Masters of the Nine Swords [IC]

[stack]

Torog grits his teeth, thinking of the sun beating down on his black plate, the sand working its way into every joint and through the padding beneath. An unpleasant journey, but a wise choice. "I agree. They will be more given to listen to a master of their own style. How soon can we depart? We should begin preparations at once."

[BelGareth]

Abd looks to the others and smiles ruefully, he was hoping to bring up the temple, but they had done it for him.

Ah how it would be nice to return to the Golden sand.

"I would agree, with Desert Wind, what could go wrong?" he says with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, as if he knows it would go wrong.

"I am ready to leave at once."

[PairO'Dice Lost]

"Then it is decided. The celebratory feast will have to wait, but it shall be all the more enjoyable should this next mission be successful." The Grandmaster of Unity puts a hand on the captive adept's shoulder once more. "Take half a glass to prepare yourselves and replenish supplies if need be; we wish to speak with our new adept in the meanwhile."

The half-glass passes quickly; aside from the healing and new rations you've already received, you require very little additional preparation. When the time is up, the Grandmasters return with the captive adept, who is now wearing the uniform of the Four Seasons Temple and bears a very prominent rune on his forehead. One of the temple servants gives the adept a look of distaste and hands him a length of cloth, which he self-consciously uses to cover up the mark. "We have ensured his loyalty for the time being. I am sure that your exemplary mercy thus far and ongoing willingness to treat him as any other Four Seasons adept will soon bring him to the point where he fully believes in our cause, but in the meantime we shall be cautious. Trust, but verify."

The entire Temple is turned out once again to see you go. The youngsters gathered in front, who just barely come up to your waist and look adorably fierce in their tiny training uniforms, are upset that they won't be getting any special feast-day desserts tonight, so they are quick to wish you an easy and very fast journey back in time for the next feast. Adept al-Wazra will not be joining you; she will be spending the next week in mourning for her fallen comrades. In any case, Master Abd knows the Desert better than any guide, so an adept escort is unnecessary.

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Eight days. Eight long days. Eight long, boring days. Left, right, left, right, right, straight, right, left, up, straight, left, left, down...Torog, perhaps, can feel at home in the endless stone tunnels, but even the enemy adept who is used to spending his days underground is getting annoyed at the constant trudging.

Of course, "enemy adept" is no longer the appropriate designation for your traveling companion. On day two, he awkwardly introduces himself as Dorvyn and asks for your names--"...since we're, y'know, friends now, I guess?"--before going back to grumbling about the long journey.

------------------------------

On day nine of your pleasant trip, you finally see full sunlight once more. You leave the cavern complex around midmorning, Abd taking the lead. Dorvyn starts sweating almost immediately from the heat and the exertion, but not so the Masters of the Four Seasons; Abd grew up here, Four can't sweat, and Belcor and Torog have exerted themselves harder when training some particularly dull novices. Torog can tell, though, that spending too long in the sun will turn his armor into a pressure cooker, so the five of you stick to the shade (such as it is) as much as possible.

Two hours into the desert, you crest a large dune and find yourselves a short distance away from a caravan. Three or four dozen camels and elephants and various attached transports are winding their way through the sands, guarded by two dozen or so worgs with riders, several krenshars with riders, and two hippogriffs circling above. The hippogriff riders notice you and, judging you to not be an immediate threat to the caravan, swoop down to meet you.

"Greetings, welcome, salaam, shalom, and salutations!" exclaims one of the riders with great exuberance. The speaker is a relatively tall goblin with a long white beard, dressed in blue and gray robes covered with pockets and pouches. His Common is spoken with a thick accent. "My name is Ibrihim al-Kali ibn Josef ibn Walid, and I am the Master of Shade! Whether it's hats, cloaks, kerchiefs, hoods, fans, umbrellas, parasols, or blankets held over your head, I sell whatever you might need to avoid Pelor's burning punishment! Every single garment is an authentic, unique, hand-crafted Wind Dervish creation, I guarantee it! My lovely wife Shazra is the Mistress of Refreshment! Only the finest, most delicious beverages and the juiciest, tenderest fruits can be found among her wares! You poor, weary, hot, and thirsty travelers must be headed to the Oasis of the Winds! Come, join our caravan, there is safety in numbers! And on the way, you may feel free to sample our wares!"

All of the foregoing is said in one long, effusive breath, and the goblin's smile is wide enough that his shiny white teeth could be used as a signal mirror. The female hobgoblin seated behind him on his hippogriff could be considered "lovely" if one were a goblinoid, or perhaps if one took a particularly hard blow to the head, but her many veils shield her, ahem, beauty from view, so it's hard to be sure. Still, the fresh water she offers you to drink is as cold and refreshing as advertised.

"So, what do you say? Care to join us?"

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Sense Motive
Four: (1d20+2)[21]
Torog: (1d20+6)[18]
Belcor: (1d20+13)[19]

Everyone but Abd

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You can tell that Ibrihim, if that is his real name, isn't exactly what he claims to be. You've lived and fought with Abd enough to know that his accent (and his beard) aren't quite right, and if his own robes are an example of "authentic" Wind Dervish garb, they aren't authentic at all.

Abd

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You mark the so-called "Master of Shade" as an imposter as soon as you see him. His accent and beard are completely fake, his robes and wares don't resemble Wind Dervish clothing the slightest bit in either style or material, and his entire manner practically screams "used-camel salesman taking advantage of tourists." You aren't quite sure whether to be amused or offended.

[DrK]

The 9 long days of walking pass without incidence for the Master of Autumn. On the second day when the marked traitor introduces himself the hulking adamantine robot glances across at him with a slight nod. "I am 4 of 9. Tell me do my brothers 3 or 7 still dwell within the walls of your previous temple. I have plans for the primes"

Later as they enter the desert the warforged shakes his head, cogs grinding slightly with the ingrained sand. He enjoyed the raw blast of the heat however and the lack of any terrain, with his massive treads on his feet the sand didn't bother him as they trudged across the burning waste, a hint of sympathy as his comrades made do with trickles of water from dwindling supply.

Seeing the caravan he eyed it cautiously, red lighs swinging from side to side wthin his eyes. "Greetings trader" he intones. "It may be that we will share a meal and rest briefly but then we must continue on our own way."

[stack]

Torog gives the trader a polite bow, his skeptical expression hidden behind his dragon mask. "The water is most welcome. I fear we are on a most urgent journey and have little to offer an honest merchant. Farewell on your travels and let the shade welcome you." Get this over with so we can reach the temple. What I wouldn't give for a mountain breeze?

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and spot for weapons or anything untoward. (1d20+11)[17]

[BelGareth]

Abd smiles genuinely as the goblin approaches them, he had spotted him as a fake the moment he had started to talk, the way his clothes looked, his speech, mannerisms....only those new to the desert would be duped by such a thing.

Waiting politely for the crafty salesman to finish he moves to speak, but waits again as his fellows move faster than he.

Agreeing with his warforged companion he nods.

"Our thanks for the much needed water, the desert has been harsh and unrelenting. Could we trouble you with some shade and company?"

He was hoping to gain the favor of the desert hospitality, allowing them to sit and dine with their hosts. A few stories from well traveled merchants could prove invaluable to them.

[mrcarter11]

Belcor makes no move to speak, instead he waits for the others. While something hadn't seemed right, his brother in arms, would know how to handle the situation better. For now, silence seemed best.

[PairO'Dice Lost]

"Splendid! Wonderful! My shade is your shade and my water your water, my friends! Come, join our caravan!" the goblin exclaims. He claps his hands in glee and begins to climb down from his saddle. Torog doesn't notice any weapons on the goblin as he does so; the trader may be fleecing travelers, but he doesn't appear to be trying to harm them. From Dorvyn's expression and his sidelong glance at Abd, the adept hasn't figured out that there's something unusual about this merchant and appears to think that this is normal behavior for desert travelers. He also appears to want someone to surgically remove the merchant's enthusiasm; Unconquered Sun adepts, even former ones, are not known for their levity.

Shazra takes the reins of her hippogriff as Ibrihim hops off, and as the hobgoblin and second hippogriff return to their patrol the goblin leads you on foot to the caravan. When you get closer to it you can see that quite a few of the travelers with the caravan are wearing the trader's "authentic" desert garb. The merchant leads you to one tall camel-pulled cart covered with banners, canopies, ribbons, veils, and other fabrics, in every color and pattern; it looks almost like some insane wizard tried to kill a creature from the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Terrible Fashion with a prismatic spray spell and created this monstrosity by accident instead.

The goblin scrambles into the cart and brings out several waterskins, a plate of small breaded somethings that smell strongly of ginger--Abd recognizes them as a traditional on-the-go food of his people, but it smells to him like the cook heard of the recipe secondhand and screwed up some ingredient proportions--and some robes, parasols, and veils for those who want them. He even has a pinwheel device that can both shade Torog and try to cool off his armor. Ibrihim assures you that they are free for now, but if you want to keep them after reaching the oasis there might be, ahem, a teeny-tiny fee.

"Excellent, excellent! You all look so dashing and handsome and sophisticated in those traditional outfits!" he says once those who want shade have donned their gear, pointedly not looking in the direction of Abd's actual traditional outfit. "Now tell me, what brings you to the oasis? Is it excitement? Adventure? Curiosity? Wanderlust? If it's for any of those reasons, I have plenty of stories to tell! I've traveled to the oasis and back again many times, and have heard legends and stories from every point of the compass! What sort of tale shall I tell as we walk?"

[PairO'Dice Lost]

Ibrihim takes a few suggestions from you and from some other travelers, and as you trek towards the oasis and the sun approaches his zenith, he weaves many a tale of large and fearsome monsters, brave and noble warriors, mysterious hidden places in the depths of the desert, and more. Some of them are funny, some are informative, some are awe-inspiring, and some are so completely over-the-top that though he swears they're true it's hard to believe that they really are.

Abd

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They're not.

The caravan takes a brief rest around noon as the travelers and their mounts seek shelter; the goblin proves his usefulness by setting up a series of tents and overhangs to shield everyone from the sun. He even pulls out a few wands and evokes globes of darkness and bubbles of coolness to give everyone a respite from the heat (which is probably the real reason everyone puts up with him). All too soon, the caravan packs up and goes on its way. The oasis appears off in the distance at about three hours past noon, and by your Temple's supper time you reach the outer limits of the small oasis community.

The most prominent color of the tent-like buildings here is a bright yellowish-green as that is the color of the most common dye available in the Golden Desert. It is made from a mixture of scorpionweed sap and the blood of the creatures known as needlefolk, plant creatures that resemble a cross between an elf and a cactus; needlefolk raiders are common enough here that the dye is in plentiful supply, and many visitors to the desert make a point of picking up some clothing in that color as a memento. The most prominent color of the guards around the oasis perimeter, however, is a deep crimson. They examine all of the incoming travelers one by one, and when they see Abd dressed in head-to-toe crimson a murmur of excitement begins to rise among them.

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A DC 10 Martial Lore check (which you all auto-pass) will tell you that crimson is the color of the Wind Dervish warriors, as the scorpionfolk-based crimson dye is as rare as the needlefolk-based yellowish-green dye is common, and for similar reasons. Recently-initiated novices receive crimson ribbons to tie around their customary white and beige garments, with the patterns denoting tribe of origin and the identity of the novice's master. As they pass increasingly more difficult tests, they gain larger and more elaborate garments, until they reach the rank of Master of the Sands, where the entire cloak is crimson. Anyone of the desert who is found to have worn such garments without having earned them is swiftly sentenced to death for impersonating such distinguished warriors.

Only two in the history of the Wind Dervishes are known to have earned the privilege of wearing the crimson mask and turban of the Master of the Winds.

Abd

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One of the two known Masters of the Winds was the original Warmaster of the Wind Dervishes, and one was the Master of Desert Wind of the Temple of the Nine Swords. You achieved the same rank as your master and earned the right to wear your Master's garments with pride, but the Temple of the Nine Swords was destroyed and all your fellow Wind Dervish adepts slain before the news could spread back to your homeland. The guards' excitement is likely due either to thinking that you are the old Master of the Winds come back to them or that you will soon be condemned to a fight to the death for your effrontery in mimicking him. Either way, it should provide plenty of entertainment for them.

One of the guards dashes off, crimson belt and leg wrappings flapping behind him. Ibrihim looks suddenly ill at ease, unsure of what set the guard off but sure that he doesn't want to be associated with the people who caused it, and so do some of the travelers who have been to the oasis before. The merchant and nervous travelers edge away from the five of you as discreetly as they can, disappearing one by one as the caravan proceeds into the heart of the oasis, finally leaving only Ibrihim hiding on the other side of his cart from you. The mounts are all drinking from the oasis and the travelers are setting up tents by the time the guard returns with a tall crimson-garbed orc in tow.

The orc sizes you all up, narrowing his eyes slightly at Abd but otherwise maintaining the politely smiling demeanor of the Dervishes' custom of hospitality, and in any case likely being wary of offending four obviously-competent swordsmen (and their less-competent hanger-on). "Welcome to the Oasis of the Winds, my friends. What brings the five of you to our home?"

[BelGareth]

Abd relaxes in the shade proffered them from the salesman, smiling the whole time. It wasn't long until they had to pack up and leave making their way to the oasis, Abd was eager to see the oasis. He has passed this way before years ago and the memory of the desert flooded back to him.

Ignoring the prattling from their generous patron on the way there he tried his best to soak up all the sights he could.

Upon seeing the fleeing guard Abd suddenly realizes he may have led them into an awkward situation.

Turning to his fellow adepts "I apologize, but I may have led us into something that may require a certain tender touch...." he touches the blade bound at his hip, Desert Wind felt cool to the touch and reassured him so "It will have been a long time since they have seen a member wear such garb." he gestures to himself. He stops and regards the new comer, an orc wearing similar garb who eyed him suspiciously.

Turning and smiling he responds to the mans questions. "We are looking for shelter from the heat of the desert on our travel through." He replies simply, not divulging anything he didn't need to.

[mrcarter11]

Belcor, up until this point has been sitting by, waiting for the goblin to stop talking. He had cared little for his stories or his cargo, the water and shade though, those had been nice. But now it seemed things might take a more active route.

"Brother of Summer, will they attack us first, or seek to ask questions first?"

[DrK]

The warforged looks about at the oasis and the desrt peoples camped within. The steam rises softly from his searing hot exoskeleton as he splashes some water over his armoured form and gently sits down. The soft hiss of a whetstone on kamate the night time sound that the rest of the Masters are getting used to.

"No matter the trouble we will prevail against them. The Temple will be close. I can sense it."

He looks around warily as he prepares to spring into action lest when trouble show its face

[PairO'Dice Lost]

"Shelter from the heat?" the orc asks, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his pleasant tone. "Why, of course, brother, you need only ask." There is a slight but definite emphasis on the word brother as he speaks. "Please, you and your companions, follow me." He turns without waiting to see if you follow. Dorvyn immediately steps forward to follow, having seemingly missed the byplay, and as the rest of you follow the orc several warriors wearing beige and crimson fall in around you.

The warriors number fifteen in all by the time you reach the orc's destination: a large sandstone slab lies in a small depression near the main oasis, carved with elaborate markings and patterns and studded with rubies along the edge. The carvings do not appear to be magical in nature, at least as far as amateur arcane scholars such as yourselves can determine; they are merely decorative, either abstract whorls and stars depicting the desert landscape or ornate script that, from the images around them, you assume records momentous events in the Dervishes' history. The slab is a good six or seven paces on a side, and the fifteen warriors plus the five of you can stand upon it comfortably. The orc and the other fourteen warriors stand in identical poses and make a small flourish with their blades that you all recognize as a moderately advanced technique of the Desert Wind. Flame erupts into being along each of their blades, and all of them thrust their blades downwards and outwards as one so each flame caresses one ruby on the slab's edge; the rubies slowly start to glow one by one as the fire touches them, and the slab shudders and begins moving downwards.

Abd

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When an initiate of the Dervishes becomes a full-fledged warrior his (or rarely her) name is inscribed in Ignan in this slab. Thousands of names intersperse recordings of ancient battles, coronations, tragedies, and other events. Your name is here, in the easternmost portion reserved for those warriors who reach one of the Master ranks, and as with the other names its inscription is large enough to stand in.

The place the slab is taking you is the Hall of Heroes. Initiates of every rank from the lowest novice to the highest Master are tested for advancement down there, surrounded by the remains of the greatest warriors of all the tribes and watched by at least three of the highest-ranking Masters currently present at the Oasis. Formal honor duels are fought here--on the rare occasion they are still held today--to help ensure the participants' integrity and hold all the tribes to the decision. If they are taking you here, it is likely that they wish to test you rather than kill you outright.

The slab descends one and a half stories or thereabouts--it's hard to judge depths from walls of blank sandstone--and torches blaze into life ahead of you, illuminating a long sandstone hallway leading into a larger chamber in the distance. You are escorted into the chamber, where seven stone seats are arranged in a semicircle facing you, smaller passages leading off behind them. Five seats are occupied already with crimson-garbed warriors of several races, and a sixth is occupied as you watch as a similar warrior walks out of one of the side passages to take a seat. They are talking amongst themselves and adjusting their clothes as if they have just arrived, and there are about two dozen other warriors ringing the chamber jockeying for a good view.

The orc motions for you to halt in the middle of the room, takes a few more steps, and turns around to face you. He raises his left hand, palm down, and the warriors around the periphery instantly quiet. "You have been brought here," he says in a low voice, "to this, a chamber of duels and challenges, because you" he points to Abd "wear the garb of our people. Not simply of our people, but of our finest warriors. For one of us to earn the right to wear it takes decades; for an outsider to falsely claim it--even unknowingly--means death, to him and all with him." He falls silent for a moment, and Dorvyn's nervous shuffles echo through the chamber before he stops in embarrassment. "We are here to determine which it is. You will explain to us who you are and how you came to wear that. You will then prove to us that you are worthy. Should you disappoint us in either aspect, you will die, as will those with you. Should you succeed...."

The orc shrugs minutely as if to say he doubts that will happen and will deal with the consequences later in the extremely unlikely event that it does. "Now, speak."

[BelGareth]

Abd followed the orc warrior and was not surprised by the addition of more warriors, they were his kin, in some strange and far reaching fashion. He imagined that he would lead them into battle against the opposing temple, these fire orcs of the desert, these dervishes, it was a fine thought. But he knew he must do something first, and it pained him to think of it.

Standing on the stone plinth, he scanned the etched names, and thought to himself.

These adepts do not study these names, or they would know me, or at least of me.

Watching mutely as the stone tablet lowered, he eyed the other masters and gave them a look and a subtle hand gesture of 'everything is fine'.

Walking in and stopping where he was placed he eyes the semi circle of warriors sitting in the chairs and assumes them to be the highest ranking warriors of the Desert Wind. His heart leaped at the thought of so many capable adepts and merging their fervor and courage with his own temple.

Waiting for the orc to stop talking, he unfastens the veil on his face, and then speaks as commanded:

"First, my friends and I are humbled to be in the presence of such great warriors." as he bows to them in deference. Once he rises from his bow he continues "My Name is Abd al-Aziz Master of Summer, Student of Safwat Sayyid the Master of the Desert Wind, I, his student protected his body when he fell in the great sundering of the Temple and I his student took his mantle and claimed Desert Wind." at this he draws the scimitar "I have earned the right to wear this garb and accept any challenges against me to claim me false."

The memory of his Master was bittersweet, he loved the man as a father and the master who had allowed him to be taught of the ways of the Desert wind, he hoped his name would carry some weight. Those who knew him could see his was very emotional, but still on control. The very incarnation of the Desert wind, wild and fiery and quick to anger.

He was ready to fight and his feet tensed at the very thought of, instinctively forming the base for the Rising Phoenix stance, should the need arise he would slip into it and show them exactly how much of a master he was.

[DrK]

4 had followed the others wordlessly. The massive adamantine treads finding easy purchase on the slippery sands as he followed the others. The glowing red light of his eyes flitting from side to side as the numbers of warriors surrounded them becoming numerous if not insurmountable.

The sandstone was a large and impressive slab - even more so when the lesser desert wind adepts ignited it and it descended down into the earth. He glanced around- it was a shame that the Master of Spring had left. Torog would have appreciated the descent.

His emotionless demanour hardended slightly as he reached the bottom the chamber and witnessed the ranks of warriors with their scimitars all around him. His metallic gauntlet tightening on the hilt of Kamate as he longed for the comfort of the Iron Heart.

At the old warrior's words he looks at Abd allowing the Master of Summer to speak. Though he shows none of the deference. His massive hulking frame large and shimmering black in the small flame lit cage. His glittering red eyes watching all in the room for the first sign of trouble. The stance of absolute steel giving him the mobility of these lithe desert orcs.

"We are of the True Temple. If you wish to master your skills send your best into the mountains and if you prove adequate you maye be apprenticed.

You speak to Master of Summer - wielder of the Desert Wind. Choose your next words carefully." From 4 of 9 none of the deference that Abd had shown...

[mrcarter11]

Belcor doesn't reach for his own weapon yet, instead waiting to see where this would go. He doesn't attempt speaking either, as Abd would have much more practice with their customs here, and in Belcor's mind, a fight should be avoided until it was deemed necessary. Abd seemed to know what to say as well, so it was best to simply wait and see what would happen. None the less, his stance did shift. He would now stand, ready to counter the attacks of the adepts if a fight did occur.

[PairO'Dice Lost]

Murmurs break out among all assembled as Abd identifies himself, and sword hands stray to belts as Four voices his support of the Master of Summer and Torog and Belcor shift silently into fighting stances behind them. Several warriors step forward menacingly, but several of the (presumably more scholarly) warriors examine Abd's stance more closely and take a few wary steps back. The Masters seated before you have mixed reactions: one pair of eyes widens in shock, two mouths frown in skepticism, one set of eyebrows quirks in silent appraisal, and one finger jabs out in anger. "You dare to claim Sayyid as your Master? How could--" The warrior to his left holds out an arm, silencing him, and the Masters rise from their seats and withdraw behind them to confer.

A minute later, they resume their seats, and one of them says to Abd, "You claim to be al-Aziz, returned to us. You claim to have learned at the feet of Master Sayyid. Yet both names are carved into the Warrior's Memorial at the entrance to this hall, and the history of our tribes' warrior traditions is no secret; you could easily steal a name and background to deceive us just as you could manufacture counterfeit garb. The Abd al-Aziz we know has not been seen or heard from in decades, since long before the fall of the Temple of the Nine Swords, and by now we know Master Sayyid was slain in the Fall, so he is not here to testify. Convenient." The speaker, a part-human of some variety, shifts in his seat slightly and continues, "We have heard rumors of successor Temples in the mountains, where you may have acquired the title of 'Master of Summer', but we do not recognize this title nor any mastery it may signify."

The man's tone becomes less formal, and you get the impression he speaks for himself now rather than for the assembled Masters. "I, too, studied under Master Sayyid, when I was a novice. Even then, I thought his decision to leave us and train with foreigners with their dishonorable cultures and their strange disciplines was...misguided. I cannot fault his skill or his judgment--he is a Master of the Winds, after all--but even if you are who you say you are, and even if he judged you worthy of the rank before the Temple fell, who can say whether associating with practitioners of the lesser disciplines has tainted your dedication?" His eyes flick to the rest of you and he adds "No offense meant, warriors," in a tone signifying the opposite.

"Now, before the Elders decide to settle the matter with honor duels," he concludes, tone formal once more, "have you any further proof of your identity and your skill? And if you are indeed Master al-Aziz, why have you returned here after so long an absence, if you are so beloved by your new Temple that they grant you a Master rank as well?"

[BelGareth]

Abd watches the murmurs rise in protest to the news of what he had told them, it was bound to inflame some ire and he had hoped for it.

Watching the fledgling warriors approach them he smiled, and his smile grew even more when some had the knowledge to withdraw from him.

He watched with wary eyes as the Elders conferred together and then the one spoke for the group.

He knew he spoke the truth, he had left them, at the feet of a stranger, who had turned out to be more than he could have hoped. More than just a Master, he was his father and he treated him better than he ever should have....made him weak though? that thought caused Abd to swell up with anger, who are they to call my Master weak?

Abd's grin had vanished and a look of contempt replaced it. A firey fervor plain to any who would look upon him, it was obvious the speaker had ignited his anger.

"Yes, you are correct. Convenient isn't the word I would use for Master Sayyid's death however. And for the proof, well I am seriously lacking in that department, except for my word. My word is the only thing, other than" he gestures to Desert Wind "this, that is of any value." He stops for a second and looks down, then back to his other masters "And If you think that spending any amount of time with the other disciplines would weaken the ways of the Desert, you are wrong, it has only strengthened my resolve and fine tuned my mastery of it." he looks back to the assembled Elders "Let us be done with this farce! I Challenge your champion to a duel, not only to establish my name as Abd al-Aziz, Master of Summer, wielder of Desert Wind but also my Command of this, of you all, that I am your Master and you will come with me to establish the one true temple once more!"

[PairO'Dice Lost]

A few gasps echo around the room, but most of the warriors here look unsurprised that this will end in a challenge. The Masters seated in front of you confer among themselves with gestures and silent glances. "You ask much," their speaker says. "To establish your identity is one matter, but to send our warriors to an unknown place to learn from unknown masters, leaving our people defenseless? Even sending away a handful of them would leave us short-handed; your masters would need to be be skilled indeed to justify such a thing."

Four of the other Masters stand and step forward, hands on their weapons. "So this shall be resolved as Test of Swords, not a Duel of Honor. You shall face four of our number at once. Fail, and you shall be killed, along with your companions. Defeat one, and you will be judged unworthy, but your companions will duel us to be forgiven their own insults against us. Defeat two, and we will forgive your slight of our customs, and will allow your companions to leave alive and unharmed . Defeat three, and we will acknowledge you as a Master of the Winds. Defeat all four, and we shall send our warriors to train at your Temple. Do you accept?"

Abd

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This is a fairly standard challenge. Normally, if an outsider insults a warrior's honor, they duel each other for their honor; if a group insults a tribe's honor, the best outsider is chosen as a champion to fight two warriors. To advance to a higher rank among the Wind Dervishes, a warrior must defeat three warriors of equal rank in a Test of Swords to prove himself; adding on a fourth to decide the future of the tribe shouldn't be a problem, since you handily defeated three Masters when you first gained the rank of Master of Winds.

This chamber isn't used for duels for merely ceremonial reasons. It is enchanted with healing and protective magics such that anyone who would be slain in the dueling circle is merely rendered unconscious, so you can fight without holding anything back and not need to worry about killing a promising student.

[DrK]

The heavy and weighty warforged looks at the old master with nothing but contempt writ large on his steel jaws and red gleaming eyes. "You speak of duels old one. Should we duel the 4 of us against the best 4 you can muster. Let us get this farce over with."

4 slowly draws kamate the ancient blade and rests the point on the ground in front of him, the dull steel striking sparks as it drags across the cavern floor.

"Bring forth your best warriors of the Desert Wind"

[PairO'Dice Lost]

A confident smirk slowly spreads on the speaker's face. "Oh, no, outsider, those four warriors are for 'Abd' to face, alone. If you wish to join him, we could find more Masters to fight you--one each, as a Duel of Honor demands--and allow you to fight together. That would be a good test of whether blending the disciplines is truly not an impediment as you said, and seven against four should be no difficulty if you are truly as skilled as you claim to be." He cranes his neck to look over at Dorvyn, who is standing behind you four as inconspicuously as possible. "Or perhaps eight against five, if the skittish one claims the right of honor as well...?" At the adept's vigorous head-shaking, the speaker laughs. "A coward, but an honest one. Seven and four, then, and your apprentice can watch from the sidelines."

The speaker motions for an adept to come over and murmurs something about fetching someone. The adept runs off and comes back shortly with a seventh Dervish wearing Master robes, who takes her seat in the empty stone chair. "If this challenge is acceptable to you all, we shall begin. If you wish to refuse, say so now." Torog nods his acceptance and looks to Belcor and Four.

[DrK]

4 of 9 tilts his head slightly stepping forward to join Abd in the ring and looking eagerly around for the challenger that will be crushed by the blade of the Iron heart.

[BelGareth]

Abd watches as Four instigates more 'Masters' into the fight, he was relieved however as he would be joined by his brethren. While he new he could defeat them, he knew it would be an easier fight with the 4 of them, working in unison.

He turns and gives Four a warm smile, one that says, 'thankyou'

Turning to them he speaks "Do not worry about pulling your blades, this chamber is rich with great magik, those that fall will not die."

Turning to the assembled Masters, he speaks to them. "I am, ready."

[mrcarter11]

While he wasn't quite sure about what would soon happen, he did know that the four Masters had already proven themselves quite capable and that a battle against those before them while not easy should none the less prove doable. And so stepping forward he pulled Supernatural Clarity from it's sheath and settled into a battle stance. His mind was his strongest weapon and so he concentrated, not on the battle, but on the victory that would soon be theirs.

[PairO'Dice Lost]

"Excellent," the speaker says, a confident smile on his face. He steps forward, as do the other six Masters, and the speaker claps his hands twice. The assembled warriors take this as a signal, moving quickly away to clear a roughly circular space in the chamber, except for a few who tarry to lead Four, Belcor, and Torog quite a ways back from the Masters to stand in specific places--Abd needs no prompting to find his proper place, having been through this process before. Dorvyn gives you a quick wave and a whispered Good luck! before hurrying to follow them. The seven Masters step forward and take up their proper positions as well. This done, the speaker raises his arms in a gesture of supplication and calls out "Let the challenge begin! Alesmah lelbedh ale-thedi!" in a voice that echoes throughout the chamber.

These words are a signal or invocation of some sort, for no sooner does he utter them than the stone in a perfect circle encompassing the eleven of you suddenly rises a foot up from the floor of the chamber to form a small wall, the top of which bursts into flame. The light from the flames is much brighter than the torches that lined the entranceway and illuminated the Masters' stone seats, giving you an idea of the true scale of the vast chamber for the first time. The ground rumbles and five square areas within the circle rise as well to a height of just over eight or nine feet, not as blocks but more as plateaus, resembling pyramids with their tops sliced off. Two more areas do the opposite, sinking into the floor to form wide, banked pits. All of the surrounding warriors press forward as close to the circle's edge as they can to get a good view of the battle to come.

The speaker gives you a moment to take in your surroundings, then calls out across the circle: "The rules of the challenge are thus: You shall remain within the Ring of Honor, for as your companion said any who fall within it shall not be slain but merely incapacitated; any who leave the Ring or cause another to leave it are dishonored, and removed from the challenge. The watchers are not similarly protected; any who cause harm to the watchers are dishonored, and removed from the challenge. Finally, warriors rendered unconscious are finished; any who attempt to heal unconscious allies or otherwise return them to the fight are dishonored, and removed from the challenge."

He nods decisively and reaches over his shoulders to retrieve two scimitars. As he falls into an offensive stance, the other Masters retrieve their weapons as well. The Master farthest to your right nods to a nearby warrior outside the ring, who retrieves a spear and hefts it ready to throw. "The challenge shall begin when the spear touches the ground," the speaker explains, "and shall last until one side is entirely finished and not sooner. Throw!" The warrior does so, and the spear arcs up, up, up, and down again, landing with a clatter atop the plateau in the very center of the Ring.

Map--Round 1

Spoiler

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The gray octogons to the right of the ring are the stone seats. The pinkish squares around the ring are the observers; AoEs including those areas are prohibited. The dark gray squares in the ring are the raised areas; the center square is 10 feet off the ground and grants total cover, and the side squares grant cover, neither of which apply if the attacker is on higher ground. The light gray squares in the ring are the sunken areas; the center square is 10 feet deep and grants concealment to anyone in it against attacks made from outside the sunken area. The side squares of both the raised and sunken areas are difficult terrain.

[PairO'Dice Lost]

While the spear falls, the Wind Dervish Masters glare at the Temple Masters, their gazes managing to convey that the Temple teachings are inferior and that the Dervishes will crush them without a single word being exchanged. Time seems to slow as the spear clatters down point-first...tink...tink...tink-tink...clatterclatterclatterclatter.

The Masters of Winter, Spring, and Autumn glare back, fully confident in their Temple's teachings and their own personal skill, and the Master of Summer gazes back completely unfazed by his tribemates' insult to him. The apparent lack of effect that the Dervishes' reputation and skill has on the interlopers unnerves them, and they break eye contact to glance from side to side as if reassuring themselves that they have the numerical advantage. Only for an instant are their eyes off their opponents, but an instant is enough for a seasoned Master, and in their instant of hesitation the Temple Masters spring into action.

[DrK]

THe hulking robot looks to his allies before nodding and with a ponderous thudding sets forth smoothly in the stance of absolute steel. Advancing cautisouly he readies for the lesser fire adepts to come within reach...

Spoiler

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Initiative (1d20+14)[19]
MOve ~30ft forward and ready to smack one with a standard action "attack".
Standing in Robliar's Gambit
Choose #5 as dodge target

[BelGareth]

Abd Moves sees the other masters look around as his teammates bore into their souls, he had never liked the duel of wills and had disregarded it. Perhaps he had made an error?

Thoughts for another time, here he was in one of the most important fights of his life.

Shifting his stance slightly he moved forward abreast Four and readied for the oncoming adepts.

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Swift action: Flames Blessings stance (Fire Resistance 20)
Move action: Move 30 ft forward
Move action: Ready action to strike with Inferno blade
Attack - (1d20+20)[35]
Damage - (1d6+19)[22] + Fire damage - (4d6+16)[36]
Desert Wind dodge vs 3

[TekHed]

Torog's body had begun to glow as his feet levitated from the floor. Floating forward with speed, he held unfettered before him, daring his opponent to attack.

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Pre-combat action: activate winged mask, Fly Speed 40, Giving off Light

Stance: Giant's Stance
Also: Robilar's Gambit +4 to strike and damage vs. him gives me an AoO every time I'm swung upon.

Move action forward 40 feet, Ready Standard Action: Ancient Mountain Hammer

Robilar's Gambit:

(1d20+28)[36] Damage: (4d6+19)[34]

and a few more just in case:

(1d20+28)[31] Damage: (4d6+19)[36]
(1d20+28)[43] Damage: (4d6+19)[38]
(1d20+28)[45] Damage: (4d6+19)[34]


If my standard action gets triggered:

(1d20+28)[37] Damage: (18d6+19)[76], ignores DR

Remember to add +1 to all attack and damage rolls against the guy I beat in the duel of wills.

Some other notes for myself since I can't edit Torog's sheet:

Maneuvers Readied:

Emerald Razor
Moment of Perfect Mind
Bonesplitting Strike
Elder Mountain Hammer
Ancient Mountain Hammer
Overwhelming Mountain Strike

Hit Points:186

AC 32

Retributive Amulet 3/3 Immediate Action

[mrcarter11]

Belcor moves around the hindrance directly before him, instead seeking to meet his enemies on even ground. Upon reaching an area he finds suitable, Belcor stops and readies his blade for combat against one of the dervishes.

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Moving up and forward, so that I stop in between 1 and 2, I'm just not sure how far, forward I am before I run out of movement.

Anyways, ready Diamond Nightmare Strike, in anyone closes to melee with me.

Concentration check (1d20+26)[43]
Attack (1d20+20)[40]
Damage (1d6+5)[9] x4 if the concentration check is higher then their AC