Dark Days in Sion - Act 3: Scene 1

[narayan]

Aust Thale

Aust Thale:

• (Listen Check: = 8)
• (Spot Check: = 19)

As you move away with your wheel-barrow you approach four men walking slowly through the downpour, single-file, towards the shop. The men are cloaked, heads low, carrying kegs under one arm and cold-torches in their hands. Your first guess is they must be making a late-night delivery from the Brewers Guild to the Fools Gold Tavern (As sometimes happens if it's a particularly rowdy evening), but given that you were in that tavern very recently and saw no need for such a delivery, your suspicion is piqued.

The fact the men do not spare you a glance as you start to move past them on the other side of the street is strange, but the fact they are so quiet is what concerns you the most. Anyone out at this hour, in this sort of weather, should either be complaining and muttering or too drunk to care. (You've observed volunteers from the Brewers Guild who do these sorts of errands on more than one occasion. They're rarely the sober and sour sort of fellows these four appear to be.) Also, why not light the torches if they bother carrying them in the first place?

The light of an overhanging lantern beside a doorstep reveals the kegs lack the usual brand burned into the lids by the Brewers Guild. Ubayullah Zaide, the owner of said tavern, has a longstanding contract with the Guild so the odds he'd be taking orders from another source is slim. Given these facts, a smuggler like yourself should expect to have a bad feeling in these circumstances, and that is exactly what you get... so you look more closely for further clues. There are also hints these men carry melee weapons concealed beneath their cloaks.

[Aust: What do you do?]

[Note: The lack of a Brewers Guild on the Map of Cabarda is an oversight on my part. I will edit the map to include one]

 

[narayan]

Avar, Billanverthorne, Burrai, Elloral, Ersun, Jabbar, Ren

As the Rhat appears, there is a glimpse of something else stepping out of the shadows behind it (Refer to Ersun's description). A strange humanoid, unlike any you have ever laid eyes on before...

[Burrai, Billanverthorne: Make a Knowledge (Dungeoneering) check to determine if you have any prior knowledge about the Underfolk before you post your reactions to Ersun's appearance. This is not a pass or fail check, the degree of knowledge depends on how good your roll is.]

Meanwhile, Avar, Elloral and Jabbar all react with stares...

Elloral: Clutches her holy symbol. -mutters- "Blessed heart of Valkauna!" as she gasps.

Ren: Glances between Ersun and Jabbar, clearly unsure of how to explain Ersun's presence... or even if he should try?

Jabbar: Glances between Ren and the Underfolk, clearly aware they must have come together. "Who... and what... is that?" He asks Ren in a less friendly way with his hand on his sword and his eyes on the Underfolk.

[Ersun: What do you do?]

Burrai:
(Spot check: =19)

[Burrai: The sudden emergence of Ren and his Underfolk companion raises your awareness of the shadows around you. (Your Darkvision helps too of course) and you notice something odd. About 20 ft away, near the corner of the wall and the tower behind you, the rain appears to be hitting something that isn't there... an outline of an invisible figure! What do you do?]

 

[Fangor the Fierce]

Svexyn

Thoughts still racing, Svexyn glances about, looking at the turmoil and flames. Peering towards where he saw the armored knight and the treacherous Drassus, he spies figures nearby.

~ I am too close to stop now... Folg... Mogan... Asusk... All gone...~

Looking down, his palm opens up to reveal the coin.

~ Qiang sent me here for a reason... he trusted me... it's time to fight back... Time to get some allies...~

He looks about at the flames and ashes, searching for anything that can still be used. He searches for his chain, hopefully strong enough to withstand these fires, along with his other gear. He doesn't speak, as anger builds up within him.

[sblock=Notes]No idea what current HP is at, or what gear is left to gather.[/sblock]

 

[narayan]

[sblock=Notes]No idea what current HP is at, or what gear is left to gather.[/sblock]

[sblock=Your Salvageable Equipment]
- MW Cold Iron Spiked Chain
- ColdIron / Silver / Steel Daggers
- Chain Shirt
- Fishhook, Magnet, Steel Mirror (Tarnished)
- Flint&Steel
- Whetstone
- All your coin/Gems and your henchmens coins/gems

Your garments are damaged, all your henchments weapons/armor are in need of repair to be useable again. All your foodstuffs and burnable goods are gone.
[/sblock]

[sblock=Asusk's Salvageable Equipment]
- Daggers (2)[/sblock]

[sblock=Folg's Salvageable Equipment]
- Caltrops[/sblock]

[sblock=Mogan's Salvageable Equipment]
- Flint/Steel
- Manacles
- Whetstone[/sblock]

 

[thisthingcantbedeleted]

Ersun

Ersun scratches his head a little. No one told him that he shouldn't reveal himself, and maybe he was being naive but he did not expect such aggressive reaction to a strange face. He thinks one reason could be the duergar and drow giving greyskins bad reputation, but he hopes they don't stick the prejudice onto him and his kind as well.

For a moment he wonders if he should interject something, or leave it to Ren, but seeing the rhat's confused look he decides to give a little input. He looks at Jabar and Elloral, and then at their hands.
"That is most rude." he says drily. "I am merely an escort. The pleasantries can wait, but you may call me Ersun if you wish." he says, after which he visibly has no further wish to partake in their exchange.

 

[Tellerian Hawke]

Bill The Bystander

[color="0000"] Bill does nothing, except watch the two newcomers carefully for signs of treachery. He wears a calm, blank expression, feeling confident with the proximity of both Burrai and Avar. [/color]

~Who's next? The Vul King?~

 

[Hillsy7]

"Who... and what... is that?"

[SBLOCK="Burrai Description"]Time. Its sculpted Burrai Steelborn’s weathered features, getting trapped in creases of age and the scars of living. The marks are clear, if you know what to look for.

Burrai is tall for a dwarf, but short for a human. Traditional dwarven shoulders and thick arms tell of time working the forge, the familiar white speckled burns on his biceps of are just garnish on the facts. There are longer, deeper scars there too – a blacksmith’s hammer isn’t all he’s swung. His hands are a mass of callouses from both. Several fingers have clearly been broken, but the strength in them is palpable.

Look a little further, and details speak a little deeper. Burrai hasn’t got the typical barrel gut of a dwarf, instead he’s thick like a tree, almost square. Dwarves of his age have usually been swimming in ale and brandy for decades, but Burrai shows only the signs of hard living, not hard drinking. Other details are there, hinting at a deeper discipline. His beard is neat, short, little more than a heavy goatee. His hair too is cropped close – not the flamboyant Mohawks of a berserker, or the shaved skull of a thug, but a clear sign of a man who appreciates neatness. Both are black, striated with grey. Anyone who’s ever served can spot a fellow military man. Burrai may never have been more than a mercenary, but clearly he’s picked up the habits of a soldier.

And like any Soldier, he’s been scarred. What once would have been a proud Dwarven face – heavy square jaw, bold nose and dark brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence – way marred by injuries. Running from hairline to chin, the scar is ragged and poorly healed. The skin either side is ruffled and raised like a burn, almost like a fault in the skin. His left eye is almost closed; the socket little more than a deep pit with a dark jewel folded inside. His nose has been broken at least once, deviating sharply. Other shallow gashes, white lines and shirt creases, adorn his chin and right cheek. Violence has carved it’s name into Burrai’s skin.[/SBLOCK]

The shape that emerged from the shadows was clearly not from anywhere Burrai knew of. Skin the colour of aged granite, white hair and beard adorned an almost gaunt face that made age difficult to determine age, Burrai cocked his head taking in the jade eyes and easy step. No not old, just....emaciated? Malnourished? Or could this just be its races normal form? He couldn't detect any malice; the newcoming didn't reach for any weapons even though Jabbar and Ellroal both did. The Rhat seemed perfectly comfortable however, which indicated -

Something glimmered on the edge of Burrai's vision, was that s figured limned in a sheen of rippling transparency, like water trickling down perfect glass....Immediately Burrai turned his back to the watcher. He'd seen enough mages parlour tricks to know invisibility when he saw it. He might then have been the first dwarf who was ever thankful for the rain. As the newcomer announced himself as Ersun, rather indignantly, Burrai stepped closer to Elloral and took her wrist, pulling her attention to him.

"Elloral. Don't look, but we have company." He whispered, urgently. "Standing in the corner by the tower, wearing some kind of spell to hide. Does Valkauna grant you any power to freeze of hold people? If so, cast there and I shall try to apprehend it before it flees. It seems we are not finished with malevolent visitors this night!"

[SBLOCK="Additional"]KNowledge(Dungeoneering check): 13
I've also update the mythweavers sheet so Burrai is now a Fighter 4/Vanguard 1.....forgot to add on the HPs from level 5 so done that too....let me know if there's any problems.[/SBLOCK]

 

[narayan]

Aletia, Kayote, Rhea

Yet again, Aletia had "presumed" wrong.

It would have been easy if it was the bed-ridden old man she'd conjured in her imagination. No.

Instead it seemed, she was going to have to impart the news to a stern, inebriated, tough and grumbling warrior. The air was heavy as Aletia prepared herself, and the ominous furnishings of the room only added to a growing sense of insecurity. For just one moment she imagined her head, neatly stuffed, glass eyes in her sockets, placed upon the shelving for all to see.

~Dragon. Hobgoblin. Oh this one? She was a messenger of ill news... a silly Elf.~

The young woman pursed her lips tight and fell to one knee with head bowed. At least this way she could focus on a section of the floor instead of the numerous taxidermied trophies.

~Here goes then...~

"Sir Kayote Burlock, please forgive my intrusion late this moon-cast eve."

She looked up a little, making eye contact with a touch of reluctance.

"I am Aletia Moonborn, daughter of Athias-the-drow-slayer from lands afar. Though my blood is not blessed to run strong with Vallio Delimrin's lineage, for as much time as I can remember, he was a permanent and shining light in my growth. He traveled with my family, and when ill fate came upon us, he adopted me as though grandchild of his own. I had the blessing to walk with him through this world, to learn from his wisdom, to see all around through better eyes, and to shift from vagrant child to the woman you see."

~Hold back those tears, and prepare to dart away should he stir into a fit of rage.~

"Our dear friend recently made words to me, which at the time seemed of little meaning or consequence, as as we traveled through Vulkh he made mention of... a final journey. It burns my heart, it shall cast shade on my thoughts forever, that the great man was once more true. He died in my arms on a moonless night, with all signs of his demise pointing to the foulness of poison."

"I struggle now Sir Burlock, not to wet your floor with my tears or run into the night, but this moment now between us, was Vallio's wish. He told me he was coming to meet you, an old and dear friend, and that I should accompany him..."

"Yet now, through hindsight, it would almost seem that his final desire, events to set in play, was to deliver me to you... for reasons I do not know."

The Barossan's expression is crestfallen as your obit wounds him. This old man has lost loved-ones before. Marks of grief cut into his skin as lines and wrinkles around his eyes. Weariness settles into the hardness of his jawline, the tautness of his lips the cord-like veins of his hands. His eyes are an echo of sadness and smoldering anger.

The tabby on his lab starts to growl sensing a dark mood ebb through his fingertips. Kayote lets the animal dart away, swallowing his angst, shifting his gaze into the flames of the hearth.

Kayote: "Death is not the end young lady..." He says with a hoarse voice on the edge of cracking. "Vallio is finally at peace. He certainly struggled long enough... I'm glad his troubles are over."

Kayote coughs, deeply and harshly, angrily spitting away the blood on his lips as he reaches for his drink.

Rhea: Steps forward, concerned. "Father!"

Kayote: Shakes his head, muttering "Leave us!"

Rhea: Clenches her jaw, glaring at you for a lingering moment as if to say ~look at what you've done!~ before she stalks out of his chambers and closes the door behind her.

Kayote: drinks deeply, downing his glass as if it were water before he says. "I know who you are Aletia. Vallio spoke of you often. He thought of you like a daughter. I'm sure it would bring him comfort to know we finally met. All these years he never asked me for anything, except to help you if anything should happen to him." He sighs, pouring his glass full again. "So what is it I can do for you?" He asks plainly.

[Aletia: What do you do?]

 

[97mg]

Wrenwil: In Pentos' hands

With the weighty pack again riding the old cleric's shoulders, Wrenwil returned to the foul crime scene, narrowly missing out on the tail of conversation between his two colleagues.

Ordechai: -Swallows painfully- "I never gave them the satisfaction. I bit my tongue so hard it bled to prevent myself from saying it. They gave up after a while, commenting about how I was just as stubborn as the mules my ilk was likened too. I swore I would never speak that name... but sometimes, late at night, I hear myself repeating it in my head over and over... and I don't know why..."

What an absurd and rotten couple of days it had been since setting foot on this tainted dusty land. It showed on Wrenwil's face, dark lines telling of insomnia and a mind overburdened with concern. Paranoia was setting in, growing and spreading its tentacles like a mythical beast. Yes, it had dawned on Wrenwil that perhaps the granting of Kryslogious' "autonomy", had been a poor move. A decision that could one day lead to songs and tales of The Aged Fool Who Lost Our War...

Out there... somewhere close, the Knight would no doubt have to make a choice, a choice with consequences Wrenwil could barely wish to guess.

~At least I have the Tome,~ he told himself, consoling his fearful and rapidly thundering heart. ~No doubt his new friends will have need of it.~

Standing in the open, yet feeling as trapped as an arrow-fixed hare, Wrenwil began to consider a next move, a way out of this, an escape plan.

It wasn't to be. Yet again, Pentos placed duty on the old man's path, another action which could have repercussions dark or true.

Svexyn: He looks about at the flames and ashes, searching for anything that can still be used. He searches for his chain, hopefully strong enough to withstand these fires, along with his other gear. He doesn't speak, as anger builds up within him.

"Survivor!" Wrenwil said to his friends with surprise, pointing his staff into the death-zone at a dust and blood covered man. It was impossible to believe, but it seemed the fellow was painfully scouring the earth, hunting for all he had lost except his soul.

Wrenwil spat another lump of soot-congealed phlegm from his lips, and approached the man quickly.

"Be still fair warrior," he said, placing his hand against Svexyn's shoulder.

"Pentos, O Lord of Judgement,
may you see fit to nurture this soul?
In your great name I call,
if the path he has trodden is to your ends,
then I wish unburden this man's toll."

[If Pentos is pleased and Svexyn permits (assuming no touch attack is required), Wrenwil is casting Cure Moderate Wounds for 8HP]

[sblock=Wrenwil Stats]
[TABLE="width: 800, align: left"] [TR] [TD]

[/TD] [TD]WRENWIL - a tough old boot on a terrible holiday

Sheet: http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=209300
Level 4, Init 2, HP 20/27, Speed 30
AC 15, Touch 13, Flat-footed 13, Fort 6, Ref 3, Will 10, Base Attack Bonus 3
Masterwork Staff +7 to hit (d6+3)
Spells: 4/5/3[/TD] [/TR] [/TABLE] [/sblock]

 

[narayan]

Avar, Billanverthorne, Burrai, Elloral, Ersun, Jabbar, Ren

Ersun scratches his head a little. No one told him that he shouldn't reveal himself, and maybe he was being naive but he did not expect such aggressive reaction to a strange face. He thinks one reason could be the duergar and drow giving greyskins bad reputation, but he hopes they don't stick the prejudice onto him and his kind as well.

For a moment he wonders if he should interject something, or leave it to Ren, but seeing the rhat's confused look he decides to give a little input. He looks at Jabar and Elloral, and then at their hands.
"That is most rude." he says drily. "I am merely an escort. The pleasantries can wait, but you may call me Ersun if you wish." he says, after which he visibly has no further wish to partake in their exchange.

The shape that emerged from the shadows was clearly not from anywhere Burrai knew of. Skin the colour of aged granite, white hair and beard adorned an almost gaunt face that made age difficult to determine age, Burrai cocked his head taking in the jade eyes and easy step. No not old, just....emaciated? Malnourished? Or could this just be its races normal form? He couldn't detect any malice; the newcoming didn't reach for any weapons even though Jabbar and Ellroal both did. The Rhat seemed perfectly comfortable however, which indicated -

[SBLOCK="Additional"]KNowledge(Dungeoneering check): 13
I've also update the mythweavers sheet so Burrai is now a Fighter 4/Vanguard 1.....forgot to add on the HPs from level 5 so done that too....let me know if there's any problems.[/SBLOCK]

[SBLOCK="Results of Knowledge (Dungeoneering) Check"] Dwarvenkind is not unaware of the existence of Underfolk like Ersun. They are descendants of Akhenatens forced to move underground almost three thousand years ago. Over generations, these humans adapted to subterranean life so well that most have not ventured to the surface in many centuries.

Encounters with the underfolk are extremely rare, your clan for instance have never seen one... but you are aware of the legends of how quick, stealthy, and survival-oriented underfolk are. Rumor has it they are rather primitive and rustic when it comes to technology, (especially compared to dwarves) but they are adaptable and very clever.

The idea that an underfolk is in the area only working as an 'escort' would seem hard to believe for you... unless he was some sort of outcast desperate for work? Underfolk encountered in the past were important scouts on some sort of urgent errand or mission. Their allegiances were usually towards a tribe or particular settlement, but their motives were as varied as surface humans prompting caution.[/SBLOCK]

Something glimmered on the edge of Burrai's vision, was that s figured limned in a sheen of rippling transparency, like water trickling down perfect glass....Immediately Burrai turned his back to the watcher. He'd seen enough mages parlour tricks to know invisibility when he saw it. He might then have been the first dwarf who was ever thankful for the rain. As the newcomer announced himself as Ersun, rather indignantly, Burrai stepped closer to Elloral and took her wrist, pulling her attention to him.

"Elloral. Don't look, but we have company." He whispered, urgently. "Standing in the corner by the tower, wearing some kind of spell to hide. Does Valkauna grant you any power to freeze of hold people? If so, cast there and I shall try to apprehend it before it flees. It seems we are not finished with malevolent visitors this night!"

Elloral: Her body tenses in your grasp as you speak, but she is careful not to whirl and stare in that general direction. -speaking softly and urgently- "I do posses such a spell, but I cannot target someone I cannot see!" She explains.

[Burrai: Was this declaration to Elloral supposed to alert the whole group, or just her? If it was just supposed to be her, the others may still be able to hear you with a listen check... probably dc 15. Let me know in case I need to make listen checks for the others before you proceed.]