What an extraordinary structure this was! And so vast! No wonder the first delegation was delayed, it must have taken them hours to traverse the expanse of space now stretching before Kethe and her companions. The dwarf tilts her head back, taking in the awesome sights before her, then rushing to catch up with the others, who had outdistanced her with their longer stride.
As they gain the central platform, a lesson or demonstration of sorts is just starting, and Kethe spends the next few minutes listening carefully and catching her breath. A strange encounter this, stranger beyond the wildest imaginings. Beings from the outworld...? A gate? Just as the importance and meaning of what she has heard starts to sink in, the strange craft materializes above ruined Kalidnay.
"Ah, this does not bode well." Her voice is low and raspy, cracking over the occasional word. She looks at the bard expectantly, waiting for his decision.
Slavathras muses, pursing his violet lips in deep thought. He then begins to speak with a careful, measured tone, as if pondering and selecting each words strategically before vocalizing it to the present audience,
"It is still remarkable to me that the Talons of Kalid-Ma, the name most often bestowed upon the pylons, were reactivated after so long a period of completion dormancy. In my previous excursion within the ruins, they were completely inert, and no means were ready to stir them from their inert state. I sense a malignant intervention some agency with a considerable knowledge of the Stoneburner relics that has been recently recovered, for only such would offer the means to re-open the gate. We are still blind to all that is afoot... and I do not believe it was you or your master who achieved this, at least not by your own hand."
"Nevertheless, what you have said regarding the device's operation is, to my knowledge, correct, and I agree that it must be silenced, permanently, and before it can summon more visitors from the interstellar vastness, or become the means by which another sorcerer-king arises to full dragon status."
"I concede the necessity of this task, and my current employment with the Lady Almah only renders the additional incentive a supplementary boon."
Nalcaros nods slightly as he responds,
"Indeed elf, we did not awaken the pylons."
Canaan lags behind the others as she takes in the marvelous sight of the structure that befits royalty. There is no rest in her rhythm as the ever changing movement in the twisting of her slender body that alters the direction she faces every time her eyes landed on something novel that the mobile pyramid structure offers. Even better when she reaches the top, the history of the makings of the world and its historical figures that shaped Athas by its owner entrances her curiosity, putting her in a trance like state as she nods at every bit that is being told. When the sudden appearance of a vessel startles her back to reality, she remembers why she is here and the other delegates that are just as surprised as her.
"Indeed. Is that a sign of the awakening? I wonder if we are too late."
"That is, indeed," replies, perhaps without being directly asked, one of the Tyrian druids who had accompanied the original expedition to the Pavilion, "a question of great moment at this impasse. Or, shall we soon be so?"
Pak keeps his revelation to himself, for now, regarding the revelations of the servants of old, "Very well then Lawbringer, I accept your offer to utilize this Pavilion to empower me against whatever forces we find in these ruins. I have long wished to visit them, not under such circumstances but as the Humans say, 'be careful what you wish for, you just might get it'.
Once your "gifts" are bestowed Lawbringer, we must retire to Lady Almah and inform her of what has transpired here. Thereafter, I think those who wish to avoid more catastrophic results shall join us in shutting this gate down and ensuring balance, whether that is for good or ill is not for us here and now to decide, among the Sorcerer-Kings". Pak nods to Slavathras.
Kethe looks around her once more, this time focusing on the people. She hadn't spoken with any of them so far on this journey, busy as she had been assisting the water clerics. She knew most of them by sight, at least. Flimsy assurance when one was about to head into unknown, and likely dangerous, territory in their company. Still.
"I will as well." she states, nodding to the giant.
This was not the time or the place for introductions, but she resolves to remedy that oversight as soon as possible. After all, soon all their lives may depend their ability to work together, and that came a little easier if you knew a little about who was standing at your side, or at your back as it may be.
Rokan again looks to the Tyrian druids for a hint of their intentions. Much has been revealed in a short time, and while he craves knowledge, that does not make it simpler to process so much of it to make such a critical decision.
He keeps his gaze fixed on the green ship that has appeared in the gate above them.
"Although I do not fully understand the implications of all that I see, I have achieved a sufficient appreciation of the gravity of the situation to know that something must be done. I only hope that we are the right party to do it. I will travel to the ruins."
"Perhaps it will be revealed in time. Either we find the answer first or vice versa."
When the conversation between the thri-kreen wizard and the lawbringer brought into the light an impending apocalypse, Canaan, who is facing the Tyrian druid that addressed her, moves a finger to her lips.
"I believe that is my cue. I would love to chat more but this is not the right place and time to be upholding niceties."
She strides to where the main players are gathered.
"I will join your little group then. To deny two great offers from the great Faalcrun at this opportune moment would be a folly in itself. Most of the wasteland barely offers ventures that are exciting as this."
Watching the lightning, or more precisely feeling its might, Shizuka dips his head. "Count me in as well. I don't understand everything, but I can comprehend doom across the horizon." The old man smiles, "Even being without sight of it."
Looking at his helm with a wistful purse of the lips, the lightning warrior asks, "How exactly do we stop it? Or, prevent it I suppose."
Thankful his senses didn't require obvious tells to observe, Shizuka filters the wind and ambient electricity to discover more about the new arrivals.
The Lands of the Diamond Throne have come to a moment of great peril…. as well as opportunity.
Some three centuries past, the giants from across the sea won the Battle of Serpent’s Head, and thereby achieved the final victory of the Chi-Julud, their genocidal crusade against the sinister armies of the dramojh. These still-hated, though now long-departed, creatures, a terrifying admixture of fiend and dragon, were birthed by the power of the enigmatic tenebrian seeds, and destroyed their former masters before causing an age of darkness to descend upon the lands of the Diamond Throne.
None dispute that they were the most potent creation of the tenebrian seeds, relics which it is said in the lore of the wyrms were gifted to dragonkind by the deity Erixalimar, who discovered these wondrous objects in one of his many journeys to other worlds. In their internecine wars, the ancient chromatic and metallic dragons -- for in those days, unlike the present, the race of dragons was composed of many distinct species – were united only in their common employment of the power of the seeds to inflict harm on the opposite side of the Dragon Civil War. In a desperate, and in the end foolish gamble, the chromatic dragons exposure their infernal servants to the power of the seeds, thereby bearing a race of ultimate warriors – the dramojh.
However, in the end these creatures exceeded the power of their masters, turning on their creators and seizing the lands of the Diamond Throne for their own dark designs.
And so it was until the coming of the giants...
Now, the centuries of peace that has accompanies the rule of the giants may be at and end, for the dragons have returned from the esoteric lands of the west, the mysterious region of the super continent known as Pallembor. Though they have changed in form, now eschewing any obvious speciation according to hue, alloy, or gem, the dragon’s ancient and eternal jealousy for their own has remained unchanged, and they have begun to urge the departure of the unwilling giant regime headquartered in the great city of De-Shamod. To tempt the inhabitants of their former demesne, the dragons and their emissaries offer the powers of the tenebrian seeds, whose touch can bestow significant boons upon any fortunate recipient.
And so the emissaries of the dragons slowly descend from the Castles in the Sky, their stories homes in the west, and gradually infiltrate the lands of the north, especially the ruined kingdoms of Verdune and Thartholan, which occupy their near side of the Bitter Peaks.
The giants have not responded to this provocation quietly, for the power of the seeds was the source of the tyrannical dramojh whose rule they ended with so much blood. To expose and excise any appearance of the tenebrian seeds or their influence in the lands of the Diamond Throne which the giants have put under their protection, the rulers of De-Shamond have recruited elite cadres of sibeccai rangers trained from their youth to combat the dark powers of the dragons.
Finally, rumors have it that a third power stirs in the lands of the Diamond Throne – the greatest legacy of the dramojh, the slassans. These creatures, an abominable union of serpent and spider, were undoubtedly the greatest of the ancient dramojh’s servant races. They fled into the depths of the earth following the Battle of Serpent’s head, and in the intervening centuries established a great empire in the deep places known as the Dark Depths. A new society, know as the Cult of the Serpent Reborn, or the Cult of the Devil Serpent, is said to be secretly orchestrated by the slassan empire of the Dark Depths, and that the rulers of this kingdom have uncovered tenebrian seeds that have allowed them to assume new evolutions greater even than that of their dramojh creators. If this is so, the surface races who serve the Cult Serpent Reborn may be simply a harbinger of a new age of darkness, once that will consume both the dragons and the giants who currently contest their claims for the lands of the Diamond Throne.
It is in this portentous moment that the mojh scholar T’lamtlistillit the Shadowborn arrived in the settlement of New Balatosh, a still-humble, yet growing and vibrant collection of scholars, fortune seekers, and various fellow travelers who have established themselves in the shadow of the capital of ancient Thartholan, a realm of mages destroyed by the dramojh in the early days of their conquests. Still reeling from the effects of the Phase Heart, a dramojh artifact that opens portals to other worlds and planes, Thartholan is far from a safe corner of the continent in which to make one’s fortune. And yet there are immense opportunities in the legacy of the ancient kingdom, and these continue to draw both the hopeful and the mad.
The Shadowborn made a grand appearance in the popular caravanserai known as Navasha’s Folly, after the mythic queen of Thartholan who once raised a levitating palace in the sky over Balatosh. With dramatic purpose, he unveiled his mission as an envoy of the dragons to the east, and offering the benediction of the ‘greater seed’, a particularly powerful representative of the ancient draconic relics.
”This seed” the mojh scholar proclaimed, ”was borne by the hand of the dragon god Erixalimar himself.”
Before a considered discussion of his message was possible, the proceedings were violently interrupted by a cadre of Scalebreakers dispatched by De-Shamod under the direction of Esilena Lore, a powerful giant psion and servant of the Diamond Throne. Having received word of the mojh’s embassy through their network of spies in the western borderlands, Esilena and her company caught the Shadowborn completely off guard.
In the wake of the surprise attack, the Shadowborn and the small cadre of interested personages which he had attracted in the tap room of Navasha’s Folly attempted to flee aboard a narrow sloop down the Rieadre River, a thin, fast moving body of water that twists through the plains of Thartholan from its origins in the Bitter Peaks.
The Scalebreakers under the direction of Esilena pursued in an enormous war hulk made of magically enchanted stone, one of the great craft by which the giants had originally crossed the eastern sea some three centuries and more past.
Esilena had almost gained upon her quarry when both vessels were unexpectedly faced with a pair of whirring black rings which materialized in the midst of the river, and through whose embrace both ships were forced to pass.
In the blink of an eye, the Shadowborn and his pursuers found themselves afloat on a vast, viscous pool in the midst of an immense field of impressive ruins, easily the match of Thartholan’s ancient capital.
The mojh scholar and his entourage quickly gained the shored of the black lake, where they sought refuge in a massive citadel perched on its silent shores.
Esilena and her Scalebreakers broke off their pursuit when the mojh successfully slammed shut the main gate of the keep, protecting his party for the moment from their zealous pursuers, but also isolating them inside this vast, dead fortress.
It has now been three torturous days in this cursed world. Though they were fortunate enough to arrive during the night, the first dawn in this strange land was accompanied by a blistering heat cast off by the great crimson sun that fills the horizon. In every direction, there are only dunes, a sea of sand surrounding a city of the dead.
The Shadowborn has begun to plumb the secrets of this mysterious fortress, which the writings in its archives identify as “The Scarab Hold of the High Templar Ahmen-Ahnpur of Kalidnay.” At the moment, the party confines itself to the many-spired keep which sits by the side of the dark lake. It overlooks a series of mazeworks that divide the inner from the outer courtyard. From the highest towers, three open squares are visible within this vast maze, each of which houses some enigmatic monument. On each night since their arrival, the sunless sky has been torn asunder with the sound of creatures stirring from within the maze, having emerged from the three silent buildings in its center under the cover of darkness.
Now, the dolorous dracha Hastniss, the chief deputy and bodyguard of the mojh scholar, has summoned the cadre which fled from New Balatosh to the presence of his master, for it appears T’lamtlistillit has uncovered yet more mysteries of their present circumstances.
Kethe's presence in Shizuka's senses is sturdy and solid. When she steps, her foot comes down squarely, assuredly, no masking or hiding. Her movements sound of clothing stirring, fabric rubbing against itself and desert-roughened skin, the soft clicking of small pieces of bone against each other, wood thunking on the ground - a walking stick or something similar. When she speaks, her voice comes from quite low and he might infer that she is a dwarf, for he did not hear her crouching and her voice is far too deep to be that of a child.
The omnipresent flinty smell of the desert is not enough to mask Kethe's own smells: sweat, yes, but faint, as someone who might not only be particular about their cleanliness, but also has the means to maintain it; oil, as some may use to grease their hair or beard; ozone, as one might smell when a storm is approaching; and, surprisingly, the smell of grasses and flowering bushes.
Should he touch her, he would feel under his fingers the rough fabric of a desert cloak with no discernible armour underneath. His fingers may brush against tightly braided strands of hair, a rarity for her kind, and the source of the bone click may become apparent - the beads holding the ends of her braids together.
The dwarf turns towards Shizuka in surprise as he speaks. "You... Ah, I see. I remember hearing of you. Let me be your eyes, then." And she proceeds to describe the scene in front of them, the vista of the ruined city and the descent of the strange sky vessel.
Those with sight may get a different experience; after all, their other senses are not so keen and honed as the blind man's. They might see a dwarven woman, tall for her kind, wearing simple desert clothing and no visible weapons save for a walking stick and a bone sickle at her belt. She travels light, with no cumbersome armour and no bulky possessions. Her hair is brown, with copper and blonde highlights where the sun has bleached it. Her eyes are deep green under a heavy brow, her skin weathered by the sun and wind, although she does not seem old.
Pak keeps his revelation to himself, for now, regarding the revelations of the servants of old, "Very well then Lawbringer, I accept your offer to utilize this Pavilion to empower me against whatever forces we find in these ruins. I have long wished to visit them, not under such circumstances but as the Humans say, 'be careful what you wish for, you just might get it'.
Once your "gifts" are bestowed Lawbringer, we must retire to Lady Almah and inform her of what has transpired here. Thereafter, I think those who wish to avoid more catastrophic results shall join us in shutting this gate down and ensuring balance, whether that is for good or ill is not for us here and now to decide, among the Sorcerer-Kings". Pak nods to Slavathras.
The thri-kreen is approached by one of the two Tyrian druids, a calm, not-tall woman with auburn hair and deep violet eyes, the preternatural depths of which seem as if they contain a veritable infinity within the orchid-hued circumference of her pupils.
However, even more striking than her eyes is the glistening cloak of chameleon skin whose mantle shrouds her high shoulders, the bearing of which suggests a unmistakable hint of nobility,
She sets her pink lips slightly, as if considering some perplexing matter before a measured, feminine voice arises in Pak'cha's conscious mind,
"I am surprised, and somewhat ashamed, that my companion and I have heretofore overlooked your presence on this expedition. I am Misra of the Ty'ragi, an ancient order of druids charged with the cultivation of the Golden Tower's gardens. We are also, as might have already become apparent, attentive student's of this world's ancient history."
"Perhaps you were present at the bard Slavathras' account, earlier this day, of the ancient days of Athas, and the tradition that winged kreen were the first inhabitants of the planet?"
I cannot help but notice, if you will forgive my potential impertinence," she nods with her chin slightly at the distinctive ridge's of Pak'cha's carapace that bear a the hint of an exoskeletal scaffolding that once held a pair of brilliant gossamer filaments, "that you are a kreen who is not... the same as those with whom we are accustomed in the Tablelands. Pray tell, from whence have you arrived in this forsaken corner of the Great Alluvial Sand Wastes?"
Her companion, a clean-shaven, not unattractive man with rigid cheek bones and spiky white hair which has seemingly bleached prematurely, given his otherwise youthful appearance, scowls intensely in Pak'cha's direction. His blazing yellow eyes bespeak the man's evident displeasure at the recent revelations of Athas' ancient history, as well as the memory of the Blue Age which the kreen potentially represents. For the Rhul-Ty'ragi venerate the ancient halflings of the Blue Age, and detest the notion that the kreen might have preexisted their naturemaster scions in the history of the world.
Johnny is a Human with short blonde hair and fair skin. He wears a sleeveless black Karate Gi and carries a small pack on his back, from which comes the subtle hint of the smell of herbs.
It is clear from the scars on the backs of his hands that he is a skilled unarmed fighter, and he has an almost aggressive self assuredness about him.
Johnny is well known among his companions for being a cocky unarmed fighter willing to take serious risks during the course of the battle. He is also known to be one of the best chefs any of them had ever known or even heard of, turning simple travel rations into meals that most kings would be honored to attend.
Although the group had found themselves somewhere uncomfortably hot, Johnny seemed to be completely unbothered by the heat. When asked about this, he would make a joke, something along the lines of "If you want really hot, you should eat my chili."
When summoned, Johnny takes his time arriving at the meeting, which is not all that surprising.
Utrim had been in New Balatosh for several weeks. He'd heard rumors that in the shadow of the once-floating city one could find the servants and spies of the Squamous Horde, but he'd been unsuccessful in contacting any. Then the Shadowborn had strode brazenly into Navasha’s Folly and announced it's purpose.
A seed of Erixalimar? He was unsure exactly what that meant, but a seed picked by the dragon god Himself must be more potent than others, mustn't it? Certainly more potent than whatever had been used in his own failed attempt at becoming mojh.
He'd barely had time to introduce himself to T’lamtlistillit before the mojh scholar was attacked by a band of sibeccai - murderers in service to the accursed Diamond Throne! He and some others had assisted the escape of the Shadowborn, and while fleeeing pursuit had seemingly run afoul of one of Thartholan's infamous portals and now found themselves stranded on same strange other world.
Sealing themselves within a nearby abandoned keep, he'd had three days to get to know his new companions better...
Glo-la, or Seidr as she was called before officially choosing her actual name, is a tall and stout, woman from a very obvious tribal background. She is a beautiful woman with an unsettling quality that's tough to place about her appearance. She has intricate black tribal tattoos depicting dragons and giants on her arms, back, and belly. While she lacks these tattoos on her head and face, she often puts some sort of black warpaint on her face.
She easily stands eight feet tall and looks to weigh around 400 lbs. She is obviously incredibly strong and she has an air of confidence that's almost mysterious in nature. Her hair is long and jet black, in stark contrast to her fair skin.
Seidr personality up until this point has been warm and friendly, comfortably willing to take on a leader role within the party but willing to step back when others have something to say or do.
First impressions of Seidr might lead others to believe that she isn't well educated, and they'd be right, but she speaks in such a way that you might feel like there's something she sees about the world that others don't.
"Oh. Yes, it is warm here. I am used to the chill of my mountain home." she speaks like Giant is her native tongue and common was learned later in life.
Malkaer has stood silent, allowing powers greater than him to speak and pontificate. He had been ignored, by design. He had thought that this was a mere excavation of a ruin, perhaps the opening of a trade route. The current quest, for such a word was accurate, would be so much more. The very fact that he had been privileged to glimpse the forgotten ages was a privilege he could not put into words.
From the sounds of it, the gnolls who barred their way would be the least of their issues. The elf slid over to the blind swordsman and whispered to him
”This is not something I can willingly walk away from, but we may be in over our heads. It will be an honor to run with you, into combat, and hopefully not from it.”
|
Kuro slide's up To Malkaer and Shizuka, the only familiar face's that remain here with him. The boy's face remains in the grim frown he gain from the silver ship's appearance. Though it says nothing of how he really feels about this situation. it honestly seem's like he's stuck between a rock, a hard place, and a wall.
His mind race's, thinking of all the potential fall-outs of doing this for Falcuun, along with all the certain fall-outs for letting Kalid-Ma re enter this world uncontested. It burn's Kuro inside, having to choose between two clear evil's in a situation. It's just yet another action that show's the distorted lad that he hasn't become a Ally of Justice, that his dream is still far off.
But Kuro's face stay's as stone, un-moving in it's grim acceptance of this quest.
"...You'll have my bow on you're side, i'd hope to have you're assistance in return?" Kuro asks of the two, mind still racing.
"Though maybe there is a third way out of this...?" Kuro muses inwardly
”Of course.” Malkaer said. ”We are to face threats from past ages, in addition to the Favored servants of the worst defilers in this world. We will need to look out for each other if this is to end well.”
The strange elf interjects once again,
"Even as I accept the necessity of this venture, our company is face with a forked path, each prong of which is treacherous. Nalcaros has both understated and obscured the different perils of each approach to Kalidnay, doubtless on account of a lack of personal familiarity with the ruins, having only a knowledge of their confines based on reports of others, including mine own recollections of previous ingresses into their depths."
"The difficulty is this -- the entrance via the Great Gate of Battle is the most direct. On my previous ventures into the city, the Great Orrery was not operational, and thus I approached by one of the less conspicuous corners of the ruins. However, now that the skein has re-established a semi-permanent barrier around Kalidnay, that remains our main potential route of approach."
"Doubtless, it will be guarded by some force within the ruins, for it offers the only possible egress from the city when the sphere wall is activated. Furthermore, it will be watched closely, and any potential surprise we might enjoy will be entirely relinquished -- not only those who hold the gate, but also any other interested parties will immediately take note of our arrival."
"My knowledge of the structure is limited to its exterior profile -- a massive block of granite with a narrow tunnel running through the center, certainly guarded by several gates and sentinel posts. Effecting an unwanted entry will be difficult, but perhaps we can prepare a suitable strategy to achieve our aims..."
"The other way I know even less well, for I largely, and intentionally, avoided the under works of the city. Kalidnay was built atop a subterranean city founded by servants of the Stoneburners. The black pool at the center of the ruins was once an open rift which formed the center of a vast settlement, larger by several orders of magnitude than the later city of the sorcerer-queen. Given its immense dimensions, it is unsurprising that the under works extend far beyond the terrestrial borders of Kalidnay, as presently established by the sphere wall."
"There are several avenues of approach in the caves which riddle the dunes that surround the city, and the vast network of tunnels eventually finds its nadir in the Womb of Midnight, the reservoir which Nalcaros mentioned that holds the dormant obsidian spheres of the skein."
"I must warn you that I had report that an unknown power has arisen from the deep places of Athas, and taken residence within the tunnels beneath the city, perhaps hoping themselves to seize the power of the ancient artifact. Whatever the case may be, we will almost certainly run afoul of whatever sinister agency has arisen from the twisting tunnels which connect the under works with the subterranean realms of the Tablelands."
"And so the choice remains before us -- I can offer additional insight if any of my fine companions should nurse any relevant inquires that might weigh upon our common decision in this matter."
Johnny is a Human with short blonde hair and fair skin. He wears a sleeveless black Karate Gi and carries a small pack on his back, from which comes the subtle hint of the smell of herbs.
It is clear from the scars on the backs of his hands that he is a skilled unarmed fighter, and he has an almost aggressive self assuredness about him.
** spoiler omitted **
The mojh sage has dispatched his trustworthy emissary Hastniss to collect his patron's newest assortment of fellow travelers. Cutting a thoroughly intimidating image, the gruff dracha is completed encased in a dense carapace of bright red scales which appears to be as strong as any armor created by mortal hands.
To this natural armament, Hatniss has appended a suit of black plate ornamented with several dozen jagged spines, the edges of which are serrated in the manner of a shark's tooth, as well as an intricate lattice work of golden filigree.
He also wears a black cape, the lining of which is a luxurious red velvet somehow even more evocative of freshly spilled blood than his scales. A glistening golden chain secures the collared cape to his thick reptilian neck.
As he catches sight of Johnny, he takes the opportunity to settle a lingering score, while still delivering the messages of his patron -- the mojh sage known as the Shadowborn.
"You there, Talias," he employs his nickname for the mojh T'lamt'listillit, "has uncovered some important new findings in the keep's archives which he wishes to share with all concerned."
His duty fulfilled, Hastniss proceeds to indulge his own prerogatives,
"I want you to know Johnny, that I was a spectator of your 'eel battle' with the littorian iron chef Sakai Kaiyamodo Flauberte in the kitchens of Navasha's Folly, and you, sir, are a poseur, an amateur, and a dilettante."
"You are certainly no iron chef."
"Iron chef Sakai is a true master of the culinary arts, and prepares the traditional cuisine of the west in the traditional fashion. He is a craftsman, a master artisan!"
"No, no, no, make no mistake -- the fact that your attention-seeking fusion concoctions attracted the notice of the poorly-selected judges is no judgment on master chef Flauberte's preeminence."
Rokan listens to the bard's analysis of potential approaches. While he seems to have much knowledge to impart, the monk can't help feeling like he conveniently chooses what to share.
"And if we take the direct approach, announcing our presence to all observers, are you simply hoping to slip through on the expenditure of the groups numbers? Surely we can carefully traverse unoccupied tunnels to pass through with little or no notice."
Rokan listens to the bard's analysis of potential approaches. While he seems to have much knowledge to impart, the monk can't help feeling like he conveniently chooses what to share.
"And if we take the direct approach, announcing our presence to all observers, are you simply hoping to slip through on the expenditure of the groups numbers? Surely we can carefully traverse unoccupied tunnels to pass through with little or no notice."
Clearly taking some umbrage at the bard's quick dismissal of the emissary's previous treatment of the ruins' contents and possible avenues of entry, Nalcaros now interposes himself,
"Yes, Silan Tilak, I too would be very pleased to understand better your reasoning in this matter, pray do expound further upon the particular rationales underlying your own disposition in the matter!"
"Are you for real? Sakai's last really innovative technique was melted yak butter on steamed vegetables. He's highly overrated, and lacks imagination. That is why I beat him."
** spoiler omitted **
The dracha snorts loudly, forcibly discharging heated air through his reptilian snout.
"Gorram! Your are unbearable!"
He turns his attention pointedly to Sedir,
"What did you think? Surely, you can't believe he fairly won that travesty of a challenge? Please, reassure me that all the inhabitants of the east have not taken leave of their senses in the long absence of the dragons from their ancestral territories!"
Hatniss then also notices Utrim,
"And you as well -- what do you think. Surely, you're not sympathetic either?"
After Kethe finished filling Shizuka in with the description of the events and people from her perspective, the cloying of strong lavender aroma emanating behind him eases his senses and causes his eyes to droop. Just as he is swaying back and forth to recover from the dizziness, a steady hand prevents his body from rocking further. It is a hand that is very smooth in texture as the fabric that his head briefly brushes against when the gentle push of the shoulder that lifts the head back to its correct position.
"Careful, my dear. You do not want to fall asleep in the middle of the desert now, do you?"
The tone of her voice is similar to Slavathras; confident, charismatic and silky but unlike the elf bard, is a little teasing, mysterious, laden with amusement and lacking his haughtiness. True to the druid's description of her being, it is the voice belonging to a youthful woman whose appearance does not stand out or fit in the barren lands of Athas. She is an unnatural beauty, having a slightly tanned unblemished face in which the nose and eyes are proportional that synergies with her high cheekbones, equal sized ears, fuller red lips, mascara and her shoulder length hair whose wildness was tamed and split evenly on both sides by the circlet with a carat of diamond on its center. Purple skittles down to her ankles and while it completes her, the sleeveless nature of the dress and the narrow split on the side exposes her ringed hand, arms and heeled legs are the real factors that emphasizes her sexiness and attractiveness even more.
Kethe looks sharply at Rokan, then turns to consider Slavathras, her gaze hooded and measuring.
"It does seem more prudent to undertake a measured and more subtle approach, rather than use the obvious route. You said it yourself, using the main gate has many disadvantages - our presence will be immediately obvious and we will be confronting those who guard it head-on, who will have the advantage of terrain familiarity on their side, not to mention any defensive measures they may have prepared."
She casts her eyes at the ground, one foot tapping as she crosses her arms and seems deep in thought for a moment.
"On the other hand, the caverns are an unknown. There may be hostile forces dwelling there, but with so many possible paths we can try to chart a course that takes us past them without confrontation. The straight and narrow path of the gate all but guarantees a fight, one that we may not win. My people are experienced in exploring ruins and catacombs. I say we take the subterranean route."
"I am sorry, friends. The food that this man cooks is delicious. Beyond that, I do not know."
Seidr is sitting and leaning against a wall with her legs up in front of her, though even sitting her head is close to four feet from the ground.
"I did not taste. Music is my love."
I was indeed present for the Bards tale. My clutch hails from the Hinterlands, ours is an old order with our own theories on the history of Athas, I am a budding Sage of the Blue Age. Due to my age I was tasked with making the journey east.
It is fortuitous that we meet, there may be much we can teach one another and much more for each of us to learn in the exploration of these ruins, pertaining to both of our historical interests.
Tell me, is your companion as close minded as he appears to be?"
Pak, distracted by the Druid and trying to hear the insights of the others is finally able to process and respond to the various points being made, "A journey through the ruins overland will be interesting but not memorable, I am much more interested in seeing parts of this doomed city that have been subject to little exploration.
I too vote for the underground ways, through the tunnels, we seek to prevent a foe likely more powerful than we from unleashing another catastrophe on an already devastated world, we will need to be as fresh as possible for such encounters. Battling our way through guardians above and agents sent from the other Sorcerer-Kings will only weaken us and make our task that much more difficult".
The mesmerist says nothing but stands idly and leveling a look at the bard to gauge his reaction.
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The shouting happening from over yonder catches Kuro's eye's. It seem's they will be moving out soonish if the conversation between the bard and
Nalcaros is anything to take note of. Kuro inwardly sighs, letting his gaze leave his technical boss and his two companions, searching the room. After a few second's he notice's three being's he didn't see arrive, a Dwarf, Kreen, and a woman.
"when did they get here...?" He thinks curiously to himself, staring for a bit to long before he realizes what he was doing and turn's back to his companions. "...i gotta stop doing that"
Pak, distracted by the Druid and trying to hear the insights of the others is finally able to process and respond to the various points being made, "A journey through the ruins overland will be interesting but not memorable, I am much more interested in seeing parts of this doomed city that have been subject to little exploration.
I too vote for the underground ways, through the tunnels, we seek to prevent a foe likely more powerful than we from unleashing another catastrophe on an already devastated world, we will need to be as fresh as possible for such encounters. Battling our way through guardians above and agents sent from the other Sorcerer-Kings will only weaken us and make our task that much more difficult".
Slavathras purses his violet lips slightly in consternation, clearly chagrined that both Pak'cha the thri-kreen and Kethe the dwarf have colluded to reject the bard's attempt to strategically steer them towards an above-ground approach, one where his companions could more easily be employed as expendable shields of flesh. Judging both by the attitude of recognition and resignation now evident in his attentive eyes and restrained grimace, he increasingly realizes now that his new companions will not be so easily manipulated as were a number of previous unfortunate fellow-travelers. Indeed, the entire business has suddenly become much more complicated, and potentially lethal for his own person, than the scheming elf had intended,
He begins again, slowly, speaking in a measured tone as Slavathras attempts to cautiously 'thread the needle eye' of this new, unexpected course of action,
"Very well... the under-works of the city are vast, but there are a number of entrances, the chief one of which I am aware terminates on mountainous heights on the eastern approach, the summit of which over looks the Lake of Doom and the Temple of the Great Mother, where, as the Lawkeeper's emissary indicated, the Great Pylon, the so-called Mother of Talons, rises from the midst of Kalid-Ma's former residence."
"These mountains are riddled with abandoned mines, tunnels which connect with the structures of the earlier Stoneburner settlement I mentioned. The mines were a vicious institution, a vast open-aired pit the sides of which offered access to significant diamond veins. The narrow tunnels were slowly excavated by criminals and those who had, for whatever reason, fallen afoul of the sorcerer-queen's displeasure."
"We might be able to enter though the subterranean diamond-cutting factory known as the Riese, where the chambers of are of sufficient size to maneuver easily, and which housed the communal chambers of both the unfortunate workers and their overseers, including the shrine of Kalid-Ma to which they were forced daily to pray and sacrifice."
** spoiler omitted **
"Unfortunately, yes. Our order has endured long because of its zealous attention to its duties -- this has had the tragic side effect of frequently producing a certain... inflexibility of mind."
Pak regards the Bard his body language difficult to read, he is a Kreen after all, "We appreciate your wise counsel in this".
** spoiler omitted **
The dracha forcibly exudes a small ring of smoke from his flared nostrils,
"Well, then, you're both culinary ingrates! Great Erixalimar, God King of Dragons, why do you afflict me so!"
Hastniss shakes his head slightly, as if throwing off the unwanted residue of a rainstorm,
"I have no recourse, but the Shadowbourne wants to see you anyway, are you coming or not?"
** spoiler omitted **
Having chastised Seidr as much so far as he feels capable, Hastniss returns his attention to the impertinent chef,
"You cast aspersions on the good name and salubrious effect of yak butter! Make no mistake, your unavoidable judgment will be in accordance with your crime! Clarified dairy brooks no such umbrage!"
Exhausting his vituperation,the dracha renews his entreaty,
"Fortunately for your indecent person, the Shadowbourne is matured in his studies beyond earthly considerations, and so can overlook your deficiencies in this regard -- are you coming or not?"
Pak regards the Bard his body language difficult to read, he is a Kreen after all, "We appreciate your wise counsel in this".
The hard, black skin of the Lawkeeper's emissary glistens in the returning light of the heavens, the storm clouds having now faded and a tempered reflection of the crimson sun now returned its illumination to the late afternoon horizon.
He chuckles slightly in a highly unsettling, otherworldly register, Nalcaros' laugh resembling something like grating gravel,
"A thoroughly excellent analysis. Indeed, the intelligence which the bard has chosen to share with you conforms completely with the information I have gleaned from my own researches."
The emissary turns his head slowly to regard his present audience before continuing,
"Young brothers and sisters," he gestures expansively at the assembled company of House Vordon's representatives.
His supernatural coat of magma casts off an eerie light as its viscous surface ripples with an arresting cascade of mesmerizing, almost life-life, undulations in response to the squat creature's spreading of its hands in an ostensibly pacific gesture.
"I encourage you to make this one," he directs both hands forcibly at Slavathras, the index fingers facing one another like devil's horns rising from otherwise closed fists, "to serve as your scout and front-person in this expedition into the Riese. Perhaps he will gradually acquire a much needed measure of humility by the process of squatting low to guide you through the network of long-worked diamond veins that spiral, web like, from the factories, barracks, and storehouses of the Riese."
"All are equally on danger in this endeavor and none serve at the end of chains among this group. Humble or full of hubris those who can will, those who won't shall find themselves alone amongst enemies. We shall succeed together or fail apart. Athas itself will teach the proud to be humble, it is a harsh tutor ".
"True, but if we let it, Athas might teach us humility or worse through the preferences of one with unchecked hubris. I think the emissary's suggestion is appropriate for the balance and effectiveness of the group, that we might maximize each others' talents rather than allow that some are willing to expend others."
He keeps a glaring gaze in Slavathras' general direction, but not directly holding his, making his implication all too obvious.
Canaan's eyes glimmer with amusement at the bard's annoyed expression. The lawbringer's statement about making him the front-person makes her lose her composure and sends her into a series of short-lived guffaws.
"I am most certain that we will put those strong bones to work."
The beauty's mask asserts itself back to place after clutching her sides, making her difficult to read as she listens to Pak's and Rokan's sage responses to the group which earns a nod of approval from her.
"Well said. I could not have said it better myself."
She looks back at the bard again with with an expression mixed with innocence, assurance and curiosity.
"Oh, don't look so glum. Think of it being your first time at the ruins. It would be boring if you take the same route again, wouldn't it? They have a point. Why would anyone take the sub-optimal route over the safer path? And I am more interested in exploring new frontiers than a ground that had been mapped out. If you are worry about your own skin, discard that thought. As a collective, we will take good care of you."
The elf's features are contorted by an unmistakably sour expression.
"Very well friends, we will adopt the route of your common mind, under the Sphere Wall. However, be it known that I have many means of wandering with the movements of the wind, and will not be confined by any measly physical barrier, such as the restricted confines of the diamond veins which wend their way into the earth from the high vaults of the Reise. Nalcaros wouldn't assume such inanities if he had any real experience of exploration."
He lifts his chin in derision at the steaming profile of the Lawkeeper's emissary.
"I too," the male of the pair of Tyrian druids opines, "am most eager to explore the under-works of Kalidnay. The order to which my own person and Misra belong, the Rhul-Ty'ragi, is most interested in the ruins connected with the lost civilization of the Blue Age. It sounds as if the settlement that predated the sorcerer-queen's city is an exceptionally well preserved example of this rare category, perhaps near the equal of some of the wonders we have discovered beneath the present day city of Tyr."
"Yes, let us enter through these mines, and see what scholarly aims can be accomplished alongside the pressing quest to return the mad sorcerer-queen to her ages-long slumber beneath the great temple."
** spoiler omitted **
He doubtless hopes to uncover evidence in these catacombs that will disprove several of the sketches of ancient history recently offered which he finds... displeasing.
** spoiler omitted **
The dracha finally gazes over at Utrim,
"And what do you think you're doing exactly? Surely you don't imagine you're going to evolve staring out a window? I can't believe you haven't gotten up already to hear what our 'wise and sagacious' scholar has to say about the current predicament."
"I'd complain more about his having roped me into this mess back in the western dragon territories of Pallembor, except that the mojh leave behind their gender in the course of their evolution, so that wouldn't be strictly correct, and, as you might be able to discern already, I'm rather a sticker for correctness."
He glares at both Johnny and Seidr once again,
"Correctness you two hear!"
The dracha shakes his head with s slight violence,
"Gorram! That upstart fry cook makes me mad!"
Seidr stands.
"I trust the word of the chef. I am ready.
Seidr stretches her muscles. Things were typically decided in her town bu the elders with the most expertise in their field or by those who'd endured the hardship. It was strange to her that she was being confronted by someone about something neither of them were responsible for. She was read to meet with the Shaowb9rbe nonetheless.
"Lead the way, small one."
Whenever that elf dies, it will be with his nose held high in the air.
Rokan disengages his attention from the bard to intermingle with the more pleasant remainder of the expedition.
To Misra he returns and asks her opinion of their current decision. "It seems we are to traverse underneath the barrier. Surely with this group's combined talents we can find quick and safe passage."