[IC] Wok: Science Ascended

[Conor77]

Underneath August's careful ministrations, Hizzelim coughs once, twice, and looks up. He is pale, he is still wounded grievously, but he is alive. The healing spell kicks back a small log of generally what it did, telepathically. It appears that it has mended 3 ribs, and unpunctured the Doruk's left lung. These fixes are still tentative, and strenuous action may cause further damage <only fluff. He has 1 hit point now>

Meanwhile, Tharan-kel is a raging bull, charging forwards to tackle the retreating foe. Unfortunately, he is a little bit overzealous, and ends up getting his face clocked by the elbow of the Senub as he comes onward, shocking him out of his senses for a brief moment.

From the side though, comes Xander. He rushes forwards and swings his sword as hard as he can across from the front, but only succeeds in smacking the Senub's shins. From the vicious oaths uttered, you guess it hurt quite a bit. Unfortunately, it did not check his progress as he continues to sprint away. He makes it partly down the path, and is now 80 feet away from the closest of the party, which is Xander.

[Quellian-dyrae]

August had never been much of an archer, but considering the senub's speed, it didn't look like they'd have much luck catching up. He could continue the healing as needed, but this was looking like his last chance to get a shot in. He dropped his flail and shield, drew his bow, and loosed.

Spoiler

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Free action: Drop flail and shield.
Move action: Draw bow.
Standard action: Attack at (1d20+4)[6], minus whatever penalty for range (range increment 50', so I'm figuring -4, maybe -6?). Here's hoping for a 20, so if that comes up, crit confirm is (1d20+4)[14] at the same penalty. (1d6+3)[6] damage on a hit, X3 on a crit.

EDIT: ...Or...or I can go for a natural 2. That's...surely a valuable contribution to our cause in its own, special way.

Interestingly, August's luck seems to be dependent on his action providing healing. Huh.

[RunicLGB]

Hizzelim bolts to his feet after his brush with death, looking at his body to make sure he is in fact still alive. He coughs up some blood, but feels no more of the iron taste welling up. After being assured of his survival, he looks around for the one responsible, and sees the Senub fleeing.

"Oh ho, cheeky fellow. You won't escape from this encounter so plainly I assure you."

Hizzelim holds out his hand, condensing his mental energies into small ball on the tip of his finger, and with a forceful point launches the miniscule sphere of violet energy out towards the Senub.

Spoiler

Show

Actions:
Move action stand from prone.
Swift Action: Draw Soul arrow.
Standard Action: Fire Mind Arrow:
(1d20+6)[3](9) Range incrment is 80ft so at least -1 but possibly -2.
Crit Conirmation Roll: (1d20+6)[10](16)
Damage: (1d8+5)[1](6)

Here's to hopin.

[Failed Phantasm]

Xander watched the Senub sprint away, deciding that trying to chase it down would be a waste of effort at this point; after all, he had no idea where he was or which way to go, and he had no particular desire to become even more lost than he already was. He was still recovering his balance from the swing he'd taken, and - while it wasn't easy to precisely judge the distance - it seemed as though the Senub had managed to get out of range of his magic. Breathing a quiet sigh, partly from the exertion and partly out of frustration, Xander grabbed the scabbard at his left side and held it steady while he sheathed his blade. 'That could have gone...' he began to think, as an arrow whizzed past him, followed by a bolt of magical energy. It was difficult to tell, but it looked like both were going to fly wide. '...better.'

Turning back, he saw both Doruk on their feet, though the wounded one still looked like he was in bad shape. There was still blood on the ground, spilled by the Jushorun not five feet away from Xander, the Doruk, and... "The old man!" he exclaimed, quietly but with an unmistakable note of alarm in his voice. The old man who had been the Senub's first victim was still lying on the ground, though Xander couldn't whether he was dead or not. He sprinted back towards where the old man lay, skidding to a halt as he came up alongside the poor soul, dropping to one knee as he looked for the rise and fall of the chest that would indicate breathing. 'Please don't be dead,' he said to the man telepathically, still unaware that he was doing so, as he gently picked up the man's wrist and checked for a pulse.

[Conor77]

The pulse is gone. August's healing magic sealed up the wounds, so no more blood spatters the scrubby dust, but enough has already been spilled. The man stares into the sky forever. You realize, now, that you never caught his name.

The only thing to be heard besides the whistling of the wind is the steadily dwindling tump-tump of a machine, a craven.

A murderer.

[GuyFawkes]

Tharan-Kel

Cursing under his breath for his ineptitude, Tharan started to walk back towards the others, though his eyes still trained on the construct making his escape, looking forward only when he was gone beyond the bend of the road below.

"How is he?" he asked August of the man's condition.

[RunicLGB]

"Well I guess he does get away so easily.

Lowering his hand and then his whole body with a thud to the ground, Hizzelim looks to the other Doruk and the Jushorun, and noted the elderly man they were discussing. Hizzelim then looked down at his own wounds, noting the marked similarity, sans one difference.

"Given the miraculous regenerative abilities provided by my fellow Doruk here this old chap should be back on his feet within a minimum time-frame. Unless, Wok forbid, he is to far gone to save of course. In..."

Hizzelim cuts himself off, and forcefully holds his tongue back. It finally occurs to him that he has no idea who these people are, and what their relations are to one another. The old man certainly doesn't look to be in any form of good condition, and he could have been a dear friend to one or all of them.

In silent respect, Hizzelim bows his head, distracting himself with considering what he could do next.

[Quellian-dyrae]

August just frowned and shook his head. The old man was healed, and was not awake. He'd seen that before, too often. He gave his belt pouch a little pat, and without a word turned back to Hizzelim, slowly channeling positive energy into him, guiding it through healing the rest of his injury. Once he was fully healed, he'd turn his powers back on Tharan, then retrieve and stow his gear.

[GuyFawkes]

Tharan-Kel

Tharan fell silent at the implications of what Hizzelim said and what August did not. Silently, he looked around, trying to find his weapon in an effort to take his mind off of the reality. When he did find his dagger, he slowly walked towards it, and as he bent down to pick it up, punched the ground beside it, aggravating his wound on the chest, which he had forgotten. Clutching his chest, he looked at the blood on his hand, then dismissed it as he picked up his dagger and walked back to the others.

As he walked, his mind wandered back to Salor, and how the people were unceremoniously cut down like that old man in front of him; it would have been better if all that were left were old men. Children, with their lives not even beggining for them, would all be cut down without any way to defend themselves.

Stronger. I must get stronger...

Tharan closed his fist so tight his knuckles began to become white.

"We should bury him. The least we could do..." he said to no one in particular.

[Conor77]

August takes his time knitting the other together, weaving white strands of glowing magic into blood and bone and flesh, carefully sealing up skin and binding tendons back together. Hizzelim takes some time, as many internal organs have been damaged, and the chance for infection is very, very high. At the end of it all, it takes around 10 minutes, and soon the injured are stretching, stiff but alright.

The same can not be said for the man. You find his effects, such as they were, and such things! The first was his spellbook, full of incomprehensible sigils and almost random-looking runes and drawings. You aren't sure what it is worth, but you are sure that it will be worth something, to someone. Inside the cover there is written, "Property of Jerome Iln Tally". You have no idea if that is the man's name or not, but that is what the book says.

The second piece of property you find is an ornate twisted bracelet with emeralds set into it. It would fetch a fair price, if anything would. The third is a page, that falls out of his spellbook. It almost touches the ground, but Hizzelim catches it. It is an illuminated page, from what book or what document you have no idea. The wispy-thin piece of parchment is one of the most intricate and beautiful things you've ever seen. You decide that for now it would be best to keep it in the spellbook, as it is a very fragile thing.

The last you do not find until you are lowering the man into a ditch dug by Tharan-Kel, and a thin rod drops out of his sleeve. It is a magical wand.

You bury him, and a small heap of earth is all there is to mark the grave of this man, Jerome or otherwise. All else is scrub-grass and blood, and the sweet scent of the archmage's magic on the breeze.

That, and the sword dropped on the ground by the Senub are all that remains on this dusty piece of land. The mountains rise behind you, blocking your view of Salor. Before you is the land of Lakar, where natural magic abounds. The question, is what you want to do now.

[Quellian-dyrae]

August remained basically silent throughout the process of healing and the burial, working stoically. Once it was all finished, he spoke up again. He had rarely been outside of Salor, and was still disoriented from the teleportation. "So...do any of us have an idea where we actually are?" he asked somewhat sheepishly, patting his belt pouch and gazing out over the terrain, looking for any sign of a community.

[RunicLGB]

Hizzelim continues to bite his tongue during the entire burial proceedings.

When it finishes though he considers what august says. "Geography was never among my strong suits. It doesn't help that I was purposefully and hopelessly lost before being teleported to some singularly-descriptive locale such as this. As a point of course though, if our machinated adversary is indeed returning to whatever unit destroyed that city, and also seeks the strange item in your possession, a course in a direction opposite of his own might be advisable. Seeing as I have nowhere else to go and at least some debt of mended ribs to pay back I wouldn't be opposed to following a course concurrent with your own, and least until we find a settlement."

[GuyFawkes]

Tharan-Kel

"I have no idea where we are as well. I have never been to these parts," Tharan cut in on the two Doruks. "But there were murmurs of some monastery some distance from here, where most of the people seemed to have went to. Maybe we could start there."

[Failed Phantasm]

As he held the slender wand very gingerly in his left hand, holding it up to the light and turning it over so he could look for carvings or markings, Xander gave the item a cursory inspection while listening to the others talk. 'Now what is it you do, I wonder?' he asked the wand wordlessly, rubbing his chin with his other hand, though it obviously could not respond. 'What kind of magic are you hiding?' Finding out would have to wait, he decided, preferably until he could find someplace that was both secluded and had a healer somewhere nearby. Magic items could be downright testy, after all, and he'd learned from experience that it was best to assume the magic contained within strange staves, wands, or potions was of the sort that could backfire painfully, perhaps even explosively.

"'Nowhere near Treth,' is the only thing I can say about where we are," Xander commented dryly, his gaze still fixed on the wand, "since I'm not usually one for traveling." Lowering the wand to his side and snapping his head up to look at the group, he continued, "I heard the same thing from a group that walked past me, about a monastery nearby," he said with a nod towards the Jushorun, "but I didn't notice which way they were going." As he said this, he realized he didn't even know the Jushorun's name. Or the name of the especially verbose Doruk. He thought back to the throne room in Salor, trying to remember the name of the last Doruk, the one who had been given the platinum sphere by the Lord of Salor himself. 'Hm... what was your name again? I know he said it once. "Salor is gone now, a dream of the past. They will wreck it and turn everything in it to ash. But they must not have this. Do you hear me..."'

"I'm not sure I caught it earlier," Xander began, shifting his weight as he addressed the heavily-armored Doruk, "but your name's August... right?" He continued without pausing. "I don't think I know any of your names, and I know I didn't introduce myself to you earlier." Xander reached over his shoulder and, carefully handling the wand that was still in his left hand, stowed it in his backpack. "My name's Xander. Xander Hawke. Arcanist, swordsman, solicitor-at-law," he said, sketching a quick bow with a slight flourish of his right arm, "and as much as I want nothing more than go home and give my employer the worst harangue of his life for getting me into this mess, I owe Salor my life and I intend to repay that debt by seeing this task of yours through. I know I'd be dead by now if I'd been left behind in the city."

[GuyFawkes]

Tharan-Kel

The Jushorun stepped forward and breathed the air, trying to sniff out any trail of scent from the people who were here a few minutes ago. But with all those trails leading to almost any and all direction, there was nothing much to work with. On the corner of his eyes, the glint from the sword caught his attention, and he went to pick it up.

After picking up the large sword left by the Senub, he spoke. "Tharan-Kel. That is the name my father gave me. I as well do feel a debt to Kolum Salor and the rest who were left back there, and as such I will accompany August and protect what has been entrusted to him by the Lord."

"For now, the only way is down. We shall see where the road takes us."

[Quellian-dyrae]

"August Winters, aye," he replied. He gathered up the old man's book and the mage's bag. It could contain information about the sphere.

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed with Tharan.

[RunicLGB]

"Nice to meet you as well, and I am Hizzelim VanThamis, merely a curious and directionless wanderer. I know not of these debts though I must assume I carry them as well, and have been amassing quite the debt within the last few hours such that I would not normally be inclined to repay in full save for the ills that have befallen being the type for which I have a deciding lack of tolerance, and ergo would be willing to merit out some directed entropic destruction on those responsible as a means of balancing this account. If this parties path then aligns with those that this vigilante justice has been earned by you can rest assured that I will follow it, at least for the time."

[Quellian-dyrae]

"Well, suppose we should be about it, then," August said, heading down the path.

[Conor77]

The others follow. It is midday when you start down the path, and you all realize with some trepidation that you do not know how far it is to the nearest piece of civilized land that may offer hospitality. The switchbacks of the dirt path carry you downwards though, and the air gets warmer, until it seems quite reasonable, even balmy at times. The day is sunny, though masses of cumulonimbus clouds tower into the sky far away.

Eventually, the slope turns gentler, and the switchbacks are replace by a curved trail. It appears to be leading to the right, somewhat rounding the mountain. You follow it for a while, until you come to a crossroads. One fork breaks abruptly left, the other continuing along to the right. There is no sign.

As you take it in, (and rest for a bit, as you've been walking quite a distance), Xander gets a kind of funny feeling. No one else notices, but he feels as though he's being watched. He sort of, turns to the right, and looks at a few rock formations. Nothing really there... until he looks right down to the road, and sees two pairs of eyes peeking up at him, widening as they see him seeing them.

It is somewhat akin to the picture of two faces and a vase, where it is both, and your eyes adjust to seeing one or the other at a time. Except in this case, Xander takes in the fact that the rock by the side of the road is actually a cleverly disguised blanket, with two people lying under it. Then they snap it off of them and rise to their feet.

They are two, a boy and a girl. The boy has his hair shaved close to the scalp, the girl wears hers in a ponytail. Though the boy looks older than the girl, neither could be older than 17. Both look human.

"Hail. State your business in these parts", says the boy, in a voice that attempts to be authoritarian.

[Quellian-dyrae]

August looks between the two paths with some annoyance, although he figures one's as good as another at this stage. Roads will get them to civilization, and they don't exactly have a set destination in mind. He was turning to the party to see which they wanted to take when the kids jumped out at them.

He was surprised at first, hand going instinctively to his flail, before he analyzed the situation. Instead, he faced them and stood at respectful attention, figuring they'd respond better being treated like soldiers than children. "We're some refugees from Salor, and rather lost, actually. Where precisely are 'these parts'?"

[Conor77]

"You are from Salor. We have had a number of people coming down who say they have teleported from Salor. You will not make it far if all you have on you is in your packs. Come to our temple and we will give you food and water, and make sure you can make it to someplace safe" You realize as he says this that the voice he speaks with is oddly...clinical. You mistook it for attempted authority on his part but now it seems as though this is just how he speaks.

The girl answers your question, "These are the Fairy-Hills, the foothills of the Blackstone mountains on the west side. We've been waiting here for more of you to come down the mountain, since the others said there were stragglers. Then some big cog bastard decided to try and make us take him to the monastery, so we ran him off". She rubs her forehead under her hairline, and briefly reveals a large bruise there. "You know him? I owe him a couple of arrows now, catching my meaning". She gestures to the side of the path, where a couple of sticks are on the ground. Then you recognize them as a broken bow.

[GuyFawkes]

Tharan-Kel

"Oh, yes, we do. And he owes us more than just a couple arrows," Tharan's voice was seething with anger but his face was trying to be calm.

"Which way did he go?"

[Conor77]

"It is never wise to go off into the wilderness around here without a guide. Let us guide you to our temple, where you can be fed and watered. One of our acolytes will take you to the nearest town on the morrow, where you can hail passage to, wherever you need to go." As she says this, she rubs her forehead absentmindedly and stares out past you towards the treeline, by all measures an ordinary forest from your point of view.

Anyone raised in Lakar would have known that "ordinary" is anything but there.

[Quellian-dyrae]

August gives a slow nod, looking to the others. He didn't see any reason not to follow them. "Here lass, let me see that," he offered, reaching out towards her bruise, his hand starting to glow with a soft gold light.

[Conor77]

She denies gracefully, stating, "I'd rather wear it, and not get too used to magical healing. I've heard some people build up resistances to that sort of thing. Best not to chance it, I think"

The boy turns around and begins walking down the right path, and the girl follows. As they walk, both kids are alert to their surroundings, but the girl keeps running around and around, looking at trees. Neither of them say a word to you as they walk. It takes a good solid 30 minutes of walking to get to a bend in the road. After the bend, you see a a few miles ahead of you is a godamn castle, nestled between a cliffside and a steep hill that turns into a mountain peak further away. It is obvious that this is your destination, but somewhat less obvious is why and how someone built a castle in a place filled with zero tactical importance and not very much stone and located far away from anything of note. Huh.

As you walk, you notice farms and plots of land to the sides of the road. People are out working these, dressed in the same sashes and cotton-cloth that your two guides are wearing. One of them calls out to the girl, "Alia, where's your bow?" She shakes her head and gestures at your group, and he lowers his head and resumes feeding his pigs. You keep walking. As you arrive at the castle, everything becomes clearer. Quite literally so, as you encounter a wall of snow some 20 feet high, with stairs cut into it. You walk up the wall, and find yourself on a plain of snow and ice, stretching out in a perfect half-mile circle, surrounding the castle. The wind is suddenly bitter cold, and there isn't a single tree or piece of grass up on top of the disc of compressed snow.

So even more protection for this extremely unimportant castle.

You get to the castle gates, where a man gestures you inside. He wears remarkably different clothes from the others, a heavy wool robe that covers him head to toe. He gestures you inside silently, an eerie mirror of your two kids most of the trip. If your guides felt any discomfort walking barefoot across the snow, they do not show it as they walk away towards a different part of the building.

The man brings you to a long table in some kind of dining hall where you see many of the others from the mountaintop, some of whom cheer as you walk in, and others of whom blush as they recognize the small former-guardsman. It looks like the three mages are here, along with a very large hairy man with an axe, a sorcerer with a nervous twitch, and 4 mercenaries. Two people dressed like the other man, in heavy robes, wait upon your table. They have cheese, bread, meat, vegetables, soup, all kinds of different food, even some things that are out of season. These two waiters apparently are not afflicted with whatever silence infects the others, and they happily tell you that their larders are so cold, no rot or flies can touch them. It is certainly cold inside the castle, to the point that the waiters bring wool coats for you to wear, and the others down the table as well.

[Quellian-dyrae]

August gave a little chuckle at the girl's refusal, but didn't challenge it.

August began to grow more wary when he saw the castle. Normally, he'd have probably called a halt and demanded more information at the obviously magical ice field, but he was too surprised and unsure of what he was seeing. However, once they were inside, he looked hard at their guides. "What is this place?" he demanded.

He didn't take the coat, cold though he was. He wasn't willing to trust this place until he got some answers.

[RunicLGB]

Hizzelim follows the group absentmindedly, pondering to himself. Though he keeps in lockstep his look is anything but focused, the implication being that his inner monologue is as loquacious as his external speech.

When he sees the snow field, perfectly circular and geometric, he gasps. "Lakar! Fetid bones of a thousand rats have I traveled so far to go nowhere at all?"

Seeing the group continue on to the stone castle, Hizzelim relents, pulls out his winter blanket and wraps it around himself, holding it tight by his hands.


Inside the castle he remains anxious, always eying the exits. He denies the robes of the castle, noting that he carries his own. But while the servant is handy he asks. "If you could provide me with anything I would request only the name of this establishment, and if your knowledge could stretch so far to tell as to how proximal this point would be to a small...On second thought ne'er you mind such trivialities and instead bequeath me only what was initially sought." At the dumbfounded look he receives, Hizzelim stares blankly back, until finally saying "What is the name of this castle and it's lord?"

[GuyFawkes]

Tharan-Kel

"Bah, what are these kids, constructs or something?" he asked to no one in particular. "Nay, that blasted Senub was even more coherent than these two," shrugging as he started after them.

Tharan made the whole trip silently, grunting only when something caught his fancy. When they arrived at the castle and were shown into some dining room full with some of the people they had teleported with, his eyebrows raised. And when they were presented with the food, he did not hold back.

"Oh, for us? Don't mind if I do," he grinned as he sat down and began stuffing down the food down his stomach.

[Conor77]

The one waiter speaks, very quickly. You have some trouble making out the words, "Why, this is the castle of High-Reach, good sir! The last lord of the place found religion and declared his lands the property of all native to them. So now we run our own little government here and no one minds very much. We all follow the Path, so we almost have a complete monastery here. We have tried to rally for secession but the Lakarans just won't have it. Now, I suppose we might call Kalka the lord of the castle, or lady rather, but she doesn't-" he is cut off by his friend, refilling ale-horns and wineglasses, who bops him on the back of the head with an empty pitcher and shoves a full one into his hands.

"Ah- ah- ah-, I speak too much and serve too little. Suffice it to say Kalka is the lord, we are his subjects, and that this is the castle of High-Reach". He moves to fill glasses and take away empty plates. Everything goes onwards, as before.

One of the mercenaries, a tall Aaran with spiky hair (from the style, she is trying to convey that she is female), walks over and sits next to Tharan-Kel. "So, whats up with you, you get caught up in the whole 'duty to the world' crap that king was spewing? Or you just along for the ride?"

[GuyFawkes]

Tharan-Kel

"Thanks," he said as he gulped down the content of the newly-refilled wineglass. He wasn't really paying attention much to the waiter's words than his service.

"Who? Me? Don't know bout duty to the world or whatnot, but I do owe them my life. 'Sides, I know this brave Doruk right here. Took care of me back at the Academy, so I owe him too. Wherever he goes, I go," Tharan managed in between bites and chews, careful not to talk anything about the platinum.

Yeah, the last incident involving it didn't end so good.

"Meat?" he offered the Aaran. "Or are you one of those greens-only type?"