Tondrek and Hxaptos: [sblock]So it's back down to the depths for you two, plunging down again fearlessly. Or rather, Tondrek is oblivious to the fear and Hxaptos fears letting any more bodyguards close and so ignores his fear. Descending to the depths you find the place as squalid as before, dripping with nameless substances and thick with the wretched poor. Going deeper into the wreck of the Glass Tower, a few muckcrawlers have taken up residence in the trash heap... creeping in and own of the refuse of society. You spot at least a couple humanoid limbs in there, along with some other things perhaps best left unexplored.
Tondrek finds [sblock]his construct body is still where he left it, unharmed and unmarred. Sparky, whom you realize you haven't seen in a while, is sleeping on its chest and rises up when you come back. "
You certainly took long enough!"[/sblock][/sblock] As for Hxaptos, [sblock]he finds his "temple" to be unaltered, aside from some more additions to the crude altar next to the door. As he goes in to check over his prize, a hint of movement catches his eye, and he whips his vision downward to see a raver creeping on his belly in the darkness, slowly slithering away from him. Long-fingered hands, the flesh slimy and the silver bones showing through the transparent skin, scrabble on the ground, making faint gestures you recognize from the ceremonies of the Dragon Below. Slowly the raver slides back into the darkness, faint cackling laughter echoing his departure...[/sblock] Later Tondrek: [sblock]You suddenly remember you need to check your messages at the Red Hammer. It must have been talking to Querzana that triggered your memory. There's a slender note waiting for you, written in Forge's hand.
Tondrek, we've finally managed to secure our letter of marque and our passage aboard a ship to take us to Xen'drik. However, it was a bit sooner than we anticipated, but we're not going to get rates this good for the next several months. I hope this doesn't reach you too late! Be at Sharn's Welcome in the dawn of the fourth Far of Barrakas. Our ship will be awaiting us there.
OOC: stonegod, if you would, hold off on having Tondrek tell the rest of the group. There will be a dramatically appropriate moment for him to remember this, and I think you'll recognize it when you see it.
[/sblock]~~~~~
House Thuranni’s 51st annual Blade Gallery Gala
4th Zor of Barrakas. Swansdown Festhall and Green; Skysedge Park; Upper Central; The second hour before sunset.
You can take the skycoach to the rareified are of Upper Central, after stuffing yourselves in the finest clothes you can muster. Attempting to act casual, even if you aren't, Mel and Harolk present their invitations to the two elegant elf men at the gates to the Festall grounds. Between the two invitations and the vague addition of "friends," the whole group is soon admited into the bright confines beyond.
The green gardens of the Swansdown Festhall are decorated with
glowing globes cradled in branch-like holders; with small seats of giant toadstools offering places to sit. Luna moths dance amongst the branches of the trees, and a few of the girls, dressed whimsically in costume fairy wings, perch on the toadstools picturesquely. Fine music plays in many corners of the garden, and as you move through you can hear music from harps, lutes, gitterns, flutes, and pipes.
An
elegant fountain in the middle of the garden, lit by glowing flames of many colors, has an illusionary figure dancing above the surface. Sometimes it's a snake, sometimes a bird, and othertimes just a streamer of rainbow light. Servants pass by it, offering trays of light wine and other drinks, tempting canapes and hors d'oeuvres of light meats, cheeses, breads, fruits, and vegetables arranged in fanciful shapes.
A few dozen people circulate in the garden, stopping at hidden arbors and small groves, speaking to people about this or that and drifting away again. Much of the crowd is elves, with humans forming the next biggest group. A few gnomes and halflings round out the group, but Tondrek stands out like a pig in a parlor. Most people look at him curiously, but not for very long. Only a few, and all of them elves, bear the Mark of Shadow. Most are from House Thuranni, but Mel soon spots her own quarry; Layferi d'Phiarlan, elegantly garbed in silver and midnight blue, standing near an arbor of white roses.
Despite the worries of some, the schedule of the party is not as rigid as it seemed on paper. As if naturally, the servants clear out from the area around the fountain, and Thuranni blade dancers glide in to entertain the guests. Some wear flowing robes with streamers of differing colors while others wear tight garb in silk or leather. Several use the scimitar or falchion; for its flowing lines complement dance very well. A couple use the more conventional rapier or longsword, and one uses a wide variety of exotic weapons, including the double sword, the bastard sword, dual weilding short swords, and even the Talenta Tagnet, usually only used by halflings.
Even as the last dances are going, various masters flow into the gardens to begin their discourses on the varieties of dance, speaking of the various techniques in flowery names; River Dragon's Fury, Hand of the Cat, Strike of One Thousand, Press of the Ten Hearts, and Wicked Sacrifice. The masters are joined by their students to demonstrate this or that move or technique as the masters expound upon how their art is the finest in all of Khorvaire... naturally. The River Dragon's Fury seems to emphasize flowing movements building up to an unstoppable climax, usually with a scimitar or falchion, while the Hand of the Cat is soft and subtle movements done with the smallest blade possible, usually a dagger. Strike of One Thousand is a rapid-striking style done with either two weapons or a double weapon, while the Press of Ten Hearts emphasizes close-quarters combat with small, easily-concealed weapons. Wicked Sacrifice is a highly deceptive style that at first seems to be artistic but not particularly effective. It's meant to lull an opponent with its beauty and apparent lack of force, then drive in for the kill when the prey realizes it's about to die.
Lorien d'Thuranni, the elf that had been using all the odd weapons, splits his time between the masters of the Press of Ten Hearts, Strike of One Thousand, and Wicked Sacrifice. It's obvious he's a star pupil of all three, which is highly unusual. Like the blade-dancers, there's not a guest here that doesn't have
some kind of weapon, even if it's just a nice dagger. Lorien bears a red-bladed longsword encrusted with rubies across his back, and that's not the fanciest of the weapons on display here. And of course what promises to be inside the Festhall itself could be even better!
