Death's End IC II

[esorscher]

Arran shrugs. "Okay." His curiosity piqued. As they walk toward the Crown, he asks, "What was that, do you think?"

[Ajadea]

"The aftermath of violence," Calia replies vaguely. "If I had to guess, I think someone in there got hurt. Maybe even killed. It's unlikely they're taking customers, in any case. But I ho - I believe the guard has it under control."

[Togo]

Myr helps the elf down from the table, and replaces the rough wooden chair. This coincidently puts him in the background, away from the immediate questions. His letter has vanished. He's still well within reach, but not within the first rank of witnesses.

[PersonMan]

"...They killed her," Elara mumbles, before briefly bringing one hand to her face. She exhales slowly, closing her eyes to calm herself before she continues, knowing that her time for mourning was over. Now there were things that needed doing. "A woman, called herself Annas, some kind of really pale gnome, killed Merrelis Treybber shortly before I arrived, then assaulted me before leaving," the mage explains, forcing her voice to stay steady as she tries to relay the tale in a manner that gives the woman what she needs to know. Thinking about the event in words is difficult, but Elara keeps her mind on the precise events, the sickening clench of her gut not fading even as she avoids sliding back into the sheer horror and sorrow that had come just after the shock wore off. "She'd come in through the window, long enough ago that the room was cold, and she left that way as well. When she cut me I couldn't make a sound; I think she has some kind of magic on her weapon," Elara says. "That's what happened," she finishes.

Explaining the events again, even trying to keep herself distant from the horror of the senseless murder of her friend, Elara's thoughts continue in a direction they had begun to go before. The Six from Shadow would have to be stopped. And Annas, at least, would need to die.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia: Your quick journey across the road is greeted with a warm hearth and a worried welcome. The man who owns the Janos Crown seems to lock the door hurriedly behind the two of you, claiming that you are the absolute last customers he is accepting for the evening. When you ask for rooms, he simply shakes his head dejectedly, stating quite clearly that there are simply no rooms left to book. However, he does bring out some blankets and some warm bread and local fruit free of charge. The common room is quite a bit bigger than that of the Painted House, and is packed with improvised beds and hammocks. And so, despite its reputation, the Janos Crown seems more willing to accommodate customers in need. The owner finds the two of you a spot near one of the corners, a warm rug and some pillows that give each of you room to sleep on your own. If you expand, you might have room for one or two more individuals. As he cleans off the counter and sends other customers on their way, the innkeeper gives the two of you a curious look.

"Alright, I'm going to get started on lock-up for the night. It's been crazy, what with all the new business around here. Folk were talking about some to-do just down the road, not two hours ago. Some merchant got killed by a thief in an alley, or something? Did either of you hear anything about that?"


Ben: At first, you hear nothing. But the more you become accustomed to the silence of the warehouse, the more aware you are of a faint scratching sound that emanates beneath one of the wagons. Your eyes having fully adjusted to the lower light levels, you can see a small trail in the otherwise immaculate layer of dust over your surroundings, that leads to that same spot beneath one of the broken vehicles. Bending over, you can see the small form of a child curled up in what looks like a defensive position. She doesn't seem to see you, but she is aware of your presence, and her terror is palpable.

"I've got a knife, and I'm not afraid to use it! Just stay away from me..."


Elara, Myr: At some point, the guard captain stops her writing to stare at you for a moment. Whatever instinct first drove her to pursue the human story instead of the crime seems to have worn out, as she lets her professional mask slip and rests a hand gently on Elara's shoulder. It does not stay there, as the captain returns before even a second moment has passed. She puts her pen back to the surface of the paper, adopting a neutral expression. At the sound of boots coming back down the stairs, she steels her jaw. The guards carry the fold-out gurney with gravitas, making sure that there is nobody in their path. Merrelis' body itself is covered in a grey sheet for the purposes of both anonymity and modesty, but the stains spreading across the linen surface does not seem to be doing the guard any favors. Outside, a wagon has been drawn up, onto which they load the body. One of the guards hands the officer a list of some sort, which she promptly reads to herself. If there is any unusual activity or piece of evidence that the first responders found, her face does not betray its presence. She glances up, first at Elara, and then at Myr. Her gaze is pointed now, and her hard eyes indicate that Myr's movement out of the line of fire has not gone unnoticed. But for the moment, she says nothing about that.

"The report is consistent with what you have described: a deep wound in the gut, and the blade size and angles match those on your own body. Whoever killed Merrelis did the same to you." She pauses. "I am truly sorry for your loss, and I can promise you that I will find you justice." The resolve in the officer's voice is apparent, although you don't get the sense that she - or any of those around her - would last long against Annas.

"I have a few more questions before I can let you go. Did the assailant say anything else to you when she attacked you? If she told you her name, chances are that she took the time to leave an actual message. Killers like this usually have a reason. It's rarely ever random."


Lirian: In the seconds after you cast your spell, you see nothing. However, you get a better sense for the glyphs on the page. Suddenly, you can feel an entire layer of script that was not tangible to you before. A number of unnamed intersecting lines - mostly straight, although there are a few that curve around the edges slightly - dominate the page, and there is a marker at the bottom of a nine-pointed star, along with several lines of unreadable Okremath. As you hold it under a light, you can see visible writing begin to appear. A flowing, feminine hand comes to mark the edges of the page, a style and cadence away from the original penmanship of the document. And unlike the rest of the tome, these annotations are in the common tongue. Four lines in particular jump out at you:

When the Nine did walk the earth,
the ancient rounded stones did sigh;
and for a queen, her throne once high
now cold and low as this bare hearth.

The stanza is immediately followed by the words 'what does this mean?', which seems to have been circled a few times. The rest of the notes around the margin look to follow various trains of interpretation, each more contrived than the last. Finally, the last note is crossed out completely. Beneath the furious markings, there are a series of numbers, but you can only make out a '9' and a '24', both in the same row. Whoever tried to uncover the puzzle of this document is either incredibly determined, or a complete lackwit. Perhaps both? The two are not mutually exclusive, after all.

[gallagher]

Ben assumes from the terrorized child and the hidden nature of this room that there is something wrong, but he cant figure out what at this point. Thus, he decides to bide his time a little and start some conversation to see what he can find out. He turns around slowly while showing his palms to show that he doesnt have a knife in his hand.

It just so happens that while I am presently unarmed, I too have a knife, and you should be afraid if I use it. However, I am not your enemy here, I am merely in the hide and seek contest, and this place seemed like a good hiding spot. If you dont mind me hiding here, I wont mind you hiding here.

[Sen isSaqqara]

Frost, tell me is someone's coming, alright?

Grabbing her pen, Lirian copies down the page with quick, precise strokes of her pen. She writes each line as it appears on the original, preserving the layout as much as possible. For the Okremath, as well as the numbers, she draws the shapes as she sees them, treating them both like unknown glyphs. When she finishes, she tucks the new page into her notes, then dismisses the spell and slips the original carefully back into its place, closing the compartment, then the book. She then waits for Paras to return.

[Ajadea]

Calia nods. "Near the Painted House, yes? We saw guards, investigating...." She looks even more nervous than in Old Town, distinctly gray under her deep tan. She shucks her pack into the corner with a clatter. "We appreciate your hospitality, ser." It belatedly comes to mind that Ben and Lirian are now locked out. She scans the room without really looking at anything. "I see the Festival has been good for business," she comments idly.

[esorscher]

Arran listens to the conversation, saying nothing. He settles into his spot on the rug, munching on the fresh fruit and warm bread. The food fills his belly and sustains him, but he still feels something is lacking. He holds up a silver coin. "Thanks very much for the food," he says, interrupting. "Got any ale, or mead? Anything with a kick to it, really."

[PersonMan]

"Not a proper message...She said something about joining the real world, but that was the closest it got to a message," Elara says, her gaze briefly going to Myr as something like disappointment enters her eyes. Of course, with the sorrow still plainly in them, it's debatable as to whether or not such an emotion would be visible at all.

[Togo]

Myr heroically manages to avoid looking around at the crowd, most of whom saw Elara come down stairs with a bloodstained letter in her hand, and have heard them openly discuss Oberon.

In every city there are some thing you tell the authorities, some you only tell your friends, and some that are so terrible they are only fit for the ears of strangers. Let's see where this 'Oberon' lies.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia: The innkeep smiles and shakes his head at Arran's coin, reaching into his coat pocket and handing you a small flask that you are delighted to find is full of mead. He gestures at you to hold on to the flask for the night, before double checking the locks and finding a seat near the bar.

"Aye, this Festival is good for business, as you've no doubt already seen. But it brings strange folk into this city, dangerous folk. I keep my ear to the ground, been hearing rumblings of dark deeds recently. I suppose a knife is better hidden in the shadow of a crowd. You seem like good and honest folks, so let me give you a word of advice: don't linger in this shadow for too long. Shadows aren't always empty."

He lets the ominous phrase settle over the room like a blanket. This man is a storyteller, through and through. Indeed, he seems to have walked right out of the pages of an old book, from his paunch to the twinkle in his eyes and every line across his face. His hands - heavily scarred, you realize for the first time - move to pull himself up and head to bed after double checking everything around you. He nods at you as he climbs the stairs, leaving the two of you alone in the dark.


Ben: As the child climbs out from beneath the wagon, you can see that beneath her thin veil of bravado, she is trembling. Her own blade is laughable at best: a bit of sharpened rock tied to a broken hilt. And yet she does not move despite her fear.

"W-why didn't you just say so? Follow me, I know a place where nobody will ever find you." Her eyes still darting around you and laying to rest on your weapons, she seems to make a snap decision and leads you towards the inner room. Her footsteps are light, barely kicking up any dust. The door opens without any sound, not even the creak of ordinary hinges. Either it is magic, or this entire place is much better maintained that it initially appeared. The room itself is largely empty, although a smooth stone slab has been set aside, revealing a dark passage beneath. There is no light down there that you can see at all, and even your own gnomish vision cannot see in true darkness. The girl is more confident here, close to the tunnel mouth, and turns to look at you with the hint of a smile.

"Don't worry. This is the best hiding place you can use. I don't like the dark all of the time, but it can be useful. The bad men won't find you under here."


Elara, Myr: The officer grows silent for a time. Eventually, she seems to concede that she won't be getting many productive answers out of Elara, and instead fishes around to hand the mage a small pin with her own name and rank emblazoned on it. It carries the symbol of the Onyx Republic, and yet you see a small eagle signifying the specific barracks in Onyx City that this woman - Lieutenant Kara Greysong - comes from. It's striking for such a small token.

"Keep this. It's a calling card of sorts. By the looks of things, the city of Onyx has failed you. If you need any sort of help, bring this to any of the barracks in the city and ask for me. I will not fail you again." She looks over at Myr sharply, as though to say something else. But she knows what he has heard. The stare she gives him is a mixture of feelings: sorrow, determination, distrust, and an undercurrent of slow rage. But once again, she does not even move to talk to him. Her and the guards accompanying her leave without another word, leaving the two of you with Naberys and the last of the patrons.


Lirian: The more lines you draw, the more the markings look to resemble a kind of map system. At least, the general shape of the interconnected strokes seem to conform with what you know of the layout of the city. If anything, the structure resembles a kind of spider's web that has ensnared all of Onyx. Most of the line systems don't overlap, although they seem to run parallel to several streets. And then, every little while you come across minuscule circular markings around intersections. Eventually, it becomes painfully obvious what you're really looking at.

It's a tunnel map.

The passages seem to have been built when Onyx was quite a bit older, judging by the overall aged quality of the parchment as well as the boundaries of the old walls. Of course, a few tunnels lead off the edge of the page in various directions, signifying that perhaps they have destinations unknown even to you. One in particular runs due north, towards the Necropolis. You finish your task within the library's perfect silence. Eventually Frost mewls slowly, signifying the approach of a robed figure. But as you turn, you see that it is not Paras, but Sylvia herself. She takes one glance at the book on the desk, and then at you, before leaning in softly. The old woman smells faintly of sweat and smoke, and her voice is below a whisper.

"I need you to stay calm - we're being watched. It's not safe in these halls anymore. Meet me at the Iron Victory Hall at daybreak. Go up to the barman and ask for a Siaran Gold ale. Leave the book with me." Her features are outwardly present, but her eyes hold you with a burning intensity. Sliding the unnamed volume across the surface of the desk, Sylvia turns and disappears back into the stacks without saying another word.

---

Dawn

---

The waning sun rises over Onyx. The great dome at that makes up the Senate Hall dominates the skyline, as do the various towers throughout the streets that represent the various strongholds of the city watch. By day, the city looks quite different - smaller, as though the spirit of last night's revelry is hiding from the judgment of the sun. The dark clouds moving in from the north seem to herald midday storms, but for now the streets are awash in new light. In East Harth, new merchants have moved into street corners, selling festival wares as well as some new vials of what look suspiciously like anti-toxin. The inns themselves are bustling yet again, as patrons move in and out of residence or wander the streets in search of early entertainment. And yet, the Painted House remains largely quiet. There is no grand buffet to be had here, no merrymaking. The gnomish inkeeper sits behind the bar, absentmindedly polishing the glassware. Her eyes are miles away, working on some hooded purpose. Old Town is just as busy as it was the night before, the streets packed with tourists and locals alike. The stage in the center of Heroes' Plaza is empty for now, although a demonstration is apparently scheduled for later in the day. The platform and pavilions are shut to the general public, and a line of guardsmen stands ready to ensure that the rules of the Praetors are enforced here. The immense statues cast long shadows over the intricate stonework that make up the plaza. Whatever Whitestrake has in store for today, it will begin soon.

And noon is only hours away.

[esorscher]

Arran wakes still sitting upright in his seat, flask in hand, arms folded across his chest. "I've got a date in the Heroes Plaza," he tells Calia before leaving the flask on the bar. He tucks a silver coin underneath the bottle, refusing to accept the innkeeper's gracious hospitality without compensation. Then, he heads to the Heroes Plaza. Once there, he scans the crowd, looking for a familiar face--Borrus Brightbow, the hobgoblin, or the administrator of the archery competition from the previous day. (Spot: (1d20+1)[21]) Assuming he doesn't see them, he then approaches one of the praetors and says, humbly, "Excuse me, but I believe I won the archery competition yesterday, and was told to report here, today. So, here I am." Otherwise, he approaches the administrator of the archery competition and says much the same thing.

[gallagher]

Ben hesitates to go down the tunnel, before following the girl, he activates his collar and gets a good look at what he is getting into, and casts detect magic. He keeps up the conversation with the girl, asking Who are these 'bad men' that are looking for you, and how did you find this place?

Spoiler

Show

detect magic lasts up to two minutes, and if I can, I'd like to know how what happens in a way that I can deactivate the collar to save some time if I can.

[Ajadea]

Dawn comes without the return of the others. Expecting them to show up at all was foolish. Even so... knowing of the trouble in the Painted House did nothing to settle Calia's nerves. She had only barely managed to rest at all, and was beginning to regret not spending the rest of the night out in the Festival. Not wise, perhaps, and certainly not the sort of thing she had done in a long time, but experience told her it would have wiped away all her worries, at least for a little while. She leans back against the wall and closes her eyes, trying to calm herself. Arran's words just a few minutes later shatters her brittle concentration. She grabs his arm almost instinctively, then suppresses a wince as she remembers she hasn't told him of what happened. Nor did she plan to. Not when... someone... could be listening. "Arran, please... be careful, alright? And... and don't stick around the Plaza all day. There's a lot of Onyx to see, you know? It's a big city. You should take a walk around. See the sights at least once." She forces herself to let go of Arran's arm, and waves him off with a smile. She has to remind herself to squint a little, to pull the expression up into her eyes. She holds the smile until he leaves, then sinks back against the wall once more until her stomach stops churning.

Calia doesn't know how long she waits before getting up again. Her back is stiff from sleeping on the floor, and when she stretches, her spine makes cracking sounds. She folds up the blankets and stacks them and the pillows in the corner. Busywork, to fill her hands and empty her mind. She leaves another two silvers with the innkeeper, and heads out.

She makes her way towards Old Town slowly. It was the last place she wanted to be, but not being there would be worse still. As she passes by the door of the Painted House, she stops, staring at the door, one hand slightly raised. It couldn't be so hard to go in, to ask, and confirm her doubts and suspicions and concerns. She forces her hand down and walks away, head bowed, taking one deep breath at a time until she doesn't have to think about breathing any more. She stops here and there, looking at trinkets, jewels and little souvenirs of the festival without really seeing them. After a while, she realizes she hadn't eaten anything, and hunts down a food stall. It doesn't take long. There was never a shortage of street food in Onyx. It's easy to get lost in the crowd, so she does, only coming out of her self-imposed daze now and again to make sure she isn't heading away from Old Town. It's no night on the town, but the walking alone helps her settle her thoughts, at least for a little while.

[Sen isSaqqara]

When daybreak finds her, Lirian is more than slightly flustered. Her fur hides it well, but dark circles ring her eyes, telltale of her lack of sleep. She moves through the crowded streets, searching for a familiar face. She's on the verge of giving up when she spots Calia strolling through the Old Town road. A grin of relief spreads across her face, and she hurries over to her friend, catching her attention once she gets close enough to speak over the crowd.
"Calia! There you are! Thank Lyr." She pauses for a second, shrugging off a yawn. "I've got to go meet someone now, but I figured I should stop in with you and tell you where I've been. Keep the group cohesive, and whatnot. I've been at the library, doing some very interesting research, and I'm just following up on one lead now, and..." She stutters to a stop to let her mind catch up with her words, and to take a breath. "Actually, about that. If you've got a second or two, could you help me find the Iron Victory Hall? I've managed to figure out the general location by asking around, but then I went looking for you, so I don't know it is exactly, and I'm almost late, and-" She cuts herself off, realizing that she should probably shut up and give Calia a chance to get a word in edgewise.

[Togo]

Myr had been wondering where all the people were.

Dawn was, in his experience, a busy time. You've have been out of bed for almost an hour, doing morning exercises, washing, checking equipment, ready to head out as soon as it was light. Granted he didn't actually have to break camp here, but the principle was the same. Yet here he was in the streets, with hardly anyone around. Granted the buildings still cast long dark shadows in the early morning sun, but it still seemed a waste of daylight.

The bakery he'd visited had still been baking, and hadn't yet laid out the bread for sale. He had a small loaf stuck on the end of his polearm, cooling in morning light. He'd made good time in the quiet streets, heading for the less salubrious end of town.

He pauses on a street corner to take down his warm loaf, and eat half of it with some of that hard-wearing cheese he'd picked a few days ago. The streets are starting to fill. Knowing that getting lost is an inevitability, he doesn't let the prospect bother him. He simply wraps the remainder of his bread and pushes on into the thickening streets, trying to get as far as possible while he scan still where he is going.

He has a halfling to find, or at least a halfing to start looking for. And after that, curiousity will doubtless drive him to a midday meeting in the square.

[Ajadea]

Calia smiles thinly at Lirian. She looks tired, and without the benefit of fur to hide it, that is clearly apparent. "Had a good night, I take it? I think I know where you're going. Is something interesting happening at Iron Victory Hall?" It's a relief to think about anything except noon, and even more so to know that Lirian won't be there. She toys with the end of her braid absently. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. Just don't get too carried away. You're still mortal. Eat. Sleep - though that might be able to be put off until after the festival, actually. I've seen it done, so long as you don't plan on functioning the week after."

Spoiler

Show

Where is the Iron Victory Hall, anyways? Is there anything interesting about it? Can I get there and back before noon?

Knowledge History - (1d20+12)[27]
Bardic Knowledge - (1d20+5)[13]

[3SecondCultist]

Arran: When you arrive in Heroes' Plaza, you are met with an even bigger crowd than last night, although it seems more spread out than crowded around the pavilions. The administrators today are different, although you see a few familiar faces from the contest yesterday who step forward to excitedly confirm your claim. It seems your name has been passed along the streets of Onyx as if overnight. In fact, thinking back to the moment when you left the Janos Crown, there have been a few sidelong glances cast in your direction. In any case, the middle-aged man behind the desk shuffles some papers around until he finds your name.

"Ah yes! There you are. Thank you for being so prompt, but the contest doesn't start until noon - later if those clouds have anything to say about it. We'll have to strike the setup, and move to a more sheltered location. We can't have winds interfering with the contest, after all." The man's smile is bureaucratic, his voice full of empty manners. It is evident that he does not give one whit about you or your contest.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something strange. A man stands in the middle of the crowd, not moving. He looks just like everybody else, dark hair and an easy smile. His clothes are pedestrian, and nothing else about him seems to stand out. You might have passed him on any street on any other day and never given him a second thought. There are others who are standing still, after all: people sitting on benches, enjoying the last rays of the sun before the storm hits. But his stillness is very particular, as his gaze sweeps the faces around him with an incredible focus. You have seen this kind of intensity before.

He is scouting.


Ben: The tunnel itself doesn't appear to have any signs of magical interference at all, and yet the further you get underground, the more you can see just how old, but more to the point how clean this passage is. There is no dust here, no cobwebs to be found at all. The darkness surrounds you like a cloak, but your fumbling hands fall on brand new wooden supports and ancient stones alike. Whatever this place is, it has obviously been well looked after. You can hear the light footfalls of the girl beside you, her breathing, her fear.

"The... the Custodians. This is their hiding spot. They took care of me. But I'm not afraid of them. They don't come around very often, so you can stay here with me!"


Calia, Lirian: The walk to the Iron Victory Hall isn't far with Calia leading the way. The old hall itself is quite storied, as it served as one of the original Justinian drinking holes when this city was still under imperial control. Although the entire structure nearly burned down in a fire some decades ago, it remains today as a military bar for off-duty soldiers and members of the city guard. Its pre-Collapse brick facade has inspired countless other constructions in Onyx and beyond. The establishment itself sits only a block away from the local Old Town barracks, making it arguably the best location to head for a quick bite to eat from the hubbub of Heroes' Plaza. All in all, it takes less than five minutes to get here.

The building is low, a series of low hanging archways separating a patio area from an inner pub area. A long oak bar runs across the length of the room inside, with old helmets on the ceiling converted into light fixtures not unlike chandeliers. The inner section of the Iron Victory is mostly full, although there are a few spots left outside to sit. Each of the little tables is complete with a sizable umbrella to shield from the oncoming rain. A plain looking woman asks the two of you if you would like to find a seat.

A figure in a cloak sits at one of the far tables. Her shoulders are hunched, and her gaze low, but she can obviously feel someone watching her. Your eyes meet and you recognize her as Sylvia.

[PersonMan]

Elara is, surprisingly to her and to anyone who's known her for long, actually up as early as Myr. Unlike the warrior, however, she doesn't always rise with the sun to begin a regiment of exercising, checking of equipment and general preparation. She normally sleeps later, although in many cases the length of her sleep is determined more by those she travels with and the weather than by what she wants. Similarly, today wasn't a day in which she'd planned to be up at dawn, but the events of the night before had made it impossible for her to get proper rest. After a few hours, at most, of sleep which were the opposite of peaceful, she woke again and came down into the common room of the Painted House, exhaustion and a growing feeling of emotional cold numbing the grief for what had happened the night before.

As the armored man emerges, clearly more well-rested than the nomadic mage, she gives him a brief, hard look. Disappointment seems to enter her gaze before she sighs, looking away again. As the morning wears on, the room growing busier, she flees the room, taking all of her things with her, heading towards the plaza that was mentioned in the scroll. The scroll she had read, again and again, during the long night. She knew the contents by heart already, but had still read it a few dozen times in the past few hours. The horrid letter, that was connected to whatever hellish twist of fate had led to her being chosen for this sick recruitment.

The Six from Shadow. The mere thought of their name makes Elara's gut twist again, but a feeling floods out from her chest in response each time. Not anger - she had never been the vengeful type. Nor was it some kind of urge to see justice done; she'd never been interested in that, either. Instead, it was the irresistible feeling of resolve, the one that made her sigh to herself, mutter about getting into trouble again and turn around to go back to the burning building, or save the man strapped to the altar. But now there was a different sense to it. It was tempered by a cold feeling, something that made this different than all those other times. But it was all the same, in the end. She wouldn't stop - couldn't stop - until she had done what she needed to do. Return Merrelis to life, remove Annas from it, destroy the Six so utterly that they could never again reach out to destroy the beauty of the world.

Using magic brought some peace to her, let her forget the grief still lying heavy in her chest for a short time. But it was a simple spell, and once Elara had cleaned herself and her equipment far more thoroughly than any time in the past month, the brief respite was already over. Using the remaining power of the spell to constantly shift the color of her nails, the mage made her way to Heroes' Plaza, simultaneously barely conscious of her surroundings and hyperaware of them. Her gaze went over every shadow, but her thoughts weren't on the constant movement of the city. Everyone who passed near her was the target of instant suspicion - after all, the letter had referenced ways of knowing where she was, any of these people could be one of the Six's servants - yet at the same time she didn't care about the people passing through the streets, or the plaza.

All that was left in Elara's mind were the goals she had set, and the magical power that was suddenly far more than a useful ability. Now it would become the weapon with which she could carve the Six out of their shell with. The thing with which she would end Annas' life, if she couldn't do it using the gnome's own blade.

[esorscher]

"Ah, thank you. Assuming the winds pick up, where should I head at noon? Assuming they don't, same question." Arran is similarly unfocused on the conversation, his attention now on the dark-haired stranger. He watches the man intently as he waits for the answer from the bureaucrat.

[Sen isSaqqara]

"Thanks for the advice." Lirian replies to Calia just before they arrive at the Iron Victory. She is genuinely grateful: All-nighters are a comparatively new experience for her.

When they arrive at the pub, Lirian motions Calia to her side. "Could you watch my back for me? I'm not sure this isn't going to be some sort of trap. Then again, I'm probably just being paranoid. If everything's alright, I'll wave you over and introduce you." she whispers. Then, she straightens up and moves to the bar. Waving the bartender down, she asks for their highly recommended Siaran Gold.

[gallagher]

Ah, Custodians? Ben turns to face the child. What kind of being are these Custodians? Maybe I ran across them before? And when might they hide here? I do not wish to intrude upon their solitude... Ben keeps up passive conversation while he focuses on his detect magic spell and searching the area for signs of these Custodians

Spoiler

Show

search: (1d20+18)[22]
spot: (1d20+4)[9]
Listen: (1d20+5)[21]

[Ajadea]

Calia suppresses a jolt of recognition. Professor Inkweaver? She hadn't known the woman very well. Abjurations were somewhat more of a weakness than a strength for her. But she knows that look, the hunch of her shoulders, the schooled gaze. She was being watched. And that set Calia's stomach to sinking again. At the server's question, she shakes her head. "We can find our own seats. Thank you." She surveys the room, trying to figure out who might be watching Professor Inkweaver, then quickly follows Lirian to the bar. "I'll have a glass of honeywine, please," she adds. She'd never been one for drinking to calm her nerves, but it was a bar. Besides, in a situation like this, it might well be worth the try.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran: "Well if the weather permits, we are actually going to clear a space near Heroes' Plaza. Right down Monument's Boulevard, straight down from the bottom of the plaza facing south. You can't miss it. If the weather does not hold, we will need to delay. I'm sorry, but there just isn't a big enough commercial building we can use to host such a contest. As in all things, the gods are the final arbiters."

The droning of the officiator is somewhat muted by your sincere lack of attention. Instead, you see the stranger begin to move across the plaza slowly. His gait is calm, measured. Every footfall is accompanied by a blink, every breath with another glance at his surroundings. But he does not go very far, stopping just short of the shadows cast by the grand statues. Of the five heroes, the man is drawn to the portrait of Argus. The warrior is pictured kneeling in full armor, blade unsheathed and thrust point first into the ground. The stranger's dark eyes flicker upwards, taking all the various intricacies that is the dead man's face. Tentatively, his fingers move to brush the surface of Argus' huge stone sword.

And then his eyes meet yours through the crowd. For the first time, you get a good look at the emptiness inside them. His eyes are hollow, like a soldier's after spending too long on the battlefield. The stranger doesn't seem to care that you have been watching him. A flick of the wrist and a muttered incantation are enough to make him disappear from your sight entirely, leaving only the masses behind.


Ben: "They are men, but not men. Their eyes are cold, just like dead people." She suppresses a shiver. Not for the first time, you are struck at this little urchin's fortitude. The marks you saw on her skin in the half-light make more sense now: evidence of the Custodians' care. Further down the tunnel, you hear the sound of soft droplets falling to the floor, but nothing beside. Despite your concentration, there don't appear to be any magical auras in place within range of your sensor. And your hands find no purchase on the walls, save for the odd splinter. As you follow the stonework, you can feel the tunnel open up to a larger intersection. A nearby railing indicates the existence of a staircase descending to a lower level. The dark is overwhelming.

The urchin tugs on your cloak, preventing you from going any further. "Wait here with me! If you go down, they will find you. They are always hiding down there. Stay with me, and live between the worlds. Nobody can hurt us here. Please." As you feel for her, your finger brushes up against the single tear rolling down her cheek.


Calia, Lirian: The barman serves the two of you without a word. Collecting his copper pieces, he leaves the two of you to your business. Your initial findings are non-existent: there really does not seem to be anyone watching Sylvia. At least, there is nobody around her who is paying her the least bit of unwanted attention. The same cannot be said for you, as a pair of soldiers brusquely push you aside in order to get to the bar themselves. Sylvia waves you over with an understated index finger.

"You should have a seat. These military-types tend not to ask questions. I see you've found another one of my students. But I really shouldn't be surprised. You always were more of a wanderer than a scholar, weren't you Calia?" The old woman chuckles darkly over her own glass of mead, and gestures for you each to pull up a chair.


Elara, Myr: The two of you manage to find one another on the way to Heroes' Plaza. Of course, the crowds make it quite a bit harder to maneuver, but you manage to make it before noon. Grey clouds have descended on Onyx, casting a literal pall over the proceedings. Many of the festival-goers don't seem too happy about that, muttering about delays and setbacks. The great pavilion has been set up around the base of the great statues at the heart of the plaza, surrounded by an entire platoon of heavily armed guardsmen. All in all, the area around the plaza actually seems quite peaceable. Whatever this 'Oberon' wants with either of you, he has yet to play his hand here.

But something strange catches your eye. As you look, a man near the base of one of the statues disappears into thin air. Invisibility is a mundane enough spell, but for someone to cast in in the middle of a crowded space in broad daylight like this is more than strange. Not far away stands a man in a very distinctive imperial breastplate, arrayed in several large weapons. He seems to have been watching the same magic trick that you were.

[esorscher]

"Great, thanks," Arran says, wandering away from the official. He knows better than to trust the gods. Neither the old gods nor the First Principle had ever done much for him. If the archery contest actually happened, he'd be pleasently surprised.

His eyes dart about, scanning for the strange man. The veteran, he thinks. (Spot: (1d20+1)[14]). Unable to find him, he heads for the statues of the five heroes. He inspects the statue carefully, his eyes, then hands searching over every crack and crevice. He doesn't care who sees him--he doesn't know what he's doing, and anyone who'd question him only would add another layer to this curious mystery. (Take 20 on Search 19).

[Sen isSaqqara]

"You two know each other?" asks Lirian, pulling up a chair and looking towards Calia with a questioning expression, letting her elaborate.

[Ajadea]

Ah. Another thing she hasn't explained yet. By the Twelve, this day just feels like it's getting worse and worse by the moment. Or at least more complex. Which might as well be the same thing. Calia grabs an unoccupied chair and sits down next to Lirian. She takes a sip of her honeywine before responding. It is palatable enough, though it doesn't do much to ease her tension. "I used to attend the di Kerastin academy," she explains. "Professor Inkweaver teaches abjuration there, if I recall correctly. I see you have already met each other, so I won't bother with introductions. What brings you out here, Professor? Just the drinks, or...." she trails off, fiddling with the stem of her glass.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran: Despite your persistent and thorough searching of the area, you are unable to find anything unusual about the statues. There are no hidden latches or bolts that you can find, nothing cleverly concealed just out of sight. Wherever the dark-eyed stranger disappeared to, there is no visible or tactile trace of it anywhere around the monument. A few passers-by give you odd looks as you pace to and fro, and you can almost feel the pointed stares of the nearby guards, but nobody seems interested in accosting you for now. You are alone in the crowd.


Calia, Lirian: Sylvia's earlier caution seems to have been utterly forgotten, as she can't seem to keep from laughing to herself. "Oh, I'm afraid it's not Professor anymore. I was actually dismissed from the di Kerastin staff a few months after you left. As it turns out, it's against the faculty rules to participate in intellectual debates with students during freshman parties. I was only trying to see whether or not the new blood could unravel the Galway-Kinnell problem, and all of a sudden there I am being hauled before Folkor himself. To be honest, I never really fit in there. It was far too stuffy for my tastes. I was always more one for learning under fire..." The old lady takes a long sip of her mead, looking at the two of you in turn, before settling back on Calia. "You always impressed me in that regard, although I may not have expressed it when it might have mattered. By the story that Lirian here tells me, you have been on quite the ride as of late." She leans in as she speaks, and for the first time you can see her eyes.

Sylvia Inkweaver is terrified.

Beneath the false smiles and bravado, you can feel the waves of threat emanating from the librarian. The edges of her mouth twitch nervously, and her back remains ever-so-slightly hunched over, as if to protect herself from an oncoming attack. Her eyes are imploring, and her drink remains unfinished in front of her. Beneath the glass, you can see a piece of folded parchment. With a seemingly careless flourish of her hand, Sylvia slides her mead over the table towards Lirian, maintaining eye contact with the catfolk as she does so.

[Sen isSaqqara]

Lirian carefully accepts the glass, her eyes skittering across the room, searching for anyone watching their table. She lifts the glass to take a sip, palming the note as she does. "She's been helping me with some research in the library. I outlined some of our recent adventures, specifically around that book of ancient designs I found. The one that was destroyed at Dawnharrow, surely you remember? Such a pity about that."