Suspension [IC]

[3SecondCultist]

The volley of boomerangs whistles towards you. As they hurdle through the thick jungle air, they cast long shadows on the ground below. The brush around you echoes with the cries of the drow war party, as you spot the various dark skinned humanoids in the undergrowth. But you find that you have more pressing concerns than the elves moving in, as the blades finally make contact...

* * * * * * * * * * *
1 MONTH EARLIER
* * * * * * * * * * *

The host - a shy half-elven girl - leads you to a second floor room, partially open to the floor below and with an excellent view of the stage. The sounds of a lute carry above the faint sounds of the performance. A number of chairs are arranged closest to the balcony’s edge, and a low table against the back wall of the room is laden with fruits and pastries. A middle-aged human with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard stands near the chairs, apparently enjoying the music. He turns as the door opens, gesturing to the table. “Please, help yourselves. As most of you know, my name is Rickard Valborn. We have some business to discuss, which I believe is always more pleasant on a full stomach.”

Once you have found somewhere comfortable to sit or stand, Valborn extends his arms out as if to gesture to the performance below and the space within which you find yourselves. “I am what you might call an academic, currently affiliated with the Morgrave University that has taken this great city as its home. I have recently discovered hints and rumors of an ancient site dating back to the age of the so-called Age of Demons, before even the giants roamed the surface of Eberron. I would like to employ you to investigate this location, and to retrieve a relic I believe to be interred there. I will warn you now, the task is not without a degree of danger, which is why I require the services of individuals such as yourselves,” The academic continues, walking over to the table and picking up an apple. He bites into it with enthusiastic energy before continuing.

“Now, the primary reason this will be such a perilous journey is because of the location of this particular site. It is not strictly speaking in Khorvaire: indeed, what I am asking of you is nothing other than braving the heart of the Xen’drik wilderness. I understand some of you have in fact traveled there before.” He proceeds to flash a knowing smile to several of you. “I would like to procure your services for a period of at least six weeks. You will have free choice of any treasure found at the site with the exception of the relic I seek, for which you will be rewarded in full. I can offer you each a base fee of 750 gold pieces per week, as well as full travel expenses, and I will pay half up front.” As if on queue, the host appears from the shadows near the door where she has been standing. She produces a tray with five bags of deep red linen, and you can hear the faint clinking of opulence within.

[MandibleBones]

Arcady, a tall, dark-haired human favoring red clothes, is wearing an outfit more suitable to the play going on below than exploring the ruins of Xen'drik. A signet ring is visible on his finger, and though he carries a strange, wire-laden clawed glove at his belt — almost in the manner of a wallet — he does not appear to be armed.

"You'll pay our letters of mark as part of expenses, I assume?" he asks, only at the last moment phrasing it as a question instead of a statement. "Oh, and I'll need a description of the relic and its supposed purpose before I agree to take the job. I'll sign a non-disclosure if you're worried about it, but..." he trails off, shakes his head, and picks back up. "Not bringing a thing back to Khorvaire if I don't know what it does." And what you want it for, he thinks, but does not say. "Not after Cyre, anyway."

Arcady sighs. And not after the Harrowcrowns, either. His hand goes, unconsciously, to the odd gauntlet at his belt, which he strokes lightly. He tilts his head, listening to the performance.

"That's not half bad. What is that, revival of mid-Galifar drama? New book, period costumes," he smiles lightly, nowhere near his eyes, "Far better performed, at least. You must be proud."

Spoiler

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Spells prepared tonight:

0: Resistance (Ab), Detect Magic x2, Repair Minor Damage x2

1: Protection from Evil (Ab), Benign Transposition, Cause Fear x2, Feather Fall, Ray of Enfeeblement

2: Protection from Arrows (Ab), Web, Alter Self, Dimension Leap

3: Dispel Magic (Ab), Fly, Greater Mage Armor, Wind Wall

[TheAntiplanar]

As soon as she's found her seat, Astari finds herself examining the performance alongside the red-clothed man. She adjusts the navy cloak around her shoulders so as to ensure optimal comfort. It also offers her the mobility to quickly get up and defend herself should the need arise. Beneath the wool, the links of mithral glitter under the faint lights above. The kalashtar is almost completely ignoring the music accompanying the play, focusing instead on the movements of those on stage. In a matter of moments, she almost lost herself in the visceral feel of it all. But as interesting as watching the bodies of Morgrave's finest was, Astari knows that she is here for another purpose. She brushes a strand of deep red hair out of her eyes as she turns to Valborn.

"That is certainly an amenable price you're offering there professor... is it professor? But this man makes a good point about the nature of whatever artifact it is we're bringing back: I don't know how comfortable I am with unleashing an unknown piece of technology on a place like Khorvaire. I'm also concerned about this 'danger' you just mentioned now. As new as I may be to Sharn, I've heard some of the horror stories about Xen'drik. Do you have any idea about what kind of obstacles we would be facing on your behalf?" Astari watches the man carefully, waiting to gauge any sort of reaction or visible response. Ever since leaving the company of her own kin, she finds that she is doing this more frequently: the contractions of the facial muscles and dilating of the pupils were the most minuscule of movements, but anyone with the right skill-set could monitor them.

And yet... when she looked in the mirror sometimes, her own features seemed frozen in place.

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Untrained Sense Motive check: (1d20+5)[18]

[Lateral]

Even with his wings retracted, Sarkan towers over the rest of the audience. He stands, arms folded, in the untiring and ever-vigilant way that only a warforged can. His appearance is very unusual- his plating has been shaped into scales and appears pale blue and red, and his head is elongated, with a wide mouth full of metal teeth and far more expressive features than those of your average warforged. As he turns his head over to Valborn, he narrows his eyes and begins to speak.

"Agreed. While I confess that this proposal is intriguing, without a proper knowledge of this 'relic' and what threat it might pose to us or to anyone else I'm afraid I cannot accept." Sarkan unfolds his arms and moves in towards the rest of them, mildly unsettling some of the other members of the audience.

"And, ah, introductions may be in order. My name is Sarkan, former lecturer in draconic arts at the University of Wynarn."

[MandibleBones]

"Arcady ir'S—" and he sighs, clearly ill at ease. "Arcady d'Cannith. Wynarn, huh? I guess I never had your class. When did you leave?"

[Lateral]

Sarkan chuckles softly. "Last month. I didn't particularly appreciate the way one of the professors spoke to me, and he didn't particularly appreciate dying in a duel with one of his lecturers. Or possibly just dying in general. I'm sure having your skin burned off is quite painful."

"And I was only there for a year and a half, so that isn't much of a surprise."

[MandibleBones]

"Yeah, that was well after my time. Can't blame him, I guess: dying's rather painful; I'd probably be offended too." Arcady chuckles, and it's not a terribly nice sound, but he's not mocking the dragonforged.

His mind flashes with the image of a terrified warforged scout, and Arcady stops laughing abruptly. "Right. Not terribly funny." And he turns to watch the show again, the smile gone.

A moment passes, all awkward, before he speaks again. He doesn't look at Sarkan.

"Some people don't know when they're out of line." It's the closest he's come in a while to acknowledgement of anti-warforged prejudice in postwar Galifar. He doesn't want to think about it. It's not the most disgusting thing he's seen, but it doesn't make it right, either.

[TheAntiplanar]

Astari watches the interactions of the man named Arcady and the warforged who called himself Sarkan in the best silence she can muster. The chuckling seemed easy enough to emulate, but the dull half-silence that followed it was profoundly strange to her. They're not looking at each other... what does that mean? She says nothing at first, willing to let the pause gather and grow in the shadows of the balcony. Her brows furrow slightly, but in the pretense of trying to ignore what was going on Astari pulls her morningstar from her belt and begins to polish the head of the weapon. Best to seem unobtrusive in situations like these, right?

"My name is Astari Whitefeather, by the way. I'm very pleased to meet you - you'd be surprised how rude some of the locals are around here."

[3SecondCultist]

Valborn refuses to comment at first, obviously waiting to see if anyone else has any questions before clearing his throat and continuing. The ghost of a smile steals across his face at the three of you who have already introduced yourselves. "In order, I suppose. What we're likely to find in Xen'drik, while no doubt ancient, might likely be little more than tablets or slates with cryptic writings, perhaps a piece of lost art or two. As for what I'm looking for, suffice it to say for now that it isn't dangerous. It's really more of a tool, and I'm not even sure if it exists. I'll tell you more when we get to Stormreach." Setting down his apple, he waves at the host to come forward. She obeys wordlessly, handing each of you a pouch to do with what you like. The weight settles in your lap comfortably.

"And you're right, the dangers in the heartland are bound to be many. Both wildlife and primitive tribes make the jungles of the interior their home, and both are expected to be hostile upon our arrival. Take extra caution around the giants and drow, for they are as strong as they are cunning."

[MandibleBones]

Arcady looks a the gold in his pocket, more than he's held in one sitting since he left Aundair. He does not sit easy, but the truth be told, he made up his mind long before coming.

"I'm in," he says. "But if you're wrong on the danger this item poses..." He doesn't finish. Making a promise would be more rash, at this juncture, than he wants to be. Than he needs to be.

"On that other subject on which we spoke, observing him will be fine. I don't want to do anything precipitous until I know for sure what he's up to."

[Lateral]

Sarkan flashes a toothy grin. "Sign me up, then. Gods know I haven't really travelled since the end of the war, and I do sometimes long for some real action."

[TheLonelyScribe]

Wolo is a fairly short half-elf, with a handsome bearded face. He's wearing a very baggy cloak, and seems to be rather uncomfortable in it. He seems to be watching the play with interest.

He steps forward towards Valborn, his reserved demeanour resolving into a beaming smile. If we're doing introductions, then I'm Wolo Armnan of House Lyrandar. And as for this artifact, well, I've travelled on missions I haven't known much about before, and I'm sure I'll do it again. I guess you summoned me here because you needed a captain? Well, give me a ship and a crew and I can get you there easily. .

Wolo smiles charmingly, but he's no idiot. He knows the only possible reason for Valborn to hide the purpose of their mission is because he's worried they wouldn't agree if they knew now. The adventure appeals, but he's willing to refuse to carry anything he thinks might be dangerous. The other people the professor employed seem to be rather shifty characters. He regards Arcady, a Cannith heir and, by extension, hated aristocrat, with a degree ,of suspicion. The only person here he would actually like to work with is that interestingly foreign Kalashtar.

[TheAntiplanar]

Tossing the pouch of gold into one of the extra-dimensional pockets of her bag, Astari puts on a calculated smile. It's just some more shiny metal. If this man thinks he can buy me with these bits, he is very mistaken. While she had decided before she even arrived at the University what her decision would be, a man who had the right answers to all the questions did not strike her as trustworthy. And then there was the matter of how he even knew of her existence...

"Count me in on this venture as well, Rickard Valborn. I cannot help but notice that when you referred to Stormreach just now, you said 'we'. Does that mean you intend to come with us?" If Valborn was indeed accompanying them, was it a sign of good faith on his part? Or was the man just keeping a closer eye on his investment? Either way, the job itself was too tempting to pass up. Ever since she had left Adar, Astari has found herself desperate for something, anything to keep the visions away. A long term adventure like this might just be medicine she needed.

[3SecondCultist]

"Very astute, my dear. I am in fact traveling with you, but only as far as the city of Stormreach. From there, you will need to find your own way to the site. And as for you, Mr. d'Lyrandar, I thank you for your offer but the airship we are chartered on already has a captain. You may have heard of him before, he goes by the name of Alastair d'Lyrandar? He captains an elemental galleon known as the Golden Dragon, currently docked at Lyrandar Tower. If I have your full support, then we leave tonight."

The professor sits for a moment. He watches the closing acts of the play out of the corner of his eye, but you can tell that there is no passion in his gaze. His attention is focused on something else just now. The only response to Arcady's last words are a curt nod, as he seems to be waiting on the last member of the party to weigh in on the offer he has presented.

[RFLS]

Up until now, a tall, dark half-elf had been standing off to one side. His silence and clothing might have marked him as a servant, but his stance, for anyone who looked, was quick to disabuse observers of that notion. Telarin stepped forward out of the shadows.

"I am.... willing to join you on this expedition. The...payment is more than adequate"

His speech is broken, pausing as though he is not quite used to speaking, and his eyes, black as ink, never seem to focus on any one person.

"I must ask, though, out of...ruinous curiosity, you might say: what sort of ruins are we visiting? What...ancient catacombs will be violated? Hs, hs"

Telarin makes a noise, a brief exhalation of air through his thin nostrils, that can just barely be interpreted as laughing, as though amused by his own question.

[3SecondCultist]

It is clear that Valborn is weighing the benefits and consequences of telling you exactly where it is you will be going, but whatever internal conflict exists within the man seems to abate.

"Once we get to Stormreach, you will need to travel south. Deep in the jungle, there is an ancient giant fortress known as Tharkgun Dhak. Some scholars thought that it was built at the end of the Age of Giants to protect the dwindling empire at the time. That would make it a 40,000 year old ruin, but I think it is actually a good deal older than that. My theory is that that Tharkgun Dhak was built to protect something else, something hidden at the end of the Age of Demons. But enough of this for now! We will learn nothing more by watching theater, no matter how captivating it might be." His fruit finished, Valborn tosses it aside before getting up. With a minute flick of his hand, he dismisses the host to attend to the other patrons, and she disappears as unobtrusively as she first appeared.

His coat gathered around his frame, Valborn stands next to what appears to be a back exit. Although weathered by age somewhat, you can tell that he used to be quite handsome. He cracks a small grin, his face lighting up for the first time with a sense of excitement.

"Well, shall we proceed? Lyrandar Tower awaits us."

[MandibleBones]

"Certainly. If I might have a moment or two, I'll meet you outside."

Arcady picks up his haversack from the cloak check, tipping the attendant a silver piece, and makes his way to the nearest restroom to the exit.

A few minutes later, an almost entirely different man emerges, wearing simple traveling clothes and a heavy cloak fastened by a dingy, winged broach. His haversack is slung across his back, heavy leather bracers cover his forearms, and his hair is intentionally mussed. The only things that reveal him as Arcady d'Cannith are the strange gauntlet -- now on his right hand, in lieu of the signet ring -- and the smirk on his face.

If security does not kick him out, it is only because his clothes, however common, are almost fastidiously clean... and he's heading for the exit anyway.

"Waiting on you now," he tells the rest of the group as he walks out toward Lyrander tower.

Spoiler

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If it's alright, I'm going to have spent my last 5 gp on a spell component pouch -- it slipped my mind during pre-game. It should fit nicely in the haversack. Will update equipment and cash when I get back to a home computer.

[TheAntiplanar]

Tharkgun Dhak... the words echo in Astari's mind, as she commits the name to memory. An ancient ruin, from before even the dreaded Quori came to this plane. Who knew what kind of treasures awaited them beyond the edges of the map? She feels a tremor of excitement travel up her spine at the prospect of the journey to come - or was it dread? It was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

"Let us be off without apology." Her expression, demure. Her voice, quiet. But for the first time since leaving her home in Shal'Quor, Astari is looking forward to something. It is a good feeling.

[Lateral]

Sarkan nods wordlessly and heads to the door.

[RFLS]

Telarin nods in agreement, stepping back into the shadows. He waits as the group leaves, and, when the last person has left, he slips quietly out behind them, and heads in a different direction.

[TheLonelyScribe]

Still suspicious, due to the conditions of his father's death and the vague nature of the task ahead of him, Wolo proceeds cautiously, trying to keep as much of the group as possible in sight - especially Valborn.

[3SecondCultist]

Arcady, Astari, Sarkan, Wolo: The door leads you up a stairwell and down a dimly lit corridor before coming to a large pair of double doors that look identical to the ones that brought you here. Through the stone, plaster, and wood, you can still hear the thundering applause as the play reaches its inevitable conclusion. Valborn pays it no heed, moving quickly to unbolt the portal. As he does so, you catch sight of a board next to the door, describing the various events and the like to have entertained Morgrave University in the recent past. On the list is the 'Red Sorrow', a dramatic saga of growing popularity, of which you saw most of the ending. There was also a lecture tour by a famous thunder guide named Katrina Thrush, as well as a demonstration of some form of new necromantic demonstration on warforged by one Narvos Eldridge, presumably a wizard or artificer of some sort.

"Come quickly! They're waiting for us at the sky docks, and I told Alastair that we wouldn't be late." With a certain pomp, Valborn throws the double doors open - to reveal the blinding skyline of the City of Towers. From the spire, you can see the rest of the University District and the many other towers that dominate the Upper Wards of Sharn. The stars are almost veiled by the sea of light that is the most populated city in Eberron. Stepping out onto the balcony, the academic ushers you towards the edge where an opulent looking skycoach is waiting.

[MandibleBones]

Arcady waits for the others to board before taking the seat as close to the door as possible. It's not that I don't like heights, it's just that if I fall, I want to not be in this deathtrap when I do, he thinks.

[Lateral]

Sarkan enters first, smiling smugly. "You may have your fears of flying, but I have none. I believe the reason should be obvious." With this, he unfurls his enormous pair of wings and walks off onto the ship.

[TheAntiplanar]

Staring at the lights, Astari finds herself panicking. There's just so many of them. How can they all live in such proximity? The thought of all the souls, the minds spilling over into a sort of oblivion, it nearly makes her break out in a sweat. This was not the first time this anxiety had overtaken her since Adar, either. Just take a deep breath. The first step is always the hardest...

The thud as her boot lands on the floor of the skycoach is decidedly anticlimactic. There is something to be said for making every moment dramatic, but sometimes the first step is as easy as putting one foot in front of the other and willing yourself forward. She sits next to Sarkan, allowing herself to occupy his negative space without getting too close.

"So, tell us about this Golden Dragon."

[3SecondCultist]

Arcady, Astari, Sarkan, Wolo: As soon as the half-elf and the artificer enter the skycoach, Valborn gives the all clear signal and the transport lifts off with a sudden jolt. If he has noticed the absence of Telarin since you left his private box, he has given no sign. Once in flight, the ride is considerably more smooth. Those of you seated at the windows look out and see the spires of the Upper Central Plateau of the city looming ever closer: in particular, the Highest Towers district that so many call 'the heart of Sharn'. It has been nearly an hour since the sun set, but you can still see traces of orange-gold on the skyline, melding into the deep, endless blue of the evening.

"The Golden Dragon is one of the finest airships of its generation, a passenger ship of true class. It is so large that it requires multiple bound elementals working in unison just to keep it flying straight. I've booked all of us passage already, and cleared the payments with the captain personally: Wolo, I believe you two know each other? He mentioned you by name." The robed man leans over, pointing out the window at the superstructure that looms directly ahead.

Lyrandar Tower. One of the tallest buildings in the metropolis and by far the best known, you can see the traffic on the airship docks from here. There must be dozens of skycoaches coming and going from the various levels of the tower, although you can only see three actual ships. The first two are unremarkable, but the sight of the Golden Dragon is hard to miss. As Valborn described, the housings for not one but two elemental rings surround the giant vessel – one blazing and crackling with flame, the other dormant and dark. The ship herself looks to be about two hundred feet long and over sixty feet across at her thickest. The Sovereign Host alone knows what kinds of artifice hold such an enormous craft aloft. Soarwood tinged with gold and carved in scale and talon motifs make up her body. Her front bow is rendered into an enormous dragon’s head with fanged mouth gaping wide. As the skycoach approaches the upper levels of the tower, you can see an assortment of individuals at the ready for your arrival.

"Ah, I believe this will be the captain now, but we must first pass the security checks. House Lyrandar can be so cautious sometimes."

[TheLonelyScribe]

Wolo pulls out a brooch from his haversack. It is in the shape of a Lyrandar airship, and the elemental ring is made out of a continual flame that casts light into the dim carriage interior.

This ought to be sufficient for me, anyway. And perhaps you are talking about my cousin, Alanera? Actually, yes, you mentioned him by his Common name - Alastair. Yes, I'd heard he'd got his hands on this old beast...

Wolo looks at the magnificent ship, an almost reverent expression on his face. The presence of Lyrandar officials has calmed him down, and he starts actually looking forward to the adventure in store.

[3SecondCultist]

Arcady, Astari, Sarkan, Wolo: "Alanera, you say? I'm afraid I am somewhat out of my depth when it comes to Elvish. I've always wanted to learn, though. Maybe you could teach me some?" Tipping the driver of the skycoach as he sets down on one of the balconies outside the docking port, Valborn indicates for the four of you to get out of the vehicle. In doing so, you find yourselves at the heart of Lyrandar power in Sharn.

The airship docking port is a single room that occupies the entire top floor of Lyrandar Tower. The walls of this massive chamber are thirty feet high, and the domed ceiling rises to dizzying heights above you. Four lifts located in the center of the room allow easy access to the docking port from the levels below. Two massive, 20-foot-high doors pierce each of the four walls of the tower, all of which are open to the docking balconies that ring the spire. It is on this grand platform that you find yourselves now. Within the confines of the chamber, there are dozens if not hundreds of passengers waiting in line for the next airship to take them. They are matched by what you presume are the Lyrandar guards: half-elven figures in austere grey cloth and bearing goggles. You catch the sight of armor beneath some of the robes they carry. At each airship gate, there is a team of at least four scanning passengers for threats, and although you didn't take the conventional way up, it would appear you must suffer the same indignity. The guards are polite but firm about their scan, letting Wolo through upon noting his brooch and verifying his identity. Once all of you are through the checkpoint, you are greeted by a trio of figures. The first you immediately recognize as Telarin, who somehow beat you here. The second is a tall half-elf. His long coat is lined with pale fur, the collar turned up against the wind. Several days worth of facial hair seem to give him a rugged look, and his gaze is somewhere between amused and determined. Given the familiar greeting offered by Valborn, you would assume that this is the aforementioned captain, Alastair d'Lyrandar.

The last person on the docks is very much unlike the two others, emerging from the shadows behind one of the lighthouse towers only after the skycoach touches the wood of the balcony. The body of a great lion ends in the serene face of an elven woman, observing all of you dispassionately. Orange stripes mark her deep-black fur, and when she moves they ripple like flames. The great falcon wings extending from her shoulders are pure black, but folded away for now. The features of the sphinx's face, despite being recognizably elven, have a sort of feline look, and her hair is the same black and orange as her coat. She wears a few jeweled chains of platinum and gold around her neck and forelimbs, and a silver diadem rests on her brow. The House Lyrandar workers give her a wide berth, clearly afraid of offending their illustrious guest. When she speaks, the air itself stops to listen.

"The wheel has spun anew. You will walk through storm and earth and fire before the end can become the beginning. Two is one, but one is not yet two: remember this. Beware the unbroken circle, and the darkness that lurks within."

[TheLonelyScribe]

Wolo is astonished to be in the presence of such a mighty creature. His mother instilled in him a great respect for the magic that creatures such as this wield.

Spoiler

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Knowledge (arcana) to remember Sphinx qualities: (1d20+10)[16]

Knowledge (local) to recognise her as Flamewind: (1d20+6)[20]

[MandibleBones]

Arcady regards the mighty airship, not even bothering to act unimpressed. I want one, he things, which quickly turns into But smaller, faster, and painted bright red. Discarding it as immediately impractical, he reminds himself of his priorities.

"Right," he mutters. "Xen'drik first, then the Mournland, then awesome airship and triumphant return."

He endures the security scan with amusement, producing proper ID and his signet ring when required.

"Given where we're going, this must be a scan to make sure we are carrying weapons," he says, knowing the guards will just ignore his banter.

When the sphinx talks, he actually shuts up and listens, head tilted in contemplation. After a moment, he shakes it.

"I have not the slightest idea what that means," he admits frankly, then switches to Draconic that sounds like he learned it from reading old scrolls. <"But my lady Flamewind, thank you for the advice regardless. I'm sure it will make sense - probably at the last possible moment, and we'll all be properly grateful later.">

Lastly, he addresses Alastair, in Elven with a distinctly Wynarn University accent. <"Captain. Nice ship. Mind if we board?">

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(1d20+14)[25] Knowledge: Arcana, same deal.
(1d20+10)[28] Knowledge: Nobility and Royalty for recognition (will edit "But milady" to read "But my lady Flamewind," if successful.