At the appointed time, Feanor starts the ceremony. He invokes the name of the Undying Court and beseeches them to bless this evening’s rites. He correctly remembers the proper words and intones them with the right inflections.
Knowledge (religion) (1d20+10=29)
He focuses his mind, body and spirit to achieve one-ness with his ancestors.
He draws his scimitar and wields it two-handed in the manner of his ancient forebear who claimed this very same scimitar from the giant overlords. Feanor executes a series of slow deliberate strikes, signing the symbols of the Undying Court and that of his ancestor.
Feanor then sheathes his blade and starts signing mystical gestures . Faster and faster he goes and his impatience almost makes him commit a mistake but Feanor recovers just in time to properly invoke the signs’ power.
Feanor finishes, his hands folded in front of him.
Lower Tavick's Landing, Terminus
Isaac's old acquaintance smiles coyly and shakes her head, "Isaac, Isaac... You have been living up in the clouds entirely too long. What have you been getting yourself into up there? We should talk." The madame turns to her hostess-greeter and says, "Kahla could you bring us a couple of nice teas, dear?" before stepping through the beaded curtain into to the dimly lit room she had come from.
Following, you see her give a kick to a wooden chair facing a table with a crystal ball and a halfling woman who had been idly watching the two of you through the curtain jumped. "Out front," Zerann says abruptly and the tiny middle-aged woman slides out of the chair and slowly adjusts her shawl and purse while giving Isaac an uncomfortable amount of attention. At one point Issac sees what he has a feeling must be the hilt of a blade, but the woman shifts her shawl to cover it before he can be sure and she shuffles out of the room with hunched shoulders making her look much older than she probably is.
"You too Rolf," she adds and after a moment a thick curtain hiding a passage that you hadn't yet noticed parts as a burly man in a sleeveless jerkin steps out eying you suspiciously. The man is bald with a closely trimmed dark beard and, when he sees Madame Zerann relaxing on a small couch with one hand extended in invitation to Isaac,- suddenly red faced. "But Xanthe*-" he blurts out, before she silences him with a look. "I need you to take a look out front Rolf- discretely. Make sure my old friend Isaac here hasn't been followed. That wouldn't do at all." Her man nods, tight lipped, and reaching back into his hiding place finds a long gray trench coat which he throws over his shoulders, hiding the shortsword strapped to his thigh and punching dagger secured against one forearm. Rolf gives Isaac one last furious look and the beads clatter as he heads out front.
Xanthe takes Isaac by the hand and draws him to the couch, which really is a little more intimate than comfortable while Kahla brings in the tea and leaves it on a small table within reach. Zerann adds "The door Kahla, thank you" on her way out and the hostess softly closes the door to the waiting room.
Oil lamps light the room softly and loosely hanging tapestries obscure its true dimensions and possible exits as you have already seen. The smell of sandalwood hangs thick in the air drifting in slow curls from a brazier in the corner. With the door closed, Xanthe sighs and looks you over with some concern. "Boromar Clan? Don't get me wrong, Isaac, they are a solid organization, but you couldn't have picked a worse time to develop a business relation with them. Yes they have rivals! You and I aren't the only ones settling down to a new life in Sharn since the war's end. What do you know about Daask? Lately it's been looking like they are more organized than I ever would have thought possible. They've been making a move the last few months carving out Boromar territory- killing their agents, their assets. They are moving up out of the Cogs. So here you are, working for Boromar Clan- I don't know anything about this priest killer, but what I can tell you is if Varlin cared enough to hire out your entire crew... that priest was probably on his payroll."
Upper Northedge, Shae Liass
When Feanor takes his position at the base of the mordi-ellin at sunset, the gathered faithful assemble in a rough semi-circle granting him their somber attention. An acolyte kneels before him offering tray holding a small ceramic bowl filled with blood and a fine paint brush made of bone banded with gold. Feanor opens with the recitation of his family line, the Jhaelian, beginning with himself and stretching back through the generations of Aerenal and (to the surprise of most present) beyond- back through many generations of Xen'drik. All the while he rolls back one sleeve of his loose black robes, then the other, dipping the brush lightly and tracing a series of fine sigils depicting his ancient elven lineage down his withered inner forearms with graceful precision.
When the last stroke has been made, he places the brush carefully on the tray and the acolyte withdraws. Kneeling before the tree Feanor opens the meditation on Counselor Khaellyn and her place in the Undying Court. The others follow suite and the appointed acolytes take up incense laden braziers and moving silently in opposite directions begin to circle the faithful. Soft curls of smoke drift in their wake creating a hazy border of funerary incense which slowly wafts over those given to meditation. Feanor clears his mind, focusing on the ascendant perfection in the unity of the Undying Court. The elf silently implores them to guide him, to let him be their hand in the world, to be given the chance for greatness in time...
A feeling of profound peace settles over the priest of the Death Guard and he opens his eyes to continue the ceremony only to hear a susurrus whisper in his mind, "Wwwaalllkk wwwiiittthh mmmeeee..."
Feanor moves through the sword form with preternatural grace, Judgement lashing out to lock into its first position which the elf holds with perfect poise before fluidly sliding into the next. If he had been aware of anything outside his movements, breathing and awe at the subtle guiding influence of one of the Undying he would have seen members of the faithful inspired by his display and others envious, but still amazed.
By the time he moves on to arcane forms, layers of whispers and scenes from ages past are filtering through Feanor's mind. Fingers taut in somatic gestures trail slowly through the air at first, but the chaotic onslaught of emotions, fragments of memory, and brief glimpses of battles won as well as lost drive him on at an ever increasing pace. Through Counselor Khaellyn's eyes, Feanor walks through a sleeping agent of House Vol's dreams... A horrified Feanor/Khaellyn addresses the inner council of the Death Guard... Together they address the Sibling Kings calling for the utter destruction of the Mark of Death and their half-breed draconic abominations... In one scene after another they creep through dreams, carrying on a one woman war by night against the otherwise unreachable scions of Vol, fighting through the mutable landscape of dreams...
Overwhelmed with sights alien and sometimes horrible, Feanor flashes through the last series of motions in a blur, fighting to remember where and who he is, but still finishes in grand flourish.
His brothers in the faith greet his ceremony with an astounded silence and one after another a gesture of deference to a superior- one blessed by the Court. At last Mayne steps forward, likewise touching two fingers to the golden mask of the Court hanging loosely at his chest, and regarding Feanor with quiet pride. "You will have what you seek, Son of the Jhaelian, blessed of the Counselor."
Feanor respectfully extends his gratitude to the Ascendant Councilor. He bows deeply, "Thank you, great one, for this boon."
Zerann offers Isaac his tea before taking her own. As Isaac lifts his cup she smiles, eyes bright, over her own cup, "Meddling in Daask business... tracking one of their killers... That kind of information would be good as gold in the right ears. Lucky for you we're such old friends." She takes a sip from her cup and traces one finger along Isaac's arm. "I would wish you luck, but I might as well offer to blow on Olladra's lucky dice. You've always had a knack with finding your way out of sticky situations. I'm sure this will be no different."
Someone knocks softly from the front room- once, a pause, then three times in quick succession. Xanthe sighs and sets her cup down, "You know I'd love to keep you here all night Isaac, but I do have a business to run and you, my friend, are trouble. Come back and see me when you find yourself clear of this mess." So saying she stands and straightens the diklo covering her dark hair, offers Isaac a hand, and pulls him to his feet. Leading you to the door, she arches an eyebrow and purses her lips, "I hope they are paying you enough..."
The door opens and from there Isaac finds himself hustled back to a side-street near Terminus Station.
Kn Local concerning Daask
DC 10 ** spoiler omitted **
DC 15 ** spoiler omitted **
DC 20 ** spoiler omitted **Zerann offers Isaac his tea before taking her own. As Isaac lifts his cup she smiles, eyes bright, over her own cup, "Meddling in Daask business... tracking one of their killers... That kind of information would be good as gold in the right ears. Lucky for you we're such old friends." She takes a sip from her cup and traces one finger along Isaac's arm. "I would wish you luck, but I might as well offer to blow on Olladra's lucky dice. You've always had a knack with finding your way out of sticky situations. I'm sure this will be no different."
Someone knocks softly from the front room- once, a pause, then three times in quick succession. Xanthe sighs and sets her cup down, "You know I'd love to keep you here all night Isaac, but I do have a business to run and you, my friend, are trouble. Come back and see me when you find yourself clear of this mess." So saying she stands and straightens the diklo covering her dark hair, offers Isaac a hand, and pulls him to his feet. Leading you to the door, she arches an eyebrow and purses her...
[ooc] Knowledge local 1d20+6=19
Issac smiles wistfully at Zerann as he accepts her hand. "Invaluable aid, my lady as always. But if your construing of the situation is correct things are like to get worse before better. I will not inconvenience you and your business any further. We'll talk again though I assure you." Issac doffs and tips his hat. He then makes his leave.
As he strolls through the streets running over Zerann's words and his knowledge of the Daask. Yes, serious assets indeed. A monstrous creature may very well have been the assassin. The priest a tempting target if he was employed by the Boramar. Perhaps some inquiring re the Daask's haunts and noted strongarms is in order.
[ooc] Sorry I haven't posted for awhile, sick, busy and wasn't checking regularly the past little while for your posts.
"Dang it. Where are they? Feanor and Isaac should already be here. Our meeting was scheduled more than 20 minutes ago. Ohhh. This is sooo unprofessional. Why do i put up with these guys?"
Janras is clearly getting impatient.
"Dang it. Where are they? Feanor and Isaac should already be here. Our meeting was scheduled more than 20 minutes ago. Ohhh. This is sooo unprofessional. Why do i put up with these guys?"
Janras is clearly getting impatient.
"It's unlike them to be late - but I'm sure they'll join us soon. No need to send out a search just yet." Despite his words, Var looks concerned rather than impatient.
Var turns back to his notebook, reading through the close-written text again. Seeking some new insight, or perhaps just passing time.
"Dang it. Where are they? Feanor and Isaac should already be here. Our meeting was scheduled more than 20 minutes ago. Ohhh. This is sooo unprofessional. Why do i put up with these guys?"
Janras is clearly getting impatient.
"It's unlike them to be late - but I'm sure they'll join us soon. No need to send out a search just yet." Despite his words, Var looks concerned rather than impatient.
Var turns back to his notebook, reading through the close-written text again. Seeking some new insight, or perhaps just passing time.
"I agree with you I do think that it is unprofessional however I am sure that they must have a good reason for their tardiness." Phia says as she paces back and forth.
On a cliff side neighborhood overlooking most of Sharn and far below in depths near Terminus station Feanor and Isaac both conclude their inquiries. Despite their austere demeanor even the Aereni have to eat and being in his own neighborhood, Feanor stops for a quick bite at a small place with outdoor seating near his home. A small bowl of grains tossed with a seasoned oil, nuts, seeds and various pickled vegetables was more than enough to hold him over. Besides, it was undoubtedly prepared with more attention to hygiene and detail than the shorter lived races had a capacity for understanding. The proprietor, an older elven woman with whom Feanor enjoyed the occasional game of bones when he had time, had been preparing such traditional dishes from this location longer than any human in the City of Towers had been alive- twice over. With the sun fully set by now, there wasn't really time to relax and enjoy, but the priest made the best of it and soon enough waved good evening to the hostess and headed out for the agency offices in Ambassador Towers.
Far in the depths below, Isaac considered what he had learned. The sun had nearly set, but he reckoned there was still be enough time to ask around a little about Daask before heading back to the office. Harlan, the barkeep who'd pointed him towards the Madame earlier seemed like a good enough place to start. A man like that hears a little bit of everything through the day, and if he didn't know chances were someone else who did might pass through.
The pub was maybe a little more working class than Isaac's tastes leaned toward, but blending in and finding out what he needed to know had been his specialty during the war and it was the kind of skill one always found a use for. After ordering an ale and the house special (which turned out to be fried fish and potatoes with some kind of shredded salad) he chatted amiably with the barman for some time before coming around to his point.
At the mention of Daask, Harlan freezes momentarily, before grabbing a bar towel and drying off some questionably 'clean' pint glasses. "Listen friend. That's a road you don't want to go down, 'less you're lookin' for trouble." Looking around to see if anyone is paying much attention, he leans forward resting his elbows on the bar, "Look, this here's Tyrant territory- Daask got no hold on it, but these days all bets are off on the old arrangements. I heard they roll up out of Khyber's Gate, but they been building up in Lower Dura- cutting into Boromar turf. Better there than here." The barman blows on a loose fist and tosses imaginary dice giving thanks for Olladra's good fortune. "I don't envy Boromar trying to work that one out," Harlan shakes his head, "Imagine trying to fight those monsters through narrow tunnels and alleys in a pit they got locked down tighter 'n a drum." Harlan goes on lamenting the uncertain state of affairs until a patron raises his mug for another ale, but by then Isaac is pretty sure he's found out about all he's going to learn here and it's getting late.
Maybe it's just everything he's learned, but the walk to the lift through Lower Tavick's Landing leaves Isaac feeling a little jumpy. Shifting shadows from the everbright lanterns combined with the desperate faces of immigrants, beggars, drunken veterans... Isaac finds himself watching over his shoulder from time to time to be certain he isn't being followed, but nothing stands out. By the time the lift rises up carrying him out of lower Sharn he can feel a layer of tension falling away with it. From there the walk back to the office feels relatively leisurely and Isaac finds the majority of his partners waiting for him impatiently. Feanor arrives shortly afterwards.
"Darn. Where have you guys been? I was on the verge of preparing a Locate spell for you two. Has it at least been fruitful?"
"I have here with me a scroll which may allow us to communicate with the spirit of our dead victim. Suffice it to say I had to do a bit of diplomacy to convince the church elders to give me this scroll."
Feanor asks his partners for possible questions to ask the spirit.
“I suggest we ask the following questions.” I begin to tick the questions off on my fingers. “1) Who killed you? Of course it won’t be this easy, but we’ll never know unless we ask. 2) What type of creature killed you? 3) Had you seen your killer in days before you were killed? 4) Who hired you to come to the place you were killed? Where were you hired? Now these aren’t in any particular order, and depending on the answer to number three, we might also ask the following. Where did you did you see your killer in the days before you were killed?”
“I’d suggest we start with the priest, or maybe the manservant, but he’d be my second choice.”
"I think your questions are great. I also agree with the questioning of the priest. He will most likely be the calmest and most willing to give us direct answers."
-The guards probably have a clearer head about what happened during the attack.
-The manservant would have more information about Molo and his activities beyond the day of the attack.
"I think we should ask the one that was shot into the back and the front. He may have been able to get a look at his attacker, saw him and tried to run away...."
"Ok. How about possible questions?"
"Ok. How about possible questions?"
"I liked ir'Winthorpe's list," with a nod in Durel's direction, "but we should add; Did Molo seem worried before the attack; Do you remember any strange smells or noises before the attack; Was the priest alive or dead when he was taken?"
Var unconsciously echoes Durel, ticking the questions off one by one.
"Apologies for tardiness. After some inquiries I found that a criminal group known as the Daask operating out of Khyber's gate have been making some moves into Boramar territory and that of the tyrants as well. Rather busy group these days. The Daask have a large amount of monstrous humanoids operating with them. They seem to be the most likely group behind the attack. Trying to intimidate the Boramar."
The questions posed in Winthorpe should serve well."
"Apologies for tardiness. After some inquiries I found that a criminal group known as the Daask operating out of Khyber's gate have been making some moves into Boramar territory and that of the tyrants as well. Rather busy group these days. The Daask have a large amount of monstrous humanoids operating with them. They seem to be the most likely group behind the attack. Trying to intimidate the Boramar."
The questions posed in Winthorpe should serve well."
"Ah, good work Issac! That gives us two possible motives to follow up; gang rivalry and failed healing. From the jojoba oil investigation we also have a lead. Phia, Janras, do you want to fill Feanor and Issac in on the Fallen connection?"
"Ah, good work Issac! That gives us two possible motives to follow up; gang rivalry and failed healing. From the jojoba oil investigation we also have a lead. Phia, Janras, do you want to fill Feanor and Issac in on the Fallen connection?"
"I will leave that up to Janras. I need to step outside for a moment and this way I will not miss anything I don't already know."
While the others run down what they have discovered and settle on a line of questioning, Feanor pulls the tarp back from the chosen victim and examines him impassively. The man would have been in his early thirties, unshaven with a short haircut grown ragged. A faded scar running across his chest and a nose broken at some point in the past indicate a history of violence but whether it would have been in the war or on the streets of Sharn was impossible to know.
Feanor unrolls the scroll and recites the first call to the remnants of a spirit departed. Echoes of a life lived cling to the vessel long after the soul transitions to the next stage of its eternal journey, and this was what Feanor intended to rouse through the power of the Undying Court. But it was never a certainty that the spirit could be driven to reanimate. Spirits of the unenlightened sometimes lacked the strength or will to respond and very few were eager to do so. It took patience, but that was a gift Feanor had in spades.
The elf grasped his mask of the Undying, and called again... waited and recited the call again- and again.
Meanwhile Isaac and Var compared notes on who might be behind the attacks, and Phia excused herself when the withered elf bent over the corpse to breath life into it's face. Seeing no sign of success, the elf repeated the incantation from the scroll, while gripping the symbol of his faith. Halfway through the corpse drew a ragged gasp, arching its back and gripping the edges of the table. The body sinks back to the table and strains to sit up managing to lean to the side and look around slowly. His eyes lock on Feanor's ghoulish visage, and with doubt etched plainly on his face asks hopefully through stiff ashen lips "You, you raised me?"
Feanor's lack of immediate response is enough to squash the idea. Looking down he sees the mostly dried blood soaking his loose shirt and tentatively reaches up feeling the hole plowed into his chest by an arrow later roughly ripped out but in the process of doing so sees the roughly severed finger on his hand, "No. No, I guess not. What is this then?" He glares at the lot of you waiting for an explanation.
"I have summoned your spirit to shed light into the mystery that is your death. If you will help us with accurate answer then I promise you that your killer shall be brought to justice." Feanor pauses, "Now, what is the last thing that you recall before the darkness of death took you?"
"Yes. That would give me satisfaction. Last thing I recall... taking an arrow in the back. Knocked me flat on my face when I's tryin' to get that priest backed into a corner. Last gasps, couldn't move, talons on wood when it landed next to me, then... all black."
"Yes. That would give me satisfaction. Last thing I recall... taking an arrow in the back. Knocked me flat on my face when I's tryin' to get that priest backed into a corner. Last gasps, couldn't move, talons on wood when it landed next to me, then... all black."
Var prompts Feanor with the questions they agreed...
“I suggest we ask the following questions.” I begin to tick the questions off on my fingers. “1) Who killed you? Of course it won’t be this easy, but we’ll never know unless we ask. 2) What type of creature killed you? 3) Had you seen your killer in days before you were killed? 4) Who hired you to come to the place you were killed? 5) Where were you hired? Now these aren’t in any particular order, and depending on the answer to number three, we might also ask the following. 6) Where did you did you see your killer in the days before you were killed?”
... and ...
"7) Did Molo seem worried before the attack; 8) Do you remember any strange smells or noises before the attack; 9) Was the priest alive or dead when he was taken?"
Feanor diligently asks the prepared questions.
1) Who killed you?
"Six-damned monster. Some kind of Khyber demon. Giant bat wings, horns, talons, red eyes... Demon had stone hide like marble or ivory... How the hell are you supposed to fight that? Mason's sword just clanged off it's hide like he hit a pillar of stone. I never even got the chance. Monster was flying around, laughing, hitting us with arrows from above."
3) Had you seen your killer in days before you were killed?
"No. No way. I'd remember that demon face."
4) Who hired you to come to the place you were killed?
"Molo, that sorry priest of Kol Korran."
5) Where were you hired?
"Molo sent a runner to my place in Callestan. Me and Mason bounce... well, bounced, for a massage parlour over there. Met him when he was there talking business and we've done a few armed escort jobs for him. Typically just there to discourage anyone from getting stupid you know? Why not make a few crowns on the side with an easy chaperone gig?
7) Did Molo seem worried before the attack?
"Nah. He knew his way around The Stores well enough. I think we all figured he was just going to patch up some tough who got the worse end of a blade like usual."
8) Do you remember any strange smells or noises before the attack?
"Little halfling runt... Least that's what we thought. Goblin bastard dropped that bit of sorcery once he closed the lift behind us- anyway he, smelled like he'd been sleeping in garbage all week. Not my place to ask clients about their stench, but it made sense once we saw what he really was. Then once the lift swung shut and the tanglefoot hit it- that's when the laughter started. Winged bastard was playing with us. Like it was a game."
9) Was the priest alive or dead when he was taken?"
"Last I saw, he was untouched."
"Stoney Skin and flying around. That sounds like a gargoyle. They live normally on rooftops of temples and abandoned buildings and in old ruins."
"It’s a gargoyle! That's what the poor bloke is describing. Where did they meet the shape changing goblin? Perhaps we can back track his movements."
"I suggest we ask where and when he met the goblin-halfling thing; then we can chase that down with Varlin."
"Hmm, who might be able to tell us about gargoyles? I've never fought one and it sounds like they're resistant to at least simple steel. Anyone have a contact who could help?"
"We should also try to find out how susceptible gargoyles are to magic. If steel doesn't work, magic might..."
"I suggest we ask where and when he met the goblin-halfling thing; then we can chase that down with Varlin."
"Hmm, who might be able to tell us about gargoyles? I've never fought one and it sounds like they're resistant to at least simple steel. Anyone have a contact who could help?"
I'd second that re this halfling. The description of his offensive odour matches with that the priest gave at the temple of Kol Korran. Which would make him the most likely organizer of the ambush. Any information re him would open up greater possibilities.
One other possibility as a question to ask is did any of the culprits say anything either to the priest or his guards he may have overheard in his last moments?
"Should we ask further re the halfing or if the victim heard anything that the perps said during the attack?"
"Cannot hurt to ask. Go ahead, Feanor."