Tikroch was getting into the spirit of the festival until it was time to get back to work providing a mount for Mila. He was prepared for the competitive nature of mounted combatants charging at each other. He was not prepared for Koth to take a cheap shot with a lethal lance. It's only Mila's reaction and spell that hold his anger in check allowing her to whisk him away.
At the celebration, he shows up with a few spell protections enabled. Irovetti's accusations are a step too far and causes the large druid to speak, possibly out of turn, "You accuse us of cheating while your pet tries to skewer our companion?! Is this the hospitality you show your guests? What punishment will Koth receive for his treachery? Or do you intend to assassinate us?" Tikroch leaves the clumsy accusation hanging in the air as he glares at the ruler.
Irovetti was at his most dangerous when he suspected treachery, particularly when that was what you were in fact committing. As Naomi makes her way to the celebration along with the royal entourage, she prepares herself to Slip Bonds with some light autohypnosis, and otherwise maintains absolute focus on her liege lord.
The baroness places her hand on Tikroch's arm "Some cannot accept their defeat was simply because the other side was Better." her statement while directed to soothe her companion's temper was directed at the opposing ruler. "The games were well played, the... additions just another obstacle, nothing more." Chrysa's posture was relaxed, but those that know her could see she is ready to dive forward and gut the first person to show their true colors.
Following Irovetti’s instructions, Senna cheers loudly for Gliocas. Her enthusiasm is used mostly to cover her reaction to the unfounded accusation of cheating. It’s always the fragile egos that can’t accept an honest loss. She hadn’t seriously considered laying low in Pitax but Irovetti’s behavior confirmed it was the right choice. He was a man-child.
She moves through the audience away from the lists and towards the Gliocan section of the stands. Any Pitaxians that were sulking over the losses and came looking for trouble likely wouldn’t distinguish between actual Gliocans and a tattooist who just happened to be associating with them. Ironically, she’d be safer among the targets of Pitaxian anger than on her own. As she slides through the crowd, she keeps her senses open to brewing trouble.
Irovetti, his entourage, and the announcer approach a raised dais where the party is assembled, and the King retrieves a thick metal rod with a flanged ball at the end, and six buttons along the length. He raises it to the crowd, his voice amplified, ”this year, the prize is an Numerian artifact that I discovered during my adventures. We found it is a powerful magic item in its own right, but this is a quiescent prize for any river kingdom. I present - a Numerian Rod of Lordly Might!” When he and the announcer approach the dais, the announcer takes over the duties, saying ”the strange magic of the numerians suffuses this item. My king will demonstrate all the odd functions it has”.
The king approaches the center and gestures for the others to back up, and begins swinging the item around, the announcer saying ”in its natural state, it functions as a magical light mace,” and as Irovetti hefts it it’s clear it has some magical enchantment.
The weapons appear to have edges or blades of numerian metal, and they function as adamantine weapons.
He pushes button 2, and the rod becomes a scythe, a wide blade springs forth from the ball, and the whole weapon lengthens to 7 feet. It’s obvious that the magical enhancement is quite significant, and the air shimmers as he swings, almost as if he’s cutting through it.
He pushes button 1, and the existing blade folds in itself, a blade springs from the ball, with the ball itself becoming the sword’s hilt. The weapon stretches to an overall length of 4 feet. The blade then alights, clearly a flaming longsword. A moment passes, and the blade is wreathed in frost. Another moment, and the blade drips with acid.
He pushes button 3, a spear blade springs forth, the longsword retracting, and the handle can be lengthened up to 12 feet (wielder’s choice) for an overall length ranging from 6 feet to 15 feet. At its 15-foot length, the rod is suitable for use as a lance. In any configuration, the end of the spear crackles with electricity. Grabbing it, he lengthens the spear and whirls it around his head, expertly, and slows, and then jokingly pretends to stab towards the Gliocans, laughing as he does, and then stepping away. He hefts the item, and aiming at the sky, throws it hard. If the party didn’t realize before, Irovetti is very strong, much stronger than he looks. The spear flies from his hand, which he keeps open, until it springs back a moment later. The crowd laughs, nervously.
He pushes button 4, and a short blade extends from the end, but the blade seems to be made of light. He swings it around and it lights up, brightly.
He stops and pushes button 4 again, and the spear retracts. ”they may discover the other functions in their own time, but they are quite a boon to any adventurer, or a beautiful piece of art for any museum.” Holding it in his hand, he inclines his head respectfully, and raising it says, ”my sincere congratulations. A prize well earned and well-deserved.” He presents it for someone to take.
After her experience with Koth, Mila studies the king during his presentation, wondering if this is a ruse.
Senna watches the presentation of the prize from off-stage. The rod was obviously valuable and its manufacture was clever. She wouldn’t mind studying it to determine what else it was capable of doing. That said, her appreciation for the magics involved is tempered by the fact its creator was clearly obsessed with weaponry. In the right hands it was a deadly weapon. In hers, it would be little better than an exotic paperweight.
She claps politely, at the right times, as the prize is presented.
As the ranking member of the delegation, Chrysa steps forward. Her dark eyes narrow on the king, suspicion strong in her soul, but refusing made no sense. "On behalf of the chief governing entity of the Gliocan people... I accept this prize." Chrysa holds out her hand, slipping around the shaft and pulling it away. Never taking her eyes off the oddly satisfied ruler.
When Chrysa accepts the prize… nothing happens. She notices it’s quite heavy. Irovetti doesn’t seem like he’s upset or annoyed, and he says, ”congratulations. Please, send my wishes to your… Queen? Whatever she is. I think eventually she will find that a firm grasp over her people is necessary, and her fanciful notions of ‘liberalism’ and ‘freedom’ have a short shelf-life in the stolen lands.” Unlike earlier conversations, this has no malapropisms, the speech is not amplified, and in fact, seems to be entirely directed only at the party. With a crooked smile, he continues, ”should you or she find yourselves overextended, or wishing for the protection of Pitax from your enemies, I am certain we could come to an arrangement - a suitably balanced arrangement.” He claps his hands together and his loud voice resumes, carrying throughout the coliseum.
and he leads the entire audience in a rousing cheer for the party, until he lowers his hand for quiet and finishes, ”a final word: Pitax has hosted the tournament for fifty years, and has won most of the tournaments in this time. I hope that you will honor us with your attendance next year, and my personal wish is that our modest nation regain the crown at that time - with a better and grander show than even this year, rest assured Pitax will take the podium then. In fact, I can almost guarantee it!” His citizens cheer heartily, and the others clap politely, as the king inclines his head slightly, and respectfully at the party.
He turns to Naomi, ”please, see them off - we will depart for Pitax within the hour, we have matters to attend to.” He smiles at the woman, and he departs with the rest of his entourage towards the pavilion, disappearing around a corner as he strides away, chatting and conferring with his other advisors.
The rest of the crowd starts filing out, many feeling jovial and jolly at the ends of the games, with many still drunk. The competitors from the other countries move to congratulate the party, but Annamede and of course, Villamor Koth, appear to not be among the group. They all seem respectful and gregarious except for a few of the Daggermark competitors who seem a little standoffish.
Tikroch is on edge for most of the exchange and congratulatory mingling. All the pomp and circumstance doesn't keep daggers out of the shadows. As the group filters out and reconvenes for the night, the druid considers their options. "Pitax says they're leaving but Koth was nowhere to be seen. Who knows what that hothead is willing to do given the embarrassments we handed him. He already tried to kill Mila in front of the whole crowd after all. I wouldn't put it past Irovetti to have ordered him to stalk us in the night. I can get a few of us back to Gliocas near instantly but that leaves all the rest of the retinue stuck here using the slow roads..."
"I think our Queen needs to know what happened here as soon as possible, so I say you do get back and take as many as you can." Mila answers to the large druid. "I can slip back on my own. Even if slower, I'm confident in my abilities to vanish. I've been doing so for years."
With the festivities at an end and the groups breaking up, Senna debates how bold to be with the Gliocas contingent. She has some business to conclude and getting out of Pitax sooner rather than later was likely the right call. She didn’t put it past the sore losers to stick a knife in her throat…
She preferred handling matters with subtlety but bold would have to do, all things considered. Senna insinuates herself into the group of Gliocans. With a polite nod, she says. ”Hey. It seems the locals think I’m Gliocan. Guilt by association, I suppose. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ‘escort’ you folks out of town, basically to ensure I get to the city limits alive. Also, milady, we need to settle up accounts when you have a moment.”
”As I haven’t really done much for you, I owe you more than my charming company. If you like, while we walk, I can attempt to learn more about that ‘prize’. It struck me odd that Irovetti didn’t know what the remaining buttons do. It was as if he was daring you to press them.”
Chrysa continues to show interest in the aberrations the far from simple tattoo artist exhibits. "Your suggestion has merit." the baroness slips the rod out of her belt and hands it to Senna. "It is heavier than it looks, but otherwise I've not had time to investigate it." or lock it under the vaults of the Fall while the hag mother herself can chant out its secrets.
Senna waves off the rod. ”Give me a minute to prepare… I don’t often do this.” The tattooist holds her hands up and focuses for moment. A large tome suddenly fills her palms. She flips open the book and searches through the pages. A casual glance shows it is nearly filled with spells.
She is retrieving a book that was stored via Secluded Grimoire (1st level spell).
Finding the appropriate page, Senna studies the spell as her vest softly glows for a few minutes. Research complete, she tucks the large book away in what is an improbably small belt pouch. She then weaves two spells in quick succession.
She looks the Chrysa, ”I apologize in advance if I can’t give you the answers you need right now. This isn’t my forte.” Anticipating the weight of the weapon, she holds out both hands to receive it.
Chrysa shrugs slightly, unconcerned, the rod still held out to Senna. It may be that she is testing the merchant, wondering what means she has to identify a treasure such as this. Also might be she is confident in her ability to take it back if need be.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
As soon as she's freed from the king's observation, Naomi rushes back to her charges, posture primly together, but her steps far quicker than propriety would recommend.
"My congratulations my congratulations, My Lady Shadowfall, gentles, but I am afraid I come bearing tidings that are not quite so glad. I fear His Magnificence has acted with great belligerence, and if his aggression is to be thwarted we must act. Now. He has launched an attack on your capital that he boasts will leave it in cinders, and even now prepares a weapon he believes should prove decisive within Whiterose Abbey. I have some trifling acquaintance with magical abilities, but I lack the power to whisk us across such a distance. Can any of you manage this?"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Senna examines the rod closely, trying to divine its capabilities.
Her eyes start with amusement, then turn as cold as the endless dark. "Naomi Ravasz, I know not if this is another game or the truth. I will not gamble on the lives of my people so I must treat your warning as truth. But be assured..." the small woman's voice holds an edge that could peel the skin from the other woman, without mercy or hesitation "... if it is not..." she does not finish the statement, since it is unnecessary.
She whips her attention to the massive druid only steps away "Take her to Soph, have her warn her about all she knows about the attack." she looks to the others "Ideas how to get the rest of us to this Abbey." it is a quiet order but still an order.
The tattooist finishes her examination of the rod. ”It’s a nice piece of work and I don’t see any signs that it’s trapped. The first three buttons are as Irovetti described.”
”The fourth button...” she plants the end of the rod on the cobblestones, aiming the other end straight up, before touching the button. A spike lodges in the stone and the pole grows to 50’ in length then displays alternating rows of spikes along the side. ”creates a climbing pole of variable length. You can also use it as a battering ram on a door or somesuch.” Senna clicks the 5th button to retract the climbing pole.
She points to the last button but doesn’t click it. ”The final button is fairly mundane. It indicates north and your depth underground or above it. In addition, the rod has some abilities, useable once a day, that are not related to the buttons. It can hold a creature, invoke fear in every opponent seeing it at close range, and damage a creature while healing the wielder in equal measure.”
She hands the rod to Chrysa and summarizes her opinion, ”In the right hands, it could prove a useful bit of kit.”
====================
"He has launched an attack on your capital that he boasts will leave it in cinders, and even now prepares a weapon he believes should prove decisive within Whiterose Abbey. I have some trifling acquaintance with magical abilities, but I lack the power to whisk us across such a distance. Can any of you manage this?"
She whips her attention to the massive druid only steps away "Take her to Soph, have her warn her about all she knows about the attack." she looks to the others "Ideas how to get the rest of us to this Abbey." it is a quiet order but still an order.
Senna is uncomfortable and conflicted. She’s not sure she should be party to this conversation and she’s undecided whether she should involve herself any further. It was contrary to keeping a low profile. Nevertheless, she speaks her mind. ”Milady, do you want me to absent myself from this discussion? If not, what do we know about this Whiterose Abbey? How far is it? Or should you all return to Gliocas quickly if an attack is imminent?”
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Her eyes start with amusement, then turn as cold as the endless dark. "Naomi Ravasz, I know not if this is another game or the truth. I will not gamble on the lives of my people so I must treat your warning as truth. But be assured..." the small woman's voice holds an edge that could peel the skin from the other woman, without mercy or hesitation "... if it is not..." she does not finish the statement, since it is unnecessary.
She whips her attention to the massive druid only steps away "Take her to Soph, have her warn her about all she knows about the attack." she looks to the others "Ideas how to get the rest of us to this Abbey." it is a quiet order but still an order.
"We need the location. Either one of Irovetti's agents, or else a member of the clergy who was familiar with it before its fall and capture by him," says Donovan. "That or some kind of scrying spell that can tell us where it is. Then some method of rapid transit. Teleport would be ideal, but barring that, given a day I can try to wind walk us; we should be able to cover about 600 miles in a day."
Chrysa looks at the tattoo artist, her eyes moving to the equipment that marks Senna as more than what she is portraying. "A lot of people will die today, Senna. People that just want to go through their normal boring day. You can go... or stay, that is your choice." there is emphasis on the word Your.
She then focuses her attention on Donovan's ideas. She nods and looks at Naomi "Have you been to the abbey before?"
It isn’t easy pushing through the throngs of congratulatory onlookers and people who wish to talk to the party, but eventually Tikroch spies a nearby oak tree. Dislodging themselves from the gawkers and hangars-on, he and Naomi, Luca and Chrysa enter, and he searches the network of trees until he finds something suitably close to the capitol of Gliocas.
Successfully, he finds one, seemingly unable to locate the trees in the greenhouse.
Upon emergence from the tree, those who went on the trip immediately are hit with the smell of smoke, and see light coming from the capitol of Gliocas. Firelight. Not from cheerful lanterns, or lit houses, but from buildings. Winged figures - large and small- cut in and out of the smoke in the air, and the clash of swords and cries of the dead echo throughout the city.
The city wall, recently finished, has dozens of archers manning the top, firing into the air. This seems to be the most productive behavior now, since field in front of the wall is strewn with corpses and siege equipment. Ladders and tall shields, spears and bows, all lay scattered in the mud. This is true of for many of the soldiers, though an equal number smolder, or are crushed under boulder, or seem to be subject to some elemental catastrophe. Scattered among the humans are a handful of dead trolls, but the damage to the gates show their handiwork was more successful than not. The gates are broken, scores on the wood and bent mental demonstrating the strength of the troll’s assault as the gates stand closed - it seems they were unable to get in.
Prompted by Donovan, the party looks around for any Pitaxians. There are plenty, but they all seem to be typical guards and heralds, and they are just directing the foot traffic out of the coliseum.
Iorvetti’s retinue seems to have gone, possibly to the royal pavilion.
Chrysa looks at the tattoo artist, her eyes moving to the equipment that marks Senna as more than what she is portraying. "A lot of people will die today, Senna. People that just want to go through their normal boring day. You can go... or stay, that is your choice." there is emphasis on the word Your.
Senna considers and looks at the group of Gliocans. She has two choices: play her cards or fold. Fold was the safer bet. But Chrysa had inadvertently added a couple chips to the pot that Senna values above all else…
She straightens her spine and drops the well-practiced deference. ”Well played, Chrysa. I’m in. The fishmonger is always the one that dies when the nobility plays their game of thrones… I can’t abide that. So, I’ll help. I can move four of you quickly to anywhere within 400 leagues , give or take. But I have to see the location first to have any chance of arriving at that spot. It’s not foolproof, even then.”
Senna looks to Naomi, ”Is it possible that Irovetti knows you are playing both sides? This tale of a decisive weapon in a remote location… well, it could be a goose-chase to ensure Gliocas’ greatest defenders are far from their capital.”
Chrysa takes in the situation, letting her entire soul become iron as she witnesses death and horror so close to home. "We find her. Naomi, stay close." an order. Chrysa's feet leave the ground as she heads toward the place she knows Soph to be most likely.
The small group approaches the main western gate and finds that while it is in poor shape and has a few holes in the wood, it seems to be intact. There are corpses of a number of armored trolls scattered on this side of the wall, seemingly having died to some violent and high-temperature explosions. The holes appear to have been boarded up on the other side, and the gate is closed.
The archers, a fair contingent who appear to be members of the half-orc ranger militia, are firing into the air, and with some regularity seem to connect to some figure or another swooping in and out of eyesight. Those figures, after a few moment’s observation, appear to be drake or draconic, and they are joined by other, much smaller creatures that fly nimbly through the air wielding some sort of polearm. The rangers notably avoid shooting at these figures.
When Chrysa elevates above the ground and moves to fly over the wall, suddenly dozens of bows are trained on her, but soon a command is given to stand down, and the door creaks open, allowing Naomi and Tikroch to enter the city. Tikroch and Chrysa don’t seem to recognize anyone particularly, though behind the wall they do recognize sheriffs tending to people, but there are not many folks on the street. It looks like the only people are injured soldiers and sheriffs, and for the first time it becomes immediately clear who the other flying creatures were.
Clad in fine armor and wielding shining glaives, a few fey creatures with wooden wings lay wounded, having their bleeding staunched by motley druids. They are bloodied and bruised, but mostly alive - save a handful of slight figures that lay under stained sheets - the permanent cost of war. They seem to regard Tikroch somewhat warily, having been told to stay clear of him, but are certainly relieved to see more support in the capitol.
It is only a few minute walk towards the city center to the east, and the fires seem to die down, as does the immediate sound of fighting, as the party gets closer and closer to the castle. The half-party sees some citizens peeking out from behind curtains, in darkened apartments and homes, but the faces soon disappear into the depths of the building when spied.
Trinity University and its extravagant architecture seem largely untouched by the fighting, and soon it becomes clear that this is because dozens of spellcasters are on the roofs of various buildings. Whenever one of the flying creatures seems to approach, dozens of rays of energy and other spell effects seem to be directed towards the foe, and invariably the winged creature is driven off. Though not particularly close to the street, the party’s keen eyes are able to spy one of the leaders: a black bear with a straw hat, pointing a claw and shouting hoarsely towards the sky along. She and the other fantastical teachers seem to have rallied students to defense of their school.
It does not take long to finally reach the site of the former Stag Lord’s castle, since rebuilt with dark stone and greenwood into verdant, towering edifice. The sounds of fighting are heard before they are seen, and as the little group rounds a corner they’re finally able to see into the courtyard of the castle, and there can finally be found the leaders and advisors in a significant battle with a sizable number of human warriors, bedecked in fine gear, and a number of trolls, all who seemingly were able to get into the city somehow.
Sophiel’s advisor Marcanth, the spectacled gathlain, hovers above the fray with their bow. Governor Sootscale is also present, cackling heartily as he peppers the trolls with alchemist fire, seemingly having run out of his most potent bombs. Kesten Garess is not present, but Melianse the nereid is tending to the wounds of the fallen, Andrea Brightdawn stands in combat against a half-dozen warriors, her blazing sword shining brightly as she resolutely stands with her wife Sila, the Belzken refugee, and the Erastilian priest Jhod, who are also eppering enemies with arrows.
Old Beldame stand near the entrance to the castle itself with Tyg and Perlivash, the witch, the sprite, and the faerie dragon seemingly the last line of defense against incursion that so far appears to be managed by the others, along with three cyclops that have interposed themselves between the soldiers and the witch, and are gamely battling five soldiers each, though with each swing of their weapon, the cyclops seem to sweep away another warrior. This is not sufficient for one of the cyclops, who is overwhelmed by a lucky blow from a warrior, and winks out of existence before Old Beldame puts him down with a sleep hex and Tyg and Perlivash pounce on the soldier, knocking him out.
Notably there is also a hill giant locked into a fight with a troll, seemingly aided by a half-dozen black-scaled kobolds that are doing everything in their power to distract the hulking brute. The giant seems to have the upper hand, and he wrenches the troll’s head off, and his kobold friends leap on the body with torches and other flaming doodads.
A peal of thunder and a flash of light make it clear that there is a fight in the smoke above. It clears and about a hundred feet in the air is Lady Sophiel Medvyed - in battle against the winged creatures. Finally able to take a good look at the beasts, it becomes apparent that these are no mere animals but wyverns. A half dozen in various states of health are circling Sophie, who seems to be surrounded by a swirling storm of wind and crackling lighting. In fact, her own eyes seem lit up with electricity, and as she concentrates, a bolt descends from the heavens and blasts one of the wyverns as it approaches her, causing the drake to shudder, stall, and crash into the courtyard below.
Shuddering, and breathing heavily, the prime minister snarls, in a booming voice, in draconic. The other wyverns, driven by bloodlust, and seeking to take advantage of her lapse in concentration, seem to take no heed as one dives forward with their poison tail, embedding the tip deep in Sophiel’s shoulder. The woman seems to merely grunt, slightly in discomfort.
She glances around looking for anyone of importance, her gaze glancing lightly over the wounded and dead."Any commanders still on the field? Compartmentalized intelligence means it's always worth breaking into a few extra ones, and it wouldn't take long."
"Oh, but My Lady Shadowfall? We shan't want to tarry here overlong in any case. Two prongs we know of, yes? This one has been blunted, but if we make of his other efforts another expensive failure? Even should we not deliver a mortal blow ourselves his kingdom cannot long stand such extravagantly unsuccessful treacheries."
Her gaze searches between Chrysa and Tikroch's expressions. "Unless you would rather his weapon is overthrown without you?"
Seemingly very tired, Sophiel gives the briefest nod of thanks to Chrysa and Tikroch as they help, and glances down at the Pitaxian standing in the corner of the courtyard. Ignoring Naomi, she keeps her attention on the remainder of the wyverns, shouting ”they’re all over the city,” and gritting her teeth amidst the maelstrom, of elementals and swirling wind. She salutes Sootscale, who salutes back and then elevates himself, surveying the carnage.
Quickly, the little kobold musters the city’s commanders to finish off the rest of the enemies on the ground.
With the courtyard managed as well as possible, Sophiel points with three fingers to Tikroch and Chrysa, and herself, as if to say spread out and it’s clear that she wants them, as higher level characters, to go after whatever other wyverns that might be within the city. Swiftly, Sophie moves in one direction, expecting her companions to go elsewhere.
Returning back to the castle, the pair return and watch as Sophie drops out of the sky clumsily, breathing heavily, the wind around her having died down. Whatever wounds she must have suffered seem to have disappeared, though she’s covered in her own blood as well as detritus and the dark blood of trolls and wyverns.
By this point, Sootscale has dispatched the rest of the enemies in the courtyard, and mustered the guard to start a sweep of the city. The baliff, a sewer troll in a formerly neat, but now somewhat tattered policeman’s outfit, seems to lead the charge.
Sophiel waves them off and moves to sit down, drinking water, and watches as the sheriffs bring back people to consciousness with poultices. One of them, a dwarf, approaches her quickly, and says, ”miss, that boy has wyvern poison,” and points towards a young man, pale and shaking, who seems to have been pulled in, ”our spells are only staving off the damage, can you clear it?” The prime minister scrambles up, rushing towards the young guard and tries to draw the poison out of him. It seems to work, and she keeps an eye out for anything else that comes up, but the worst of the situation seems managed.
Blinking, she seems to remember something, and she calls out to Beldame and Melianse, ”the fires, we have the firefighters and sheriffs, but they may need help, folks should be looking to do just that, so start knocking on doors to let them know the danger is passed - folks may need rescuing and… and…” She sniffs, and rubs her eyes, and the bridge of her nose. The old witchy woman and fey look at each other briefly before moving off, taking charge of directing more of the recovery, including the rest of the advisors to fan out and get the city cleaned up and account for the losses.
Sophiel’s mouth is a thin line, and she drinks some water and she takes big, gulping breaths, until she settles herself down. Until she sees Naomi again. She inhales, and walks over, ”Miss Ravasz, how kind of an envoy of Pitax to join us.” She seems tired and angry, but not necessarily at Naomi, she has no other Pitaxian outlet to express her frustration. She seems to gain a measure of composure and follows up, ”sorry. Your king has killed many of my people today.” She takes a deep breath, ”obviously, you had nothing to do with this, or you would not be here. And no foreknowledge, lest you would have told me, of course.” He voice is bitter, and not accusatory, but there is a wariness still, laden with a heavy threat towards something. A promise of violence from a woman whose has run out of patience.
She looks towards Chrysa and Tikroch, ”quickly - what happened?”
Chrysa acknowledges Naomi's logic "You are correct, unfortunately we do not have time for a third prong to eviscerate your former king." she is listening to a report on the fires, then turns to a group of citizens that are milling trying to recover from the horror of war. "Fires need all hands, report to the nearest fire station and Help save your city... NOW" Soph and Chrysa both have their people and nation as part of their very soul, but separate at their primary focus level. The individual piece or the whole.
"We have no time, Sophiel" she uses her friend's full name since this is official. "The enemy is reported to have a weapon in Whiterose Abbey where I need to you to send us to. We only returned in hope to alert you of this attack before..." she grimly gestured to the fires and blood keeping her eyes on Soph.
Sophie seems surprised, ”wait - wait. What?” Soph is taken aback, ”before you go investigate, I need to think carefully. It’s the middle of the night - and he does not know he’s lost. Not yet. I saw the commander, it’s an …” she searches for the word, ”oni. Gods only know where Irovetti found the loyalty of an ogre mage, but while they are formidable and clever foes, on their own they cannot travel vast distances quickly.” She holds up a hand, ”before you ask - I could find no trail, it is as if their palanquin or something traveled via flight. We might be able to catch them but… I did the math, given some assumptions, and it’s highly unlikely - as a result we may have a few days. I need to do at least some investigating before sending you off to a possible trap.” She adds, ”we have more than each other to consider. That said, I do need to retrieve Mila and Donovan, post-haste, so please manage things here for a bit.” She embraces Chrysa briefly, and apologetically, nodding her thanks to Tikroch and Naomi, before cursing quietly in elvish and gesturing furiously the somatic components of a spell as she walks towards the castle greenhouse, trying to clean herself off with magic.
About forty five minutes after half the party stepped through the tree and disappeared, from another, similar tree emerges the prime minister of Gliocas, looking somewhat frazzled. She sees Donovan, Mila, and someone new, waiting. Looking at the pair briefly, she turns her attention to Senna, ”good evening, Miss. You find yourself in august company.” and she gestures towards Mila and Donovan. ”My name is Sophiel Mevyed, and I am the elected ruler of Gliocas. Would you mind explaining what’s going on? Time is of the essence; so brevity would be most appreciated.” She gives a tight smile, but seems otherwise friendly.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
She turns her attention to Senna, ”good evening, Miss. You find yourself in august company.” and she gestures towards Mila and Donovan. ”My name is Sophiel Mevyed, and I am the elected ruler of Gliocas. Would you mind explaining what’s going on? Time is of the essence; so brevity would be most appreciated.” She gives a tight smile, but seems otherwise friendly.
Senna bobs her head deferentially. ”Good eve, milady. I’m Senna Proviso, tattooist and…” her tone drops, ”sorceress.” Her voice rises to a more normal volume as she works on a concise explanation. ”To the Pitaxians, it seems I’ve thrown my lot in with Gliocas during Rushlight. Your people have been kind enough to let me tag along for safety – certainly mine and possibly theirs – until we get away from here. I’d appreciate a quick exit to unknown lands. I can offer my services in exchange. I’m sure you’ll…” interrogate “have other questions for me. I’ll be happy to answer once we aren’t surrounded by Pitax’s forces.”
She looks candidly at Gliocas’ ruler. ”If that’s too much of a risk, say so. We’ll part ways and Lady Shadowfall can repay me another time.”
Assuming Sophiel isn't willing to take the risk, Senna considers plan B and C. Teleportation was the safest option but it would be taking her in the wrong direction. With Gliocas being only a couple hundred miles away, she could still head in that direction. It would be taxing in terms of magic, and far slower, but she was confident in her ability to avoid or bury anyone trying to stop her. And now she was curious to see a country with an elected leader... it was a novel concept.
Sophie takes a long look at Senna.
Senna watches as Sophie stares at her face intently. The woman’s gaze is probing, but there is a haggard feeling beyond the probing eyes; a haunted feeling of loss.
Eventually, she inclines her head at Senna, ”I have matters to attend to in my capitol. If you would acquiesce to being observed by Chrysa upon arrival, I would be willing to have you join the others. I sense no malice from you.” She straightens her jacket, and looks down, ”you should be aware, though, that many people have tried to kill me. They’re all dead.” She looks back up. ”this is not a threat; but I do warn you that my entire life; my existence; has been devoted to predicting the unpredictable. Be warned that this extends to anything you may find yourself compelled to do to harm my people. The king of this very country appears to have launched a brazen attack on my capitol. He failed.”
She waves her hand ”so, threats to my people - these have already been accounted for. I do not cut corners and every mistake I’ve made has been an object lesson once I win.” She pauses a moment, her last words having an air of pleading, sorrowful desperation, ” I beg of you not to become another lesson.”
"We were expecting Lady Chrysa, Tikroch and Miss Naomi to return." Mila informs the ruler. "Were they able to speak with you, Milady?"
”I have matters to attend to in my capitol. If you would acquiesce to being observed by Chrysa upon arrival, I would be willing to have you join the others. I sense no malice from you.”
Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Senna smiles. ”Oh, I have malice, milady… but I reserve it for those who have grievously wronged me. Neither you nor any of your people have done so. Set anyone you wish to keep an eye on me. It’s a prudent measure.”
”you should be aware, though, that many people have tried to kill me. They’re all dead… this is not a threat… Be warned that this extends to anything you may find yourself compelled to do to harm my people.”
Senna takes no offense at Sophiel’s words or tone. She briefly mulls the points made before inclining her head. ”I appreciate the earnest warning. Shall we go?”
"We were expecting Lady Chrysa, Tikroch and Miss Naomi to return." Mila informs the ruler. "Were they able to speak with you, Milady?"
Sophie has a sour look about her at the honorific, scrunching her nose, but it seems that it is not unexpected and is, in some ways almost a joke on Mila’s part, with a smile creeping into Sophie’s expression, ”they did - but not at length. They did not say what happened here, except a warning of some weapon at Whiterose Abbey. I think you will find upon our return that the immediate needs of the country must be attended to, prior to any hypotheticals.” She extends an arm, ”that is to say - we were attacked and we need to deal with the aftermath, at least for the rest of the morning.” She gestures as if to say, please come along into this weird tree teleportation.
Sophiel shepherds everyone through the same oak tree, but contrary to Tikroch’s arrival point, the remainder of the group finds themselves in a warm, expansive plant conservatory with a number of different species of plant. Notably there appear to be a few different biomes present, divided by thick glass. Sophiel gestures, to Senna ”please, follow me,” and the woman swiftly exits, after leaving through an elaborate pressurized door system, into a much larger courtyard space that seemingly has suffered substantial destruction (especially compared to the tranquil greenhouse).
She turns around, ”this is where I must end my hospitality for the moment. I’d tell you to enjoy your time in our capitol, but there is little to enjoy this evening. If you would be so kind as to assist, I would appreciate it, and would consider any debt you feel to have incurred to be paid.” She turns to Donovan, ”if you would not mind assisting the fallen, you have more skill at healing than I do. I must discuss Whiterose Abbey with Mila and Chrysa, see if I can draw some information out of Iorvetti’s advisor, and when I have enough - divine what I can about the best course.” She adds to Senna, ”should you find yourself compelled to stay here, i believe these new companions of yours may call on your… services,” she smiles slightly, as if she has some secret knowledge, ”after the meeting.” She extends a hand to Senna, offering to shake it, and says ”welcome to the second republic of Avistan - the country of Gliocas.”
And with that, she gathers Mila and moves to discuss things with Chrysa, Naomi, and Marcanth - her spritely gathlain majordomo.
Senna cranes her neck to fully appreciate the conservatory for a moment while she follows Sophiel out. The benign air and quiet of the hot house contrast sharply against the shrill cries, wafting smoke, and smell of burnt flesh drifting through the city. The tattooist looks, listens, and smells, getting a feel for the battle situation. If she is alarmed, it doesn’t show.
"If you would be so kind as to assist, I would appreciate it, and would consider any debt you feel to have incurred to be paid.”
Senna nods, ”Deal. I’m not much good at healing but I have a knack for cleaning up messes and unruly folk. I’ll do what I can.”
She adds to Senna, ”Should you find yourself compelled to stay here, I believe these new companions of yours may call on your… services,” She extends a hand to Senna, offering to shake it, and says ”welcome to the second republic of Avistan - the country of Gliocas.”
The tattooist shakes her hand firmly. ”Thank you for the invitation, milady, as well as the ride.” She quickly strides off in the direction of battle. Finding a Gliocan flag, she cuts it down and ties it around her shoulders like a cape, hoping to avoid ally fire. Then she leaps into the air to begin hunting.
Senna’s feet brush the roof tops as she flies by to avoid making herself an easy target – for either side. Also, flying is a fine way to see the city and understand the battleground. She finds the coterie of non-human creatures defending the city remarkable. It also makes selecting targets somewhat challenging. But she takes the extra time needed to ensure she isn’t endangering friendly forces… and the wyverns being greeted by volleys of arrows are clearly on the wrong side. She picks one at the end of her range that isn’t over the archers, weaves a simple spell twice in rapid succession, and sends a weaving fleet of ten force bolts slamming into the creature.
Having drawn their attention, Senna challenges them with a Draconic snarl:
If matters worked out they’d rush her, inadvertently drawing together, which would make burning them down far more efficient.
6th Spells (4):
5th Spells (6): xx
4th Spells (7):
3rd Spells (8): x
2nd Spells (8):
1st Spells (8): xxxx
Spontaneous Spell: Dimension Door
Breath Weapon (1):
Blood Intensity (2):
Blood Piercing (2):
Stunning Fist (4):
Vest (1): x
Max Rod (3):
Scabbard (1):
Ring of Contort (1):
Stoneskin (1):
Spiked Pit (1):
Dancing Lights (3):
Effects:
Mage Armor : +4 AC for 14 hours
Crafter’s Fortune : +5 Luck on one Craft skill within 14 days
Secluded Grimoire : P & P Vol 1 is under this spell until recalled
Flying through the battlefield, the druid is surprised as many of his foes pull away to target the tattoo artist?! Somewhat impressed by the showing of magical might, he turns to face other foes in the sky. Their arial ballet is smashed as the huge beak snips necks and wings in a single bites.
Having slain or chased away his fair share of the wyverns, the heron alights at the gathering of... heroes might not be the right word... party members and city officials and newcomers. Shifting back to human, he raises an eyebrow at Senna before shrugging and giving her a nod in greetings. Making sure the Pitaxian envoy hasn't been unduly detained, he looks to Sophiel or, begrudgingly, Marcanth for what needs doing. Remembering the fey casualties, he chides himself for his poor attitude toward the ranking fey advisor. "As far as I can tell, the battle is won. They flying beasts are either dead or retreating. Is there anything left that needs doing?"
The tattooist flies through the city streets in a slowly expanding circle hammering targets of opportunity. She also alerts the defensive forces about threats and issues – enemies, fires, and groups of wounded. She makes a point of stopping by the city’s main gate a few times, trying to memorize its details. Expecting that Sophiel is savvy enough to prevent people from transporting directly into her city, Senna gambles any sort of interdiction magic wouldn’t extend as far as the front gate. So, she spends time committing it to memory.
Being a brutal pragmatist, Senna is inclined to pursue the fleeing enemy forces to wipe them out. But the amount of friendly fey in the battle prevents the sorceress from immolating the enemy with reckless abandon. Setting the surrounding woods ablaze would not endear her to Gliocas’ allies.
When the battle is truly over and much of her magic is spent, the tattooist returns on foot to the keep. She removes the Gliocan flag from around her shoulders then intones a simple spell to remove the dirt, grime, blood, ash, and sweat from the symbol before folding it carefully.
Shifting back to human, he raises an eyebrow at Senna before shrugging and giving her a nod in greetings.
She returns the nod with a weary, but satisfied, smile. It had been some time since she’d used so much magic in a single day.
Before Marcanth departs, they nod at Tikroch graciously, ”we have beasts but all are smaller than you can be. If you wouldn’t mind doing some sort of…” they wave vaguely, ”elephantine being? Or perhaps some huge ape? You may know these things better…” Having his train of thought derailed, he remembers ”erm, yes, some sort of huge being it would likely help tremendously around the city. There’s much debris to move, and you and Madam Sophiel are the only druids with sufficient power to get that big, I think?”
Notably, as Senna is zooming around, some of black scaled kobolds are staring in awe and cheering for her.
Having departed with Marcanth, Naomi, Mila, and Chrysa to her office, Sophiel moves to sit down in her chair and offers seats to anyone who would be so inclined. Marcanth stays standing, eying Naomi with an air of obvious suspicion. Sophiel looks down at her desk for a long moment before collecting herself. ”Shyka might attest that time is relative, but tonight is it is short. Please, explain what happened.” She dismisses any objections about the time, adamantly wanting a rundown.
When Naomi chimes in, she interrupts, and says ”please, explain quickly. Marcanth will, with your permission, verify if you are lying.” She waits for the woman to acquiesce, Naomi feels her own mind gently probed by the stern-looking gathlain. It’s quite clear that this is some sort of lie detection only, as common to a typical inquisitor.
When her confidants and the former Pitaxian finish explaining what happened. Sophiel purses her lips and leans back, ”I need a few minutes to concentrate. Magdh has seen fit to give me advice about the consequences of various actions. I just need time.“
She clears off her desk and retrieves a few mystical doodads and incense, and starts burning one of the sticks. The pleasant smell fills the room, slightly otherworldly, and Sophie starts chanting quietly to herself and closes her eyes. Her irises disappear when she opens them, and a glowing, third eye, made of light, opens on her forehead as she keeps gesturing and chanting.
She continues this for ten minutes and the rhythmic gesture and quiet whispering keeps continuing, and it looks like Sophiel’s open eyes are searching, as if she sees something invisible to everyone in the room, and she intermittently seems to comment, [smaller]”…no… no…. yes… hmm…”
The spell tapers off, and she blinks and her vision returns to normal, her third eye disappearing. Sophiel puts away her divination tools, and sighs, ”signs point to a threat of some type there, but also some opportunity. Whether that is a weapon or not, I don’t know, but I do not think you have to go today. If you all would like a day to recuperate, it would give me a chance to go over a few things and give you a chance to prepare. There seem to be odd signs of the type of enemies. Undead and lycanthropes? Why or how would Pitax have these to guard a weapon? It is curious, but that is my best guess. Do you have any questions before I get back to recovery?”
Chrysa had somehow gotten a stack of reports in a maddening sprawl of a script, which she had been reading as the others give their accounts and Soph does her augury.
Once it was over, "A day delay seems... risky." she says, but notices the weariness of the others. Resources and general devastation of conditions. "Hmmm, hurry could lead to failure." she rises. "Sophiel, if you have enough resources left, accompany me to the Fall so we can retrieve additional clerics to aid." her own head advisor was a cleric of Pharasma nearly as accomplished in power as Soph herself.
"The amount of information we have here and that we'll have once we take a closer look at this abbey are likely to be different." Mila proposes. "Between the options of waiting and rushing, we could perhaps rush until we reach the place, then decide there if we should investigate immediately or if we have some time."
Naomi, hoping to avoid round after round of questioning and repetition, gives Mila a grateful smile. "Yes, quite. Though the details are rather scanty thus far, they should certainly suffice to permit us greater understanding in time."
Sophiel nods at Chrysa and moves to retrieve some clerics from Shadowfall. When she returns, she says to Chrysa, with the others not in earshot”your cohort and a few others are all that could be spared. It appears your aunt has not taken well to your turning on her. The situation with Irovetti must be resolved soon.” She adds, ”At this point, I think there is value in explaining the situation to everyone. It is not productive to have any more secrets, but the decision is up to you, ultimately.”
After some internal discussion, the party decides to stay in the city for at least long enough to rest and regain their powers.
The party wakes up late the next morning after resting in their own places, or given spartan apartments. Sophiel praises Senna effusively for her efforts, noting ”even if had no cause you trust you, you’re at the very least not aligned with Pitax, so if the others in the group would have you - I have no objections.” She does little else other than shepherding, in two trips, the remainder of the party into a robust cypress tree, seeming to reference an older book on geography written by a naturalist, Jubilost Narthropple, who seemed to reference such trees in that general location. ”The abbey is in that vicinity, but as you were resting - I consulted various sources and discovered that this was not all of Irovetti’s army. Had I not the teleportation, you all would be hard pressed to pass one of his many armies. So you may find yourself pressed on a few sides. Whatever is there, I recommend stealth. You may be powerful, but thousands of archers can still kill you…” Hoping her warning is heeded, she leaves them in a large hilly field after pointing a general ‘direction’ for the party to head, based on her best guess and she departs.