Narzor crept up near the speaking Taruk and looked down at the people it was speaking to.
Amunet-Ra focuses her ki enabling herself to see what is hidden to the eye - usually. Always sceptic and wary of strangers, especially city dwellers, she suspects another ambush and hidden forces.
Ya. Our little prince of shadows, slick as always, probably speaking to a larger audience than he thinks...
She twirls coils of hair between her fingers.
Do i see that right that we ally with those many-armed ones now?
Emerging into the square from the sometimes-tumbled ruins of sandstone and limestone to the east, from below the vast fortress of the Scarabhold, a lone figure trudges towards the crude, piled-up walls of the makeshift fortification around the destroyed caravan. The clothing worn by the solitary individual is similar to, if not actually, the sort of wastelander's outfit typically worn by the Athasan elven tribes -- a hooded cloak to shield against the sun, multiple layers of cloth to guard against blowing sand, reinforced leather to protect against sharp rocks and cacti thorns. Continuing into the plaza, the person circles around the rock-piles at a respectful (or perhaps just wisely wary) distance, but then pauses when the party comes in view.
A moment's hesitation is there, but then the figure approaches, pulling back the hood of the cloak to reveal the face of a somewhat homely woman. "Excuse me," she calls politely, "but do any of you know how to get in there??" She gestures upwards, but considering the towering bulk of the fortress is still more-or-less behind her, it's clear what she's pointing to.
Amunet-Ra focuses her ki enabling herself to see what is hidden to the eye - usually. Always sceptic and wary of strangers, especially city dwellers, she suspects another ambush and hidden forces.
[dice=Perception]1d20 + 64
Ya. Our little prince of shadows, slick as always, probably speaking to a larger audience than he thinks...
She twirls coils of hair between her fingers.
Do i see that right that we ally with those many-armed ones now?
Jimbli disappears.. reappearing within fifteen feet of Rokan.
"I've been spotted. A dozen many-armed big guys, an ettin, and a couple massive wolves beyond the barricade. Are you ready for a fight?.. I certainly am."His eyes glow for a moment as he grins in anticipation.. he then scans the area for their allies to report what he'd seen.
Amunet-Ra turns her head shortly as the lone figure emerges onto the gigantic plaza, where everyone seems a bit small and lost.
Another wanderer, and one wearing elven seeming attire. Tell me, oh wanderer, your name and the name of your tribe, if you even have one. Or where you come from. And what do you seek inside those crude walls? Perhaps then i will point out the obvious to you.
Her eyes then quickly strife over the stranger on the fortification assuming himself invisible or unseen.
The man who stands before you is a mostly appears to be Human, and arguably a rather attractive one. The only thing that shows him as something more than Human is that his eyes are....gone. In their place are small flames of black light. The shadows around him are also....odd. They seem to move of their own accord, and not in accordance with any light sources.
He is dressed in what appears to be either a jacket or robe with a high collar, buttoned up to the neck.
At her comments to him directly (and realizing that he was staring directly at him) Narzor inclined his head towards Amunet-Ra and says in a accent "Ahh. I see that I am seen. I will, however, not make myself revealed. My appearance might be...unsettling to those of weaker minds."
Narzor shrugs and says "As to your question about tribes, I have none. Social constructs hold little meaning to me, and I care not for mortal lives."
The man who stands before you is a mostly appears to be Human, and arguably a rather attractive one. The only thing that shows him as something more than Human is that his eyes are....gone. In their place are small flames of black light. The shadows around him are also....odd. They seem to move of their own accord, and not in accordance with any light sources.
He is dressed in what appears to be either a jacket or robe with a high collar, buttoned up to the neck.
At her comments to him directly (and realizing that he was staring directly at him) Narzor inclined his head towards Amunet-Ra and says in a accent "Ahh. I see that I am seen. I will, however, not make myself revealed. My appearance might be...unsettling to those of weaker minds."
Narzor shrugs and says "As to your question about tribes, I have none. Social constructs hold little meaning to me, and I care not for mortal lives."
The tarek's whirl in unison as they hear Narzor speak. There two massive war beasts also each emit a threatening, guttural snarl.
"Who is that!" yells one of the creatures.
"Not now beast, your betters are speaking."
The blonde tilts her head, looking sideways and up at Narzor; it's hard to tell if it's directly at, or just at the particular area he (or perhaps 'it') is in. "I keep discovering that those who say they're better are almost always worse." She shrugs -- Narzor answered a question meant for her -- but turns her attention back to the elf.
"No tribe," she replies somewhat blithely. "Not even an elf," she adds, turning her head to the side and pulling her hair back to display her ear, one which though it has something like a vague nod towards a point, is certainly not elven. "Tribes know something about good clothes out in the wastelands, though, so ... better to wear the best design, nah?" A shrug, and she lets her hair drop.
"People call me Gotak -- Gotak the Grim," she says in a most un-grim manner. "I saw a ruckus down here a while back, so I thought I'd come see what was who, maybe someone here knows a way in. You know how it is -- places to go, bad guys to kill."
Across the plaza, in her track, a scuttling something can be seen; the something soon resolves itself into a speckled hurrum, one which buzzes its wings in an almost linguistic song. "I'm sorry," the woman says to it, extending her leg to allow the face-sized insect to scramble up and under her cloak. "I saw more movement, and I figured ..." She trails off in her explanation, the hurrum having already vanished, and shrugs helplessly at Amunet-Ra and her compatriots. "Sorry. Companion of mine."
Rokan watches with patient regard as the new figure plod around on the scene. He
The monk sighs and waves his right hand in a dismissive gesture. Never mind who that is, who they are. Guardians of scarabhold. You've heard my companions offer.
He gestures vaguely at Hazma. What say you?
"Ah, my dear, you say that because you have never seen a being who is better than others, especially smelly monkey men."
Rokan watches with patient regard as the new figure plod around on the scene. He
The monk sighs and waves his right hand in a dismissive gesture. Never mind who that is, who they are. Guardians of scarabhold. You've heard my companions offer.
He gestures vaguely at Hazma. What say you?
Before any further communication can transpire, or the surprised tareks can decide upon a course of action to confront the mysterious invisible stranger in their midst, a new force comes into view on the western side of the Plaza of Power.
Out of the shadows of two of the rarer lime-stone clad buildings emerges a small force, presumably that of the expected reconnaissance force which the tareks expect to arrive from the Balicans who have seized the mysterious Citadel elsewhere in the Kalidnay ruins.
At the head of the force is a lithe, apparently female humanoid, who wears a black mask made half out of obsidian, and half out of ivory. The two materials comprise, respectively the left and right sides of the the face covering, and the sides of its distorted mouth curl down both downwards and upwards, in a disturbing sinuous streak which reaches in grotesque dimensions to each dimple of the mask's cheeks. It is as if the artificial face is simultaneously moaning with the obsidian, left side, and smiling maniacally with its ivory right. Over the crown of the mask's forehead, a bundle of flaxen hair is visible, bundles in tight braids. Piercing gray eyes regard the current occupants of the plaza from behind the mask's divided surface. The masked humanoid is dressed in a flowing tunic and billowing cape that are patterned in white and black checkers. Large decorative broaches of ivory and obsidian secure the ensemble to her strikingly square shoulders. The figure bears a staff containing some kind of cage at its apex.
Behind her are at least a dozen olive-skinned humans, easily recognizable as Balican natives. These are dressed in white tunics with blue capes. Two immense half giants, dressed in the same fashion, accompany the party.
However, the most striking members of the Citadel's scout team are a quadruplet of lumbering automatons who are, in aspect, not unlike those employed by the kreen wraith in the defense of his subterranean lair.
[dice=Perception(Skill God)]20+46
Cae easily recognizes the manner of the masked figure that of his mistress, the Lady Arisone of House Nicephorus of Balic.
With catlike grace and speed, Cae rushes forward with a beaming smile on his face. His musical voice rings out clearly:
"Mistress, you are found,
Are you safe and sound?
So much time has past,
I am here at last."
With catlike grace and speed, Cae rushes forward with a beaming smile on his face. His musical voice rings out clearly:
"Mistress, you are found,
Are you safe and sound?
So much time has past,
I am here at last."[dice=Sense Motive+Judge]1d20+51+2
The masked figure gasps, before shouting,
"Cae! What are you doing here?"
She then apparently notices Raxus,
"I see you've also unexpectedly returned my guardian daimon to me as well."
Arsinoe then apparently recollects her current mission,
"But no matter, quick, you must help me Cae, for these savage tareks have assaulted our house's new allies, and brutally murdered them. They are untutored brutes from the lands to that south that are set against the great destiny which Mother and the rest of the Council of the Elect are hurriedly bringing to the Lands of the Seven Cities."
With catlike grace and speed, Cae rushes forward with a beaming smile on his face. His musical voice rings out clearly:
"Mistress, you are found,
Are you safe and sound?
So much time has past,
I am here at last."[dice=Sense Motive+Judge]1d20+51+2
Arsione appears to have a deadly intention towards the tareks.
Cae looks at her as if she has asked the silliest question.
"My place is at your side,
Performing with honor and pride.
I know nothing about this fate
But your orders I do await,
If that is what they deserve,
You know that I live to serve."
He moves to stand at her side.
Upon the entrance of the automata-enhanced force, the elf-dressed wanderer looking to get into the Scarabhold shifts slightly; for those especially familiar with the combat arts, she has rebalanced her stance to account for the new, potentially dangerous, group. While she didn't initially seem unready to drop into a fight, she does seem to be picking up on a definite confrontational vibe hereabouts.
Cae looks at her as if she has asked the silliest question.
"My place is at your side,
Performing with honor and pride.
I know nothing about this fate
But your orders I do await,
If that is what they deserve,
You know that I live to serve."He moves to stand at her side.
As Cae comes closer to the side of his lost and now found mistress, he feels an immense feeling of... languor descend upon his person. It is as if an invisible ocean of unfathomable power had suddenly rushed in an unstoppable torrent over his unprotected spirit. He then realizes that all of his arcane hexes have been somehow silenced.
Arsione glances at her consort as she raises the curious staff still resting within her right hand. The long rod, apparently made of metal, is topped by a small cage. Within the enclosure swarm a number of what appear to be brightly hued rhinoceros beetles.
Arsinoe of House Nicephous of Balic turns to regard the rest of the assembled Compact of the Broken Tablet and their new associates,
"Strangers, know that I am Arsinoe of House Nicephorus of the City State of Balic on the shores of the Sea of Silt."
"My revered ancestors traveled to these lands in an age long past, plying what were then oceans of water with dark-hulled ships culled from the forests of the Land of the Merchant Princes, which was then known as the Lands of the Chosen, the Lands of the Firstborn, or the Land of Earth and Fire. They fled the terrors of the Solamancers and the Geomancer cabals that once ruled our distant homeland."
"When we arrived on these shores, we civilized the native Aenein tribes and taught them the wisdom of our greatest thinkers."
"The Tyrant Adrophinus brought the Cleansing Wars to our gates, and subverted the Senatorial Council when he offered his protection against the predations of the other Champions of the Warbringer."
"Now, this great wrong shall be righted, for the most assiduous heirs of the master of thinkers, the ancient philosopher Cytobaridies, have finally garnered the power to set aright this ill-used world, and overthrow the power of the sorcerer-kings in the Lands of the Seven Cities."
Arsinoe gazes upwards as she gestures towards the cage at the head of her staff.
"Behold! The Beetles of Shefqat, drinkers of spells, and eaters of thought. Gift of travelers from a distant world, they shall prove the end of all our unrighteous masters, and the Council of the Elect shall govern with impartiality and observance of the True Law for all days to come."
She narrows her eyes as she regards the tarek fortification.
"But this long awaited day shall not arise without due struggle. First, we must avenge those who have laid low innocent souls who sought our aid in their struggle against another tyrant."
** spoiler omitted **
It is known among a select group of the greatest scholars in the Lands of the Seven Cities that the end of the Blue Age coincided with the descent of enigmatic 'voices from the outer world' to the Lands of Torment, then known as the Isles of Paradise.
The halflings then known as the rhulisti visited the world of Serinbaal in the company of their masters, the Fraal, thin gray-skinned servants of the Glassmakers, an impossible ancient race of progenitors that were responsible for fostering life on countless spheres strewn throughout the cosmos. However, the arrival of the Glassmakers brought with them their principle enemies, the Stoneburners, another unimaginably old species that had likewise been responsible for engendering new species on unnumbered worlds. Among the allies of the Stoneburners in their wars were humans who originally hailed from a distant part of the galaxy known as the Sol System. These humans were part of a vast conglomerate known as VoidCorp that was infiltrated by Stoneburner agents when the I'krl Theocracy launched a crusade against the human domains. These eventually joined their new allies in other expeditions across the stars. The automated weapons of VoidCorp in the ruins of Kalidnay are a remnant of one of these ancient conflicts, just as the Great Orrery and other artifacts are remains of Stoneburner technology.
Hamza steps into the shadows surrounding him, and emerges next to Rokan. He wears the appearance of his merchant guise. "Friends, I know nothing of this Citadel, or dark forces conspiring from the shadows. However, my companions and I are quite capable at dispatching troublesome interlopers. Allow us to take over guarding the caravan and we shall ambush the pesky investigators you seem concerned about. As you just saw, I am rather adapt at remaining unseen, and I can promise you they won't see me before it's too late. Once we have gotten rid of the Citadel's agents, we shall join you inside your most impressive fortress, and celebrate their demise. What say you?" Hamza offers expansively.
The tarek spokesperson bellows angrily as the Balican party enters the Plaza of Power,
"Slaves of the demons beneath the earth! Yes, shadowwalker, Let us join and dispatch these abominations from the eyes of the sun!"
"Look for the strings connected to gifts," says Gotak with the air of someone quoting something, "and be wary of becoming a puppet by them." The woman lifts a hand and rakes her fingertips through her hair, glancing at the snarling tarek, then back at the elegant merchant-philosopher. "There's more to that one, I think, but I can't remember it just now."
Giving a shrug, she shifts her light, multi-layered, sun-defeating clothes to rest her hand upon the hilt of what looks to be a minor weapon, perhaps a bone dagger or some such thing. "Crying vengeance isn't a good way to get started, though; blood feuds just go on and on. And decrying your foe as unrighteous while defining yourself as righteous and your future as ideal and perfect is ... self-delusional at best. Tyranny isn't the sole domain of sorcerer-kings."
She gestures with a finger towards the tarek spokesbeing and, still speaking to Arsinoe, suggests, "Might be that you have more common cause than reason to spill each others' blood. First step to finding that out, though, is to stop and talk until you understand each other." She suddenly grins. "Might also be that you're ever going to be enemies, but at least you'd both get to be sure of that, not just kill each other because you assume it's going to be so."
"Look for the strings connected to gifts," says Gotak with the air of someone quoting something, "and be wary of becoming a puppet by them." The woman lifts a hand and rakes her fingertips through her hair, glancing at the snarling tarek, then back at the elegant merchant-philosopher. "There's more to that one, I think, but I can't remember it just now."
Giving a shrug, she shifts her light, multi-layered, sun-defeating clothes to rest her hand upon the hilt of what looks to be a minor weapon, perhaps a bone dagger or some such thing. "Crying vengeance isn't a good way to get started, though; blood feuds just go on and on. And decrying your foe as unrighteous while defining yourself as righteous and your future as ideal and perfect is ... self-delusional at best. Tyranny isn't the sole domain of sorcerer-kings."
She gestures with a finger towards the tarek spokesbeing and, still speaking to Arsinoe, suggests, "Might be that you have more common cause than reason to spill each others' blood. First step to finding that out, though, is to stop and talk until you understand each other." She suddenly grins. "Might also be that you're ever going to be enemies, but at least you'd both get to be sure of that, not just kill each other because you assume it's going to be so."
Hamza sighs as both Lady Arsinoe and the tareks seem intent on tearing each other apart. "My friends, must it always come to blows? While one side or the other might well be capable of destroying the other, but at what cost to themselves? Might we not resolve this without bloodshed?"
Hamza sighs as both Lady Arsinoe and the tareks seem intent on tearing each other apart. "My friends, must it always come to blows? While one side or the other might well be capable of destroying the other, but at what cost to themselves? Might we not resolve this without bloodshed?"
The tarek agrees readily,
"This is indeed wise council for all, even you, servants of the demons under the earth." he grunts at Arsinoe.
Hamza sighs as both Lady Arsinoe and the tareks seem intent on tearing each other apart. "My friends, must it always come to blows? While one side or the other might well be capable of destroying the other, but at what cost to themselves? Might we not resolve this without bloodshed?"
The masked woman arrests her progress across the vast expanse of the Plaza of Power. She regards Hamza with a quizzical expression, her piercing gray eyes searching his.
"Not unwise words, I must admit, but how shall the blood of the gentle kamistala'i who crossed the terrors of the Great Wheal, and the retiring atodilops of the Amethyst Plains be answered?"
She gazes ahead at the plume of smoke arising from the tarek's encampment, a odoriferous remnant of the expedition of ill-omen.
"Surely you do not believe that we can set aside so grievous an offence without some recompense?"
Cae stumbles a bit and turns pale, even under the waning sun. He reaches out with his divine senses, finding nothing. He seems a bit frantic and wild-eyed. Still eager to please, he asks:
"Mistress, how may I help
When weak as a fresh whelp?"
Hamza turns to Lady Arsinoe, and does his best to mollify the situation. "I absolutely agree there should be some form of recompense. However, while I am quite willing to be a mediator, it is not my place to suggest what could possibly work as repayment for lives lost."
Narzor flies 60' straight up as the new contingent approaches and begins making proclamations. Wanting a good "seat" to watch the action, he flies up another 30' and centers himself above the barrier, with a good view on the battlefield in general.
As peace starts to break out, Narzor says "Peace is not all that entertaining. You sure you don't want to murder each other?"
"Choose champions," Gotek suggests, glancing up at the 'invisible' individual who, as he moves, exposes himself -- at least momentarily -- to those with the wit and the keenness of eye to know how to look. Returning her attention to the two foes, she continues with her suggestion. "A fist-fight, perhaps, and swearing to ensure it to be non-lethal. If the lady's champion wins, the tareks owe her service for ... perhaps a month. If the tarek champion wins, they owe her but one service, and that not to exceed a week's time."
She looks aside at the tarek leader, and shrugs. "You did kill them, no matter her histrionics of them being 'gentle' or 'retiring'." A snort indicates her derision for the idea that any wasteland travelers would be those.
"Choose champions," Gotek suggests, glancing up at the 'invisible' individual who, as he moves, exposes himself -- at least momentarily -- to those with the wit and the keenness of eye to know how to look. Returning her attention to the two foes, she continues with her suggestion. "A fist-fight, perhaps, and swearing to ensure it to be non-lethal. If the lady's champion wins, the tareks owe her service for ... perhaps a month. If the tarek champion wins, they owe her but one service, and that not to exceed a week's time."
She looks aside at the tarek leader, and shrugs. "You did kill them, no matter her histrionics of them being 'gentle' or 'retiring'." A snort indicates her derision for the idea that any wasteland travelers would be those.
Arsinoe nods, "An excellent suggestion."
Cae stumbles a bit and turns pale, even under the waning sun. He reaches out with his divine senses, finding nothing. He seems a bit frantic and wild-eyed. Still eager to please, he asks:
"Mistress, how may I help
When weak as a fresh whelp?"
Arsinoe turns to her recently-reunited consort,
"Cae, will you join in combat with one of these brutes to maintain the honor of your mistress?"
The wanderer glances sideways at the tarek leader, then -- bouncing a little on her toes -- offers to them, "I'm for hire." A grin, a waggle of her eyebrows, and she laughs, almost blithe and carefree.
Cae nods in assent, though he gives Arsione a meaningful look and gestures at her staff.
"Mistress, I will do you proud
And see your enemies cowed."
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Amunet-Ra watches the situation get more and more confused and complicated by the second with amusement.
She carefully watches the invisible newcomer who seems to be in league or in charge of the Tareks.
Cae, what do you do if we decide not to follow your mistress?
"My new lovely elf friend,
With the pact at an end,
Conflict not forbidden,
My motives never hidden,
If battle ever commenced,
You I would stand against.
Even with a heavy heart,
Even if not very smart,
Arsione owns me
My love and loyalty."
"sounds like an Enchantment spell!" hollers Narzor from the peanut gallery.
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Ah well that's too bad
and indeed,
more than a little sad.
I came to like you,
but you're taken in greed,
now talking pooh.
Let's see what the tides bring,
if to peace or war they swing,
whether the pact is really broken,
or you have just misspoken.
She then looks up.
Oh invisible one in the air,
do you have something in your hair?
You think you can't be seen,
and yet you make a scene?
Do you really have the insolence,
to spurn us here to violence?
Is it just for your pleasure?
Or yet another measure?
I invite you to come down,
don't be a petty clown.
Introduce yourself,
to every man and elf.
State your business
and we might excuse the baseness.
Narzor applauds Amunet's poetry and says
"The maiden cried aloud;
Yet the moon did not reply;
Life does as it wilt."
The wanderer glances sideways at the tarek leader, then -- bouncing a little on her toes -- offers to them, "I'm for hire." A grin, a waggle of her eyebrows, and she laughs, almost blithe and carefree.
The tarek grunts in eager recognition,
"What is your price, stranger?"
Cae moves away from Arsione toward the center of the clearing. He kneels down with his staff in his lap and Vyse on his shoulder as a breeze rises around him, patiently waiting.
What's this now? Humans dressed in elven attire coming out into the desert selling themselves like some elves do on their city streets? I'm not sure what to think about it. You seem bent on learning from us!
Then she looks up again.
Mh getting all comfortable up there? Not deeming it necessary to introduce yourself, do you? Well, well.
She makes herself comfortable, assuming a relaxed position which shows and requires great agility and flexibility though, somehow floating some feet over the ground.
You, dear lady Arsinoe of House Nicephous of Balic, it seems a great honor to meet you here, outside your bastion. My greetings to you and your ilk. Know that your servant was always loyal and trustful there. Quite remarkable. You must possess great talents to instill such.
Did i understand you right, that you are seeking an alliance with the forces underground to right old wrongs and overcome the rest of the sorcerer kings?
What's this now? Humans dressed in elven attire coming out into the desert selling themselves like some elves do on their city streets? I'm not sure what to think about it. You seem bent on learning from us!
Then she looks up again.
Mh getting all comfortable up there? Not deeming it necessary to introduce yourself, do you? Well, well.She makes herself comfortable, assuming a relaxed position which shows and requires great agility and flexibility though, somehow floating some feet over the ground.
You, dear lady Arsinoe of House Nicephous of Balic, it seems a great honor to meet you here, outside your bastion. My greetings to you and your ilk. Know that your servant was always loyal and trustful there. Quite remarkable. You must possess great talents to instill such.Did i understand you right, that you are seeking an alliance with the forces underground to right old wrongs and overcome the rest of the sorcerer kings?
The Lady Arsione of House Nicephous inclines her head politely to Amunet-Ra of the Serpent Singers,
"I would expect no less from my faithful consort, true and faithful without any reservation whatsoever, and even unto the blackness of death... and beyond."
"As to your inquiry regarding the aims of my august house and our allies -- you have the right of it."
"In the distant days of the Green Age, when the dust choked basin of the Sea of Silt instead flowed freely with the sapphire waters of the Sea of Portals, my ancestors among the inhabitants of the Pleiadean City-States fled tyranny of the Warbringer Rajaat's minions -- the sinister cabals of the Geomancers and blood-thirsty Solamancers. We swore to find again freedom, and never to live again under the lash."
"But we have failed, for many years since we have lost the rule of Balic to the power of the Dictator Adrophinus, and have decreased in might and numbers under the same yoke as that we endured in our distant homeland on the eastern continent of Saan-Gabiathan, in the territory known as the Lands of the Merchant Princes."
"But now we have attained allies that shall right these wrongs..."