attempting to excuse himself.
Kinad clears his throat. Fine... Yes... That would probably be best.
After the student hurriedly shuts the door and leaves, Kinad picks up the letter, holding it for a few moments. He knew it was his imagination, but the parchment seemed so much heavier than paper had any right to be. Knowing it would be the same words no matter when he opened it, he pulled out a small knife and pried the seal from the paper, hardly damaging the wax.
I hope this letter finds you well.
My magics have allowed me to wander down many possibilities. We have discussed some of them. I have seen many decisions and many outcomes. The one I have settled upon is not easy. In point of fact, it frightens me, but I believe it leads to the best end.
Do not grieve over long, my young friend. It does not suit you. Though not the best student I have had in my tenure here at Morgrave (... no... definitely not the best...) you have a spark that many lacked. You have the capacity to achieve great things.
I fully expect you to do so.
With Warmest Regards,
Provost Bonal Geldem
A laugh escapes Kinad to turn into a restrained sob. Orge's Eyes! He wipes away the traitorous tears that escape despite his effort to restrain them. Even in death he mocks me to study harder. The humor amidst sorrow is enough and the damn breaks. After several minutes, Kinad calms and, after digging around in his desk for a handkerchief, is relatively dry even if a bit red around the edges.
. . . Kinad walks around the scene and begins looking around. Bodies lay strew on the battlefield. In front of the large warforged is a half man/half devil with long sharp fangs. Covered in black robes, he holds a unholy symbol high. Blood trickles down his chin.
A memory of the Provost springs to mind, unbidden. Lady Elaydren d'Cannith has been kind enough to help with a dig or two in the past, when it was made to suit. The image of the late Geldem's face shines with suppressed laughter during a previous conversation. They always want something back, but consider the Houses as sponsors. You might accidentally be able to put them to good use.
Kinad's face hardens. His will galvanizes. The Provost was doing something. No mere bandit stops a diviner.
I will find out what it was.
He gets up from his chair, shrugging on a hide shirt and hanging a metal klar from his belt, ready to get at it at a moments notice. The shirt and shield were human sized replicas of the kind the Xen'drik tribal giants use. Bonal and Kinad collaborated on their construction before Kinad left for the dig months ago.
He strides from his office with purpose.
Adir considers pressing the issue briefly, but stops himself. He smiles encouragingly. "I believe you are just beginning to understand what it is to be alive, as well as what that means to you. Perhaps it is better to give you time to think over these concepts in your own time. You often seek guidance from fleshwalkers, but sometimes, you must draw your own conclusions."
Adir grimaces at the follow-up question. "That answer is simpler. The dismantling of a body is considered gruesome. While we often do that in regards to animals that we eat without too much complaint, seeing a body that was previously a conscious entity being torn apart is quite unsettling. We fleshwalkers have weaker stomachs, as you might imagine."
Double oak doors banded in brass sit underneath the symbol for Breland. Underneath and only slightly smaller than the Brelish symbol is the mark for House Lyrandar. Inside are a few wooden desks, shelves, and copious amounts of paperwork in binders, books, metal trays, and other places, but almost no one except one middle aged brunette scribbling furiously at some copy. Dressed in a simple but well made skirt, a button down sky blue shirt, and a silver necklace and bracelet in a matching style, she's fighting a losing battle with order and it shows in the frazzled edges of her hair and the slightly maniac gleam in her eye.
Before she raises her head, to see who has come through the door, Kinad concentrates, pushing positive feelings in the direction of the flustered woman, hoping to improve her mood.
"Everyone find something else to do and leave you here, eh?" Kinad asks sympathetically.
The woman visibly warms up a bit. "Yes. Most of the office runs off to perform inspections or check papers. I somehow wind up with the bear's share of the paperwork." She shakes her head a bit angrily. "But you're not here to hear me complain. What can I do for you?"
"Miss, I would love to hear whatever words you wish to allow to pass your parted lips," he says while sketching a small bow, "but I could hardly justify keeping you from your work for long."
She shakes her head left to right and back again, a smile stealing across her face. "Flattery will get you everywhere... if it's good enough. Ask your questions before the charming illusion fades, my young buck."
"A ship came into Sharn a few days ago after being attacked in the air. Is there anyone that could possibly give me anymore details on the attack or the passenger that died?"
Ah. That would be The Beginner's Luck. You'll want to speak to the House Lyrandar fellows. There's two of the half elves that office here, but I rarely see them. Her face takes on bit of sadness. "It's sad that one of the passengers passed, but it was luck that some heroic types were there."
"Do you remember anything about the heroes? Or do you possibly remember which dock The Beginner's Luck used?"
"Everything I heard was second hand. Ask around for the Lyrandar representatives. But" she takes a moment to shuffle through some papers on her desk, "I do believe The Beginner's Luck used dock fourteen."
Kinad spent time around the docks, chatting with workers, both common laborers and officers, travelers and merchants, but no one gave him anything solid concerning the House Lyrandar men for which he was searching. He did happen to find out that one was blond and the other more blond and had a name that might begin with a "B" which was no help at all. After a little over an hour, he gave up an headed over to dock fourteen.
A ship had just taken off from that particular port, so the foot traffic was light. That was just perfect for Kinad. He walks around the dock, getting a feel for the area, then sits and begins to meditate, extending his sixth sense, soaking up the residual emotions and thoughts that permeate the very metal and stone.
A deep hum issues from the vicinity eerily akin to many voices. The sound grows in a second from hardly noticeable to the sound of several simultaneous conversations, though individual words cannot be made out. The dock is briefly slicked with a translucent, shimmering substance which evaporates in just a few seconds, seepage from the Astral Plane.
The vision begins dreamlike and shadowy. Normally everyday occurrences leave no residue for a manifester to detect, but this was a little different. So many persons feeling like they escaped death left such relief and joy on those docks that several images floated up almost at once, like small dogs panting and barking for attention.
...A tall man in journeyman's clothes telling rather plain woman "I thought I'd never see you again. It made me realize..."
...One dwarf saying to another, "Who knows how many days we have allotted? I think we should start an alchemy shop. I don't care what Da says..."
..."You have saved our magnificient vessel and for that we are indebted to you. Please take these..."
Catching a scene that seems important, Kinad focuses on that moment, pulling a little more detail, the event becoming a little more clear.
...the five stand on the platform overlooking Sharn. Bones thanks you once again and asks, "So what now for each of you?"
The group is somewhat familiar, a human with a goatee and a rapacious grin wearing a fine chain shirt and a rapier at his side; a warforged standing tall and dark, his "skin" some exotic metal; a feral man with pale hair, a carved wolf's head staff, and an almost glowing white wolf at his side; a hooded and gloved man with black hair, a slim build, and flaky, chalky white skin; a fellow with a slightly maniac gleam in his eye and a bandoleer of vials over studded leather armor...
Whispering to himself, Kinad utters, "I know them. With the exception of the first fellow, they are the ones in my earlier dream.
Now that I know them, know that they were here, just maybe I can find them.
Kinad again extends his will. He reaches out for echoes of a psyche that remain in the environment, as one could sniff out the scent of a noble woman's honeysuckle perfume hanging upon the air. A single mind, simple and persistent, more focused in it's own way than most others, begins to come into focus for Kinad. Walking slowly, he follows various footpaths through Sharn, having to pause at areas of heavy traffic and spend a moment just casting his perception about to find that specific mental echo amidst so many.
The power eventually fades before he can reach his destination, requiring a renewal of focus and yet again more casting about looking for the unique mind he found on the airship platform. Eventually he sees the likeness of a blink dog engraved into a wide, wooden door. Above the door is a picture of an anvil shattered in-two.
Kinad pushes open the large door and steps into the surprisingly bright and immaculately clean Broken Anvil. The cleanliness of the interior is such a juxtaposition to the trash-lined streets of Middle Dura that one could easily have a moment of disorientation. An attractive halfling female stands behind the counter of the small, quaint establishment.
The psychic echo having grown stronger the closer he came to this place, Kinad let's slip the focus maintaining his tracking and plops down rather unceremoniously into the nearest seat. "Miss, if you would be so kind, I need a glass of something.
As Talulah Sweetwater nears, he follows his request with a second. Would you by any chance have seen a dark warforged, a shifter, or a exceptionally pale man? The late Provost Bonal Geldem left me with some particular instructions.