Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions (final update posted 02.14.10)

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #486] Discovering Discord

Discord lived up to its name. While the design of the settlement was not as alien-seeming as the githyanki fortress had been, most of the party were immediately put off by the place. Everything seemed to thrum and vibrate, filling the air with a sound at once jarring and sonorous to most everyone's ears. Only Morier and Cerrakean seemed to find the sound pleasing and the hobgoblin was soon humming along with it adding another layer of sound to the constant piping and buzzing that filled the air as they followed J'inn and J'ann.

"If you feel like dancing, you should feel free," J'inn said, pointing to a square as they passed. There were dozens of Buommans there engaged in revelry. Some of them twirled and capered while other strummed lutes or twittered away on pipes.

"No one will mind," J'ann added. "But I would advise against any spell use."

"Magic is unpredictable in Discord," J'inn explained. "You might end up hurting yourself... or someone else."

"Are there any merchants in town?" Ayremac asked, his tone betraying some of the discomfort he felt listening to the weird, cacophony of sounds all around them. "I might like to buy some potions or magic trinkets of interest if there are." The Buommans both turned, hands going thoughtfully to their wan chins. Their movements were synchronous, almost choreographed.

"Certainly the Threnodies have a selection of magical items that they might be willing to part with," J'inn remarked to his twin and J'ann shook his head.

"But they might not be willing to even meet with them, let alone trade," J'ann replied. "K'ree and K'raa might have something to trade, though." J'inn nodded.

"Good thinking!" he remarked, patting his twin on the shoulder and turning to address Ayremac. "We'll take you there once we've got you situated, before we set off to meet with the Threnodies."

"We haven't an inn as such in Discord," J'ann said. "So we thought you all could use our house as a "'home base', so to speak."

"A place where you can leave your armor... your weapons... things you won't need while you're here," J'inn added. "You can rest there if you wish, or explore the town."

"And as J'inn said, we'll take any who wish to see K'ree and K'raa," J'ann said and gestured to a small dwelling cobbled together out of mismatched blocks of cut stone with a roof composed largely of pitted and battered shields with a few rough hewn planks in between. There was a colorful mosaic of geometric tiles set into the wall beside the door.

"Our house," J'inn observed and J'ann crooned, "is a very, very, very fine house."



K'ree and K'raa's dwelling was much like J'inn and J'ann's although slightly larger. Despite the added square footage, the place seemed tiny due to the abundance of junk piled about. It was heaped on tabletops, hung from the rafters and swept into drifts in the corners. Most of it was true junk: broken wands, torn cloaks, swords with broken blades. But there were a few items of apparent worth mixed in: armor and weapons clearly manufactured by githyanki, some ornate diadems and bracers, a stack of heavy tomes. One wall glittered with a rack of colorful potion vials. And what had at first appeared to be a suit of plate mail armor slouched in a corner revealed itself to be an inanimate golem upon closer inspection.

"K'ree?" J'inn called as they entered the building.

"Are you here?" J'ann chimed and a female Buomman lurched up from behind a workbench. She looked much like J'inn and J'ann though she was stockier than them and a pair of ashen scars crossed her pale face like a letter V turned on its side. She held a falchion which she at first pointed at the newcomers but quickly lowered it when she saw who it was.

"What do you want?" she angrily growled, sheathing the weapon across her back in a single deft movement.

"They've been like this since their mate-pair died fighting the mind-flayers," J'inn whispered to the group while J'ann explained who they were and what they wanted. The female Buomman stepped out from behind the bench, wiping her hands on the leather skirt she wore, and displaying the swollen belly of a pregnant woman.

"I have no idea what most of this stuff even is. It belonged to my husband," she said to them and her expression grew more irritated. "If you have something to trade, you're welcome to sift through it. Just don't expect my help."

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #487] One Last Zinger

Cerrakean turned over what looked like a small brazier with the toe of her boot and snorted, "I'll be outside enjoying the local color. I'm not much of one for picking through trash." K'ree gave the hobgoblin a withering look and Cerrakean grinned back. "No offense, darling."

"J'inn and I will introduce you," J'ann said, motioning for the door. Cerrakean nodded and moved in that direction. Just before she and the twins stepped outside, she asked, "So you boys have anything to drink around here?"

"Maybe I should keep an eye on her," Grandfather Plaque suggested to Morier. "I cannot see myself having need of anything I might uncover here." The albino nodded his agreement.

"Just make sure she doesn't insult anyone too badly," he told the construct.

"And don't let her get into any fights," Del added as Grandfather Plaque headed out into the perpetual twilight.

"What about the rest of you?" K'ree asked. "Are you going to look through my husband's things or did you just stop by to criticize the wares?"

"Morier, I do suggest you look for a blade," Maleko said as Ayremac approached K'ree to make some diplomatic overtures. "As much as I doubt I will use it, I do need to get my sword back from you. I find that even if one wears the robes of a sorcerer, the fact that one carries a sword is a deterent to trouble. Brigands seem to understand that better."

"I wouldn't mind a magic sword, if one were laying about unclaimed," Del admitted, his eyes moving across the haphazard collection of merchandise. "I don't have much by way of coin, though."

"She did mention trade did she not?" Morier said and unslung his Valiant Vessel bag. He flicked the clasp and began to empty the contents of the Handy Haversack into the center of the floor, amazed as always at the volume of material that poured forth: weapons, scrolls, various and sundry clothing and other more... personal... items that Morier was unaware Huzair had squirrelled away. When the bag finally seemed as though it had given up its full bounty, three final rolls of parchment tied together with a single red string thrust themseleves into Morier's hand and the bag exhaled a sigh of relief. These parchments felt thicker and more worn than the others, so Morier curiously untied them, suddenly hopeful that he had found some piece of Huzair that would trigger a memory. He missed his friend, and noted sadly that he was already starting to lose the memory of his voice.

Morier unfurled the scrolls with an almost childlike enthusiasm, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Rather than a set of unfinished letters or a personal journal though, he found himself holding up a series of nude figure drawings he instantly recognized as Ledare, Hildegunna, Ixin, Shamalin, and Anania. He was suddenly very aware of the many eyes fixed on him, watching to see what he had been so eager to uncover, and he now found himself searching in vain for a plausible way to talk his way out of the perfect parting shot from the master of parting shots. He half expected Huzair's near-maniacal laughter to shatter the silence, but it never came. Instead the hush hung heavier with each passing second.

"I..." Morier struggled to explain as he felt his face grow hot. "These are... not... You see..."

“Morier, there is no reason to be bashful," Ayremac said, stepping up behind the eldritch warrior. He took the parchment from Morier's hands and glanced at the top one approvingly. "You seem to be a talented artist… although…” He eyed the second drawing more closely and withdrew with a raised eyebrow. “Is that Shamalin?? and…” Turning to Ixin he felt color touching his own cheeks. “Oh, my… well… I, uh… okay…” The drawings seemed very wrong suddenly and he thrust them away into the first pair of hands willing to take them. Then he turned his full attention to examining a stack of tattered books on the far side of the room.

Ixin looked at the drawings Ayremac had given her and she shuffled through the curled parchment scrolls. She recognized all of the subjects apart from Hildegunna and she stopped at last on the image of herself, as she had been. The drawing showed her seated from the rear, half-turned to display a wide muscular back. Her wings were folded neatly and her dorsal scales were meticulously rendered. Her face was in profile, her expression confident and serene.

Ixin looked up at Morier then with tears coming to her eyes.

"I did not draw those, Ixin," Morier said quickly. "It was Huzair. Not me."

"Sure..." she said through a voice heavy with emotion. "Blame the dead guy." She took the drawing of herself and handed the rest to Maleko before stepping outside.

The elf looked at the drawing of Shamalin on top without recognition. She was just a half-elven maid apparently bathing in a shallow stream. The picture was quite lovely really, although there was a sort of haunted sadness in the woman's eyes that the artist had captured perfectly.

"What a talented artist Huzair was. I bet he could have made a fine living working in that field. Kind of a Selejian influence, with the ultra-realism, I see," Maleko observed with an appreciative nod. "You can practically count the hairs on-"

Maleko stopped suddenly. He recognized Ledare's face on the page, even if he had never seen the janissary in such a position or such a state of undress. He quickly shuffled to the next drawing, a human female he did not recognize with a prominent jaw and pale hair worn in thick plaits that fell across her shoulders and down to her-

Del's sudden intake of breath at his shoulder made Maleko shuffle on to the last picture: a wood elf looking directly at the viewer with her arms raised as she buried her hands in her thick hair.

Del fixed Morier with a hard look, considering for the first time all that these drawings might imply. Morier held up his hands meekly.

"Truly, I did not draw those," the albino assured him and Del considered. He decided that he'd have to accept that there was a story waiting to be told about these drawings: one that he had to be willing to hear if he wanted to know the details of Ledare's past.

"I believe you," Del said simply and without looking at them too closely took the drawings of Ledare and Hildegunna, rolled them together and slipped them out of sight. Then he nodded and busied himself looking at the broken golem.

Maleko saw Del draw out his flask and upend it into his mouth. The elf shook his head, looked down at the two remaining drawings - elf and half-elf - and shook his head again. He rolled them up and presented them back to Morier.
"You should be ashamed of yourself for keeping those pictures," he admonished. "Especially out of respect for your deceased friends' modesty."

"If I'd known they were there, do you think I'd have pulled them out for everyone to see?" Morier said, loud enough for all those present to hear. "Huzair had too much time on his hands. The way he always talked, I thought he was scribing scrolls all the time, not... not this." He tossed the drawings of Shamalin and Anania back onto the pile of gear he'd poured from the Handy Haversack.

"Well, I would be interested in buying some of these scrolls perhaps," Maleko said, picking up a scroll of Cause Fear at random. Morier made a dismissing gesture.

"Take them," the eldritch warrior said. "If you can use them, they're yours." Maleko shook his head.

"It is only fair that I should pay for them," Maleko observed, drawing his coin purse from his robes. "I could not accept these scrolls for free when you are in need of a fine sword to do your work." Morier looked at the elf and nodded.

"Right," he said, looking around at the piles of bric-a-brac. "A sword..."

 

[Jon Potter]

A heads up to any readers

Just to let any lurkers know: this game has finally come to an end. So although we're still 20+ posts away from the final installment, it's coming.

 

[Neurotic]

Too bad. Make it good finish

 

[Jon Potter]

Well it actually comes to a conclusion rather than ending at some strange random encounter, so that's good, right? It doesn't end where I had actually expected it to, however. In fact it ended with several planned adventures left unexplored.

There is the possibility at some point that we'll come back to this, but I did want it to actually end rather than just trickle to a stop.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #488] What about Karak?

They searched long and hard through the contents of K'ree's home, but in the end Morier ended up taking Ocemocik's mercurial greatsword from Ayremac in preference to other lesser items to be found among the bric-a-brac. Ayremac wanted for little and so found nothing to spark his interest, passing his time instead by aiding Del in his search for a suitable weapon. Del ultimately satisfied himself with some minor potions and a battle axe which, while not the weapon type to which he was used, was enchanted in some way, Maleko assured him. Maleko made out better than the others finding a circlet, scrollcase, gloves and book that he deemed desirable.

In exchange for the items (and a bit of help organizing the chamber's contents) they traded a goodly portion of the spoils they'd acquired and which were doing little apart from languishing in the Handy Haversack. Only Morier felt any pang of regret turning over to K'ree Noxin's Greathammer and some of the other items that had belonged to the albino's former companions.



It was while they completed their business and secured their new gear that Melako finally brought up an issue that had been troubling him since their time in the githyanki outpost.

"Something is bothering me," he sighed looking somewhat apologetically at Del and then to Ayremac. "Your friend's war axe was obtained from a githyanki attack on a mind flayer ship near here in the Chain of Tears."

"Karak," Ayremac said with a nod. "That's what the githyanki told us, yes."

"Why do you bring it up?" Morier asked as he adjusted his baldric to accommodate his new and somewhat ungainly weapon. Maleko looked nervously at the pregnant boumman on the far side of the room.

"Well I was thinking," he began delicately. "Perhaps are these not the same mind flayers that killed K'ree' mate?" K'ree looked up, her pale, nearly featureless face hardened. Her jet black eyes shone wetly in the silvery light.

"I see that J'inn and J'ann have been spinning tales again," she snarled, her voice thick with emotion. Her hands rested atop her swollen belly, but they were clenched into fists as she looked with murderous rage at the disassembled golem leaning in the corner. "Mir'vann and Mir'vinn were killed by one of those... mechanical things... in the service of the mind flayers." Del squinted at the thing noticing something for the first time.

"That symbol on its head," he said indicating the three connected circles blazoned above its dark eye sockets. "I've seen it before on a mechanical man in the World Serpent Inn." K'ree looked away from the golem turning her eyes to the half-elf.

"It is the flayers' mark," the buomman told him. "It appears on all of the golems we've faced. If you met one, you were lucky to escape with your head still attached." Del looked skeptical.

"It did not behave like a killing machine," he said. "It spoke to me."

"I've never heard of a golem that could speak," Morier observed. "They're mindless things... like the retriever we faced."

"Not all golems are such," Maleko corrected. "There are rumors of a race of intelligent, free-willed constructs called maugs originating from the Clockwork Nirvana of Mechanus on the outer planes. They plan and react like living creatures." K'ree nodded.

"Lately, these golems have behaved as you described," she told the elf. "Their attacks haven't been the mindless frontal assaults we used to face. They've been coordinated and deadly, with an intelligence we haven't seen in the past."

"And they attack you without provocation?" Ayremac asked and K'ree shrugged.

"They don't attack us on Discord," she explained. "But rather attack us when we patrol the Chain. We only occassionally see the mind flayers themselves, and their purpose isn't clear to us, but their methods are: they slaughter us and anyone else on sight."

"Perhaps we could find out what happened to Karak if we were to plan an attack on this crew of mind flayers," Maleko suggested and all eyes turned to him.

"You want to attack a den of mind flayers?" Del asked, flabbergasted.

"I don't have an issue with tracking down Karak," Morier said, nodding at Maleko. "After all, it's Karak, and it would be the right thing to do." Ayremac considered and nodded at the eldritch warrior.

"Agreed, but is poking a hornet's nest with a stick the best tactic?" the holy warrior wondered. "Even assuming we can find the nest in the first place; this Chain of Tears is not a small area in which the mind flayers could be hiding."

For a moment, Morier expected to hear Huzair's frustrated grumbling as Ayremac brought up stinging insects and their dens. But none of those present had heard Morier's speeches on the subject, and Huzair was dead and gone.

"We've narrowed down the likely spot where the mind flayer lair is hidden," K'ree told them. She reached for her falchion. "If you really want to hunt them down, then I'll take you there."

"The hell you will!" J'ann said from the doorway and before K'ree could argue he strode purposefully inside shaking his head. "Do you know what would happen if the Threnodies found out that a buomman was directly assaulting the mind flayers? Even if you weren't carrying a child?"

"The flayers killed my life mates!" K'ree growled. "Can you imagine how hard it has been for me every day to resist the urge to go there and attack the place by myself? And now you bring these strangers here and they, of their own accord and for their own reasons want to seek out the flayers?"

"Can you imagine what would happen if you went there and failed? The flayers would send their forces to Discord!" J'ann argued. "And what does K'raa think of this?"

"We speak with one voice," K'ree asserted and J'ann nodded.

"I thought that you might," he said, his tone softened. "And I can understand your desire to seek out some measure of revenge. But I can't let you go off and invite death to Discord. I will tell the Threnodies if you persist in this folly. J'inn is there now." K'ree's body shook with emotion and she cast her falchion to the floor.

"They killed my life mates!" she said again and then moved out the back door of her dwelling and was gone. J'ann looked pained and then turned to the others, grim-faced.

"If a group of independent agents were to assault the mind flayers for reasons of their own, that would please the Threnodies and the rest of our cabal," J'ann said. "We could point you in the right direction to find such creatues if you wished it, but no buomman can aid you further in this course, lest the attack fail and bring the mind flayers' revenge down upon us." Ayremac started to speak and J'ann held up a staying hand.

"But know this: the Threnodies have already agreed to show you the way through the Gate of Duality to the Guardian of the God Isles," the Buomman said. "You have already earned that right and destroying the mind flayers will earn you nothing more apart from our gratitude."

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #489] The Threnodies

"Should we perhaps conclude our mission, then, before seeking Karak?" Maleko asked and Ayremac looked at him incredulous.

"It was you who suggested that we side-track to find him in the first place," the half-celestial sputtered. "And you've so quickly changed your mind?" Maleko nodded, unperturbed.

"It occurs to me that we're very close to a major goal," the elf explained. "So... maybe we should take care of the business at hand and get to the God Isles before attacking the Mind Flayers."

"I agree with Maleko," Del said. "I think it's probably best if we don't go off side-tracking now in search of this Karak. For Morier to have been so steadfast in his mission up until now, only to deviate at this point... well... It just makes more sense to carry on with our current direction. Let's move on and continue in our quest." Ayremac sighed.

"We have strode this road for so long, Morier, you for longer then any other," the Officer of Umba observed and fixed his emerald eyes on the eldritch warrior. "I think that you will need to make the final decision." Morier considered for the space of two heartbeats and then nodded.

"Once we have taken care of the business at hand would be a more appropriate time to go in search of Karak," he said with conviction. "And I will lead that expedition at that time if any of you choose to come. But for now, let us move toward the God Isles quickly... at least as quickly as one can do anything in this place." Ayremac seemed relieved to hear that and nodded his acceptance of this decision.

"I have to say I agree," he said. "We have no way of knowing how long we have been here... the Astral is a funny place when it comes to time. What seems like days to us here, could be weeks... possibly months or years from the stories I have heard. I think the sooner we join the body and heart, the better."

"Very well," J'ann said with a nod. He gestured toward the door. "I'll escort you to the Tower of Song. We can pick up the others on the way."



From the outside, the Tower of Song looked much like any keep common to the Prime, with a high curtain wall topped by crenelated battlements and a single massive gate consisting of a pair of heavy doors. Unlike the rest of Discord, the fortress seemed planned and not cobbled together from bits of debris. Its walls were of a brilliant white stone perfectly cut and fitted so that there was barely a seam between blocks. The whole place seemed the hum as they approached and that single low note jumped in volume once J'ann sang a brief melody and the great wooden valves opened before them.

The inside of the place was a riot of whirling colored lights and glittering mirrored surfaces. A complex, buzzing melody was playing from somewhere within; to Maleko it sounded like the upright guitars favored by the nomads of the Sind Desert. And as they stepped into the hall it settled into a throbbing melody accompanied by deep, echoing drums. A chorus of voices sang down in harmony from numerous niches that lined the high walls. Buommans dressed in brightly-colored costumes gyrated there and sang:

"Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods? Where's the street-wise Hercules to fight the rising odds?"​

The song went on, carried by dozens of voices and filling the hall with resonance. The lyrics were only half-sensical, making references to things and people of which none in the group had ever heard. By the time they reached the inner doors at the far end of the hall, the song had settled into its repeating chorus:

"I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light. He's gotta be sure, and it's gotta be soon and he's gotta be larger than life!"​

The doors closed behind them, pinching off the sound so completely that the ensuing silence seemed to physically press in against their ears, disorienting in its completeness. There were six figures seated in the center of a massive domed chamber whose sunken floor descended in a series of polished steps to a flat circle upon which were clustered the six gilt thrones. Massive stone buttresses rose upward to a gold keystone overhead from which depended a glowing crystal that slowly spun making coin-sized dots of light dance across every surface in the place.

J'inn was standing amidst the chairs and he stepped toward the group at the same time motioning for them to approach.

"These are the ones we told you about," he said to the seated Buommans. To the group he said, "These are the Threnodies, lead singers for the Cabal of the Dirge."

"J'inn and J'ann have told us that you seek the God Isles," one of the Threnodies said, languidly lifting a hand.

"This is not a task to be lightly undertaken," the first's twin added. "There is the Cavern of the Self to be considered."

"And even completing that hazard, there is still the guardian to convince," another Threnody explained.

"No mean feat in and of itself," said a fourth. "And not one that a non-Buomman has undertaken in any of our lifetimes."

"True," said the fifth. "We are unsure what will happen if a non-Buomman passes through the Gate of Duality."

"But it will assuredly be dangerous," said the final Threnody. "We would urge you to reconsider this course of action."

"Everything dies," said the first Buomman. "And it is best not to tamper with that progression."

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #490] The Gate of Duality

That final thought rang in Morier's ears. Until now it had seemed a sometimes overwhelming but nonetheless straightforward task; they had to reunite Dridana's heart and body to stop Aphyx and restore order on the Material. But now that they stood at the doorstep of that goal, a single, simple statement seemed to kick away at its very foundation. Everything does indeed die, and it suddenly seemed absurd that he was about to tamper with that progression. Who was he, after all? How could a lone Eldritch Warrior and a handful of his companions presume to tamper with the path the Gods had laid out?

"It is true everything dies, but we need to do this to save our world," Maleko said, answering the albino's unspoken question. Del half-bowed diplomatically.

"Yes. Thank you for your counsel, but we choose to continue nonetheless," the half-elf said, sounding to Morier's ears like words he had heard Ledare say in the past. "For us, that is the intended progression."

"We do not seek to thwart the Gods' will but to execute it," Ayremac said with certainty. "For it is Umba herself who has set me on this path." Ixin nodded at his side and then half-turned to glance at the brooding Morier.

The eldritch warrior steeled himself and forced the uncertainty from his mind. Now was not the time to let doubt creep in. Perhaps these were the thoughts and questions that he would confront in the "Cavern of the Self" the Threnody had spoken about, but right now the faces of Huzair, Karak, Shamalin and others urged him on. He had questioned his survival at each step of this process, and somehow he stood here having persevered. This may be the end of the road, but if so someone or something would have to force him to stop, he was not about to bow out gracefully.

"We appreciate your sentiment," Morier said, "but there seems no other way to stop the current plague of evil sweeping across the Material Plane from which we came. We have been charged with a task, and we intend to walk the path laid before us in effort to complete it. If it is not meant to be, surely the Fates will intervene."

Without answer the six Threnodies looked at one another and nodded.

"So be it," they said in chorus. Then they stood and gesturing expansively with their hands began to sing a rising note that went on impossibly long and grew impossibly high until it seemed to pass nearly beyond the limits of their hearing. At that point, the air before the group began to shimmer and vibrate in concert with the ever-rising note of song until at last it seemed to grow solid, becoming almost at once a circular reflective pane in which the assembled travelers beheld themselves. For a moment, Morier thought he saw behind them the shadowy ghosts of those who had gone before: Ledare, Huzair, Feln, Karak, others... But when he looked more closely, they were gone, a trick of the light and nothing more.

"Behold, the Gate of Duality," one of the Threnodies said and for the first time, they realized that the Buommans had stopped singing.

"Passing through it will take you to the Cavern of the Self," said a second.

"There you will find the path to the Guardian," said a third.

"Beyond the Guardian lay the God Isles," explained the fourth.

"For we Buommans the journey is one of reflection leading to unity," said the fifth.

For you..." the last began, her voice trailing off. "The path is uncertain."

The group all nodded, expecting nothing less.

"Thank you," Morier said, and taking a deep breath, he stepped forward toward himself, hand outstretched. He touched the mirrored Gate, his fingertips touching the fingertips of his double and then he pressed forward and his arm disappeared into his double's arm, his shoulder into his double's, his face into his face, and then he was gone.



And through.

Morier stepped out into a mirrored tunnel that stretched off into the distance as far as he could see. It was irregularly shaped, but at the same time, intricately worked looking as if every single surface and outcropping had been polished flat into a tiny mirror in which the albino saw reflections of himself staring back. But each reflection was different and imperfect: here he was as an infant, his face bruised and bleeding from some forgotten beating, here his visage was twisted in rage, spittle flying from his lips in mute fury, here he laughed in mirth, here he slept fitfully. Everywhere he looked he saw himself looking back, but none of them showed him the reflection he expected to see, but rather a frozen reflection of his own past.

He peered closer, at a nearby surface seeing an image of himself surrounded by darkness and swirling snow. He touched it and...



Cold instantly slapped at his exposed flesh and the eldritch warrior shivered violently, his legs buried up to his knees in snow. The cold light of two Sunrods glittered at either end of a small windbreak made of piled snow. In the lee of the shelter, Ledare and Feln were shivering. Neither was dressed for the weather, and the half-ogre was nearly naked. He was saying something barely audible above the wind.

"What?" Morier gaped, looking around. But there was little to be seen apart from darkness and swirling snow. A massive standing stone loomed several feet away. "What?"

"I said: it may be possible to move back through the dolmen, warm up, and start this test again," the half-ogre slurred, his lips blue with cold and white with frostbite.

"Morier, are you alright?" Ledare asked, her brows knit with confusion. Even that small effort seemed to take a great deal out of her. "You seem disoriented."

"What?" Morier sputtered again.

 

[Kristeneve]

This is one of my favorite parts...again!

 

[Jon Potter]

This is one of my favorite parts...again!

I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was a fun concept to play around with, and I had lots of fun with the planning of it too. Though by the time in the campaign that this finally rolled around it was a bit anti-climactic.