FairyGM's Way of the Wicked

Game Master Therenger

Dargon took some time to go through the armory. He left with only 2 items he didnt have yet. 1 light mace, in case he needed something more 'stout' than his rapier and a very nicely crafted suit of studded leather armor.

mw studded leather 175. light mace 5

The slaves speak when spoken to, but with extreme care and brevity, and otherwise meekly inquire about expected meal times, clothing choices, turndown service, and the like, and of course make themselves readily available for stress relief in a multitude of forms, ranging from shoulder and foot rubs to, well, use your imagination.

When questioned directly about matters of the house or the nature of Cardinal Thorn's endeavors, they demure and cannot be compelled.

Likewise, Tiadora is tight-lipped with regard to your future missions as well as any matters related to the Cardinal. He is always simply, "In his study," and "No, you cannot see him," and "When the hour comes he will summon you." Tiadora cannot be nailed down and the more of these types of questions you ask of her the more hostile her tone becomes. When Tiadora is asked about herself, she replies, "I am a devil doing the Devil's work." She does, however, entertain short conversations about Asmodeus, and it is clear that her conviction is fanatical and perhaps familial. Whatever her true nature, Tiadora is not without charms, but beneath them there is terrifying power.

At the evening meal Tiadora makes a brief appearance, handing each of you a silver medallion pressed with the unholy symbol of Asmodeus. In turn she also gives each of you an iron circlet.

"Keep these with you always," instructs Tiadora. "The medallion will open doors that would otherwise be shut. The circlet can cause your enemies to see you as a friend, and a friend to see you as their superior."

Either by spellcraft or further questioning, you may learn that the circlets function as a Hat of Disguise.

Any luck on my 28 Knowledge (Nobility) check regarding the Cardinal?

Are the medallions magical?

"Now let us see what glamour we may conjure, shall we?" Posh murmurs, eyeing the iron circlet as one might a curious, untrustworthy trinket at a yard sale. He balances it in his palm, giving it a gentle spin. "So modest, and yet full of promise... how very like myself."

With a rakish grin, he lifts the circlet and sets it atop his curls, nestling it just behind the brim of his much-mourned hat.

A shimmer washes over him, subtle and quick.

Posh raises one eyebrow and steps before the nearest mirror, peering critically at the reflection now gazing back. Before him stands a *Gnomographer* of wealth and learning—decked in a finely pressed traveling coat of charcoal velvet, etched with thread-of-silver cartographic lines that shift subtly with movement. His broad-brimmed hat sits proud, restored to former glory, with an extravagant ostrich plume arching just so. A neat eye patch covers his left eye, embroidered with a compass rose in silver thread. A cravat of deep burgundy silk nestles beneath a waistcoat, and polished high boots glint in the torchlight.

"Yes… yes, this is closer to truth than flesh and blood ever dared allow," he whispers, straightening the lapels with delicate care. "The world is a map, and I—its most poetic forger."

He turns, pacing slowly, watching the folds of the illusion flick and sway as he moves. His hand brushes his instrument case and he pauses, adding with a smirk, "All that is lacking is applause."

It is good to be seen as one ought to be seen. Why let truth spoil the page, when legend fits better between the margins? Besides... any fool can swing a sword. It takes genius to rewrite perception itself.

He lifts his chin and sweeps back toward the common room, every inch the learned gentleman-explorer he imagines himself to be.

Now then… let us see if the world is ready to meet me as I am meant to be.

Late when Tiadora gave them the medallions and the iron circlets, Rayse had a feral grin, "With this, I'm willing to wager I could walk right into one of the enemy's churches and live to tell the tale."

Rayse's damnation feats conceal his alignment, and he has a +19 disguise modifier with the circlet. That opens up lots of possibilities.

I'm sporting +20 on Disguise, so we can totally do some infiltration!

When she gets the medallion and iron circlet she puts both on. She smiles as she changes her appearance, first as a hefty older woman, then a petite young girl, then with a grin she takes on Rayse's appearance for a moment. "This is better than the disguise spell I used. I certainly could have used it earlier...." She adds the appearance of mail and feels it. "But it's just illusion. Have to keep that in mind." With an evil chuckle she takes on the appearance of a middle-aged woman in the garb of a priestess of Mitra. She holds her face very stern and looks for a mirror.... Then she breaks out with laughter. "Oh Mother! How much trouble I could cause for you with this!"

Rendylyn has taken the guise of Warden Richter. "Imagine how easy laying waste to the prison would have been with these toys! Though I don't sound like him." She pats the warden's beard. "The illusion can't fool touch, either." She shifts the circlet, assuming the appearance of the Kid, and sniffs cautiously. "Nor scent, thank the Dark Prince." She shifts the circlet again, and is herself--though a careful observer might notice both her eyes are now black.

The young priestess traces the lines of the Archstar Tiadora gave her. "Rayse and Vormog were raised in the faith, but most of you were not, and must have heard all sorts of misconceptions from the Mitrans. Dargon, Posh, Treesa, surely you have questions?"

"Dargon, you asked what sort of sacrifice Asmodeus expects? Blood. Blood, as a symbol of the life we devote to him. Your own, if no other can be had, but a servant's is better, and best is the blood of a captive enemy, or anyone unwilling you own or have dominion over. Such sacrifices need not be fatal, or even debilitating...but if you're going to kill someone anyway, putting in the effort to make a proper ritual sacrifice does the Lord of the Pit homage."

Treesa laughs at Rendylyn's words. Still in the illusion as a priestess of Mitra it almost seems like an actual Mitran priestess ridiculing her words. "Yes Rendylyn! This was my childhood. I could teach and preach the Mitran garbage probably as well as any real worshiper!" She swiftly changes back.... her face twisted with rage! "But the only things I learned of The Faith was what little wasn't torn out of history books, or a little more in the studies of Magic. I want to know more. I want to know it all. When we burn down their temples, and the government buildings I want to sacrifice them. I want them to know their mistakes before they meet their final end! Surely a worshiper of the Mitran nonsense is a proper sacrifice!?!"

Vormog finds it interesting to receive the extra gifts from Tiadora. It seems their new patron is saving no efforts to their success. He puts on the circlet and wears the medallion on his chest.

He watches the others experiment with the circlet, which shows him how to work it. He tries it a bit himself, turning first into Cardinal Thorn, then Tiadora, then the Mitran guard who imprisoned him, before returning to his original self.

He says "Deception is what got me to Asmodeus' good graces, and this will come in handy. Thank you Tiadora." He heeds Treesa and Rendylyn's words carefully. Knowing it is only a weak illusion is important, to not overdo it. This will only fool those who are not careful, and raising suspicion will create the need to look at the group more closely, which will undoubtedly make them more vulnerable to detection. For now, he only changes himself to hide the circlet itself.

For the rest of the days, he continues to spar with Rayse. The only exception is when he talks to Posh. He says "I understand the need to properly document the rise of the new order. However, may I ask what can you do, in terms of making it happen? I want to know beforehand so we may be more efficient in the field."

Posh stares at Vormog for a long moment, then slowly raises one eyebrow and places a hand to his chest in mock surprise.

"My dear Vormog, I am positively wounded. You look at this finely-honed frame and still feel the need to ask what I bring to the table?"

He takes a dramatic turn, presenting himself as if on stage, hands sweeping in wide, theatrical arcs.

"Clearly, our dear Rayse is the charming one—silver tongue, wicked smile. Rendylyn brings the gravitas, the cunning mind, the esoteric knowledge."

He pauses to waggle a finger.

"And you, good Vormog, the unshakable faith, the deadly glare, the boundless suspicion—every party needs a moral compass."

He straightens, brushes a speck of dust from his coat, and finishes with a smug grin.

"Which, of course, leaves me. Brute force. Pure muscle. A wall of sinew and rage. The battering ram of the Devil-Bound."

Posh flexes dramatically—about as threatening as a hedgehog in a bonnet—then chuckles as he pats Vormog on the arm.

"Or, failing that, perhaps I see angles others do not. I map power, my friend—not only with pen and parchment, but with people, and with silence. I plant seeds in men's minds. I rearrange their certainties. Call it cartography of the soul."

He turns back toward his wineglass, giving it a swirl.

And if he thinks me harmless after all that... well, it only proves the point, does it not?

Dargon takes the circlet and medallion putting both on, then asks Tiadora. The Circlet I understand, but what does this Amulet do?

He changes his look several times and practices going back and forth quickly. Useful He says.

Vormog raises an eyebrow at Posh. He sounds mysterious enough, but his point got across. He has the power to arrange words in a way that sound harmless, but work under the skin. He just says "Good to have you on the team."

Hearing Dargon's question Treesa quietly casts Detect Magic and studies the amulet for any aura.

Any luck on my 28 Knowledge (Nobility) check regarding the Cardinal?

Sorry, no, the name Adrastus Thorn rings no bells.

Tiadora stares at Dargon, and then replies cryptically. "Its purpose will become obvious when it is needed."

The medallions are not magical. For real.

Tiadora withdraws without another word, leaving you to your meal and evening activities.

In her exploration, Rendylyn discovers another wing to the manor. It's not a secret, and seems similar to the area your group has been assigned.

Who?: 1d6 ⇒ 41d4 ⇒ 2
However, the next day, Rendylyn encounters a stranger in a common space, a brooding hulk of a man carrying a great sword. The bare-chested man wears the iron circlet on his brow and the medallion as an amulet around his neck. He appears shocked to see the small girl in his path and then looks confused what to do about it. He stands there dumbly for a moment, then says, in a deep voice, "You there, slave girl, fetch my mead."

Rendylyn smiles her dangerous smile. She shifts her gaze to a candle near them and glares at it. Flame crackles from her face and sets it ablaze. Then she looks back to the big man and taps the circlet on her head.

"Like you, I am a servant only to Cardinal Thorn...and to Asmodeus. I am the priestess Rendylyn. Are you new to His Eminence's service? What is your name?"

"Surely a worshiper of the Mitran nonsense is a proper sacrifice!?!"

"The Mitrans are the enemy, and so a most fitting sacrifice. There are rules to follow, however. You can't just cut them down with an axe in battle, howling, 'Blood and souls for my lord Asmodeus!' There are many rituals, but the fundamental one is the Tribute to the Throne of Nessus: Bleed your sacrifice, preferably with a ruby blade, and collect the blood in the skull of a sentient creature. Use it to draw an Archstar, then recite the Rite of Welcoming Darkness, the Paean to Infernal Glory, or another appropriate prayer from its center."

Rendylyn frowns. She hasn't found a skull she considers worthy of the Tribute, and ruby blades are hard to come by. She had hoped the armory might hold one, but no luck. She'd need both to win Hell's highest favors.

The man snorts. "Dostan Alfson. What's yours?" A second look reveals the brute to be half-elven.

Rayse was amused by Posh's banter and after Vormog spoke, Rayse grinned to Posh, "I think we're going to get along famously. Anyway I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm very curious to find out what tasks Cardinal Thorn has in mind for us."

The man snorts. "Dostan Alfson. What's yours?" A second look reveals the brute to be half-elven.

"The priestess Rendylyn," she repeats, more slowly. Nine Hells, is he that drunk? "I am here at Cardinal Thorn's command. Are you here alone, Dostan?" Perhaps he has a keeper, besides Tiadora.

Dostan does not appear to be drunk, just not big on conversation. A long awkward silence is interrupted when a human female enters the room from the other wing. She is stunningly beautiful, wearing colorful flowing silks. Curiously, an albino raven is perched on her shoulder.

"Dostan, who's your friend?" she asks playfully. Then she steps in front of the barbarian and smiles warmly. "I am Elise Zadaria, fellow servant of the the Dark Prince. We are a group of four; the others are Tallus and Titus, identical brothers. We arrived yesterday a day after you. Might I assume the rest of your party is in the adjacent wing?"

"I am the priestess Rendylyn," she repeats for the third time. "Yes, I am staying with others in the far wing. Why not join us for dinner this evening? This is a rare opportunity His Eminence has afforded us, the chance to talk openly and honestly. Come at six."

She eyes Dostan. "I'll make sure there is mead."

Rendylyn curtsies to Zadaria, pinches the candle out with her nails, and heads back to find the others.

"We're not the only ones Cardinal Thorn has brought here. There's a cohort of four people staying in the other wing. I've invited them to dinner." She pauses, considering. "They may be Bound to His Eminence as we are, but whether they are or not, they are not Bound to us. Let us be respectful, but cautious, and perhaps circumspect."

Posh, seated with legs crossed and a delicate glass of cordial in hand, leans slightly forward at Rend's words. His eye gleams with interest, but the curve of his mustache suggests mischief as much as concern.

"Ah, delightful—guests." He gives a polite tap of his fingertips together. "And here I thought I would finally be able to finish that little treatise on subterranean river routes in peace."

He lets the jest hover for a beat, then tilts his head toward Rend.

"I am, of course, no barrister—though I have forged a few in my day." A wink. "Still, I find myself wondering how... expansively we are to interpret this Third Loyalty."

He gestures vaguely to the room, then outward toward the manor's unseen wings.

"Is it only present company, who bled and burned through Branderscar together, and the two who joined us after? Or are these newcomers included? And if so, do we presume that any servant of the Cardinal is bound to the same mutual regard?"

He sips delicately, then adds with a sigh:

"I simply wish to know if I must mourn should one of them fall into a threshing machine. Metaphorically, of course."

It would be so much easier if villainy came with a charter and footnotes.

Treesa considers Rendylyn's words, and Posh. "The third loyalty was to 'the other Bound who serve alongside them'. If this other group is bound to the Cardinal, they aren't necessarily 'alongside' us, but I don't think we should consider them as enemies."

"Perhaps we should ask Tiadora? She would have information about the other group. Who knows, the may be allies."

Rendylyn shrugs. "Tiadora might have interesting things to say, but my advice is to order the servants to report on them. And if you haven't already, order the servants to keep your own doings secret." As I have.

"Whether or not they are allies, they are competition. Hell runs on ambition, and His Eminence is sure to have his favorites. Let us make sure that's us."

"If one of them is a wizard maybe we could interest them in the book?"

On the morning of the eve of The Darkness Eternal each of you is informed by your chosen servants that Tiadora has arranged a special dinner for your group. You are invited to the formal dining room - the first time for this particular honor. You will be joined by the Cardinal's other group of guests. Arrive at sunset.

When the hour approaches, you assemble in the common space between your rooms and progress downstairs, through an elaborate hall passing several sets of double doors, and finally into the high-ceilinged dining room.

A long blackwood table gleams in the candlelight. Ornate iron candelabras bathe the room in flickering gold, casting shifting shadows over crimson tapestries bearing the unholy sigil of Asmodeus. The feast laid out is lavish—roast boar, candied figs, dark wine—and yet there's an undeniable chill in the air, as if the room itself resents the warmth.

Tiadora is there waiting for you, and she watches while servants clad in red and black satin robes escort each of you to your seats four on one side and one each at the foot and head of the table, allowing for the second group to claim the opposite side. They arrive only a moment later, and appraisals are made.

Rendylyn has already met Elise and Dostan. The former is dressed in colorful silks and expensive jewelry. She takes her seat first, next to the head of the table, and sits with regal posture, her expression unreadable. Her raven — glossy white as frostbitten bone — perches silently on her chair’s finial, eyes glinting red.

Dostan wears a simple white tunic with the circlet atop his large skull. It appears that the human side of his heritage is dominant in his stout frame, but his face is narrow and fair. He sits beside Elise, his eyes moving between each of you as if determining who is the greatest threat.

Lastly, the twin brothers take their seats. They are nearly identical except that one is slightly taller, and that one is dressed in black shirt, black leather vest, and matching pants. His brother wears red robes and proudly exhibits regalia of the Dark Prince.

Once everyone is seated, Tiadora steps up and announces: "Cardinal Thorn wishes that all of you enjoy this feast. The great work begins on the morrow. Until then." Then she exits the dining room and servants close the doors behind her.

There is a beat of silence and then Elise breaks from her stoic countenance. "So," she smiles, her voice as smooth as summer wind. "These are the famed new acolytes of our esteemed Cardinal. You must forgive our tardiness — we were out scouting a holy site soon to be... desecrated." She lifts her wine glass. "To new allies, and the fall of Talingarde."

The robed brother at the end raises his glass with mock reverence. "And may the blood run thicker than the wine." You learn this is Titus, but he goes by "Trik."

The taller brother is Tallus, who goes by "Trak." He leans forward, his voice low and gravelly. As if trading secrets, he says, "You’ve already made waves, or so we hear. Broke out of Branderscar, did you? Bold. And bloody." He glances at Trik. "Reminds me of your birthday, brother."

Dostan grunts but does not toast. He begins carving into the boar with a short sword-sized knife, slow and deliberate.

Trik follows his brother's chain of thought. "Oh yes. Nothing says celebration like a man screaming into a gag. Ah, memories."

Following the toast, Elise absently pets her raven and asks, "Tell me... do you fight for power, for faith, or simply because you enjoy the burn of it all?"

Before...

Vormog hears the tale of how Rendylyn discovered another group in the mansion. In truth he finds her initiative commendable, but doesn't say anything. He does say "Competition will be good for us. It will make us strive to be our best selves. And it makes working as a team all the more necessary. I do hope to meet them before we set out."

At the dinner

Vormog silently watches the scene of the others arriving. He watches as the big man starts to eat. When he deems the food safe, he takes a meat portion for himself but doesn't eat it yet. He judges that Elise is the talker in the other group, and the Trik and Trak brothers are the boasters. Dostan seems a bit emotional, maybe too easy to manipulate.

The inquisitor envies the rapport they have. He hopes to develop something similar with his own group eventually. As he thinks about this, he realizes that Elise asked them a question. He considers it carefully then says "The burning is pointless by itself. It only makes sense if it has a purpose. No true Asmodean would aim for that. Also, faith makes a poor reason to fight. You either have it or you don't. Although the right to have faith in Asmodeus is my own reason to fight. I hope you can see the difference. As for power? It will come as I'm rewarded for my coming triumphs."

Dargon had spent long hours studying the limitations of the circlet. He had created several 'pat' fake identities now. Working on differences in speech patterns, subtleties of movement, different names. He would make the most use of this item.

When Rendylyn had found the other group, he expressed the reality of his thoughts. It is quite likely he has many groups. Each performing a different set of tasks to accomplish our desired goal. I do agree, there is competition here. He cannot elevate all to the same level once its all accomplished. So we may have to best them at some point.

At dinner he came in wearing a Black Silk shirt, a cape with a gold chain slung halfway across his back. The cape had red trim along the edges. His s~!! was open partially on his chest allowing the silver medallion to be seen. His black leather pants were tight on his slight frame, with knee high black boots.

He sat at the far end away from the head of the table on his teams side and sipped the wine he was poured. He did not eat heartily, but rather slow and methodically. He stayed quiet most the time just watching and learning what he could about the other team...He surmised Elise was a Wizard or Witch. Dostan some Fighter type. or Black Ranger perhaps. Trik a Priest? and Trak well he was Dargons opposite. He smiled tightly at the group...and then Elise asked the big question. Power Faith or to see it all burn... He smiled None of the above. I serve only Asmodeus and through his will Cardinal Thorn, In however form that takes. I dont serve the desire for Power. Because Power ...true Power cannot be measured or seen. I dont serve blind Faith because To achieve goals eyes have to be wide open to all the nuance that service to The Dark Lord needs. I dont serve just to see it burn, because if we burn it ALL down, it will be harder to build back up. Rather judicious burning when needed ...like the pruning of a tree. No I serve myself in ways that will bring Glory to Asmodeus and Cardinal Thorn and my Allies, and dare I say...friends here.

He then looked at Elise and said. To new allies...his voice rising forming the toast into a bit of a question Before taking a drink.

"To desecration," Posh toasts with an easy smile, lifting his wineglass with two fingers and a flourish. "And to timely introductions. I had begun to wonder if we were the only pieces on the board."

The gnome leans back in his high-backed chair, eye patch glinting faintly in the candlelight, feather from his wide-brimmed hat swaying with the motion. A faint scent of saffron and cedar clings to his velvet collar.

"Forgive me," he continues smoothly, turning to Elise with a gracious nod, "but did I hear correctly that your... expedition this afternoon involved sacred ground soon to be made profane? I do adore ecclesiastical irony. Were you scouting in preparation for something rather grand?"

He dabs his mouth gently with a napkin, then sets it aside with care.

"Not, of course, that I mean to pry—merely eager to learn the shape of the great work ahead, and those with whom we may share it. After all..." He gestures toward their side of the table, "we come from different roads to the same destination. Would it not be wise to compare maps?"

There is no better way to measure the length of another's leash than to compliment its leash-maker. And no safer way to test its limits than to ask what it is dragging them toward.

Rendylyn greets Elise, then sinks into the chair next to her to converse. That this puts her at the head of the table would seem to be the furthest thing from her mind.

"You are scouts, then? The four of you do seem more accustomed to the wilds than we. How did you come to meet His Eminence?"

She smiles smugly at Eloise's question. "There is no division between power, faith, and flame. To forge steel, we must first burn away the dross. Joy is making our vocation and our advocation one."

"To new allies!" Rendylyn tastes her wine, then immediately calls another toast: "To the great work!" She drinks again. [b]"What can

Treesa serves herself a reasonable serving of the food on the table before taking her seat. She was wearing the blood red velour dress again. She smiles slightly at the memory of the last evening when she had worn it, and glances at Rayse. The amulet was prominent of course, but the circlet was hidden as a simple hair clip. Once seated she listens to the conversation. Power and Faith? For followers of the Dark Lord weren't they the same?

"A few tried to stop our exit from the prison. A couple guards, the warden.... They're dead, as is proper."

When Rendylyn calls for the toast she puts down her fork and picks up the wine glass. "To the Great work!" She takes a good swallow and replaces the glass. Cutting into the meat she takes another bite, wanting to enjoy it while it was still hot.

Vormog

Elise studies Vormog closely, her raven ruffling its wings without sound. "Ah. A pragmatist. I find that comforting. Too many in this game mistake fire for strategy. But you, Vormog, see clearly: that victory requires patience, structure, and purpose, as you say. I rather like that. If only more of Thorn's disciples were so composed." A faint smile tugs at her lips, sharp as frostbite. "Perhaps we will have use for each other yet."

Dostan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyeing Vormog. "You talk a lot for a man who hasn't bled in front of me."

Dargon

Trik nearly chokes on his wine laughing, dabbing his mouth with a black silk cloth. "You serve yourself in ways that serve others? My dear fellow, that's almost noble."

He leans forward, eyes dancing. "But I see you. Clever. Careful. Watching everything. That's dangerous in a man who can smile while pruning trees. Just make sure you're not the branch next time."

Trak watches Dargon with a predator's stare. "Listen to him, brother. Dargon has a point. Power not seen is still power. Shadow is stronger than steel. Don't need to believe in it to be stabbed by it." He then returns to cutting his meat in silence.

Trik leans back and raises his glass. "To judicious fires and loyal friends — may neither be wasted."

Posh

Elise gives Posh a polite, calculating nod, like a diplomat weighing a treaty.

"You're no pawn, are you?" she begins rhetorically. "I've met many who smile like you. Most of them were about to rob me — or offer me a partnership."

She sets her glass down slowly. "Yes, we were preparing something grand. Desecration is... delicate work. Like good poetry. Or proper maps." She allows the faintest smile. "I imagine we'll have occasion to trade both before this is done."

Trik allows Elise to finish before maneuvering in on the conversation with Posh. "You know, I like you." He waves his goblet playfully. "You talk like a man three steps ahead and six drinks in. You and I should play cards sometime. Or perhaps... dice and secrets."

Treesa

Dostan swivels his massive skull in Treesa's direction, but lowers his voice. "You kill clean. That's good. But don't talk about it like you're owed praise. Killing's like breathing. You just do it." He grunts and goes back to his meat.

Trak piles on without looking up from his plate. "A red dress, a sharp blade, and no remorse. You wear them all well. Just make sure they don't wear you."

Rendylyn

Trik coos loudly, half-lidded eyes glittering. "'Joy is making our vocation and our advocation one' — gods, I love it when clerics talk dirty!"

Elise turns to Rendylyn with interest. "Hm. Flame, faith, and force — they are not opposed, they are alloyed."

She touches her fingers lightly to her temple. "It takes a priestess to remind the rest of us that conviction is not a weakness." A beat. "And no, we are not mere scouts. We are surgeons. Removing infected tissue from Talingarde's holy corpse."

The candlelight gutters slightly, a faint wind stirring from no open door. The candelabras hiss as wax pools like blood across the iron arms. The room feels a touch smaller. More dangerous.

Treesa looks at Dostan and smiles. "Praise isn't required for taking out the trash. But Rendylyn did sacrifice Warden Richter properly. They'll be a week cleaning up that mess. And the surviving guards won't stay at that post anymore!" She looks Trak over. "Thank you. But remorse? No value in that. No power there!"

She glances around at the four of them, "Richter had a spellbook. Are any of you wizard types? I'm a witch, can't use it."

Rendylyn smirks at Trik. "You're an eager one, aren't you? No shame in that--the God-Fiend would have us satisfy our dark desires. Mine own are strictly crematory, but you do you, Trik, you do you."

She turns back to Elise. "You're not strictly scouts, but it seems you'll be traveling to places we won't. Might I ask for your help?" She produces a glossy black coin-sized stone from her pouch, spins it on the table, then slaps it flat between them. "This disc is black onyx, mined from my ancestral estates. The mines have been closed a long time now, but there must be substantial amounts of the stone scattered around Talingarde. I have need of it. If you come across any in your journeys, procure it as a favor to me--I will, of course, pay you for it."

Alert to the shift in atmosphere, Rendylyn gives a soft and satisfied hiss of her own as the candelabras drip. "This is a fine old mansion, is it not? Posh, have you mapped its rooms and halls to your satisfaction? Where would you say that breeze is coming from?"

Oh wow lots of posts.

Rayse considered his cohort's answers to before Elise's question before leaning back and throwing his drawled opinion into the fray, "The problem with fires is once they've taken hold, they can be remarkably hard to put out and what's the point of ruling over ashes? Still I aim to turn this country upside down and rebuild it in our Dark Lord's image and as they say, when you make an omelette you're going to crack a few eggs..."

"This is a fine old mansion, is it not? Posh, have you mapped its rooms and halls to your satisfaction? Where would you say that breeze is coming from?"

Rayse leaned forwards and said, "Now that is an interesting question."

...when you make an omelette you're going to crack a few eggs..."

"..and then you put them on the fire!" Rendylyn shrieks with laughter at her own witticism. "Fire is our Dark Prince's most fitting tool, Rayse, a power that demands the most careful discipline to keep under our control. But sometimes, the best use of it is to simply let it loose. Better to rule over ashes than be a slave anywhere."

Seen through a cloud of ash and cinders, a gaunt giantess stooping, her elongated fingers wriggling, eyes like banked coals. The vision or memory is gone in a flash, leaving only Rendylyn's furrowed brow.

Posh chuckled quietly into his wineglass, then gave a theatrical little bow from his seat toward Rendylyn.

He adjusted his broad-brimmed hat and considered the walls.
“No, I have not mapped the manor in detail—yet. But if such a survey would be useful, I am happy to make a project of it. I have a particular fondness for domestic cartography. Reading a home is not so different from reading a man. Both reveal their secrets with enough ink.”

He waved vaguely toward the draft stirring the candles.
“As for the breeze… some breath of Thorn’s design, I imagine. All movement here seems deliberate. Even the air.”

He turned back to his wine, swirling it lazily.
Fire, shadow, steel, and faith. All good tools. But no one ever speaks of maps and pens and lies written in black ink. Good. Let them keep watching each other’s knives while I redraw the borders.

Vormog listens to the conversation as he examines Dostan. The big man looks a bit too snappy in contrast to the rest of the table.

Use detect law and detect chaos spell-like ability.

He decides not to take the bait and just says "Bleeding is necessary for changing Talingrade in Asmodeus' name. It's just a matter of time for that. Some need time to trust through actions, others words, you need to see me bleed. It's all the same."

The draft stirs the tapers again, and a faint creak echoes through the beams above. The roast steam mingles with the smell of old stone and distant incense.

Elise replies first to Rayse, her voice easy but with intent behind her eyes. "Turning a kingdom upside down is no small boast, Rayse. But it sounds like you've thought about it. I wonder — do you already know what part you'd keep? Or do you mean to tear it all down first and sort the pieces later?" She tilts her head slightly, amused. "We had those thoughts once, early on. Then we learned what lasts."

Trik laughs gently at Rayse, then turns to Rendylyn's "breeze" joke with a mock-wounded expression. "And here I thought my own chill came from years in my brother's shadow. But no, it's just little Rendylyn... rustling the drapes with adolescent wit. Good girl." He grins across the table. "You're quick, child. I'll grant you that. I've always had a fondness for prodigies. Like baby scorpions — tiny, venomous, and mostly dangerous to themselves."

Trak is still focused on Treesa, but his gaze occasionally flicks toward others as well. "Spellbooks, hmm? I've got no use for them myself. I prefer weapons you can't drop when you panic." He pauses, then adds thoughtfully, "But if you've got a collection going, maybe there's value in trade. What do you want for it?"

Elise waits for Trik to have his fun, then responds to Rendylyn measured but warm, like a teacher with a bright but unruly pupil. "Onyx from your family's mines? A noble token, I'm sure. And clever to plant a thread now for us to follow later." She brushes her fingertips across the black stone idly. "Still, since you ask so sweetly — we'll look out for it. I'll make a note."

Trik, cutting in cheerfully, adds: "I'll add it to the list, just after 'Don't leave Rendylyn unsupervised in haunted castles.'"

Elise lifts her glass in an elegant fashion. "Let's be clear: we are not here to condescend. You've all done real work — violent, ugly, and necessary. Thorn doesn't waste his time, and neither do we." She holds her gaze on them a moment longer. "But power needs discipline. And charm, when you can manage it." She glances to Posh. "That much, your cartographer seems to understand."

Always pleased to be underestimated, Rendylyn smiles toothily at Trik. "If only I knew the trick of being dangerous to others!"

"Elise, should you come across black onyx from another source, I'd be just as interested as if it were from the Stoker mines. Thank you. Let me know if I may be of use to you."

Rendylyn rises from the table and takes a candle from a candelabra. She moves slowly around the periphery of the room, indifferent to the spatters of hot red wax on her pale hand as she searches for the source of the draft using the flame's flicker.

Treesa considers Trak's words. "Better to just not panic." She frowns. "What I want is more power. As an arcane caster that means more arcane power. It's only one spellbook, not a collection. I asked if anyone was a wizard because I want more spells. A wizard could scribe spell scrolls which I could use to learn new spells. I can wait until we find a wizard."

Always pleased to be underestimated, Rendylyn smiles toothily at Trik. "If only I knew the trick of being dangerous to others!"

"How original," Trik groans.

At Treesa's explanation, Trak merely shrugs and returns to his wine.

Elise appears to feign interest in Rendylyn's repeated request, as if humoring a slow witted but well-meaning child. "Yes dear, I said I would make a note."

Her raven squawks once, shattering what would have been an uncomfortable pause in the conversation.

["How original," Trik groans.

"Oh, is that an old joke? I'll have to keep better track." Rendylyn snorts. "Did you not anticipate the japes when you chose those names?"

Rendylyn pauses as the candle's flame starts to gutter. An eddy of air, or a clue?

Perception to find a hidden door or other source of the draft: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

Vormog starts to feel annoyed at the pointless discussion. He finishes eating and starts nibbling on a fig and sipping a hot tea.

He waits until all are finished eating and says "Good night all. Tomorrow our journey starts." and retreats to rest.

When the brothers had started baiting him, Dargon smiled, with eyes as cold as the wind blowing across the moors, He just nodded thinking You will come to pay for those jests He stayed quiet through the rest of the dinner. and just waited for the time to go rest.

With the two parties expressly annoyed with one another, the evening ends without further intrigue.

Treesa stays at the table, waiting and watching. She had thought that the groups might be able to get along better. This had been a special dinner arranged by Tiadora, really good food and wine.... But, people will be people. Hopefully later, when the revolution was going stronger? After all, to actually wage the war allies would be needed.

Once the dinner closes and everyone seemed to be leaving she gathered up some good meat for Rufus. No need to waste the good food when her familiar would enjoy it!

Rayse simply leaned back and smirked at Elise's question replying, "You'll just have to wait and see what I have planned..." and he pointedly ignored Trik, tucking into the food. He recognized a polite hazing when he saw one and was not interested in getting drawn in.

Noticing that Tressa was staying after Vormog left suddenly, Rayse decided to try and change the mood. He spoke to Tressa saying, "Tiadora has outdone herself with his meal, even the wine is among the best vintages.". Taking everyone in at the table with a glance, he said, "I propose a toast. To Tiadora and of course to Lord Asmodeus, may we bring glory to his name!"

Treesa smiles to Rayse's toast and lifts her glass. At least she could count on him to brighten the evening. "Yes, To Tiadora and Lord Asmodeus. Glory to his name!" She finishes the glass and slowly puts it down.