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<blockquote data-quote="skullsmurfer" data-source="post: 2436146" data-attributes="member: 17151"><p><strong>A Bard's Touch, Chapter 22</strong></p><p></p><p>Theodyl stared at the ceiling for all of three minutes. He doesn't know how long he's been asleep, but he is damned grateful. The lich seems to have accepted his apology. His ego still smarts, he would have loved to take credit for the job in the sewers. The lich isn't getting a free ride out his sacrifice, though. While Mooneye deals with all the extra attention, he will be taking his leave of Sharn. The half-elf tugged on his restraints to see just how well his friends wanted him to sleep. It didn't take long to escape.</p><p></p><p> The panel behind his bed hasn't been tampered with. The lead lined crawlspace behind it leads to a long buried suite of rooms. In times past, someone put a lot of effort into a very private hiding place. Theodyl found it while exploring. He discovered an access tunnel while climbing the shaft for the inn's dumbwaiter. The Long Night's Rest has been in business since the days of Galifar. He chose the place for it's legitimate reputation and the fact that it is built like a fort. His earlier research into Sharn's service tunnels and sewers led him to an old subbasement just below the location. Theodyl was looking for a way down from the inn when he discovered the hidden rooms. </p><p></p><p> The strong scent of wood and varnish filled his nostrils. Theodyl reset the counter-balanced blocks to seal the crawl space. A lead lined panel sealed the exit, it is cunningly crafted to halt even the flow of air. The hidden suite is ventilated through small rune carved openings that move fresh air through the rooms. Antique sun crystals provide lighting. All of the doors are constructed of iron and wood, their frames are very sturdy and they close so tightly he can't even fit a parchment through the gaps. He's replaced all of the locks with modern equivalents. It never occurred to him that he would have to leave Sharn. </p><p></p><p> The rooms were fully furnished at one point, though only a few of the larger more durable pieces have survived. The half-elf looted everything else of value years ago. He chose the largest of the chambers to serve as a sort of work room, laboratory and library. His collection of magic wands is carefully tucked away behind one of the book cases. Theodyl can't figure out how he is going to take all of his treasures with him. Telling Paragon about his private sanctuary is probably the only way, but he won't do it until the last minute. </p><p></p><p> He dug out his spellbooks, they are spares, he doesn't trust the ones Mooneye touched. Anything else of real importance is in his head. The lich hasn't touched that, not yet and not ever. Theodyl chose a selection of spells to match the activities he's planned for the day. When he was done he donned a fancy set of clothes and tucked a number of useful items about his person. He left his bow-harp behind in favor of a golden flute and an ornately carved lute. </p><p></p><p> “Olladra smile my way,” he prayed as he made his way up to the surface.</p><p> </p><p></p><p> Paragon 153 to 4 harrumphed at the dwarven smith. The war-forged lay three heavy platinum trade bars in front of the smith along with a mix of jewels and coins. The dwarf wasted no time in counting. Paragon drew his new weapon from it's sheath and moved towards the practice dummies. The weapon is a short hafted glaive better known as a horse cleaver. Paragon broke into a series of spins, parries and thrusts to judge the weight and balance of the weapon. As he worked he complimented the smith on his work. The dwarf looked up from his money just long enough to watch the war-forged slice through an armored dummy and then through the wood and stone that held it in place. Paragon examined weapon's edge with a critical eye.</p><p></p><p> “A fine weapon, Ser Dwarf,” the war-forged said, “I will tell my friends about your forge.”</p><p></p><p> “Just tell them to bring lots of money. I don't come cheap.” The dwarf growled, without even looking up.</p><p></p><p> As Paragon strode onto the street he noticed several familiar faces. Someone is following him. If he could, he would frown. This is one of the lower levels, the watch doesn't come without a good reason. For the most part, local gangsters run the show. He can tell they are neither one or the other. Paragon took a round about route through the market, browsing through shops and trying to mark as many of his watchers as possible. He will not be returning to Theodyl. The war-forged drew a fancy tin whistle from his belt. He pictured Theodyl's face in his mind and crushed the instrument with his hand. </p><p></p><p> <Trouble, Followed, Enemy Unknown, Meet Arena, Stay Alive Idiot></p><p></p><p> The High Market is just like every other market in Sharn. People browse, people haggle and people steal. The difference of course, is in prices and appearances. Many shops make use of glass store fronts. Others provide a sort of illusory display case to reduce the risk of theft. The very best open their doors only by appointment. Theodyl was being fitted for a fine silk vest when Paragon's message slammed into his mind. For the magically impaired, the war-forged has a will like a sledgehammer. Theodyl made his purchase and hurried to find a private corner.</p><p></p><p> <Idiot, Received, Arena, Dol Dorn Bless Thy Blade, Olladra Smile Upon Thee></p><p></p><p> Paragon isn't one for platitudes. If he doesn't get to the arena, it will be because he is dead. Theodyl is betting on the war-forged, of course, but his kind die just like everyone else. He still has to contact the dragons. The House of Shadow can help with the Cyre Manuscript, but his contact won't be available until dark. The half-elf sighed and pursed his lips. Loffandiir's Hoard is just down the street. The shop has been around for so very long, that even the ancient Kings of Galifar can be counted as customers. The sign features a tiny drake wrapped around a scepter. To those who know, the stylized draconic rune for sanctuary is clearly evident in the negative spaces around the cunning graphic.</p><p></p><p> “Do you have an appointment?” A voice rang through the shop as the bard crossed the threshold.</p><p></p><p> “I would not presume such a thing Wise Master.” Theodyl said, bowing slightly towards a closed curtain behind the counter.</p><p></p><p> “What do fools know of Wisdom?”</p><p></p><p> “Nothing, Wise Master, that is why I seek thy counsel.”</p><p> </p><p> The man behind the curtain started to laugh. Dragons love to play with words, their language is full of subtlety and hidden meanings. Theodyl managed to turn an insult into a jest and a compliment. Loffiir, Son of Loffandiir is not one to laugh so often. The Council of Scales has yet acknowledge his birth. His sire mated while in exile, a clear violation of some law or another. He has no status among his people living in their far off continent, so he bides his time among the savages. Loffiir is the “man” to see about dragons, and he is one hell of a fence.</p><p></p><p> “What dost thou seeketh, elf-blood?” Loffiir asked in High Draconic. He made eye contact, keeping his chin just so high. A dominant posture.</p><p></p><p> “Elders Nadothon and Blackscale, Kind Master.” Theodyl lowered his gaze and took a step backwards. He displayed his empty palms, but did not kneel. He is a free man, not a dragon's servant.</p><p></p><p> “Bagh!” Loffiir scowled in distaste, “Thou art a fool, youngling. Dost thou seek thy own death?”</p><p></p><p> “Kind Master,” Theodyl pressed, “I beareth a prize, for them.”</p><p></p><p> “And what of me, youngling? Dost thou bear a prize for mine trouble?” The dragon showed his pride. Theodyl's submissive posture served to encourage the dragon's demand. The bard smiled inwardly, it is just as he had hoped.</p><p></p><p> “Most Forgiving Master, I offer thee the opportunity to examine the Elders' prize.” Theodyl replied as he drew a heavy sheath of papers from his vest. “Thus, dost the early bird catch the worm.”</p><p></p><p> Loffiir did not hesitate to snatch the prize away from Theodyl's hands. The dragon flipped through the pages hungrily. No doubt, every word is being committed to immortal memory. It was a calculated risk, but as an ambitious young adult, Loffiir wouldn't hesitate to grasp every advantage available. An opportunity to get one over on his betters is worth the danger. The Elders are overbearing, even for dragons. Theodyl retained his posture until the dragon invited him to have some tea. He is no longer a petitioner, but a business partner.</p><p></p><p> “Thou art lucky,” Loffiir spoke, “Stargazer rarely shared his wisdom with any creature. Thou bearest his mark. I will contact thee in but a few hours.”</p><p></p><p> Theodyl exited the shop and continued on his errands. The lich's token is weighing heavily on his belt. The bard pretended to browse through the streets until he found the right alleyway. A particular group of scratches at the edge of a building, barely inches from the ground led him to a small door. He tapped the code upon the wood and soon he was in the tunnels below. He is starting to think he will miss Sharn. The City has layers upon layers of very interesting places to see and things to do. Theodyl sighed at the thought of leaving. He drew the lich's token and rang it against a sewer wall. It only took a few moments before a shadow rose from the floor.</p><p></p><p> “I bear a package for your master, shadow.” Theodyl said.</p><p></p><p> “I hate you.” The shadow hissed as it took the dragon file from the bard's grasp. “You should start watching your back.”</p><p></p><p> “In that case, may I know your name?”He asked.</p><p></p><p> “Krogger,” the shadow replied.</p><p></p><p> “Well Krogger, does your master know you deal with dolgrim?” Theodyl struck back. “He is no fool, maybe you have things to worry about other than me.”</p><p></p><p> The shadow did not deign to answer. Theodyl watched it sink into the floor and then made his way back to his lodgings. He will need to send a message to his friends, he doesn't want to go to the arena by himself. Besides, when Paragon is involved there is always some damage. Theodyl decided to plan for the worse and hope for the best. He will need to return to his apartments for better weapons. Paragon crossed the Mournlands by himself, whomever is following him is in for more than a few surprises.</p><p></p><p>Somewhere else in Sharn......... </p><p></p><p> “Nobody holds me!!!” Paragon 157 to 4 screamed from within his iron bound cage. “You don't know who you are messing with!”</p><p></p><p> Paragon kicked the door repeatedly for an hour straight. He isn't angry anymore, he has discovered an entirely new emotion. The war-forged doesn't know what to call it, but it feels like a storm raging inside his chest. The clockwork soldiers that escorted him into his prison are little more than scrap now. There was a war-forged with an iron bar, and a human with a spiked chain before that. They died. Afterwards, he remembers getting chased through the tunnels until the wizard caught up with him. His memories aren't very clear, but whatever happened hurt a lot. His new armor plate is dented. The golden dragonne on his chest is marred by some sort of scorch mark. Paragon woke up just as the door shut and the clockwork soldiers were attempting to chain him to a wall. He thoroughly dismantled them both. It was a good fight.</p><p></p><p> “Wizard! Do you hear me!?” Paragon screamed at the ceiling. “I will feed you these chains before I turn you inside out! Mark my words, I am a Longstrider!! You will regret putting me here!!” Paragon shook the rage from his head and began to search his cage. Theodyl will find him, there is no doubt. The catch is whether or not he will still be locked up when it happens. Paragon has his pride to consider.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="skullsmurfer, post: 2436146, member: 17151"] [b]A Bard's Touch, Chapter 22[/b] Theodyl stared at the ceiling for all of three minutes. He doesn't know how long he's been asleep, but he is damned grateful. The lich seems to have accepted his apology. His ego still smarts, he would have loved to take credit for the job in the sewers. The lich isn't getting a free ride out his sacrifice, though. While Mooneye deals with all the extra attention, he will be taking his leave of Sharn. The half-elf tugged on his restraints to see just how well his friends wanted him to sleep. It didn't take long to escape. The panel behind his bed hasn't been tampered with. The lead lined crawlspace behind it leads to a long buried suite of rooms. In times past, someone put a lot of effort into a very private hiding place. Theodyl found it while exploring. He discovered an access tunnel while climbing the shaft for the inn's dumbwaiter. The Long Night's Rest has been in business since the days of Galifar. He chose the place for it's legitimate reputation and the fact that it is built like a fort. His earlier research into Sharn's service tunnels and sewers led him to an old subbasement just below the location. Theodyl was looking for a way down from the inn when he discovered the hidden rooms. The strong scent of wood and varnish filled his nostrils. Theodyl reset the counter-balanced blocks to seal the crawl space. A lead lined panel sealed the exit, it is cunningly crafted to halt even the flow of air. The hidden suite is ventilated through small rune carved openings that move fresh air through the rooms. Antique sun crystals provide lighting. All of the doors are constructed of iron and wood, their frames are very sturdy and they close so tightly he can't even fit a parchment through the gaps. He's replaced all of the locks with modern equivalents. It never occurred to him that he would have to leave Sharn. The rooms were fully furnished at one point, though only a few of the larger more durable pieces have survived. The half-elf looted everything else of value years ago. He chose the largest of the chambers to serve as a sort of work room, laboratory and library. His collection of magic wands is carefully tucked away behind one of the book cases. Theodyl can't figure out how he is going to take all of his treasures with him. Telling Paragon about his private sanctuary is probably the only way, but he won't do it until the last minute. He dug out his spellbooks, they are spares, he doesn't trust the ones Mooneye touched. Anything else of real importance is in his head. The lich hasn't touched that, not yet and not ever. Theodyl chose a selection of spells to match the activities he's planned for the day. When he was done he donned a fancy set of clothes and tucked a number of useful items about his person. He left his bow-harp behind in favor of a golden flute and an ornately carved lute. “Olladra smile my way,” he prayed as he made his way up to the surface. Paragon 153 to 4 harrumphed at the dwarven smith. The war-forged lay three heavy platinum trade bars in front of the smith along with a mix of jewels and coins. The dwarf wasted no time in counting. Paragon drew his new weapon from it's sheath and moved towards the practice dummies. The weapon is a short hafted glaive better known as a horse cleaver. Paragon broke into a series of spins, parries and thrusts to judge the weight and balance of the weapon. As he worked he complimented the smith on his work. The dwarf looked up from his money just long enough to watch the war-forged slice through an armored dummy and then through the wood and stone that held it in place. Paragon examined weapon's edge with a critical eye. “A fine weapon, Ser Dwarf,” the war-forged said, “I will tell my friends about your forge.” “Just tell them to bring lots of money. I don't come cheap.” The dwarf growled, without even looking up. As Paragon strode onto the street he noticed several familiar faces. Someone is following him. If he could, he would frown. This is one of the lower levels, the watch doesn't come without a good reason. For the most part, local gangsters run the show. He can tell they are neither one or the other. Paragon took a round about route through the market, browsing through shops and trying to mark as many of his watchers as possible. He will not be returning to Theodyl. The war-forged drew a fancy tin whistle from his belt. He pictured Theodyl's face in his mind and crushed the instrument with his hand. <Trouble, Followed, Enemy Unknown, Meet Arena, Stay Alive Idiot> The High Market is just like every other market in Sharn. People browse, people haggle and people steal. The difference of course, is in prices and appearances. Many shops make use of glass store fronts. Others provide a sort of illusory display case to reduce the risk of theft. The very best open their doors only by appointment. Theodyl was being fitted for a fine silk vest when Paragon's message slammed into his mind. For the magically impaired, the war-forged has a will like a sledgehammer. Theodyl made his purchase and hurried to find a private corner. <Idiot, Received, Arena, Dol Dorn Bless Thy Blade, Olladra Smile Upon Thee> Paragon isn't one for platitudes. If he doesn't get to the arena, it will be because he is dead. Theodyl is betting on the war-forged, of course, but his kind die just like everyone else. He still has to contact the dragons. The House of Shadow can help with the Cyre Manuscript, but his contact won't be available until dark. The half-elf sighed and pursed his lips. Loffandiir's Hoard is just down the street. The shop has been around for so very long, that even the ancient Kings of Galifar can be counted as customers. The sign features a tiny drake wrapped around a scepter. To those who know, the stylized draconic rune for sanctuary is clearly evident in the negative spaces around the cunning graphic. “Do you have an appointment?” A voice rang through the shop as the bard crossed the threshold. “I would not presume such a thing Wise Master.” Theodyl said, bowing slightly towards a closed curtain behind the counter. “What do fools know of Wisdom?” “Nothing, Wise Master, that is why I seek thy counsel.” The man behind the curtain started to laugh. Dragons love to play with words, their language is full of subtlety and hidden meanings. Theodyl managed to turn an insult into a jest and a compliment. Loffiir, Son of Loffandiir is not one to laugh so often. The Council of Scales has yet acknowledge his birth. His sire mated while in exile, a clear violation of some law or another. He has no status among his people living in their far off continent, so he bides his time among the savages. Loffiir is the “man” to see about dragons, and he is one hell of a fence. “What dost thou seeketh, elf-blood?” Loffiir asked in High Draconic. He made eye contact, keeping his chin just so high. A dominant posture. “Elders Nadothon and Blackscale, Kind Master.” Theodyl lowered his gaze and took a step backwards. He displayed his empty palms, but did not kneel. He is a free man, not a dragon's servant. “Bagh!” Loffiir scowled in distaste, “Thou art a fool, youngling. Dost thou seek thy own death?” “Kind Master,” Theodyl pressed, “I beareth a prize, for them.” “And what of me, youngling? Dost thou bear a prize for mine trouble?” The dragon showed his pride. Theodyl's submissive posture served to encourage the dragon's demand. The bard smiled inwardly, it is just as he had hoped. “Most Forgiving Master, I offer thee the opportunity to examine the Elders' prize.” Theodyl replied as he drew a heavy sheath of papers from his vest. “Thus, dost the early bird catch the worm.” Loffiir did not hesitate to snatch the prize away from Theodyl's hands. The dragon flipped through the pages hungrily. No doubt, every word is being committed to immortal memory. It was a calculated risk, but as an ambitious young adult, Loffiir wouldn't hesitate to grasp every advantage available. An opportunity to get one over on his betters is worth the danger. The Elders are overbearing, even for dragons. Theodyl retained his posture until the dragon invited him to have some tea. He is no longer a petitioner, but a business partner. “Thou art lucky,” Loffiir spoke, “Stargazer rarely shared his wisdom with any creature. Thou bearest his mark. I will contact thee in but a few hours.” Theodyl exited the shop and continued on his errands. The lich's token is weighing heavily on his belt. The bard pretended to browse through the streets until he found the right alleyway. A particular group of scratches at the edge of a building, barely inches from the ground led him to a small door. He tapped the code upon the wood and soon he was in the tunnels below. He is starting to think he will miss Sharn. The City has layers upon layers of very interesting places to see and things to do. Theodyl sighed at the thought of leaving. He drew the lich's token and rang it against a sewer wall. It only took a few moments before a shadow rose from the floor. “I bear a package for your master, shadow.” Theodyl said. “I hate you.” The shadow hissed as it took the dragon file from the bard's grasp. “You should start watching your back.” “In that case, may I know your name?”He asked. “Krogger,” the shadow replied. “Well Krogger, does your master know you deal with dolgrim?” Theodyl struck back. “He is no fool, maybe you have things to worry about other than me.” The shadow did not deign to answer. Theodyl watched it sink into the floor and then made his way back to his lodgings. He will need to send a message to his friends, he doesn't want to go to the arena by himself. Besides, when Paragon is involved there is always some damage. Theodyl decided to plan for the worse and hope for the best. He will need to return to his apartments for better weapons. Paragon crossed the Mournlands by himself, whomever is following him is in for more than a few surprises. Somewhere else in Sharn......... “Nobody holds me!!!” Paragon 157 to 4 screamed from within his iron bound cage. “You don't know who you are messing with!” Paragon kicked the door repeatedly for an hour straight. He isn't angry anymore, he has discovered an entirely new emotion. The war-forged doesn't know what to call it, but it feels like a storm raging inside his chest. The clockwork soldiers that escorted him into his prison are little more than scrap now. There was a war-forged with an iron bar, and a human with a spiked chain before that. They died. Afterwards, he remembers getting chased through the tunnels until the wizard caught up with him. His memories aren't very clear, but whatever happened hurt a lot. His new armor plate is dented. The golden dragonne on his chest is marred by some sort of scorch mark. Paragon woke up just as the door shut and the clockwork soldiers were attempting to chain him to a wall. He thoroughly dismantled them both. It was a good fight. “Wizard! Do you hear me!?” Paragon screamed at the ceiling. “I will feed you these chains before I turn you inside out! Mark my words, I am a Longstrider!! You will regret putting me here!!” Paragon shook the rage from his head and began to search his cage. Theodyl will find him, there is no doubt. The catch is whether or not he will still be locked up when it happens. Paragon has his pride to consider. [/QUOTE]
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