Eyes of the Lich Queen IC

[TheFallenOne]

On their shopping trip, Grimmgang spent a long time looking at one of the items on display. He could afford it. It was certainly practical, complimenting his abilities well. It just... didn't look agreeable. Under normal conditions, he was someone who picks his equipment based on usefulness, not aestethics. But some things were just not acceptable.

Grimmgang stared at the Mask of the Tiger.
The likeness of a tiger's head, teeth, skin, fur, whiskers and all, stared back.
Grimmgang's eyes narrowed, left eyebrow twitching.
The mask remained unmoving.
Grimmgang's face contorted into a rictus of fury, teeth bared, nostrils flaring and brow furrowed deeply.
The mask grinned at him defiantly, for sometimes the mind plays tricks on the eyes.
"Bah!" he finally said, turning on his heel and leaving.

__________________________

"Well, I'm not that good a knife-thrower if you contemplate getting his attention like that lass did", Grimmgang said preemptively. "All yours buddy. I'm pretty sure you don't want me to handle the first contact."

[MoleMage]

"I suppose there are a number of things I can do blindfolded, if parlor tricks are the way to get his attention. I leave it in your choice, Xaxhan. You seem to know more about how to deal with people."

[Postmodernist]

Xaxhan entered the bar, taking excessive care with the stylish cloak he had purchased earlier during their shopping trip. It had, in fact, been bought from the same store in which Grimmgang had contemplated acquiring the Mask of the Tiger. Xaxhan had busied himself with encouraging the dwarf to buy the thing, telling him he'd look "fierce;" the Seren waited until it appeared the soldier were about to have a spasm before browsing the store himself. He was pleasantly surprised to have found the cloak which, despite its hefty price, possessed precisely the magical qualities he required. Besides, he looked quite dapper in it, the shop girl had said so herself.

He glanced around the scene, noting with mild surprise that this largely confirmed nearly everything he had heard about Ryger. Perhaps the ruler was truly a man of the people. The scene was pleasant, he was tempted to partake in the revelry himself, but he had worked to do. Map. Emerald Claw, he thought to himself before bellying up to the bar. He beckoned the half-elf over and ordered a round of drinks, tipping generously before inquiring, "I suspect that must be Prince Ryger over there. He's surely a busy man, but I've something rather important to discuss with him. I doubt I can simply offer to buy him an ale. Any suggestions on how best to bend his ear for a moment?"

[Sallera]

The tender nods, filling glasses and sorting coins with barely a glance at the contents. "Right you are, man. The Prince comes here to enjoy himself, but he's also holding court, as it were. If you've got weighty words for him, he'll probably give you a chance to speak 'em. That said..." The half-elf looks Xaxhan over as he slides the drinks across the bar. "If you're not just carrying that mandolin for show, you might be able to catch his eye aforehand, favourable like. Stage is open, and there's no one up there at the moment, so if you're confident in your skills, you can go up there any time. The Prince appreciates a quality musician."

[Postmodernist]

"The stage is open, is it? My thanks, sir." With that, Xaxhan returns to his companions, handing them their drinks. "Now you know how much I despise being the center of attention, but I suspect that the most direct means of getting a word with Ryger is to impress him with a song. Wish me luck." The bard mumbles a few arcane syllables and extracts a die from his pocket. He tosses it up once and catches it, pulls it to his lips and kisses it, then returns it to its place. He then mounts the stage.

Xaxhan stands center stage, fighting the natural discomfort that arises when many sets of eyes fall upon a person. He tries to translate the nervous energy into a performative focus, and rakes his gaze across the audience. He tosses his cloak back with less flourish than one might expect, and draws out his mandolin. He tests the tuning with a few scaling chords, clears his throat, closes his eyes, and begins the performance.

Hoping his familiarity with the Lhazaar crowd serves him well, he warms up with an energetic song popular among mariners. His fingers fly across the fretboard as quickly as he can make them go, strumming at a feverish pace for the uptempo tune. He then segues into an equally spirited tune, though from his native Seren. He continues into a brief medley, weaving love ballads, battle hymns, and royal honorifics into one another. Finally, he closes with the well known "Pirate's Revenge Song," a comically dark melody about two sailors fighting in the belly of a sea dragon richly loved by citizens of The Principalities. His performance done, the callus on his thumb stinging and his throat stinging, Xaxhan wipes the beads of sweat away from his brow. He looks up to gauge the crowd's reaction.

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Cast Songbird (+1 social rolls afterward with anyone who saw the performance) and Improvisation (pool of 14 luck points, can't spend more than half at any time) before performing. (1d20+24)[25]

[Sallera]

Xaxhan, it seems, is not having a good night. Whether it be nerves, the sea air, or simply a run of poor luck, his performance includes a sequence of fumbled notes, a verse that flies right ouf of his head just before he reaches it, and an upper string that becomes steadily more difficult to sound over the course of the final song. And yet...

His recovery from the fumble is seamless, incorporating an unplanned addition that had been running through his head a few nights previous. He cannot recall the verse in time, but the Draconic words that appear in his head in its place are perfect in metre and sequence, buying him time to relax and allow the correct one to come to him. And if the upper string stubbornly refuses to be sounded, well, that is but an opportunity to shift the song into his lowest octave for the final two choruses, lending the old classic an unexpected note of tragicomedy.

And his audience, it seems, it suitably appreciative. Perhaps it was not quite what they were expecting, but no one seems to mind a few variations on the classics, as long as they are done well. A chorus of scattered cheers greets him as he steps off the stage, little less than had been granted the duet from earlier, and he has, it seems, achieved his goal. Rygar himself is looking in his direction, and waves him over to the high table, calling for another round of drinks.

[Postmodernist]

Xaxhan shakes his head, scrutinizing the mandolin in an effort to find fault with it. Perhaps having plucked the strings so many times with the talons of a troglodyte had damaged them, or worse- changed his playing style. He scowls, dismayed at his performance, temperamental as any true artiste. He is shocked when he sees Rygar gesturing in his direction. He glances out toward his companions, shrugs, and then heads over.

He heads toward the Prince's table, bows his head, and begins deferentially, "M'lord, my most sincere apologies. That may have been the single worst and most embarrassing performance of my entire life. I fumbled at the strings like a drunken seaman recruit might grope at a harlot's corset. I beg you, be merciful in your judgement, as my companions," he points to Daiya, Shard, and Grimmgang, "and I have some information you might find of value, should we merit a moment of your time."

[TekHed]

Taking the gesture as an indication for it to approach, Shard walked up to the raised platform where Rygar was holding court.

"Greetings your magister. I have heard much of your just rule here in the Princi-pilates. I am the Shard. It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

[Sallera]

Rygar laughs heartily, waving to his bodyguard to let the others up. "So that was your worst performance, hmm? A word of advice for the future, then; when you have made a mistake, and your audience" - he waves a hand at the gathered crowd, a few of whom are now looking up at the odd group - "has not noticed, then never admit to a thing! Certainly, some of that was unusual, but anyone can play an old song. A musician is nothing more than an aspirant until he can compose."

Chuckling again, the Prince calls for another round of drinks. "Well, then, sit down a minute, all of you, take a glass. The Shard, you say? Interesting choice of name. I'll have the rest of yours, and your home port if you've got one, then you can tell me what this information is you think I'll be interested in."

[TheFallenOne]

"Grimmgang Thunderbreaker", the dwarf introduced himself with an awkward, half-completed bow. "The wooden bugger is Drasil, memento of a former comrade. I have no home port to speak of, the Shieldgales were deployed all over Khorvaire until Thronehold ended things." He sat down, hiding his lips - and the remains of his beard - behind a glass of wine, preferring to take a backseat on things for now.

[MoleMage]

"Daiya, once known as Daiya Milkeye. I'm pleased to say the moniker no longer applies. My father is Ivan Durnson, and I'm afraid that I have no port to call mine own home either."

[Postmodernist]

"And I am Xaxhan, of the Seren, though I've had the good fortune to spend a great deal of time here in the Principalities, and have felt as much at home in Regalport as anywhere else in Khorvaire. As for the information we possess, ahem, well, it pertains to one of your rivals, and evidence we've uncovered about an unsavory alliance he seems to be pursuing. We thought it best to bring it to your attention." Xaxhan looks at his companions, hoping that they will supplement his appeal to Rygar.

[TekHed]

"Yes, do you know of this Emerald Claw?" Shard asked. "I do not understand their choice of names for they are neither made of Emerald, nor use claws. Humanoids can be most confusing at times."

[Sallera]

"Well, well, quite the crew you've got. Metaphor not part of your traditions, eh, The Shard?" Drinking deeply, Rygar sets down the mug and watches Xaxhan with an even gaze. "The Claw turn up from time to time, but rarely openly. Bloodsail's been the only one who encourages them. Who is it you are speaking of?"

[TheFallenOne]

"I usually just ignore him when he says something boneheaded like this. I suggest you do the same, trust me, better for your sanity", Grimmgang said with an unpleasant glance at Shard. "The Emerald Claw is currently acting quite openly in your territory, showing little respect for your authority. They've slain Vorgaard and burned his mansion to the ground. Had the help of some ogre mage mercenaries named 'Krulak' and a ship called Searheart." He paused, speculating that the prince would be well-informed enough about the ships in his domain to idenfity who it belongs to.

[Sallera]

Rygar chuckles, glancing between Grimmgang and Shard. "Hah, nonetheless, a good host mustn't ignore his guests. So, Vorgaard's dead and gone, eh? Technically, the mainland isn't something I concern myself with, but that certainly was brazen of them. Surprising that they got the better of him... but then again, if they hired the Krulaks, perhaps not so surprising. They are an effective pair. Searheart is theirs; transport was usually included in the services they offered."

"But I'm guessing you didn't come here just to tell me that. Vorgaard was Karrnathi himself, as much as he sometimes tried to deny it. His disputes with the Claw mean little on their own."

[Postmodernist]

Xaxan cannot resist the smile that begins to form across his lips. "It seems that these members of the Emerald Claw were operating out of Port Verge, which is Kolberkon's territory. Perhaps he's thrown in with them. They were reporting to a Captain Soren Maven, have you heard of him?" The bard pauses a moment, gauging the effects of his words. "Regardless, it seems they are in pursuit of some sort of magical artifact weapon, something that could disrupt the current balance of power in all of Khorvaire. We're looking to stop them, and we suspect that their next move will take place on the cursed island of Trebez Sinara. Unfortunately, the waters of that haunted place are notoriously treacherous. I am told you are a great lover of cartography and collector of maps; if you know of a map that might aid us in navigating to that place, we would be eternally grateful."

[TheFallenOne]

Grimmgang didn't quite succeed in hiding his displeasure when Rhygar considered the happenings at Vorgaard's place to be outside his zone of interest. He had hoped the prince would be offended by the Emerald Claw's overt action, and pleased at the delivery of the perpetrators' corpses, but now that angle proved useless... He glanced at Xaxhan, hoping his attempt would be more fruitful.

[Sallera]

"Ah, now we come to the heart of your petition. I do indeed possess a chart of Trebez Sinara; the most accurate one ever made. The only accurate one ever made, as far as I know, and there is value in that attribute alone. I do not wish it duplicated... but you bring interesting news. I have not heard of Soren Maven; the title may be military, rather than naval. However, if Kolberkon has been ordering strikes outside his territory by proxy, or even enabling them..."

Rygar's tone changes, and he waves a hand at the main floor. "Go, enjoy your evening. I will consider your request." A pair of his attendants move to escort you off the raised platform, and the Prince does not yet invite anyone over in your place, instead rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and occasionally glancing in your direction.

[TheFallenOne]

"Well, that could have gone better", Grimmgang muttered with obvious displeasure once they returned to the lower floor and taken seat. He ordered a strong drink, not really caring what in particular he got long as it has a good kick. "I'd have hoped he has some interest in that Vorgaard guy, but appearantly he doesn't care that much about the Claw getting uppity long as they stay nominally out of his turf. Figures, just once you want a person in power to be a bit of a megalomaniac and they turn out to be calm and collected about things not concerning them in an immediate way."

[Postmodernist]

Xaxhan's brow could only have been more furrowed had he cast alter self. "I agree, it didn't go as well as I'd have liked. I wish my performance had bowled him over. Still, we did manage to get the attention of a pirate king, and he's seriously considering our proposal. That's something, at least." He stroked his chin in contemplation before continuing, "We need to get him to trust us more, or at least believe our claims about Kolberkon and the Claw being in bed together and the danger that poses. We did learn one thing however," he pauses for dramatic effect, "and that is that his majesty does have a map. Worst case, we can take a page from our friends Dura and Ethras and acquire what we seek directly. It's profoundly stupid, Rygar would immediately know who did it, but it is possible."

[TheFallenOne]

"Theoretically possible, but definitely no", Grimmgang said hurriedly. As a scout he learned the best information on a target is acquired if one observes them unnoticed, so he subtly let his eyes wander over the room, looking for anyone paying attention to them. He was the kind of man who applies the lesson learned from military experience to social situations, the results varying from surprising insight to gross misconception. "Well, he did consider those Krulaks competent, so us taking them out along with the rest of the detachment might convince him we're the right horse to bet on. I did want to make that point explicit, but it sounded like a threat and before I could think of a better way to say it he shooed us away."

[MoleMage]

"I agree with Grimmgang. We can't take it by force. We will have to convince him to help us or go in without direction. Do we have any other bargaining chips? Goods or services we could offer in exchange for the map or the right to make a copy?" Daiya thinks a few more minutes in silence, enjoying her drink.

"There is another way. Now that we know the map exists, we could find the man who charted it. Hire him as a guide, ask for a copy, what have you."

[Sallera]

As the evening drags on, the tavern only grows rowdier, although remarkably free of misthrown knives; no doubt someone was wise enough to put in place certain checks ensuring reasonably sober participation in that particular activity. Some remarkably fine acts come on stage as evening turns to night, including a young halfling woman with a mop of untidy blond hair who speaks not a word, only playing a series of stirring piano pieces that sound as though they have the fervor and majesty of an entire symphony behind them.

The night eventually draws to an unofficial close around the same time the Prince's 'court' departs; free spirits they may be, but it seems the Lhazaar still follow certain unspoken traditions regarding royalty. One of Rygar's attendants brings you a small folded note as people start to drift toward the exit; a sharp eye might spot several others receiving similar messages. Unfolded, the note contains a seal on one half, and on the other, in what one might consider an unnecessarily small hand, a short missive.

Your information may be helpful, and consideration has produced some options. Take this note to Syn, the Dragoneye's first mate, tomorrow morning. Arrangements will be made.

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Sounds like we're done here, so we'll move on. Guess I can't coerce you into anything else... interesting.

[TekHed]

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I wouldn't jump to that conclusion...

What interesting things did you have in mind?

[TheFallenOne]

Making a short shushing motion until they were well out of earshot of the other clearing out guests, Grimmgang spent some moments in thought before speaking. "Dragoneye, huh? Ominous coincidence. Guess a ship is a sensible place for a map to be, so things look good enough. I just hope he actually hands over the map instead of insisting on his ship delivering us. Another power figure watching our every step would be unpleasant, and perhaps dear Xaxhan spoke a bit too highly of the power of the artifact we seek. 'Disrupt the balance of power in all Khorvaire', really?" He glared at the bard. "That may have provoked a bit more interest than we want."

[MoleMage]

"We already have another power figure watching over us either way. The question is whether he wants to help us or not. But if he delivers us, at least we don't have to pay for it, right?"

Daiya finishes her drink and taps her chin carefully.

"Alright. Tomorrow morning I will excuse myself to meet with our contact; after I've secured his services I'll join you at the shipyard. Don't worry if you must leave before I arrive, I'll be able to contact you. Just don't leave me stranded at port."

[Postmodernist]

Xaxhan smiled broadly in response to Grimmgang's scorn. "Thunderbreaker, relax. Ryger is a pirate king. I've no doubt that every day he's pestered by someone requesting funding an expedition to exotic lands, or for ships to hunt down buried treasure, or men to fight off some imagined threat. The way I figure it, he's got little to lose. We've been forthright with him, he knows who we are, and we've provided legitimate information. Best case scenario for him: we've tipped him off about a rival and made an effort to thwart them, plus we owe him one for his assistance. In the worst case, he let the Shiny Crystal man and his distinctive-and-easily-found companions copy a map to a place to which no one wants to go. It's win-win for him. I think I was vague enough about the Dragon's Eye (not that we know anything about it), and Ryger will likely be preoccupied with finding out more about Kolberkon. We'll be fine." With that, the Seren quaffs his drink and lets it clatter against the table.

[Sallera]

The morning sun flashing from Dragoneye's mithril scales is near to blinding from the right angle, so it is fortunate that your sight returns as you round the corner of the pier and find two figures standing near the end, apparently waiting for you. One is an older man in a white cassock lined with blue and gold, his greying hair long and loose. The other is an androgynous figure in a loose but finely-tailored outfit of scarlet and black, a dark braid thrown artlessly over one shoulder.

The latter one turns to face you, beckoning you all forward. "A good morning for motley. You look like the ones I'm after; you have the note, I assume? Hand it over, and step up around the good Father here. Any mental defenses you've got, relax them, and we'll just take an assurance or two."

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Effectively, Syn's asking you to voluntarily fail your saves against whatever the priest is about to do.

[TheFallenOne]

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This first bit is a little flashback to the war, developing Grimmgang's past a little more.

With a soft rustling of leaves when he parted the bush they were hiding behind, the cottage became visible in the first light of the sun transcending the horizon. Half a dozen brown and black steeds were bound outside, evidently no plowhorses.

"Outriders", Haerlock said flatly. His short-cropped hair was already graying, years of war less kind to a man than a dwarf. Grimmgang nodded in confirmation. "We're as close as we can get with the little cover. They'll have a lookout, but we can bridge the distance before they're ready." He watched Marianus out of the corner of his eye; the steelclad knight was eager for battle, but far as Grimmgang was concerned this wasn't the right place for him, even considering his less than horrible skill at stealth. War is ugly business, for every rare moment of inspiring heroism there are a dozen horrors you can't grasp unless you've been there yourself. Most so for scouting parties. Far removed from authority and supervision by design, it often draws the kind of people who would have been thugs and criminals in peacetime. "Let's go."

They made it halfway through the grazed field when the door was thrown open and the enemy party streamed out. The first was hit in the chest by by two arrows and fell back inside. Grimmgang tossed his javelin at the second; it pierced his throat, nailing him to the mudcovered wall. His legs gave out and he hung suspended from the wooden haft, futilely clawing at the mortal wound as he drowned on his own blood.

A short melee ensued in front of the door. Grimmgang moved to the right, blocking the way of a man trying to make a break for the horses. He moved awkwardly, the hastily donned scale armor inhibiting him, and tried jumping over the dwarf in desperation. Grimmgang simply slammed his shield upward and lifted him higher, the whole weight of the man forcing the spikes into his flesh. He slid off, ripping the wounds wide and screaming in pain. A moment later, a morning star to the head ended his agony.

The fight was over as fast as it had begun; looking back at the others, Grimmgang saw they had taken one of them alive. Each of his arms was held by one of his companions; he didn't remember their names or faces, so in the realm of dreams they were only blurry shades the eyes couldn't focus upon. The pleading of their prisoner reached his ears as a whisper at the edge of hearing, the words long forgotten but the meaning clear.

Sir Marian stepped out of the cottage, pale as a ghost. Grimmgang understood even before a single glance inside told him everything. 'At least no children', he thought somberly as he saw the remains of the farmer and what must have been his wife.

"Marian!" he called out. The knight turned and was immediately assaulted by the dwarf's stare. No words were necessary, the intention was clear. For seconds stretching into eternity they locked eyes in a battle of will, but finally the knight averted his gaze and stalked off, submitting.

Grimmgang nodded without satisfaction. It was, like the skirmish before, a hollow victory. He remembered a lesson he learned early in his service, and if there is one thing about war he knows, just one, it is this: there are no rules but the ones we enforce.

"Slit his throat."

________________________________

This morning, Grimmgang was even grumpier than usual, troubled sleep darkening his mood. He tensed at the demand, eyes narrowing. "One at a time", he said with finality, hand resting near the haft of his axe.