Arion had to admit that the others had a point - ordinary warriors, while valiant, may not have been quite enough to stop their group... though peaceful solutions were definitely better when they were possible.
She managed to breath a huge sigh of relieve, gasping. She didn't realize how long she had been holding breath for. After panting some for a bit, she managed to regain her composure a bit. "Thank heavens..." She felt a little shaky and her heart was still beating rather quickly, but she seemed to have calmed down a bit.
As the guards level their spears at their group, Inja's immediate reaction is to snarl at them, in unison with Yama. She has had enough of this pointless squabbling and is burning to take the fight to the humans. Why can't these illidari not understand this? They are wasting their time with arguments and talking, talking, TALKING! She flexes her fingers, feeling the push of her claws beneath the skin, yearning to break free and fight, like her.
The guards glanced at eachother from Jasmines demands, one of them began to remove the spear he had pointed at her to let her pass. The other guard began to raise their spears around the group, obviously their words having an effect. Elaran could only be seen going red face from the actions of the guard and Octavians words. It was surprising he hasn’t imploded upon himself yet. Huffing he’d turn and dismiss the group, briskly walking out as he knew if he bandied anymore words with the group he’d begin to lose his power. His entourage quickly followed him, the disguised Qahnaarin in tow with the rest of them.
The speaker listened to the words of the group carefully before flicking his hand, the council guards firmly removing their spears. The speaker would glance towards the archway Elaran went, a frown settling on his lips. ”See that no one antagonizes the green one. We do not wish to actually have to intervene in any conflicts here. As much as we dislike Elaran, he holds a lot of power at court and among almost half of the noble houses.” His words were tense and it seemed there had been something developing on the political scale of the Illidari. It did not take a genius to figure that out. ”Octavian, I’ll make sure your group is not accosted any longer. I will try and win Elaran over. But for not, do not aggravate him further. He has his sights set upon that stone and we don’t need a scandal.”
Octavian’s mother cleared her throat, ”As before, you have free access to our estate, you will be safe from Elaran there. But if you venture forth, make sure you do not leave… alone. I will speak more about this over supper tonight. I have to tend to the towers and the wards.” She’d leave her position at the council desk and walk up to Octavian, giving him a motherly embrace before leaving out the main way, several guards following her.
The captain of the guard gave Octavian and the group a curt nod, ”You're free to have your weapons upon you. I will inform the city guard of such orders. Just ensure your friend with the shield can keep his arm still.”
”Be careful, Elaran is up to something, half the noble houses are… becoming seclusive in their proceedings. Keep an eye out.”
The group was silent for about five minutes, until there was a good distance between them and the council chambers. Elaran would take a right into a short alley and move towards a small building. Everyone would enter silently. Once inside the group would form a circle. Elaran a part of it. Looking at the gathered Illidari he’d begin to speak.
”Their presence has complicated things. We need to accelerate our plans. Lucarin’s house is going to be a problem, especially with Octavian back. It seems we're losing the neutral council as well.”
An unknown illidari who was hooded would speak up, ”So should we proceed with Black Swan?”. For some reason this caused a stillness in the room. Everyone seemed to slowly nod in agreement. ”Black Swan is a go then. We should get everyone ready.”
”Who should be first?”
Arion snorted slightly as she had a few flashbacks to her own home. There were always... foolish individuals. And all too often, they managed to get into positions of power. She'd have to be extra-thoughtful and make sure she didn't fall into that trap - lives were on the line, after all.
Seeing the political developments, Jasmine decides to change her plans for the day, trying to update most of the group as she could (while being out of earshot from anyone else).
"I think, in light of what your mother said Octavian, I might as well kick the wasps nest, as a Calistrian might say. Elaran is unlikely to stand idle, but he isn't going to move against us as a group - its far too risky for him. He is going to strike out at any perceived weak links. Breewyn, I'm sorry to say, is an ideal target, due to innate passivity, as well as indicating how emotional she could be in the council chamber. So, lets keep her safe for the time being. I'm going to roam the city, and see if I can bait out an ambush. If I can force his hand, we can try to use it to our advantage."
Jasmine returns to the house to get her arrows. While she prefers lethal options, she also tries to purchase blunt arrows within the city, assuming she the funds and availability are there. The blunt arrows are purely for use in the city, should she come across someone she needed to eliminate as a threat, but not kill.
Immediately thus armed, Jasmine heads deeper into the city, while trying to look as vulnerable as she can, forgoing armor (which she doesn't own), and openly displaying her holy symbol. Her goal is not conversion, or spreading her religion, but putting herself front and centre into Elaran's sights, indirectly challenging him to make herself a more attractive target. She also hopes her deities reputation for taking clothes off, makes her appear to be a weak and easy target should Eldaran want to move openly.
As she moves through the city, she remains on high alert, using her innate Perception and Sense Motive skills (as well as magic) to spot anything concerning.[/ooc]
As Jasmine leaves Octavian falls into step next to her, remaining silent until they had cleared ear shot of the guards. Speaking lowly so only she could hear he said "Be careful in your planning. If the councilor's warnings have any merit it indicates something dire. We haven't had a civil war or coup in the city for six thousand years. The reason why you found those ruins and the reason why there are Illidari ruins all over this desert is because of that war. Thousands were killed when the leaders of the Arcanix attempted to usurp leadership and turn our society into a Magocracy, taking power away from the people. That is why there is not a position on the council for the Arcanix. Despite what you may have seen in that chamber, everyone there has been voted into their position with the exception of Elaran. My grandfather has been on that council for over three hundred years but rarely shows. He was always more interested in the spiritual health of our people and cared little for political squabbling. I fear his disinterest has led to power hungry people like Elaran planning to take control once again. If that is allowed to happen I am sure that we will be exiled if not executed. You saw the look of greed on Elaran's face when I revealed the shard. You have been granted full visitation rights so if any Illidari attacks you, they are traitors to their people in a time of war. Take some of our compatriots with you and deal with them as we've always dealt with traitors." Octavian's voice dropped to a growl at the end here.
He stopped Jasmine to turn her and look into her eyes. "Kill them."
Breewyn opened her mouth in protest Jasmine, but closed it, working her jaw muscles a bit. She struggled trying to come up with an appropriate response, fidgeting fitfully as she did so. In the end she could only sigh wistfully, realizing the truth in her words. It stabbed her and even though it was unfair, she was completely right. She resigned herself to the care of her companions, for better or worse, looking and feeling quite deflated.
With another sigh, Pazeek makes his escape before something else goes horribly awry, delaying only long enough for Breewyn, Inja, and Arion to join if they are still minded to do so. "Right, let's be well away from here while we can do so," the tengu mutters to those accompanying him. "I just need to pass over a moment at the Lucarin estate to pick up a few things, and then we can all settle in for the dubious pleasure of digging through assorted histories and lies in hopes of dredging up something we can use!"
Pazeek is as good as his word upon reaching the estate, reappearing after but a few minutes dressed in his armor, with the smaller of his weapons within easy reach upon various parts of his harness. The only other bit of his kit the tengu is carrying is a single pouch, which he takes care to tuck out of easy reach--with some effort on account of the contents--under his armor. "Right, that feels better. With the way Elaran was eyeing us on his way out, I wouldn't care to bet that he, or one of his lackeys, won't set some thugs on us to get some revenge."
Tsakua falls in step behind his shorter companions. "As long as some o' those lies we dig through c'n be found in a good cold mug," he comments.
When they stop at the estate, she thinks for a moment and then hurriedly grabs some of her meager belongings. It wasn't much, but it sure beat being less equipped should the need present itself. She hoped it wouldn't come to that, but just gauging from the reactions of the various Illidari council members it definitely would behoove her to err on the side of overtly cautious. Once she felt comfortable with some of her possessions, she rejoined Pazeek quickly. "Sorry if I made you wait." She mumbled upon returning.
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"If you have need of me I will be spending my time up at the temple. Even Elaran will not dare spill the blood of a devotee of Flame in the temple." Octavian would say as everyone splits up. He returns home and instructs the servants to hitch up a wagon and load the barrels of ore they had brought across the desert with them. It would take him another fifteen minutes to drive the two miles distance between the Temple of Viridian Flame and his home. The huge building stretched over a hundred feet above the ground and was made from black and green marble. At the gate to the temple he says to the guards in archaeic Illidari "This devotee wishes to walk the path of Ignition and burn away the dross weighing down the purity of my soul."
The guards would nod silently and pull open the ornate gates of gilded mithril. The airy metal was a deep golden color that danced with an inner light and gave off a heat that would burn any race not resistant to flame. Inside the temple grounds several monks in vibrant red and golden robes sat in groups and discussed theology in ancient Illidari. The language had evolved since their species emigrated to this planet seven thousand years ago but the most devout maintained the language as the language of Vulcan.
Octavian would bring the wagon to a stop as a young acolyte ran up to take the horses reins in hand. Octavian murmured directions for the apprentice preist to take the ore to the Hall of Creation where he would arrive after undergoing the cleansing. The ritual was required if the wizard wanted to make use of the forges in the Hall of Creation, especially if he was going to dare to use the First Anvil. The artifact had been a fixture within the temple since the first brick was laid, the building actually having been built around it. It was said that only the Chosen could survive the heat and power generated by the First Anvil. Anyone wishing to become the High Preist had to prove their devotion by crafting their symbol of office on the anvil and not dying in the process. The last had been over 300 years ago and that man was still the ultimate authority within the temple grounds. Octavian wagered the odds of meeting his grandfather while walking the path of Ignition and forging the Shard on the First Anvil were high.
Inside the temple the wizard was directed down a hall by a silent monk in red and gold. This monk was equipped with a black iron breastplate and warhammer, indicating his position within the middle rank of preists. The ranking system was a little obscure to Octavian as he had seen the Obsidian Order in the amongst the Path of Adamantine, the highest order within the temporal ranking. The monk motioned for Octavian to stop and fished out a large key from inside his robes to unlock a simple steel door. Inside the room was austere with a row of pegs on one wall facing a bench. "Remove your clothing and dress in that robe. Any items of mundane or magical nature must be left behind and will be waiting for you on the other side. May your soul be ever bright Brother." the monk would tell Octavian. Before the wizard could respond the door was closed and locked with a solid clicking noise. From this point on Octavian could only walk forward.
Undressing quickly all the way to the nude the wizard pulled on the rough woolen robe. He went barefoot and without any items with the exception of the Shard which he kept clenched in one fist. He knocked on the door only to find the metal swing open at his touch. On the other side was a round room with several doors lining the wall. There was a break in the wall where a pair of huge black iron doors sat closed. The air closest to the doors shimmered with the heat radiating from the metal and that was where Octavian's true test would begin. While the Path would not kill him it was still a test of endurance and faith and would be painful. It was the only way he would even be allowed to get near the First Anvil and while Octavian was no preist, he was faithful.
Grabbing the rung on one door the wizard pulled hard and grimaced with the weight. There was a hissing noise as the moisture on his palms turned to steam as soon as he touched the hot metal door. That was nothing compared to the blast of heat that set his long black hair and woolen robe dancing.
Beyond the door awaited Hell.
Or what at first glance was hell. A blackened stone pathway stretched into a vast hall filled with flame. Directly in front of him was a double row of huge fire elementals that turned to look at the wizard impassively. The Path of Ignition led directly between these two rows of creatures and the air shimmered with their barely restrained heat. In the disance the wizard could barely make out a doorway on the other side of the hall that offered the only refuge from this point on. The noise in the hall was almost indescribable, the roar of a thousand blast furnaces stronger then an entire legion of dragons. Heavy stone and magic buffered the heat and noise and kept it contained inside this hall. It was in this fury and fire that the strongest of the Illidari walked, their souls of flame burning everbright. Octavian took a deep breath and set his foot on the path.
Almost immediately the elementals reacted. Their forms turned white as they stretched their arms across the path and flowed into a single entity. The path changed from a walkway into a tunnel of multicolored fire that beckoned the wizard forward. Tamping down his beating heart Octavian raised the shard before him and walked boldly into fire. Immediately his robe caught fire that only added to the noise and power of the situation. His hair danced wildly in the powerful currents of air and the robe quickly disintegrated, the burning fragments spinning into the maelstrom before vanishing. As soon as he moved past the first elementals the tunnel slammed shut behind him in a thunderclap, the concussive force enough to make his ears ring.
Squinting against the bright light the wizard continued to move forward at a steady pace, his mind shrinking back from the chaos around him and focusing itself into a single point of light that grew brighter with every step. Soon his spirit began to sing at the same frequency of the hall, the pain and agony of 20 years burning away as the ritual cleansing continued. Soon his mind arrived at the first true horror in his life when he and his wife had been captured by human soldiers. Watching them rape Saleesa while the whip bit into his back before casually slitting her throat burned in the wizard's mind surrounded in a corona of rage and grief. "Saleesa, come to me love. Walk with me." Octavian called out while the flames swirled around him.
A moment later a creature of fire and spirit shimmered into existance, substance given form by the power of the temple. His late wife looked at him with eyes of embers, her hand snaking out to take his own. She said nothing but walked next to him, her form shimmering from the waves of heat flowing all around them. Octavian felt strengthened by her presence and locked his eyes on the path ahead of him, the shard held up to preceed him. Flame swirled around his hand as the Shard drank in the divine fire and responded with it's own blue flame. Energy pulsed over Octavian as the Shard awakened and burned hot and bright in his hand and sent a reverberation throughout the temple in the form of a great bell sound. Octavian lost track of the next several minutes, time blurring into a single image of flame and the roar of a waterfall.
All too soon he was on the other side, Saleesa vanishing into a firewhirl that danced back into the hall. The door ahead of him opened and the cool air on the other side felt icy cold against his hot skin. A cool, wet robe was draped across his shoulders and steam erupted off the garment for a split second before he started to cool off. A chalice filled with cool water was pressed against his lips and he drank reflexivly. The first sound he registered was "Well done brother."
Like Pazeek and Breewyn, Inja also retrieves her possessions from the Lucarin estate before doing anything else. She didn't have much - she didn't need much - but a part of her wanted to put on a good show for these arrogant blueskins. Dressed in practical clothing of fine make and gripping her spear, she cuts an impressive figure, if only for sheer size and physical power.
The conversation continued, ”You should know who will be first. Cut the head of the snake, and it will no longer bite. Be discrete, we don’t want our actions to be discovered. The Illidari will return to their rightful places. My Vulcan guide you.”
The words would would be repeated by all the attending members, everyone bowing out and leaving the room, leaving only Elaran and one other left as they watched everyone carefully.
Your trap has been set, but nothing happens as of yet. The city was bustling with activity, finally being free of the quiet house of the Lucarin and the stuffy chambers of the assembly the air felt nice. The heat from the sun blazed down upon the city but the air was fresh. You find yourself wandering into the market square where many upper level merchants were hawking their wares, mostly Illidari but there were a quite a few Tengu’s around doing the same.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary for now. So might as well enjoy your time at the market. A stall near the central fountain seem to catch your eye by brightly colored fruits and a tasty smell wafting from them.
With the group gathering their gear and heading off to the Tengu Tower, you got to see a bit more of the city as a you found your way. Leading through market districts, housing and production facilities and several smithies, it took a good half hour to hour to just wind through the city and approach the Tengu District.
The Tower was an easy guide mark, and the constant flying Tengu wasn’t hard to miss. The closer you got to the district, the more Tengu’s you began to see. Most of them minded their own business, a few gave curious glances and soft warbles to their compatriots as some of them already heard of the ‘Proven’ and seeing the odd races walking with Pazeek definitely made you stick out.
You weren’t accosted as you approached the tower except by a small group of armed Tengu jumping down from a perch to approach the group. A warble of greeting was given to Pazeek before they stood with their unique long staffed spears which Pazeek would easily point out were Tengu specialized No Dachi’s. ”Greetings! I believe you are the Proven? What brings you to the tower?” The leader asked, his raven black feathers fluffed slightly. ”We like to make marks of who all visits and for what purposes.”
The priest stood before Octavian with a soft smile, ”You have cleansed your spirit and soul. You now may access the Halls of Creation.” Another priest stood behind him, with Octavian's belongings. His clothing were folded neatly and any miscellaneous pieces of gear sat upon it.
”Brother, may I ask what you seek to accomplish here?” The lead priest spoke again.
Octavian used the hem of the robe to wipe the sweat from his face and looked around. He had never been to the inner part of the temple accessible only by proving one's devotion. He was surprised to see the interior of the temple was carved from solid granite, the walls polished to a high shine while the floor was left rough. The ceiling arced high overhead and was supported by a row of massive pillars. Several archways opened on both sides of the main hall and Octavian could hear hammering coming out of one of them.
"I seek the Anvil brother." Octavian responded. Standing up straight as strength returned to him the wizard raised the shard up to view it. He was as astonished as the gasping priests when he saw that the shard was giving off energy like a miniature star, tendrils of multicolored energy waving lazily in invisible currents. "I...I seek to forge this Shard on the First Anvil. I seek to forge a weapon of destiny."
Remaining on high alert, Jasmine roams through the streets. She tries to relax her body language, while keeping her eyes casually moving, accessing the situation. More importantly, Jasmine tries to act like a typical tourist, which meant roaming markets. Unfortunately, Jasmine felt she also had to look like a stereotypical female tourist, so instead of taking a tour of the archery range working on something practical, she instead browsed among merchants selling jewelry, clothing, and perfumes.
Eventually, the stall near the fountain catches her eye and she drifts over to take a look.
The priests stole glances at each other before the high priest cleared his throat. ”That is a stone of Vulcan… It resonates with his power. This is a divine blessing! We must hurry.” He would beckon Octavian to lead, the other priests followed suit. He took him down the long marble room, before passing several archways, the beams carved to look like pillars of fire. They would enter an atrium, a room filled with smithing equipment but the anvil of Vulcan. The Anviel shimmered blue, the metal an iridescent color that looked like it was living fire molded into a stone form. Fires elementals powered the soul forge. The room itself was hot and humid, but the stone was cool to the touch.
”What ever you need will be brought Brother. This is godly work and will not be interrupted. We will see to it you have what you need and the time. I’ve never seen a piece of Vulcan come alive as such. This… is going to be historical. I will bring refreshments when desired and any knowledge of the forge as well Brother.”
Your bow is oddly quiet at this time as you moved towards the stall. There was something about it that just lured you right in. A female Illidari stood behind, managing the many fruits and odd exotic sticks of incense. She’d look up with a smile to the approaching elf. A pierced eyebrow raised as she looked her over, ”Why I have not seen an Elf in the upper city before.” she commented with a hand gesturing her wares. ”Is there something specific you seek? Someone to lure maybe?” She smiled then.
You’d notice only one stick of incense was lit, and it was near the back of the stall. The women had a certain calming aura around her. Her form was built and strong, but still womanly. Her eyes were a piercing green with her hair tousled and pinned with two long sticks with raven heads.
Even though the women had a relatively calm aura, Jasmine still remains a little on edge. "Mostly browsing at present. Nice smells you have though, its a nice stall you have."
The women kept her smile, her hands gesturing to the food, "Perhaps you would like to sample one of my wares? It'll help you really decide if you wish to just browse. I have many delicacies and exquisites, even from the elven home lands."
You immediately get a sense that this was all an act, something was drawing you to this stall and her mannerism were strange. You felt something tugging at you, warning you about her behavior. Something more sinister was behind the mask she wore.
Jasmine keeps calm and relaxed in the face of the obvious act and trap. It does, after all, take one to know one. Her first instinct, is to accuse with words, her second, is to unleash with a bow.
Instead, Jasmine decides to play it out. Pretending to suffer the full effects, she snags one of the smallest fruit she can find. If nothing is available, she will try and shave off a bite sized piece. Counting on the merchants arrogance at an easily controlled mind, Jasmine attempts a smooth Sleight of Hand trick, pretending to eat the fruit and instead placing it into a pocket. Standing there for a moment, Jasmine then allows a puzzled look to show on her face, before staggering and falling to her knees slightly. "What...what's happening to me, what did you give me" she mummers.
The Illidari women frowned quickly when Jasmine seems to be acting ill. She'd move from her stall and quickly come to hold the Elf steady. "Oh dear, I should've remembered that your kind does not react well to the Shinga dessert berries. Here come with me and I'll make this right."
She'd attempt to lead Jasmine to a stool behind the market stall. If Jasmine was playing along and followed her, she'd find the seat nice and cushy. She'd quickly grab the flask that was strung along her shoulders and open the cap. "Here take some water dear, it'll help with the berry." Her touch was gentle, and the aroma of the incense was stronger.
Jasmine allows herself to be led to the cushion, although she lets her limbs, particularly her hands shake a little.
"I'm sure it wasn't your berries, its probably just the heat, being an elf, I'm not used to it" she replies kindly, sitting obediently on the seat. She takes the flask, but accidentally allows it to slip through her fingers, spilling the contents.
"Ugh, that was clumsy of me, I'll refill it by the fountain" the elf inquisitor smoothly responds, attempting to stand shakily.
Dipping his head politely to the guards, while his eyes keep them clearly and quite obviously in view--foolish to bow and give a possible foe the back of your head like that--Pazeek replies with nothing like his usual demeanor. "Pazeek the Splitbeak, of the Freeport Bluefeather flock. I've come here in search of answers, for I've need of such. My companions are Arion, Breeywn, Inja, and Tsakua," he adds, pointing out the owner of each name in turn, and sticking to Common as a courtesy to them. Stepping a bit closer the guard to keep the passersby from knowing his business, the tengu continues in a lower voice. "I need to consult whatever you've got of the histories here, and the older stories too, from when we still wandered after leaving the Nest we once shared with the foxfolk. If you need to know more than that, I'd appreciate your asking off of the street, where every clacking beak can pass on what straining ears gather," Pazeek concludes with a pointed look toward a few curious birdfolk who are trying to unobtrusively edge closer to the group.
Breewyn watched the exchange curiously, noting the slight change in Pazeek's mannerisms. It was something to keep note of and made her wonder which Pazeek was the real one. She sighed and decided to let it go. She fully understood that everyone has a need for their secrets now and then and why should she make a big deal for those that have them so long as they aren't harmful ones. It did however make her wonder more about the others and even herself from time to time. She was jolted out of her internal retrospective, straightening when her name was mentioned and giving a little wave and a weak smile. She then relaxed a little when switch once more to hushed tones, turning to look at the street and the passing folk therein.
The women would put her hand on Jasmine's shoulder, smiling softly. ”Oh don’t worry about that, here I have another.” She’d procure another waterskin with a deft hand, this one was a little smaller and she’d open the cap and hold it this time for Jasmine to take a sip. ”I’ll hold it for you, I can’t let yourself get hurt while you got sick from one of my berries!”
If Jasmine took the drink, she would only taste water, if she didn’t well she didn’t. Though if Jasmine attempted to stand anyways she would feel a sudden compulsion to remain seated. The chair was soft, inviting and comforting. She’d feel her legs go numb and feel a bit drowsy. Even through the fog of what she felt, she could hear something behind her.
She’d feel another pair of hands come to grip her shoulder.
When the mention of Freeport left Pazeek’s beak, a sudden hush could be heard amongst the nearby birds. They’d give each other shocked glances. ”Freeport? Do you know of any news from our feathered fellows?!” Suddenly a small crowd begin to form, murmurs of the name and rumors of one of the Proven being from the city.
One of the guards cleared his throat, ”Come, let’s get inside away from the crowds. We can discuss further. It is nice to meet you all. We have plenty of entertainment and many things to do around here if your pursuits are less scholarly. We have our inn and a few gambling dens, as well as a meager sparring arena, though there is a bigger one down by the Illidari bunks. Make yourselves at home here.” He’d beckon to them to follow. He’d lead them inside, where he would lead them down one hallway and into a door where there would be a nice long table and chairs, decidedly birdlike fashion. Another, more senior Tengu would come in from the other door in the room, his wizened eyes look towards Pazeek.
”I heard you wish to know more about our past yes?” he’d croon out slowly. His words slow and methodical.
Walking through New Alexandria and Tengu Tower is a nice change of pace for Tsakua, though he does get bored after a while. Suddenly, his ears perk up when he hears the mention of the sparring arena down by the barracks. Clearing his through, Tsakua announces his plan to his companions. "I don't mean t'be rude'n all, but I've still a bit o'steam left to blow off afore the day is finished. If no one minds, I'll be headin' down towards the blue barracks fer the fights. There's a chance I'll able t'get m'self some walkin' around coin, and at th'least it'll be somethin' more suited fer th'likes o' me." Tsakua will turn, and then remember the counsel that they were given. "Any o'ye that wish t'come, or meet me down there is jes' fine by me. Mama Lucarin or someone sed we shouldn't travel alone...I think I'll be fine, but I'm more than happy t'take any o'ye as me second and t'watch each other's backs an' such."
Bree would follow along with Pazeek and the others. She had just remembered Pazeek's mentionings before about sticky claws, and she would quickly pat over all her belongings to make sure they were there. She then would squint around as she stayed close to the others, being quite the eccentric little gnome.
"Get out of my head women" Jasmine growls, deciding that playacting is over, and that something is still messing with her mind. Smoothly sighting down her bow, Jasmine unleashes a volley, channeling herself as the Arrow of Retribution.
Ignoring the minor burns he had accumulated through his ordeal the wizard dressed not in the stately robes he had arrived in but a plain garment made of white cloth. He rolled back the top of the robe above his hips and tied the sleeves around his waist, leaving his upper body bare. The scars on his back stood out in ridged lines among the older ritual scars and tattoos he had gained as he mastered magic at the academy. Despite their supposed refined culture the Illidari were still quite savage with some of their traditions. Among the Arcanix rank was carved in the very flesh as mute testimoney of the student's suffering and achievements.
Stepping up on the old stone platform of the First Anvil Octavian felt a deep sense of history. The stone floor was ancient and grooved from the movement of thousands of feet and the platform looked like a sacrifical altar of barbarians. The First Anvil was a huge example of the tool, coming to his waist and resting on no stand and easily weighing over a ton. There was nothing flashy or overt about the relic and in truth megical scans revealed very little. But over the past seven millenia the forge had claimed many lives. Accidents, exhaustion and plain stupid decisions, all had fed the monstrocity. Octavian took a deep breath as he stood next to the Anvil and stared at the dull metal.
Despite hearing so many stories about the death surrounding this tool Octavian felt a sense of fate as he took up a pair of tongs and hammer and plunged the shard into the blazing forge nearby. The forge reacted by roaring to life as tendrils of fire danced over the stone as the fire elemental bound to the device injected it's essense. While the shard heated he cast several spells on himself that would aid in his endevour. While the intelligence magic took hold he cast a spell over a goblet of water presented to him. The clear liquid turned a deep red color before he drank it in a single quaf. The wine was of simple complexity but held the magic well. As he moved over to the forge again he looked to the nearest cleric and said "Make sure to maintain Mazen's Logic on me at all times."
The first blow of the hammer on the shard created an explosion of white sparks thirty feet wide. Another hammer blow followed that, and then another and another and another. With each blow Octavian stared deep at the soft metal as he shaped it into a complex geometric shape, something the mathmeticians of his people called a hypercube. It was a difficult shape to make but the inherent geometric qualities held a vast potential for holding magic.
Once the cube was shaped he placed the shard into the forge and went over to the barrels of ore he had brought from the estate. He retreieved equal amounts of adamantine, mithril and black iron. Each of these he heated until he could hammer them in a bar shape over and over, folding it each time. Once each metal had been purged of impurities he stacked the 3 bars and hammer welded them together. Once the three disparate metals had become a unified shape he drew the bar out and folded it over and over. Each fold of the metal evenly spread out the inherent qualities of the 3 metals throughout the entire shape. Once he had folded the metal enough times to achieve one million layers he bagan to fold the sides in until a receptacle for the hypercube appeared. He retreived the shard and fitted the two metals together, hammering them into a unified whole. Octavian knew that despite his hammer blows the hypercube would maintain it's shape as the other metals molded around it into an ornate warhammer.
Octavian lost track of time as he went from forge to anvil and back again, his arm rising and falling over and over. Each time a hammer broke he tossed the remnants aside and retreived another from the tools the preists had assembled for him. Every now and then he could feel a tingle as healing magic washed over him as the clerics strove to keep him empowered. The light in the windows faded and reappeared as the hours turned into days. During the entire time Octavian cast spells into the white hot metal as he hammered, also using his races innate magic every day. Once a day a hunched figure would appear among the growing crowd of spectators, leaning heavily on a staff. Octavian's concentration was so complete that he never noticed the powerful restorative magic the old preist would cast on him that allowed to keep casting spells into the magic without resting. When the warhammer began to throw off powerful waves of magic the wizard knew it was time to merge his staff as the haft of the weapon. Without blinking he took the darkwood staff and plunged it straight down into the superheated metal. As the magic sank deep into the arcane construct Octavian poured everything he was into the weapon, his dreams, his past, his future, his love, his hate, his soul.
And every ounce of magical power he had left.
When the staff had sunk impossibly deep into the metal and there was only a foot and a half left sticking out the wizard picked up the completed warhammer and plunged deep into the holy oil. He stayed there as still as a statue as the powerful weapon cooled and pulled it once the oil stopped boiling. Immediately the oil covered metal caught fire in the air. Octavian snuffed out the flames by stepping over to the First Anvil and slamming the hammer down with a thunderous clang. The impact snuffed out the flames with the remnants of powerful magic used in the crafting.
"Fighting? Don't mind if I do. Could use the exercise after all the soft living we've been doing lately. Eh, Yama?" Inja thumps the lioness on the rump as she grins at Tsakua. "Maybe you can teach me that shield trick you did just now, aaaah, the look on his face." She snorts with renewed amusement as she recalls the stuck-up, self-important priest being taken down a notch.
"Ah, well that ain't no trick at'all," Tsakua says, with a large grin on his face. "'Tis merely a matter o'decidin' where y'want th' thing ye're throwin' t'go, and makin' sure it gets there. I jes' happen t'want it t'come back t'me." Tsakua lets out a healthy chuckle at the memory. "Truth be told, it ain't as easy as that. Took practice, an' th' right sitchooation t'bring out th'skill in me. What it really comes down to is how ye're anglin' yer wrist, and makin' sure th'rest o' yer body is in th'right spot. Become's reeeeaaaal embarrisin' if ye've thrown yer only means o'protectin' yerself at yer foe, and it don' come back t'ye, but th' look on their face when ye bounce somethin' like this off their gob an' have it come back t'ye is more than worth th'effort."
The priest nodded his understanding, his underlings were already scurrying off to collect things. The murmur of the stone being forged spreaded like wildfire through the holy place, and soon garnered attention and a devotion of Illidari to come and watch the proceedings. It wasn’t a small thing that the holy stone was to be made to a weapon. The priest seemed to coordinate things without question, though it seemed his eyes were alive. Rumors of a prophecy being fulfilled was in process, luckily this knowledge was retained within the walls of the sanctity.
A throng was gathering, on the first day it was a few scholars, the head priest being served to as well as he kept the cantation up for Octavian. His eyes intent and focused. History was being crafted today and he was seeing to his best of his abilities that it comes out upon the right path unlike what the past has done before. Fate had a funny way of mucking with things and setting the board to zero, but this time, there were agents against fate.
Not only did the first hammer strike sent sparks thirty feet wide, the sound reverberated within the atrium, channeling up to the top such like a bell has been rung. The floors vibrated and the fires exploded in a fury. The sound was much like a bell as it rung a deep, rich sound that reverberated all over the sanctity. The other priests and priestess that stood by began a chant when the shard sang out and with every hammer strike against the metal.
The priests and priestess tended to the ceremony of the crafting of a mythical creation, each contributing in song, magical aid, or the chant. The creation of the weapon became a ceremony where they tended in solidarity, forgoing sleep and dedicating themselves to the sight of Vulcan’s touch.
The chants quieted as the gathered throng of worshippers watched in eye as Octavian snuffed the flames of the weapon. When he did so, blue tendrils of mythical energy pulsed out of the warhammer, the entirety of the weapon took a soft shine of blue. Though Octavian would find that the power could be hidden with a simple touch of his will.
”Octavian, my Brother.” began a tired voice, the head priest approached him, admiring the weapon before turning to Octavian, ”Upon the song of a shard, a scarred one would come to light the forge…” He’d pause for a moment, knowing Octavian would piece it together, ”What you’ve done… is marvelous.”
A strange bell began ringing over the entire city, which caused everyone to pause and look up to the source, in the direction of the Halls of Creation. A steady rhythm maintained as the bell rung out, and would continue for six days straight. Upon the final day, a thunderous tone took the bell, and echoed out from the hilltop.
+2 Warhammer: 1d8, x3, B, 8 lbs
Mythic Bond: Octavian
Legendary Traits: Maker’s Avatar, Powerful, Upgradeable, Auto Proficiency
Legendary Surge (4)
Legendary Crafting: When used in crafting items of legendary power, it takes half the time then normal. If the bonded wielder chooses to do so, they can expend all Legendary Surges and Mythic Surges to craft the item within two days of continuous work. This will also increase the chances of additional traits being granted upon the crafted weapon.
+2 DC to spells cast when wielder has the item on their person.
In all defense, you were defending yourself from someone trying to compel you against your will. When you snapped and stood, quickly releasing your arrows within the split seconds time, you could feel your bow suddenly grow angry. The first arrow you loosed was deflected by a magical barrier, though the amulet the wearer had around her neck suddenly fizzled, apparently using its only stored enchantment, your next two arrows found their mark. The women screamed in pain, ”GET HER YOU FOOLS!”
Due to having sense presence behind you before you attacked, the two attackers behind you would not be able to get the jump on you. Two other women, though dressed in leather armor and their face’s masked and hoods pulled over suddenly lurched forward, springing to attack while cries and screams rose up from bystanders, someone calling for the guards could be heard.
A dagger flashed as they quickly struck. One of the attackers quickly moving to flank the elf.
Her bow suddenly grew vocal, a soft voice whispering in her ear, ”Twins, their twins!”. The first was pushed to attack, feigning a slice causing you to dodge back, but only dodge back into the other's blade, you’d feel the sharp blade pierce your flesh and slice up, ripping it from your body. You’d feel a surge of pain shoot through you as another dagger plunged itself into your abdomen. You could feel hands begin to try and grab you and suddenly a sick feeling threatening to overcome you.
Qahnaarin would successfully leave the meeting without suspicious, though he would notice a few odd glances his way.
A servant looked to Qahnaarin surprised. ”Octavian is in the Halls of Creation, so he is indisposed right now, as only worshippers of Vulcan may enter and pass the cleansing ritual.” He’d pause for a moment as he thought about where Octavian’s mother would be, ”I believe after the assembly, she would be at the wards doing inspections outside the city. Though which one, I’m not sure. It’s possible the guard at the gates would know more of her location. Is there something wrong?”
With Tsakua and Inja moving towards the barracks of the Illidari, it would take them to the lower rungs of the city where most of the troops and soldiers lived and did their day to day living. They had passed by the lower bailey before so getting there wasn’t too much trouble as sticking to the main roads proved to be expedient. When they reached the barracks they could hear the clash of metal and cheers coming up from a crowd. Following the sounds they would come upon a immaculate dug out fighting pit, where bleachers lined the top surrounding the pit. Currently below there would be several fighters locked in a spar, both with shields and spears as they danced around one another. One Illidari dressed in merchant clothing was handling coin as he called out odds and harking for more bets. Soldiers didn’t have much to do when there wasn’t a war they were fighting, so a fighting ring with special condone gambling was something to keep the testosterone junkies pacified.
Tsakua shoulders his way through the crowd until he stands in front of the Ilidari merchant handling the coin and bets. "Where does a body go t'sign up t'fight aroun' here?" he asks, making sure he can be heard above the crowd. Tsakua glances at the fighters and ponders for a bit. Spears were a common infantry weapon, given to the basic rank and file soldier. A body could be really good with a spear, but the style of weapon indicated a low level of weapon training, if that was all they were used to using.
Qahnaarin puts a hand on the servant's shoulder and leans in close. "There is danger to the family. Especially Octavian. We do not have time -- his enemies are already on the move. Go, now! Find the mistress, and tell her she needs to return home with haste." The Speaker leaves the home, changing into Ilidari form again when no one is looking, and hurries to the temple. He purposely takes the form of the servant he just spoke with.
"Times are changing Prelate." Octavian would respond tiredly. Despite the support of the priests the straight 6 days of crafting had drained the wizard and he desperately wanted to sleep. "A lost son returned, a shard..." Octavian trailed off as he felt something come from the hammer in his hand, a faint tug on his mind that was little more than a whisper of a feather against his will. A moment the feeling was gone and he frowned at the magical weapon.
"A moment brother." He would say to forestall the priest. He cast a magic that aided him in identifying the properties of magic items and stared intently at the warhammer.
As Octavian cast the spell upon the hammer, he'd be rebuffed with surprise as the spell simply failed. He'd get no knowledge in the return of the spell at all, not even a lick of information.
"What is wrong Brother?" the Prelate would ask as he stepped closer to Octavian, curiously glancing at the weapon that was forged. "Is something not right?"
Jasmine staggers a little at the cut, before flourishing her bow. "I'm flattered, really, I am, but I am vengeance personified, and this, this is where you fall."
The arrows found their home in one of the twins, her bow hissed within Jasmines ear, "Vengence..."
The twin she struck fell face first into the pavement, blood pooling around her limp body. The other attacker screamed as she took a step toward Jasmine, her daggers in both hands lashing out at Jasmine. Both her daggers coming and puncturing Jasmines flesh. She herself would be bloodstained and this one would only open a few more holes for her to bleed from.
Jasmine winces as the blades cut into her. Her attackers were good enough, and the ambush had been planned very well. However it had been built on striking Jasmine where she was at her most weakest, and Jasmine had already taken down one opponent. It was time to show her opponents how deadly she could be, when she had the advantage.
"I have to say, I'm a little impressed, thats some quality revenge you might be feeling now, so I suspect you know a little about what I'm feeling. Its powerful isn't it? You considering switching to the worship of Calistria?"
Jasmine abruptly vanishes into this air, turning invisible and disappearing into the crowd.
When Jasmine becomes invisible and immediately backs off into the crowd, you can hear another scream. If Jasmine was still watching, the twin would rush to her sisters side and pick her up from the ground, the merchant would move to quickly help her and they would rush her behind the stall of the food.
You notice the wall behind the stall was in fact an illusion as they rush past through the wall before the guards arrive.
"Indeed, elder," Pazeek responds politely after another, slightly lower dip of his head in greeting. "And, if you'll forgive any rudeness in my words, I need the truth of it, and as quickly as possible. For it's quite likely that the Proven will going westward soon enough, and our folk may well be the only ones who have any knowledge of what we might find there." Though he's intent on his objective, the tengu does note when Tsakua and Inja depart in search of things more to their liking; he doesn't begrudge them either, and would have cheerfully joined them if he weren't needed here. But, duty calls, and so he remains where he is. "The problem is, I'm no scholar by any definition, so I've not the first idea of what to look for, where to look for it, or even how to sort fact from fable." The admission is made with good humor, surprisingly enough, for Pazeek has never had any illusions about where his strengths lie... Mostly.
Secure in her stealth and invisibility, Jasmine simply follows the twin and merchant through the wall, easily spotting the illusion.
The merchant looking Illidari smiled, widening his arms, ”Ah! Newcomers ey? Well you just got down that hatch there,” he’d gesture to the hatch. ”Just go down there, tell the Pit Manager that you wish to partake! You get twenty-five percent of the winnings, that is if you win! Matches aren’t to the death, so you fight until the other is too beat up to go any further!” The man would grin with a toothy grin. He felt a little shifty but all these types had a certain feel to them.
If Inja and Tsakua went down the hatch they would find the Pit Master yelling out some roster names for the next fight. She stood tall and had an aura of command. She was equipped with armor and had her weapon at her side as well. She’d notice their arrival and perked her eyes up to them, ”Ey? New Blood ye? Watch’ya names!” She’d bark more then ask.
By the time Pazeek and the rest got into the room, Inja and Tsakua were already gone. The elder would peer at Arion and then Breewyn for a moment before a slight warble came from him. Fluffing his feathers as he shook himself before proceeding to reply. ”I see, where, then time is of the essence then.” He chuckled lightly as he would turn and move through the doors he came, beckoning them to follow. He’d lead them out and down a curved corridor and then up a flight of stairs for what felt like ten to fifteen floors. He’d came through another archway and down a corridor where you’d find other Tengu with scrolls and desks writing things down, from messages to notes, or findings. There was an abundant wealth of knowledge here.
He’d walk through another door which the room was obviously in the center of the tower, this room was a library, massive wooden bookcases filled the room. He’d pause an look down the rows and towers of books. Along the wall there were inlaid book cases as well. Scrolls upon bindings of papers upon more scrolls. It was simply vast.
”Well then, we should get to work then shall we? Look for tomes of a black color, much like your feathers my boy.” He’d hum, waving a finger as he moved over to a table, prepping it for the books, ”They should have gold lettering as well. Luckily you brought some help!”
Walking through the illusionary wall you’d find yourself in a long hallway, up ahead you’d see the three women rounding a corner, or well the two dragging the either dead or unconscious body through. A blood trail was being left from the drips from the wounds of one of the twins and the other merchant. The hallway seemed to end in a room where a light flickered and some additional voices could be heard.
"What the hell happened?" a gruff voice spoke out, as it doesn't take much to overhear them. "Is she?"
"No, just, not yet. Get her a healer, and quick. Our target was a fighter, I was surprised to see a elf in the higher ring, thought she a fool and easy target, but she apparently was resistant to the charms."
"You got to be... wait did she have a bow?"
"No s~@!, no she spat arrows out like a f@$@ing dragon, yes she did you dimwit!" You can hear hurried footsteps, supposedly someone running for the healer. "Why?"
"Your the f*+@ing dimwit! That was one of the Proven! You got to be kidding me, you just put our operation on the radar!"
"How the f%%$ should I know?! No one informs me of these g%% d$!n developments! S%&*.. can't we just blame one of the noble houses?"
You reach the sacred ground of the Halls of Creation, though you are stopped in front by two guards and a large gate. ”What is your business here?” One would say as he carefully studied Qahnaarin. The grounds were large and the structure was made from black and green marble. It was an impressive structure, but also very well secured.
Jasmine walks a little closer to the doorway, attempting eventually to look through, while giving herself space should someone come rushing through.
"Maybe... I heard from the grapevine Elaran isn't too happy with them, something about the Lucarin boy returning home with a special rock or something. The guy wanted it something fierce."
"Then maybe if word comes up, we should get some decoys, plant some evidence on some of the houses. I know Elaran been trying to make moves, or that's what I heard.... We can talk more of this later. But we still need to hit our quota."
"No worries, I heard they brought a ton more refugees, who wont miss a few more? Apparently they brought some able body ones as well. I'm pretty sure we can sneak off with one or two at first. S*+# but we need to be more careful. If they were with the Proven they might've not been too helpless. We can't afford to lose the twins."
More hurried footsteps were coming back into the room, a gasp could be heard and some rustling. "Okay, I can stop a bleeding here with a spell, but we need to take her to my clinic so I can do some more work." A flash of golden light filled the room up as a spell went off. "Come on, help me carry her." Some more movement could be heard, supposedly them picking up the body.
The news about the refugee's was interesting. Jasmine figured who the next target could be, and she didn't want her 17 mixed up in things. Still ,she steals a little closer into the corridor, alert should anyone step towards her.