With a shriek the specter fades from existence, gone from this realm, the fire from the rock also changes color from blue to the orange and red of a more normal blaze.
After slaying the creature, you wonder how such a being existed, it might have been a leftover reminent from the lich, the storm is starting to come down.
Looking back at the rock, you can feel the temperature drop significantly, and the the flairs around as everything grows quiet. The enature party whips their heads back towards the storm that is a mile away. Swirling cylinders can be seen in between flashes of lighting, Storm clears her throat and says " Well on the good news, the storm isn't advancing, on the bad news side of the equation, it isn't natural. "
Daxniss let's fly a caustic snort and says " Aye, that much is true. Anyone have a clue as to what our spectral friend wanted besides our blood? " She finishes, seating her dagger back into her wrist sheath.
"I think someone sent him to give us the message, but didn't care what he would do after that. If it was an ally, perhaps that ally knew we could defeat the thing. However, it's quite an extravagant way for him to travel, don't you think? Wrathe, why can't we travel like that?" Argon smiles at his friend as he cleans off his weapon.
"Is Golarion on Saevia? I've never heard of it."
Storm esitmates that the Umbreal lands should be 'safe' to travel in about 8 hours from now,, you have the option to camp here close to the rock that is still on fire, or traveling a little bit away from the rock and making camp on close to stream of fresh water.
Brief History with that roll of 34:
Earthfall in -5293 AR: the Starstone hits Golarion resulting in the collapse of the Azlanti and Thassilonian empires (among others), massive reworking of the geography of basically the entire hemisphere (an entire continent sinks, the Inner Sea is created), a thousand years of (literal) darkness, and between two and three thousand years of barbarism.
The start of the Age of Enthronement in 1 AR: Aroden the last Azlanti raises the Starstone from the bottom of the sea and ascends to godhood as the God of Humanity, founding the city of Absalon and the dating system used (Absalom Reckoning).
The death of Aroden in 4606 AR: Results in massive global catastrophes and political upheaval, among which are: the creation of the Eye of Abendego a (thus far) permanent hurricane, the loss of prophecy, the opening of the Worldwound (a rift to the Abyss), and the fall of the Chelish and Tian Xia empires.
The Age of Darkness
The Age of Darkness was a thousand year period in which the sun was blocked by ash knocked into the atmosphere by Earthfall in -5293 AR and ending in -4294. During this age the Orcs emerged from their subterranean homeland fleeing the Dwarves who later also took their first footsteps on the surface world. The blocking of the sun allowed Zon-Kuthon to return to Golarion and claim an item from the First Vault due to a deal made with Abadar.
The "prehistoric" time marked by the rise of the ancient Azlanti Empire which preceded the Age of Darkness is sometimes referred to as the Age Before Ages.
The Age of Anguish
The Age of Anguish was a roughly eight hundred year period originating in -4294 AR when the skies finally cleared of the dust from the Earthfall. This age is characterized by the conflicts of primitive peoples in a desperate struggle for survival and domination in a world left shattered by the Age of Darkness. The end of the Age of Anguish was marked by the founding of the Osirion civilization in circa -3472 AR.
The Age of Destiny
The Age of Destiny began circa -3470 AR with the founding of the Osiriani civilization and spanned three and half millennia until the founding of the great city of Absalom. The rise and fall of Osirion was witnessed at the early period of the Age of Destiny, though many other civilizations were to rise after Osirion fell into decline. Notable mentions include the founding of Taldor by the descendants of Lost Azlant and of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings. Wars during this age include the Nex-Geb War and the Tarrasque invasion of -632 AR.
The Age of Enthronement
The Age of Enthronement began with the founding of Absalom, and its inception is also the starting point for the Absalom Reckoning dating system. The Age of Enthronement spans the years from 1 AR until 4606 AR when Aroden, the God of Humanity, died.
This age is characterised by the emergence of a number of Gods who ascend to divinity through the Test of the Starstone. Gods to survive the test are Aroden in 1 AR, Norgorber in 1893, Cayden Cailean in 2765 and Iomedae in 3832. The nations of Andoran and Cheliax were founded as expansion from the kingdom of Taldor. The Oath Wars raged across northwest Garund between 2498 AR and 2560 as the churches of Nethys, Norgorber and Sarenrae vied for dominance. The Whispering Tyrant arose in 3203 AR invoking the Shining Crusade in 3754 AR which burned for three quarters of a century and ended with the founding of Lastwall to defend against the return of the lich king. In 4305 AR, Cheliax began an extended period of expansion, annexing lands in Molthune and Varisia, which would become known as the Everwar.
The Age of Lost Omens
The Age of Enthronement began with the founding of Absalom, and its inception is also the starting point for the Absalom Reckoning dating system. The Age of Enthronement spans the years from 1 AR until 4606 AR when Aroden, the God of Humanity, died.
This age is characterized by the emergence of a number of Gods who ascend to divinity through the Test of the Starstone. Gods to survive the test are Aroden in 1 AR, Norgorber in 1893, Cayden Cailean in 2765 and Iomedae in 3832. The nations of Andoran and Cheliax were founded as expansion from the kingdom of Taldor. The Oath Wars raged across northwest Garund between 2498 AR and 2560 as the churches of Nethys, Norgorber and Sarenrae vied for dominance. The Whispering Tyrant arose in 3203 AR invoking the Shining Crusade in 3754 AR which burned for three quarters of a century and ended with the founding of Lastwall to defend against the return of the lich king. In 4305 AR, Cheliax began an extended period of expansion, annexing lands in Molthune and Varisia, which would become known as the Everwar.
Yes with that roll of 34, you could planeshift yourself there however, planeshifting back to Sel ' Torin would be impossible. Wrathe knows a a lot about this other prime material plane, as there were many tome's that the lich lord had detailing about the planes.
Looking down at the crater, Ssilax combs through his memory for mentions of Golarion as he examines the space boulder. The name sounded familiar, and the dragonkin was positive he had read about it. . When Storm mentions the Umbral weather, Ssilax head rises from where he stares at the burning rock.
"No, Golarion is another Prime Material plane. Think of it like another version of our own world, but with different cultures, a different history. One theory says that there are an infinite number of planes, each one shares the primal planes. Such as the elemental planes, nature planes, Negative and Positive planes, and so one. But from there the planes stretch on like an image caught between two mirrors." Ssilax slips in a near lecture mode, albeit he was speaking more passionately, rather than droning on and on.
Glancing at the boiling clouds and approaching sheet of rain, the dragonkin grins faintly and walks over to the druid. Bending slightly, Ssilax nuzzles her cheek with his muzzle, earning a peck on the tip of his snout from the elf.
"I says we camp near the space rock. I would like to observe it for a while longer. It is not every day a rock from the stars lands at our feet. It certainly has my curiosity piqued, not including the ghost that tagged along with the boulder," Ssilax looks over shoulder at the crater for a few moments. "It makes me wonder about asking one of the ghosts in the catacombs to fly outside of our world, possible to the moon to explore and return." Ssilax taps the left side of his snout in thought. "I would have to find a way to protect them from the suns rays, hmmmm," Ssilax trails off, lost in his own thoughts.
Storm clears her throat after it was clear Ssilax had sunk into his mind.
"Sorry," Ssilax flashes a wide smile to the druid and his family. "I got a little side tracked. Let me think about the spectre we just fought, I would like to figure out what we just battled. And if we actually defeated it. I am thinking we did, due to the change in the flames that surrounded the space boulder."
"As far as camping goes, I would like within observation range, possibly within a Rope Trick to keep watch. However, given that the nature of magic can be... a little funny in the Umbral lands, it might be safer to just pitch some tents," Ssilax thinks for a second. "Not that I think any of us have any tents, so we might be getting a little damp." the dragonkin adds with a laugh.
Dog finally decides that standing near the ghostly spider's legs has gone on long enough, especially know that the rotten ghost was gone. The canine had stayed away due to the stench, mostly, the familiar was not wild about ghost that attacked. He would have to talk to Ssilax about getting him some magic so that he could chomp a nosy ghost or wraith. Padding over to Storm, the canine leans against the druid, rewarded by ear scratches. 'Bliss,' the familiar thinks to himself.
Unnatural storms were commonplace in the swirling energies of Primal Magics within the Umbral Lands. Only a casual glance is thrown the way of the storm, as Wrathe's attention is fixed upon the strange rock, his eyes in the spectrum of magic (detect magic).
He tosses some rocks at the strange rock, and should they all survive his experiments he works up to prodding it with a stick, and then trying to douse its flames with magically-summoned water.
With a waggle of his eyebrows he offers, "Starmetal is incredibly rare and expensive. I wonder if that is what this is below the surface."
Remounting his spectral arachnid he tries to discern how close the grove might be. It was his usual haunt when he was not in the Sanctum Tower, and did his druidic soul good to be among such natural beauty carved out of the bones of such a dire and unforgiving place.
"Not sure about all of you, but I travel on flaming stones from the sky all the time."
He relays what he knew, working in concert with Ssilax to fill in any cracks in the lore.
Traveling to Golarion, especially when returning was nigh impossible, would only be wise if it brought them closer to Master Dainoth. A year had already passed them by, and he was growing increasingly anxious that all they were doing is searching for the body for a proper burial. The spectre had mentioned Golarion as the "land of paths", which might be a means of getting to Sigil, but they already had a lead on that very thing. It did appear to know of them though....
Ssilax had heard of vaious forms of spectres, rare cases of undead vampires that had been known to be created. The rites on how they exist were at best unclear however, usually necromancy was involved.
Wrathe knows that they are roughly a day travel away from Grendal's grove, and the rock might be star metal, the rocks that he tosses into the cretor do not catch fire. The steam from the magical water obscures everyone's visit of the rock, and the flames do go out with a hiss as the water hits the flames.
The spectre could have been a way to pass along a message, that much is certain, either by friend, or foe, that much is not clear.
Daxniss shrugs and says " Stranger things have happened in The last year so who can say. "
Wrathe's eyes remain on the strange stone, and the place where the phantom disappeared, "Does anyone have any insight on what has been transpiring, or thoughts on what we should do next? My focus is to save Master Dainoth, and the only means I see before us is Kharbdys."
"I agree. The message is pointless without more information, and I don't have that," says Argon. "Now we have the answer, we just need the question."
Argon puts his pack on the ground right there and takes out some rations. "We may as well continue with our plan, until something gets in our way, as it inevitably will. Such is the nature of plans." He takes a long draft of water, and starts eating some dried meat. He is unsure what kind of meat it is, and hopes it's pork or beef.
"Tell us about star metal, Wrathe? I've heard it can be used to forge weapons, and I'd need a very hot forge for that. But beyond that I know nothing."
"I concur Argon. I cannot imagine a 'friend' sending a creature to attack us, and I cannot fathom that we should wend our way along a path an enemy wishes us to travel."
Wrathe reaches into his mind in an attempt to discern the type of material before him and relay to the others what he knows of star or sky metals.
The rest of the evening is spent in reflection on the nature of who or what sent the creature, the possible star metal that may or may not be in the rock and observing the storm. The unnatural storm finally passes after 8 hours, in that time any wounds are healed, mana is regained, and no new creatures.
Dawn itself crests over the horizion with the fingers of rose peaking through the clouds. The first day of travel through the Umbral lands is as dark as it every is, thankfully, no primal magic assaults the party. Evidence of passage of dotting creatures can be found, no tracks of the creatures can be seen going in the same direction as the group.
No easy way to carry the rock with you to tour trip to Caern can be currently seen. The group decides to leave it there for the moment, and to deal with it on your way back to Sanctum.
Other than covering up the crater with either dirt or an illusion until they are on the way back from Caern, Ssilax doesn't have much of an idea to transport the rock. They where going to need a wagon and some people to move it. Either Wrathe or himself could excavate it a number of ways.
Transporting it, however, was much another story.
In truth, while Ssilax was very curious about the meteor, the messenger was what was keeping his mind churning through out the Umbral storm. He wonders if the being was speaking of the answer to the question of how to get to Sigil. It had mentioned Golorian as the Land of Paths. If another avenue to Sigil was offered up by way of travel through another Prime, Ssilax would like to investigate it a little more. So far their plan was to more or less throw themselves into the eye of a permanent hurricane that was very, very wide. They just had to make it to the eye of unnatural phenomenon.
The dragonkin had thought about the images the Deva had shown or herself and Asmodeus battling, falling to the ocean in a massive explosion of magic. Even if there was a portal at the bottom of the ocean floor, they had no idea as how to open it, nor where it lead to. The dragonkin's thoughts where leaning more towards the portal opened up to Hell, or some other plane, he doubted it would just drop them off in Sigil.
Making his mind up to speak with the former vampiric half-orcs and to attempt to coax a straight answer out of Baba Yaga, Ssilax carefully gets out of his bedroll, trying to avoid waking Storm. The druid was not a particular fan of waking before the sun had, putting it mildly.
Stretching, he glances down at Storm to see a half-open violet eye staring up at him. Ssilax freezes mid stretch, looking very much like the child who had just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Slowly, the druid's eye loses focus and drifts close, letting the dragonkin breathe a near silent sigh of relief.
Moving a few feet away, a little closer to the crater, Ssilax kneels down, letting his hands fold loosely on his lap. Sapphire orbs slowly sliding closed, the dragonkin begins his communion with Nethys. Almost the second his eyes had drifted close, the warmth of the divine invigorates every fiber of his being. Consciousness whisked away the Masked God, as Ssilax is shown wonders that stretch his comprehension of reality, not to mention sanity.
In what felt like a heart beat, Ssilax is once more aware of his body, still kneeling in meditative prayer. Not to mention what felt like Dog standing on the tip of his tail. Aware of the stiffness that had been growing in his knees, the dragonkin realizes it had been a little over an hour. Standing to his feet, he turns and give Dog the ear scratches he was seeking.
Mulling over what oddness the day could bring, Ssilax quietly digs out his travel spellbook. Sitting down on his bedroll, the dragonkin ponders what magics could be useful for the day.
Finding the skyrock to be too hot after so many hours, Wrathe's shoulders slump a bit and his spell is left uncast.
"Shall we continue on?"
He remounts his spider and prepares to continue on.
"One moment," Ssilax says, before casting a couple of spells. The first, an easy and familiar spell, Mage Armor. Not having it readied had been a mistake yesterday, one he had no intention of repeating. The second spell was a bit longer, as summon spells tend to be.
Rising out of the earth, three small, squat earth elementals composed of mostly dark, hard packed earth. Two dull chips of glowing onyx look up at the dragonkin from each of the silent elementals.
"Would you kindly cover up that boulder and smooth the ground over so that nothing looks to be buried underneath?" Ssilax instructs the elementals. Watching them sink into the ground and begin to shift the earth around to bury the good sized boulder. Well, cover it up, it had already done a decent job of burying itself when it fell from the sky.
Ssilax looks over at his friends, a grin sliding across his muzzle.
"Nobody forget where we parked the big rock from space," the dragonkin chuckles as he blows his whistle to summon his own spider. Storm rolls her eyes at his poor joke.
"Please don't give up magic to become a court jester, you'd starve," the druid says with snort of amusement.
"That was a bit uncalled for," Ssilax laughs as he gets into the spider saddle.
As they travel for a bit longer, Ssilax mentions he plans on speaking to the half-orc and the Holy Mother about the planer travel while they where in Caern. The dragonkin mentioned he was curious to see if there might be any truth to what the specter said. Specifically, if Golorian had a known portal to Sigil.
"And secondly, I imagine we should probably find more appropriate garb in Caern. We have nobles to impress and whatnot. And impressed nobles can be useful to those seeking to build a new city out of the skeleton of an ancient one," the dragonkin smiles faintly.
Daxniss let's out a snort and says to the others " I've got that covered with a tailor for all of us. I pulled a few strings and he owed me a favor. "
Argon wakes early and prays.
After some time, he gets up and walks to where the star stone is buried. He spends some time just standing there, looking at the ground, wondering who had sent it.
While he waits for everyone to be ready, he practices with his falcata and shield. He seems to have gotten taller in the last several months. Considering his age, it is not surprising, but he is now stronger and faster than he has ever been. His dreams of becoming a knight, with a castle, are still a ways off, but he realizes he is part of the way there now. They have their castle, and he has his own forge. And what they are building now is so much more than all that. They could change the world, perhaps, if they are lucky; and they could be kings, and queens, all of them. That is something he never considered and never wanted. He still does not want it. Maybe when he is forty, or even older.
As he mounts his giant arachnid, he recalls seeing the flying horses on Doldrom. That would be the mount for a knight. Or a king.
He hopes to get drunk in Caern, maybe find a nobleman's daughter to bed, or wife. That could be interesting.
A waggle of the wizard's eyebrows accompanies Wrathe's words, "I am far too sober to be dressed in fancy finery. Do not even consider it, lest you wish to be polymorphed into toads."
Daxniss chuckles and says " Aye that makes sense, I'll make sure that there are enough skinky lasses and enough spirits of high quality to get you buzzed enough to not turn anyone into toads. " Shaking her head, she touches a broach that resembled a sleeping dragon and says something under her breath.
Nodding after a number of words were uttreed she mounts her spider and keeps moving with the others, on one hand glad that she didn't need to spend time in reflection in the morning. On the other hand she knew she was limited by her selection of magic, still it had allowed her a better understanding of the world.
The rest of the trip to Caern is spent hiding from some the more lethal beings stalking the Umbral lands, dealing with some primal magic storms, nothing that the group hasn't dealt with already, and a few minor rotting dead.
On the dawn of the 9th day you have reached the gates of Caern which you see a number of guards on the walls along with a few leashed robe figures, it would seek that the year long battles with the wilds along with the roving barbarians have changed a few things. Ssilax has managed to help a number of high figures change their viewpoints on magic users, roughly a third of all mages are geared to defend the city, Wrathe has been buying contracts for slaves both mundane and arcane, which the only folk that know about this fact is Daxniss.
As state before things are slowly changing in Caern still, those that are working on Chang know it will still be at least a generation or two before the effeats of that change can he seen and felt. Wrathe wants to effect change more rapidly, but that might be more to his lifespan and his ways to change that limit on himself.
The guardswoman who so long ago spit hate at Ssilax is on duty and before she can even spit more hate closes her mouth when Daxniss looks at her. The guards bow at the group and the captain of the gates who is named Cryill says " lords and ladies, I am pleasrd that you have made it unharmed from your journey, welcome back to Caern "
"It is always good to be back in Caern, captain Cryill," Ssilax says with a nod and a smile. He had met the captain once or twice coming back from Sanctum, the man seemed to be a decent sort. Dog "Wuffs in greeting, his tail wagging. They had dismissed the spiders about a mile or so back. The do tend to creep people out, to be honest. It had taken the dragonkin a while to get used to his ghostly spider steed.
And, even after of using the boon from Grendel, the damn thing still makes his scales crawl.
Of course, he had used prestidigitation before entering the guards sight to clean the travel muck from them. Ssilax had a feeling they where going to be closely watched. He would rather not speculate as to the number of different parties that would be gathered, and what they might be planning. He didn't need that headache at the moment.
Nodding to the guards-woman, Ssilax greets her, wishing her well before they pass through the gate. Thanking the captain and the guards, the dragonkin wishes them well.
"We should probably go met that tailor your mentioned Dax," Ssilax says after they had passed through the gate. "I would guess we would have a little bit of time before the gathering tonight. I sincerely doubt fitting will take all day." The dragonkin says with a grin curving the dark side of his Masked snout.
Unreadable silver pupils dissect Caern devouring information that can be used to shore up Sanctum's defences or provide for its citizenry. There were fleeting thoughts of forging an alliance with the city, as he had the denizens of Akhyl, but they are quickly dismissed: Caern was far too unstable to imagine that anytime soon it would speak with a unified voice.
Limber fingers splay and roll unconsciously as his cowled head rotates to keep track of the more brutal guards and citizenry. He picks out a mage or two among their number, understanding that they had been geased into service, which draws his facial features into a sneer. Unlike some of the others, Wrathe felt only discomfort in this city, as he would ever see the rotting bodies of his vocational brethren filling the bellies of burns with charred meat.
Not being able to stomach pleasantries with such people, the wizard excuses himself and agrees to meet up at the ball, having other slaves to free and The Huntress to meet with.
Perhaps it's an accident that he will not be easily accessible for the fashion show.
Wrathe moves away from the gate, obviously not pleased by the sight of the mages leashed into their new servitude, still his plans to free more of those who were forced into chains renforced by what he had just witnessed. Daxniss gives him an address for his own tailor in the merchant ward and a nod of understanding at his request to meet the others at the ball.
Caern itself is still in a rebuilding stage, after the recent war against the barbarians and the lich's army, after all the time that had passed, some areas would never change as the damage over time had taken a toll. The others can see more non humans moving about freely after showing guards their passes. Graft can still be seen to those who look closely behind the scenes, as the puddles district, along with the dock district hold the highier amounts of non humans.
The party can split off from each other if they wish to tame care of any last minute plans before having their outfits for this evening's ball, if they so wish.
Wrathe moves to the tailor after finishing his business with Desia arranging to free slaves and provide safe travel to Sanctum, more for the benefit of toning down any plans that there might be to dress him up like bejewelled peacock.
Simple thick black robes with a deep cowl and dyed black doeskin boots were what he planned to walk out with.
Wrathe arrives to the function fashionably late, having spent far too long wending his way about Caern pulling in information, and connecting with the few he trusted.
Argon greets the guards, and sees a few young ones he trained with. He smiles and says hi, but does not linger.
He goes to the tailor and bothers the tailor with questions about these kinds of events, since he knows very little about them. They make him take a bath before he puts on any of the strange underclothes they have for him. Before long he's dressed in a maroon vest with many buttons and other things he cannot name, along with matching pantalons. Add a long, open robe with more decorations, and high black boots. Argon is not thrilled with it, but he likes the colors, and hopes he looks good. He keeps his holy symbol on its strong iron chain about his neck. His reddish-brown hair, now clean and combed simply, is tied back in a tail.
He is not so foolish as to believe no one in the city is his enemy, so he tries to mentally prepare for 'intrigue' - including nobles' double talk, veiled insults and threats, poison or drugs, and other distasteful behaviour.
Eyeing a robed figure along a wall as they entered Caern, Ssilax was pleased to see things improving. True the magic users defended the city had be geased. From what he had inquired through the church on a previous visit, the geasing was rather light. Protect the city, and the citizens, do not use your magics upon the citizens for ill intent. While not ideal, it was so much better than burning people at the stake. It was going to take time for ingrained hatreds and fears to be lessened and forgotten.
Figuring the the half-orc's would be at the event, Ssilax would try to ask them at the event about Golorain, portals, where the supposed portal in the center of the Malestorm led to, and Sigil. 'Actually, I might have to ask them the following day, that might be a long discussion, ' Ssilax thinks from under his deep cloak hood.
"Most of what I need to accomplish might take some time waiting or talking. I have a message to leave with the Holy Mother," Ssilax says, looking at some construction as they walk by. "Cal and Grendel I can try to talk to at the gathering, but that might be a better conversation without so many curious ears around." the dragonkin says with a chuckle. "Storm had mentioned stopping by her grove, so I think I will tag along with her, and drop off my message on the way by. After the fittings, that is."
Reaching the tailor Daxniss knows, Ssilax looks around the area. It was a nice looking establishment, a bit out of the way in the merchants quarter. Knowing Dax, the merchant probably did a lot of "specialty" work with the guild. He thinks about it and grins, remembering that Dax said the man owed her a favor.
The owner of the Willow's Thrust is a elf with piercing emerald eyes, rail thin, with a number of human and elf workers. The shop itself is in an upscale area of the merchant District, and a number of well dressed merchant guards can be seen outside of the shop.
" Greeting fine folk who are in the market for updating your.... Atire, I imagine that the young miss has requested you stop by for a fitting for tonight's ball. Lady Daxniss has given me a base measurement and a number of styles that you night be interested in. Forgive my lack of maners, my name is Flynn and I own this shop. "
Wrathe would never admit he liked the much heavier ebony robes that had been cut specifically for him, though he finds his fingers sliding along the sleek fabric at times.
Getting a few odd looks when he removes his cloak, Ssilax looks around the tailor shop. He was surprised by the sheer volume of clothing and colors that where on display. Some of the colors, he had never seen before, and probably didn't come form any natural ink. Not that he minded, this whole event was a new experience for him, well, all of them actually. The dragonkin hopes it is a good one. They group was in the process of starting a new kingdom and having a friendly neighbor city-state would probably work out better than having a hostile one nearby.
Chatting with the others while they take turn being measured, Flynn looks over at Daxniss and frown slightly.
"You didn't mention he had a tail," the elf says as he takes measurements. "That would have been nice to have known before hand.' The elf had said with a faint smile.
After having a few different bolts of fabric held against his platinum scales for comparison, he waits for Storm to be measured. After answering a few question about his scales, Storm, Ssilax and Dog head out to run their various errands.
Returning later in the day, the dragonkin is pleasantly surprised with the clothing presented with. In addition, the dragonkin is offered to have his scales, horns and claws trimmed. It takes Ssilax several long moments of debate, before allowing them to proceed. Storm was about the only person touch he had become comfortable with, and that had taken the druid a while.
Looking at himself in a full length mirror, the dragonkin was surprised by what he saw. Replacing his normal, deep hooded cloak was a half layered black and white mantle, cut so that no matter how he raised his arms, both black and white remained equally exposed. The mantle was from some short furred creature, whose pelt made silk feel rough. It was cut to be a thinner, designed for warm weather, rather than winter. A short sleeved white doublet with understated golden threading, snugly embraces his torso. It leaves his platinum scales of his upper arms, and the golden scales covering his clawed hands and forearms easily view able.
Ssilax looks at the almost light absorbing pair of black pantaloons which are cut so that it appears as though they tuck into the golden scales that cover his clawed feet from about mid-shin down. The short pantaloons where threaded with a metallic looking thread that catches the light like an ember. A pair of fine sandals with slip onto the bottom of his feet, the straps indistinguishable from his golden scales, completed the illusion that he was wearing golden boots. Well, aside from the claws.
Scales almost gleaming in the light, Ssilax eyes the Mask of Nethys that permeates his scaled flesh and soul. Although buffed, it remains as it always does. One side warmly reflecting the provided light, the other side greedily drinking it up. His sapphire gaze, moves upwards to the quartet of curving horns that angle back from his skull plating. The larger set, slightly curving towards each other, and the smaller set, mimicing the larger sets in appearance. His ivory horns almost glow in the light.
The dragonkin looking back at him from the mirror seems confident, sure of himself, and his abilities. Ssilax looks much leaner than he had realized, given to a number of years not being in a kitchen and snacking frequently. The creature in the mirror looks.., powerful, as a being with the blood of the dragons thundering through their veins should.
Quite as hunting cat, Storm approaches and links her arm with the dragonkin. For as much as she had complained about having to wear a dress, the druid is breath-takingly beautiful. Forgoing multiple skirts and puffy fabrics, the sleeve-less dress the elf is clothing is sheer, cut with slightly less than modest neckline. The cloth is a strange material that seems to change color slightly in the light. It looks as though someone had taken a slice of the deep ocean and trapped it within the fabric. Actually, the dress does look to be a slice of the ocean that is covering druid. Tips of a soft black leather boots can be seen, and when the druid shifts her leg, he can see that the dress has been cut as to not be confining to the elf. Waves of molten silver hair spill down over the lycanthrope's right shoulder, the left side, the druid had an white petaled orchid pinned behind her pointed ear. A pair of diamond teardrops hang from her ears.
"Done looking at yourself in the mirror pretty boy?" the druid looks up at Ssilax and smirks. "And you owe me for getting dressed up for this. I'll figure out some way you can pay me back for this." The elf says, poking the dragonkin in the arm. She looks him over, top to bottom. "Nice to see you showing off more of your scales. Normally, I have to get you naked to see this much of you."
Ssilax coughs, suddenly aware of his friends and the workers in the room.
Leaning in close to give his cheek a peck, the druid laughs.
"Made you blush again," she whispers as she turns to the others.
"Umm, yes, uh, thank you Flynn for the masterful work," Ssilax turns to the elven tailor and bows slightly, and comments on the masterful skill of his staff. It was the first thing he could think of to take the eyes off of him at the moment. That, or an Invisibility spell, but that might be overkill.
"Well, I believe I am all ready to go. Dog is all dress up as well," Ssilax points to his familiar. The white furred canine was wearing a simple black bowtie. He looks at the others and gives them a dog smile, tongue hanging out. His left ear stands at half mast like always.
Daxniss rolls her eyes at Flynn's statement, it was his way of getting back at her, after he is done fitting Ssilax, she hands Flynn a scroll with an official seal on it with a wink and says " I understand and to be fair I kind of forgot about that little tidbit of information. I hope that the contents of this scroll will help you with your recent misunderstandings. "
Daxniss chooses an outfit that would distract many, the dress color looks like someone had taken a piece of the night skyline, her shoulders are bare, when she removes her cloak. The neckline is not modest, but the black dress is offset by a white lining for fur that is from a winter wolf, the sleeves are wide enough to hide a dagger in each one. The dress goes down to her mid calf, with boots that go up underneath the dress possibly up to her thighs, not that anyone would know.
Daxniss also puts on silk gloves, instead of the fingerless ones she normally wears, these one's go up to her elbows, she also puts on a necklace that holds a small emerald in the center that rests just above her decolletage.
With everyone dreswed up a coach arrives to take all of you to the center district, where the high class of society manages to get together to throw gallant events. More guardsmen in well crafted armor can be seen, the common folk are not in sight at all. Normally those that are down on their luck trying to beg for a number of copper coins or whatever they can get from the folk passing by can be seen. None can be found in this area, coin has been poured through this section of Caern, that much all of you take notice of.
Dusk has passed by you, it is not the start of evening where laughter an be heard, deals of unknown outcomes are sure to be made here tonight. That much you can feel in the air.
Wrathe slides in among the others, unsure what is in store, but more than a little certain that they have entered a world of political intrigue and backstabbing that will make the Umbral Lands looks tame in comparison.
"Why do I suddenly think of swimming in shark infested waters as we get closer," Ssilax comments with a slight grin as the disembark from the carriage. "I feel really nak.., exposed without my cloak and cowl. It makes me a touch concerned about being so very not human at the gathering," the dragonkin says with a nervous chuckle. Oh, he would be certain there would be a number of nonhumans attending. Ut was a celebration (belated) for the war ending and the lich's forces being thwarted and Caern saved.
"How quickly the last year has passed," Ssilax comments to no one in particular.
Looking at the others, the dragonkin, smiles at them, lines of sharp teeth glinting in the torchlight.
"Well, this should be an interesting evening, and a fun one I wager," Ssilax says before glancing around them and lowering his voice. "And be careful with your words tonight, there are just as many here that would see Caern not evolve into something better than it is as those that would seek to improve the city. So, if anyone finds themselves getting a little too drunk, I can remove the liquor with a prayer."
"That is not an excuse to drink more than you can handle though, the dragonkin says with a laugh. "This goes for myself as well, I will be sure to keep my stomach under control."
Argon does his best. He's not totally clumsy, socially (12 Cha, +5 on Diplomacy), so he manages okay. He decides not to push it at all, but will try to make a good impression on the ladies and the men, and to not embarrass himself or his friends. And he'll try hard not to make any (more) enemies.
I'm playing it safe, and that's fine by me.
He drinks in moderation, avoids dancing unless pressed to do so by someone he can't say no to (i.e. a beautiful woman), and does not discuss the significant events of the recent past. If cornered by someone who makes him uncomfortable, he is happy to start talking about metal, smithing, weaponry, or military tactics, until the listener is driven off to be less bored by someone else.
Diplomacy (Hero point used):
23 (Take 10 + 5 + 8)
Wrathe entered with the intention to simply survive and no real focus on flourishing; for that he would leave to the silver-tongued members of the group. Lies were interspersed with the occasional truth, though he is mainly silent and watchful.
The ball was boring for some the group, as many factions were trying to vie for attention, recognition, and trying to get information for further schemes out of the new recognize non human well to do citizens. Of note there are there is one noble human who seems to be seen on the outskirts of conversations, offering little opinion on the current events, seeing to soak up the details that others are offering.
Daxniss can be seen with a number of 'important' nobles and merchants, most of them male and a number of ladies as well, all seem to be rather intent on trying to impress her, as she is in the center of them, listening and smiling.
Wrathe has a number of ill rufute folk that he has had dealings with middle men, thanks to his purchases of debt from slaves. Some of them are trying to suss out his plans, a few can be seen wanting to have harsh words with him, but thanks to the social setting can not.
Argon finds himself listening to old war stories from a number of retired gentlemen, some are trying to get him to dance with their daughters and some even with their grandchildren, all at the age of marrying.
Ssilax has a number of women try to approach him, only to have Storm take Ssilax to the dance floor, or leading him away from conversations as they are more interested in the more obvious non human being. Ssilax can scarcely believe some of the offers they manage to whisper at him, when Storm isn't around.
A number of ladies are fawning over Dog, in his dapper bow tie and well mannered being, a number of delicacies are given to him, and ears are scratched.
All of you seem to take notice of the man with raven hair, pale skin, well dressed man, wearing a Masquerade mask, listening to a number of conversations.
Argon is reminded of Dorian when he looks at the raven-haired man. He ignores him at first, satisfied to dance with the most beautiful, most forward, and least painted of the veterans' granddaughters.
After a while, he goes to stand alone at the side, and then introduces himself to the pale man.
"Good evening. Argon of Almas," he says, holding out a callused hand.
Wrathe marks those that appear upset, intent to speak to Desia in private to determine the potential intensity of the threat they might pose to himself, and his operation.
His plans will not be learned from his own mouth.
Taking a few minutes to grab a drink and catch his breath, Ssilax looks out from the balcony. It was a view of Caern he had never had the chance to appreciate. Wrathe had found a nice spot to dodge nobles and party goers alike.
"You would not believe what that baroness just said to me," the dragonkin chuckles quietly to Wrathe. In truth, he had been a bit shocked once more glad for his scales that hid his embarrassment. "I was prepared for snide comments, not, um, very forward offers." Ssilax takes a sip of his chilled wine, still feeling a bit red under the scales. Thinking for a few moments, the dragonkin glances at the ballroom, than at his friend.
"I always thought males where supposed to lead when dancing in these types of events, Storm has a different opinion. I would have been just fine not dancing, dragonkin are not designed for subtle foot work," Ssilax says with a laugh.
Gliding towards the two casters, Storm hands Wrathe a crystal wine glass filled with a almost clear wine that had captured the stars within. Handing Ssilax a glass as well, the druid smiles at the two and takes a sip of her own wine glass.
"I happened across a bottle of Evermead that was being sadly neglected," the elf mentions casually of the rare wine. "And Dragon, females let males think that they are leading, especially when it comes to.., dancing," the druid smiles wickedly behind her wine glass, violet eyes sparkling with mischief.
Smiling at Storm, Ssilax takes a sip of the elven wine. The dragonkin is stunned by the taste of the drink. It was as if one had condenced the best summer's day and night into liquid form. "Wow," is the only thing that he can think of as the wine slides down his throat.
Glancing through the open doors, Ssilax runs his eyes across the gathering. He spies Dog, who looks like he is taking a break from being incredible spoiled and is padding over to the dragonkin. Seeing Argon talk to a human he had noticed earlier, the dragonkin tries to place the human from what he knows about the noble families of Caern.
"It looks like Argon has tired of listening to old war stories," Ssilax comments to the others, motion to the Slayer with his wine glass. "It looked like he has done quite well for himself tonight, I can see that there where a number of young ladies almost fighting for his attention. I wonder who he is speaking with."
Wrathe and Ssilax both have an inkling at the sort of members of the 'ruling' class the retired men who are trying to get Argon's attention to daughters and grand daughters are the sort of men who believe in the old tradition of things. The more free thinkers in the gathering, are Lord Asegir Osouf whom is over 60 winters and still built like a barrel, towering over most of the other gentlemen at the ball at around 6'5".
Asegir's daughter looks like she could lift a full keg over her head, and stomp a man into the ground. Lady Vigdis Osouf has a classic viking beauty to her and, looks like she would be equally at home in battle and at a mead hall.
Wrathe thinks that even with all of his careful cut outs and his contacts, that these men think that Wrathe is representing someone else with his dealings. Their attempts to Ferret out anything leads them to no gains, and as politely as the social gathering permits, they leave him alone for the rest of the evening.
Ssilax get's a chill across his spine, as he loses track of the man in the Masquerade mask, he was standing there next to a number of merchants, and the next eyeblink he somehow managed to vanish.
Daxniss finally manages to break free from her possible
'suitors', rather deftly it would seem, since she walks through the archway leading to the balcony.
Lady Vigdis smiles at Argon's words and gives his hand a firm grasp, her hands roughened by sword and shield work and says " I feel that we should leave this nattering behind and head to the floor for a dance, that is if you can keep up. "
After the dance is up Lady Vigdis leaves Argon alone long enough for him to catch his breath and meet the pale man, who looks at Argon's outstretched hand for a long moment and says in a dry voice " I do not shake....A custom from time ago, why are you... talking to me? " He finishes as he looks at Argon in the eyes, his piercing black eyes seem to stare into Argon's soul for a brief moment and a slightly puzzled look flashes across his face. That puzzled look quickly changes back to the blank expression, it was a flicker for a second, and Argon could feel something off about the man.
"Make any new friends, Wrathe? I noticed you talking with a few different people. Nobles looking to expand their influence to Sanctum?" Ssilax asks his friend as he looks back into the ball.
One moment, the dragonkin spots the curious man wearing a actual mask, next to a gathering of merchants. A literal blink of his eyes, and the figure was gone. Frowning slightly, Ssilax looks once more for the masked figure.
"Only a vampire can move that fast," the dragonkin mutters. "Did either of you see the human in the mask? I have my sincere doubt on his status as a living being. More of the fanged, blood drinking kind," Ssilax says quietly, his voice only just reaching Wrathe and Storm's ears.
Evermead neglected, the wizard does his best impression of a gopher thrust into a reunion of eagles. It is likely that Wrathe will sleep for a week after holding himself poised for a death match all night.
He considers Storm for a time, intrigued by how her vocation had removed many of the social constraints that most people felt bound by. Perhaps he was staring at his future, sans fawning over dragonkins with issues being touched of course.
It is not without a certain amount of sighing irony that Wrathe shares, "I am apparently a slaver, and have sullied myself in their company."
He comes clean to the others and explains that he has spent a not so insignificant amount of his wealth purchasing slaves. Wrathe doesn't explain what he has done with the slaves, for the others can come to the conclusion based on the influx of emaciated and whipped masses that joined them in Sanctum, and he also would not speak of such things in this place.
He neglects to mention that he was collecting information on everyone involved in the slave trade so he could make significant changes at a later date. The whole system of slavery would be torn down around their misbegotten heads.
He glances around for the vampyr that Ssilax had mentioned, only then realizing he has a drink to sip. Absently sipping, something he usually was found doing while in study, he slides backwards to place his back against the wall. While he would make a lovely vampyr, he expected that he wouldn't like a liquid diet.
Eyebrows waggle, and a really mischievous smile touches his features, "If you would, a burst of channeled energy might not go amiss right now." Perhaps the creature was invisible, or hidden, and filling the area with positive energy would tend to bogart its undead buzz.
Argon dances, doing his best. He's a quick learner, and despite his bulk he is remarkably light on his feet. However, he has no experience or training in dance, so he begs forgiveness when he almost steps on Lady Vigdis foot, lifting his own foot at the last moment and then having to catch himself to avoid falling. He laughs at himself, and comments, "Sorry, your foot was there when I thought it would be there. This dancing is much like combat, though harder. In a fight I wouldn't mind bumping into my enemy or stepping on his -- or her -- foot."
--
Talking to the masked man, Argon lowers his hand. "You looked like you might be interesting to talk to, and to know your name. It is a social gathering, after all."
He looks into the man's eyes, seeing if he can recognize him at all.
(Listening carefully)
It was not lost on him that in intervening he was both freeing the slaves and perpetuating the very same industry he was trying to destroy.
Sometimes you have to chew off your leg to get out of the trap though.
"That is what you have been up to in your spare time. Well, that certainly explains a few things," Ssilax says as things click together in his head, thinking of a large number of the people that had arrived in Sanctum. "I would like to aid your goal in that regard, if I am able to," Ssilax offer to Wrathe with a smile.
Sapphire orbs move around the ballroom, seeking the masked human. The dragonkin moves closer to the open doorway that leads back into the manor to get a better view.
"While that would certainly get its attention, that is a tad visible," the dragonkin says quietly over his shoulder to his friend. The flash of Positive energy would be very noticeable to those gathered. "I think your sight might be better suited for the task. Besides, if I am correct, I am more interested than worried," Ssilax says before turning his gaze back to the ballroom.
Ssilax also considers the possibility that if it was a vampire and he let loose even a small burst of positive energy, it might view that as an attack. The dragonkin remembers just how frighteningly fast Calvoric and Grendel could move. That, plus the number of people here that it could slaughter with no effort on its part, made the dragonkin tread carefully.
"Maybe you scared him off with your bedroom eyes," Ssilax glances back at Wrathe with a smirk lining the blackened side of his Masked snout. The dragonkin was well aware of Wrathe's need to escape his mortal lifespan. They have had many discussions concerning the subject, one that was always in the background of Ssilax's mind.
While Wrathe does have a good idea, this is not the setting for Ssilax to unleash a positive energy burst, as the possible vampyre(s) might take this as an assault against them.... Not to mention they have an entire room of easy targets. Everyone on in the room could be slain while there are folk that no one would miss, there are a number of nobles that are doing what they can to save the lower classes.
Perhaps trying to locate other's that are in the room might be the better course of action, as if you know what they might look like, would give you a better chance at tracking them down.
-------------------
Argon:
" I am not anyone of importance to you, or your friends. Yes I know who you all are. There is not many in the city of Caern that doesn't know the four of you of course. I am just here to enjoy an evening out with all of the fine members of this fine city. "
Argon manages to briefly pierce an illusion and notices that the man's eyes are crimson, before reverting back to black.
-----------
Wrathe, Sssilax, Storm, and Daxniss:
The man in the Masquerade mask appears at the balcony in an eyeblink and stares at the four of you before saying " Peace for this night, if you engage in hostilities, there are far too many folk here that can be ended, without effort "