Death's End IC II

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: The soldier shrugs at Myr's question. "How should I know? At this point, we still don't know enough about how the Six operate to come to a conclusion about what it is they're after." She looks around at the table one more time. "I do know, however, that going back out in this state is unwise. When I was put on this assignment, I was told not to let you die. It'll be dusk in a few hours, and I'm willing to bet that most of you haven't slept since this whole thing started. We should - " She pauses mid-sentence, as she hears something. After a moment, some of you begin to hear it too. It should be impossible, and yet it is both distinct and unmistakeable.

Someone is knocking on the front door.


The Dead Guy: The herald is searching through your book again, taking down the names you've written with a clear efficiency. There, you can see the names of Soryn, Rosamund, and someone named 'Pythian the Immanent', a long-dead Justinian who used to be a high cleric devoted to Necrovian in life and is now a fellow herald. Your own representative assures you that the latter's testimony will prove invaluable to your trial, if you ask him the right questions. Before your very eyes, the names float off of the paper, as three envelopes soar off and disappear into the vast void beyond the court. "Once I write the names, the summons has been issued. If they are dead, they will receive notice within moments and will be able to send their reply." His empty eyes are unreadable, and yet you feel a warmth in them that wasn't there before you challenged Janos. You've earned this humble spirit's respect.

Minutes pass in near-silence. You feel less than nothing, if that's even possible. For a moment, color no longer exists. But you blink, and suddenly it's back. The Arbiter sits on his throne, the epitome of patience. Time is his greatest resource. And Janos seems to be just as nonchalant about the wait. He doesn't look at you at all: his eyes are closed to this world. Another minute, and another. Suddenly, you see a familiar figure stand in front of you. Her blonde hair is tied back in a warrior's knot. She wears a longsword on her belt and a shield on her back, and her armor clanks heavily against the stone - is it really stone? - floor. Rosamund. She steps forward and shakes your hand with a heavy grip. "Ben! It's good to see you again. I saw that you had a hand in Urthrax's defeat, and for that you have earned my testimony today."

But the longer you look around, the more you come to the conclusion that she is the only one coming. Another letter from Pythian arrives, stating that he does not feel inclined to take the stand for you, although it doesn't elaborate exactly why. From Soryn, there is no reply.

[esorscher]

In a flash, Arran has his bow out, an arrow notched, and pointed at the door. He is silent, his lips terse and tightened, his eyes narrowed in tunnel vision at the entrance to the supposedly secret location.

[Ajadea]

Calia looks around wildly for the source of the sound. She's so tired. Sirramar have mercy, she wants nothing more than to collapse into bed and dreamless sleep. But. The door.

She rises silently and steps towards the door. Her feet make no sound against the floorboards. Her sword slips free of its sheath. Steel gleams under the torchlight. It won't be the first time she has knowingly placed herself to shield her allies from danger. It is doubtful this time will hurt any less than those before. The door is only an arm's length away. She stops in front of it, and looks back. Anything could come through, but they can't leave it outside forever. Still, she won't open it until her allies stand ready. To surprise them like this would just be cruel.

[PersonMan]

"It's not just stone," Elara begins correcting Myr, looking up from the scrolls she had already begun to examine as the man's words reach her through the blockade she has put up to aid her concentration. "The path is-" Knock.

Elara stops, looking over to the door silently, putting down the scroll in her hands and slumping slightly as no explanation comes, no calming words to somehow explain why the 'safe'house seemed to be...well, not safe. "I'll...I can throw up an image of the room being empty," Elara says as Calia steps forwards. "If things go south, it'll give us a bit more of an advantage," she explains. If none of the others objects, she retrieves a small bit of fleece from her pouches and begins to intone arcane syllables, forming them into something like a sentence, meaning greater than that of the individual sounds being woven into it as she speaks, her hands drawing more energy from her mind and limbs out into the air, fingers dancing through complex configurations for several seconds before she's finished, and she closes her eyes briefly, letting her memory provide the fabric of the illusion. The room seems to flash back to its former state, an empty, dust-covered place. She cools it, as well, removing the warmth of the fire and calls upon her deep knowledge of dusty ruins to fill the air with the smell of a long-abandoned place. "Please stay fairly still," the mage asks, as she carves out blocks into the air, crudely spreading the image across empty space just before her comrades to ensure that they're hidden.

Spoiler: OOC

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Major Image, wooo! Probably not necessary and/or overkill, but Elara's got slots to burn and is gonna sleep soon.

I'm covering the entire room, but placing 'extra' blocks in front of each person so that they're behind a screen that shows what's 'behind' them. It'll last for concentration + 3 rounds, and is a DC 17 Will save to disbelieve (only if interacted with, though, so...vagueness ahoy!) with us getting a +4 bonus because we know it's an illusion.

[Togo]

Myr is moving almost immediately, grasping his glaive in a curious one-handed hold. No use in combat, but placed so that neither end of the weapon touches the ground. He positions himself near the entrance to the anti-chamber. He doesn't look around or work out where to stand - he already had a spot picked out.

Only then he does glance around, to see where everyone else is standing. It looks like he's about to say something, but then Elara calls for stillness, and he falls silent. Waiting.

[Ajadea]

It's a lie, she knows it is, it has to be but true or not, the dust settles in around and over her anyways. There's nothing left to it. No point in hesitation.

Calia exhales carefully and opens the door, sword at the ready.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: Kyria takes up position behind Calia near the door. Her own blade has been drawn, held out with a stillness that only expertise can offer. She nods at the red headed woman, a show of clear support.

And then Calia opens the door. The first thing you see is the carriage, a familiar black with a gold trim. The same vehicle. The same horses. The same man, standing in the middle of the street. His dark blue uniform is even more brilliant in the afternoon light. His decidedly nondescript features seem almost bored at the sight of you, if that's even possible. Perhaps he is seeing something else entirely. After all, you know who he is. And you know who sent him.

"Excuse me, but I was sent here to deliver a letter to the three individuals residing at this address? Elara Enhall, Galen di Palamar, and Calia Simore, I believe they were?" The man reaches into his right breast pocket and produces a letter. Ignoring all of your brandished weapons - and apparently piercing the illusion that Elara set up - he hands them over to Calia. The seal is one that you have all seen, quite recently: the six-fingered hand, grasping the skull. It only confirms your suspicions. Even the script has been penned by the same hand.

To the Candidates,

I would like to request the pleasure of your company for dinner tomorrow night. I believe there are many things that we need to discuss, the nature of which is hardly conducive to declarations of war in the streets. This city has suffered enough at all of our hands. Let us resolve our quarrels like the civilized beings that I believe us all to be.

Tomorrow, just before dusk, I will dispatch a carriage to pick you up at this location. It will take the three of you to a neutral site outside of the city: the old Lavinius Estate. The terms of our old agreement, as of your reading this document, are ended. There, we will discuss new terms and make the suitable arrangements for the deceased.

I look forward to seeing you again.

- Oberon

As you read the letter, you notice that the man is turning on his heel, as though to head back into the carriage.

[Ajadea]

A flash of black and gold is all Calia needs, and frankly more than she ever wanted to see again. Same face. Same carriage. Same master. She lunges forward and drags the unfortunate messenger inside by the collar. Her shoulder screams in protest, but the pain seems so much less important now. He slips on his feet. She twists and slams him against the wall. Don't stumble. Firm stance, hold your ground. Do not falter. The edge of her blade flicks up to his neck. "You keep finding me. How." It's a demand, not a request. She will have answers from him.

Spoiler

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Poor Guy.
1: No AoO, since he's flat-footed
2: Grab Melee Touch - (1d20+8)[22]
3: Hold Grapple - (1d20+10)[24]

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: As the man is pulled over the threshold, his unperturbed persona falls away into a fissure of deep concern. He's definitely paying attention to your weapons now. Evidently, he didn't think you would just grab him from out of the street. But when he meets your eyes, there isn't just terror in them: there's a great deal of confusion as well.

"I - I don't know! They're the ones who tell me where to go. I deliver things, people sometimes." You can tell just by looking at him that he doesn't seem to recognize you at all, despite having driven you to the di Kerastin Academy only days ago. "Please, please don't hurt me! I haven't done anything wrong. I'm just a messenger, please let me go! I have a family, they depend on me." The first tears well up at the corners of his eyes.

[Togo]

Myr sighs.

Who tells you, how many where do they tell you? Is it always in the same place? You literally have a coach and horses there - where it is kept, who maintains it?

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

How long have you been employed, who employs you, where are you based, and is that the same place as the place where those who give you instructions are based. What else do you do for them, who else have been giving letters to, have you been transporting anyone else to and from, and does everyone who goes there come back, or vice versa?

And what else have you observed?

[Ajadea]

Flash of confusion. No memory of her face. No memory. Like Senn. Just wiped blank over and over until there was nothing left. Calmness follows the moment of shock, time enough to listen to what she'd just heard. Galen di Palamar. Named in the style of old nobility. Like Sey had been. He rattles off the questions brusquely, almost bored. No. Rote. Said so many times that the sentence had worn its form deep into memory.

"...we have things in our background that could make us look bad"

Not just some soldier, then.

Calia shakes the man by his collar, once, twice, as much to grab his attention as focus her own. His neck bobs perilously close to her blade. "I suggest you answer Ser Palamar's questions," she says. A bit of a leap, but not a large one. Noble-descended, a fighter of no small skill. Some sort of title was practically assured. She's smiling again, or at least her lips are curving upwards, a sliver of sharp white teeth visible between them. "He's a lot nicer than I am."

Spoiler

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Does Calia know anything about the di Palamar line?

Knowledge History - (1d20+12)[25]

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: The emissary looks from Myr to Calia, and then back as the latter enforces the former's questions. He's actively holding back tears now.

"I - I always get my instructions from the coach-house of the Academy! I've been in service to Landry Folkor for nearly fifteen years. I maintain my own horse and carriage. He's always taken good care of me..." The man breaks down into heaving sobs now. And then the answers really come flowing out. "Oh gods. Oh gods. A page usually meets me in the servant's hall, gives me my instructions. I'm to pick up this person at this address, and deliver them here, at this time. Not always the same page, the Academy's a big place, you know? I usually ferry academics, guest lecturers, parents of students, teachers, anyone who needs to get from point A to point B fast, and in style. Sometimes I deliver letters, now. Didn't used to. The. They tell me to deliver parcels to this person at this time, in this place." Each of the words are punctuated by strikes of his hand against the wall, until the back edge of his palm is nearly raw and bleeding.

His eyes frantically search the room, and finally land on Elara. "Please. You won't let them kill me, will you? You have mercy, I can see you have mercy in your eyes."

[PersonMan]

Elara swallows at Calia's sudden rush, staying silent as she starts to question the man and shuddering when Myr joins the questioning. Her stomach churns at the threats they pile on the man, and she starts to step forwards slowly. Then he turns to her, begging, pleading, and that familiar presence in her mind becomes too powerful to even consider resisting. "Calia - stop."

She pauses for a moment, and a gear seems to spin to life in her mind, pieces of a puzzle being forged together in an instant. "He won't know anything - even if the Six aren't working through some contact, they can just use magic to control a page or have Malthus or Annas plant something," she tells them, her illusion finally collapsing completely, falling and turning to shining dust that disintegrates as it hits the ground. The mage gently puts a hand on Calia's arm, the one holding her weapon, her gaze on the other woman's. "We've learned all we can from a messenger."

[Ajadea]

The man crumbles to pieces under her hand. "Calia - stop." Just words now. Not so important as the others. The Academy again. Why does it keep coming back to the Academy? Elara's hand on her arm, holding her back, pressure light and diffuse through the chainmail but present. It's - she looks again. Not a tool to seek a goal. A crying man with a family who knew nothing of the master he served. Her eyes widen in horror. She jerks away, from the wall, from Elara's calming hand. She can't come to rely on the touch of someone she's almost certainly going to have to leave behind. Pull it together. The messenger falls to the ground. There is a streak of blood on the wall and it doesn't matter and it should matter and it doesn't, not anymore.

"Landry Folkor is dead. So is the rest of the Academy, as far as I know." There's no point in sugar-coating the truth. There's nothing she can possibly say that will make it hurt less. "You've been serving the Six from Shadow. I don't know for how long. But Oberon has wiped your memory at least once, and he will do it again." She's seen the effects, in Senn's own broken mind. How many days and weeks of his life has this man lost to the Six already? She can't help but let her expression soften a little, the rictus grin fading away into something a little more human. When she speaks again, her voice is softer as well, though the effect is somewhat belied by the fact her sword is still bared, a drop of blood making its way slowly down the edge. "For what it's worth, you couldn't have known. But you can help us fight him now. Tell me, when were you to next return to the coach-house?"

[Togo]

Myr nods, curtly, and then turns to Kalia.

Rosalind, a word?

He ushers Kalia further away from the door, where they are less likely to be overheard. He's a little stiff, like a spring that's been wound too far.

This man has most likely been ensorcelled, deeply so. It would be dangerous to send him back even in the direction of where he came from. I don't know what relationship you have with your employer. Or whether they would be willing. But helping this man rebuild his life is surely, something they are better able to do than we are.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. It's strange to see him like this. Formal, clipped and short.

If nothing else, debriefing him would give you the entire timeline of what has happened here. Just compare with the people and places he's supposedly interacted with. Which has surely got to be of professional interest to them, if only in dealing with the damage. Not in enough time to help us, perhaps, but if the Six are not stopped here they will strike again, and knowing what they did here might make all the difference.

Of course if we don't act immediately, then we might lose him. If someone can convince him that he's been working with people he hasn't, they might in turn have convinced him to do almost anything when he's caught. You'll have to hold him by force.

You'll also have to check out everyone he knows, friends, family, estranged relatives, see if they've been removed as well. Oh, and just in case...

He looks up and calls out. Sorry, your name isn't Malthus is it? No? Just checking...

[Sen isSaqqara]

When the elves first appear, Lirian ducks behind her shield. It's exciting, getting back into combat.
And it's elves, right? Those guys. She doesn't really like them, and she's not quite sure why, but it's a good feeling. She waits.
Surely they'll come out and attack soon, won't they? Show her some raving elf warriors to deploy her new undead against. When the refugees emerge, it takes her a moment to process them.
Wait, this can't be... I mean, yes, Oberon's a villain, he stole her cat, but Maniakh seemed decent enough, surely he won't stand for this... And yet he does. She is suddenly conflicted, her mid battling against itself, trying to regain control in a frantic and silent struggle. She doesn't want this, she would never want this, but Oberon's spell twists through her mind, strangling the wrong thoughts, and moving her limbs on their own. Against her will, she begins ordering her undead forwards.
No! Do not want! This is unacceptable!

Spoiler: ROLLIN DAT WILL SAVE

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Will Save: (1d20+8)[22]

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: The coach-driver doesn't seem to know where to turn. He shakily thanks Elara for her timely intervention, and stands back up to his full height. But the news that his employer - and, most likely, all of his colleagues - are dead doesn't seem to sit well with him. There's a spark of denial in his eyes, a refusal to accept the truth. "No... I was there only half an hour ago! Everything was alright!" He doesn't even register the name Malthus. "What you're saying, it - it's impossible. How could I have not seen anything? The entire Academy was up and running, just a normal day. My wife was in the kitchens, she handed me a cup of herbal tea like she does every morning..." Shaking his head more vigorously, the man begins to furiously check his coat pockets, eventually producing a little clay mug stoppered with a wooden lid. Inscribed in the side is his name - Iphander - and that of his wife, along with a date that is presumably their wedding day.

"No..." he says for the second time. Unscrewing the lid, he examines the contents and finds it to be empty. There are no tears this time, just the quiet breaking of a man. Falling to his knees, Iphander grasps the mug so hard, there's a good chance it will shatter in his hands. He doesn't even notice. He's whispering platitudes and denials to himself, over and over, in a futile attempt to stem his pain. Kyria looks at the man, kneeling beside him but not touching him. Her veneer of duty has cracked, and the empathetic woman has come forth yet again. Evidently, she's not a very good professional.


Lirian: You can feel Oberon's spell inside, tendrils of darkness exhorting the worst control over you at the worst possible time. You recognize this for what it is now, an offensive. Malthus didn't disobey anything: it was always Oberon's plan to destroy the district today. Your undead follow your movements, mirroring Maniakh's own orders, and as the elves close, the first volley is released.

For a moment, you see a rain of black arrows descend on the borders of Arborgate. Many of them strike harmlessly on brambles, trees, the earth. But you hear the first of the rangers fall. Their cries of pain know no language, and even in Elven, it's unlikely they would have been pleasant. Your offensive has only begun, and already the ground is littered with useless death. It's admittedly hard to tell because the foliage is so thick, but quite a few of the elves seem to be holding back, trying to return fire on your legions. But their longbow strikes, for all their grace and technique, do nothing to harm the vessels of negative energy at your disposal. The skeletons and zombies walk on, unhindered. Looking over, you can see that Maniakh doesn't seem particularly pleased at this turn of events either. And yet, his undead are already preparing for the second blow. His advance guard have readied their shields against the elven hounds, and his archers are notching new sets of arrows.

As you look into the woods, you can see that Malthus is taking no prisoners. The leader of the rangers is unconscious, if not already dead, and even though the others are trying to counter the thing that the changeling has become, their attacks bounce harmlessly off of its hide. Even further, the refugees are hanging back outside but by the spread of the fire, it doesn't look like that will be an option for very much longer. They will need to move out of the trees soon... and into your line of fire.

Spoiler: OOC

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I'm doing largely narrative combat, substituting averages for dice rolls because the logistics on this fight is a nightmare. You get a new Will save on every one of your turns in which your undead attack the elves - a DC 25 saves, by the way.

[esorscher]

"An illusion..." Arran says quietly. "Or a false memory--or an erased memory." He can feel the fear growing within him--magic on this scale, the kind that could wipe away a man's identity--and shakes his whole body, smothering the fear with hate and anger and thoughts of Windfarben, and of Ben.

[Ajadea]

Between all the hands pulling at her and the man sobbing at her feet, Calia doesn't seem to know where to turn. At last she shuts the door and lets Myr drag her out of the way. She listens to his questions with half an ear, but can't stop staring at the shattered man. No, he has a name. Iphander. Iphander Iphander Iphander. She wants to burn the name into memory.

"Malthus doesn't talk," she mumbles. "My employer-" Marius was too far away. Nisus - Nisus was coming down to Onyx. Twelve above. As if this mess couldn't get any worse. Maybe the Six could kill him instead - but no. If they had even the slightest notion who and what he was - and they probably did at that - they would torture him, as her. If not worse. "No, I don't think they can help. Not really." Nisus didn't know how to help people in any way that didn't involve the end of a sword. Not even this broken man would consider that a mercy.

She stares at the man, at his empty cup. A false memory, or an erased one, to which his memory was wiped every day. "Iphander!" she yells, trying to grab his attention. Only once he looks at her does she ask her question. She makes her voice soothing again, to calm a frightened beast. "Tell me. What day is it?"

Spoiler

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Tell me if I need to roll any checks to get him into a coherent state.

[Sen isSaqqara]

Even as her mind revolts, Lirian moves forward, pointing forward with one hand. A wicked grin spreads across her face, reflecting not glee at the slaughter, but a dark joy at the chance to test her mind against Oberon's spell. It's a challenge! For the moment, she pushes the elves out of her head to concentrate on her own personal hate for Oberon. It will likely be more effective, and if it doesn't work, she can try using the elves instead for her next attempt at struggle.

Spoiler: MORE WILL SAVES

Show

Will Save: (1d20+8)[21]

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: The coachman nods slowly, as though answering a question that has yet to be asked. "What... what day? I don't know. Uh, hold on." He stops, pulling out a piece of paper that looks like a calendar or itinerary. Staring at a date at the top, he shows it to you. It is today's date. Whatever has been done to him, it seems to be occurring on a regular basis. Iphander drops the notepad in utter disinterest. He doesn't seem willing to speak any longer.

"I'm not sure how much more we're going to get out of him." Kyria's voice is low, as though if she's quiet enough, the bereaved man won't hear her. "Assuming Oberon and the Six are responsible, we won't be able to trust his testimony much further. We'll need to do any investigating ourselves. But first, there's the matter of rest. I hate to be the one to admit this, but if we go face off against the Six in this condition, we won't be doing ourselves any favors."


Lirian: Try as you might, the enchanter's magic still eludes you. For every battle you fight and win against him, he opens up another front. It's your fingers, than your hands, then your shoulders, then your legs and tail. You can feel his mind now, watching more closely as he fires another salvo of psychic attacks across your very mindscape. I can see you, Lirian. There's nowhere to hide from me. Your defenses are useless, eventually crumbling like a dam of golden sand against a midnight tide. He is everywhere inside you, reaching into your very mind and soul like a cancer. I know you're tired. You've been stalwart for so long. So why not let go? Just let go, Lirian. It's so much easier...

Outside, you're vaguely aware of the hounds closing the distance, and being rebuffed by Maniakh's first line even as the bodies of more elves litter the glade.

[gallagher]

Ben waits until he feels there are only a few minutes left for his recess to discuss what he planned to ask her for her testimony. Where could they be? Ben thinks as he paces. This is not good.

Ben Approaches Rosamund. How good to see you again, I wish it were under happier circumstances. He holds his breath for a moment. I am sorry I couldnt get you into the escape tunnel before it collapsed. I tried to stop the invasion force from approaching the switch, I wish I didnt fail, so much went wrong that day. The memory almost made Ben wistful. Surprised by the clarity of his memory in death, Ben turns his head for a moment to refocus.

We must carry on, we do not have much time. Ben's speaking voice turns to a whisper, and he moves closer to Rosamund in case there are any eaves droppers around. I need your testimony to help make me look... heroic. Janos himself paraded three witnesses in front of this court and had them recount instances where I had not done my duty as a cleric of Necrovian, his presence means he must be up to something. Two of my other witnesses I had summoned didnt show up, but I have an idea up my sleeve to tip the scales back in my direction.

First, I need to know how much you had learned concerning what hand I had to play in Urthrax's downfall, and how you came about that knowledge. Actually, anything you can tell me about what happened after the tunnel's collapse would be helpful, as Janos might try and use your death to sully my reputation on cross exam.

As Rosamund responds, Ben takes mental notes of how he would like to incorporate her answer into his case. When she has finished, Ben begins to prepare her for testimony, and through that instruction reveal part of his plan.

Ok, so as for the story I need you to tell... First, I am going to ask for you to state your name, I want you to include titles with that. Then, I am going to ask you questions that will involve the backstory to our conflict with Urthrax. You'll have to go over who he was, why he threatened your father and his people, how we met, and the events of the battle. I will need you to discuss my actions in the best light possible. I have a jury full of different representatives of different gods, and I need to convince as many as possible to care about where my soul ends up. Acts of heroism in battle are most likely to impress the representative of Sirramar, so anything that you can say that would convince him to be on my side as the jury convenes... Ben leaves the end of that sentence hanging, as if to allow Rosamund to fill in the blanks with her own imagination. He awaits the judges summons and tries to predict how to set up Rosamund with questions that cannot be countered on cross exam.

[PersonMan]

Elara kneels, putting a hand on the grieving man's shoulder and doing her best to comfort him, all of the various things to say and gestures to make returning to her all too easily. A man grieving the loss of his family - something she had all too much experience with. At least that could be useful now. As the mage does her best to give the man some sense of relief, she ignores the strange suggestions that come from a corner of her mind, ignores the urge to swear vengeance. That wasn't her way of doing things, it wouldn't help...Would it?

[Ajadea]

Arborgate. di Kerastin Academy. The Great Library. The Lavinius Estate. Paths through solid stone, words scrawled in scented oil on the walls. Catos, Custodians, Firstborn, Aurifex. Too much to do and not enough time for even half of it, let alone rest as well.

She becomes aware, slowly, that her hands are beginning to shake.

"I... I suppose so," Calia says. Her voice is low, rough. She doesn't look like she likes the words on her tongue. "But what do we do with him? Iphander, I mean."

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: "I... I'd like to-" Kyria steps in to gently interrupt the courier. "He needs to move about his day, as though nothing was wrong. I know it's hard, but the Six can't know anything has gone wrong, and that means playing their game for a little while longer. At least, until tomorrow. We know where they'll all be, at the manor. So tomorrow morning, we set a trap for them. Any objections?"


Lirian: As the battle slowly approaches its grisly finale, you can feel Oberon's presence gradually diminish. Your mind is clearer than its been in days, even as Maniakh's beetle abomination and a third volley from Maniakh's archers finishes off the majority of the elven force. Everything is a little bit brighter now, a little bit louder. Your senses feel sharper, as though you have awoken from a vast and dreamless sleep. You can feel the barbs of the blood mage's regalia as it punctures your fur in disturbing intervals.

Behind you, the undead rank and file continue to follow your commands. You notice Maniakh looking your way, assessing your tactics. The undead has seemed impressed until now with your movements in the battle. What will you do now?


The Dead Guy: The paladin bows to your request, waiting until you are done addressing her before making any move to answer herself. The fire you knew has been tempered by the patience of death.

"Of course, and I thank you for your efforts regardless. Dawnharrow was many things, but it was home to my family first and foremost. You held it as long as you could, a commendable act. I know you're a hero, and I will do my best to show that to everyone gathered here." She looks at your herald, who nods. "The dead... they can see the living, sometimes. We get visions of the world we knew, of our loved ones in defining moments. They're not all happy, but they're always crucial in some way. I've seen glimpses of my father, and I saw what happened to Urthrax's camp. You acquitted yourself bravely there as well, chasing in after the elf ranger - Soryn, wasn't it?"

"And I died on my feet. Took down lots of goblins after the tunnel collapsed, before Urthrax had his beast rip my throat out." Rosamund traces the edges of the phantom wound with her gloved fingertips before blinking twice. "Your plan is a good one, but I would ask your questions on the stand. By the looks of it, we don't have very long."

[gallagher]

Yes, his name was Soryn. He was a friend, if only briefly in the grand scheme of things. It wasn't very pleasant to be so close to rescuing him, only to have him sacrifice himself in the blaze of pale fire. I had summoned him to be one of my witnesses, his testimony could have done well for my case, but he did not respond.

Ben looks into the court, noticing that his recess is nearly up. It does seem like it is time to continue this trial. Are you ready to take the stand? Ben gestures into the courtroom, allowing Rosamund enter the hall before him, before entering the room himself. Ben tries his best to look confident that his sole witness will be enough to sway the court before he takes the stand, but his thoughts constantly steer towards the possibility that he might in fact lose his own case. What will become of me? What could Janos possibly be after, that he would take so much interest in one gnome?

[Ajadea]

"You - Do you think that's even possible?" Calia murmurs to Kyria. "I don't think he's that good of an actor." He's just a carriage-driver, caught up in this mess by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He doesn't deserve this. And it has nothing to do with what he deserves. As usual, she's made everything worse, and knowing that Oberon makes a habit of memory-wiping his minions is a small thing in comparison.

[esorscher]

The day's exertions have taken it's toll on Arran, both emotionally and physically. He opens his mouth to speak, then waves his hand dismissively. "Fine," he sighs, and heads off to find a bed to collapse onto.

[PersonMan]

"If you can do it, that's what you should do," Elara replies, trying to reassure the man with a smile. "If we can strike at them with the initiative for once, we can stop them from ever doing something like this again."

[Togo]

Myr inclines his head.

I find it hard to believe that anyone who could plan something as meticulously as this wouldn't realise that one of us has seen their courier before. I don't see the point in sending him back.

As for the rest of the plan, they'll know we're coming. That isn't a reason to not to go, but they'll likely make preparations. They have several hostages, and control of the ground.