Death's End IC II

[esorscher]

"Star Sapphire," Arran says to Ben through the earpiece. "You know it?" He dashes back downstairs and follows Calia from a distance. "Sounds like a Tavern or Inn. Can you meet me there?"

[PersonMan]

Internally, Elara is a mixture of angry, relieved and horrified. The bloodshed caused by the brief appearance of the Six was horrific, senseless and only strengthened her resolve to destroy the group. Anger, not only at Annas but at the rest of the group as well, is joined by relief that there had been no sudden combat, no need for her to defend her life. Just an announcement and an explanation of the test that she and the others would undergo. There's some conflict that comes from those terms - Elara had been planning to succeed and enter the group to dissolve it from within, but now it was clear that there would be great chance that she would need to kill others to do so, which ended its brief existence as a possibility.

So now she would try to keep herself and as many of the other candidates alive as long as possible, to get the Six out of Onyx and keep them gone for the next three years. Ideally, the others would share her convictions. A group of five, aiming to beat down the Six, would be far more likely to complete the tests alive than one in which some members were hoping to kill the others and join the group testing them. If everything went amazingly, then there would even be a chance of using the group to hunt down the Six after the testing concluded.

Without another destination presenting itself, Elara concludes that following the woman who had spoken to the Star Sapphire would be a wise decision. If anything, it gave her a place to go to get away from the crimson pools that she had become far too accustomed to recently. Turning her back to the podium and the massacre at its foot, she heads out from the plaza, intending to go directly to the Star Sapphire and avoid any sort of confrontation or delay on her way.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: With the Six passed out of sight and sound, the guards join the chaos as the crowd in Heroes' Plaza starts to consume itself. For the most part, those who saw you approach the platform at Oberon's behest give you an extremely wide berth. A few cry out when you approach, but the guards are largely confused at the state of affairs and each of you is able to escape from the plaza largely unscathed. Calia leads the way, but trailing behind are the two other contestants. The musclebound man - Loque - carries his great hammer with the kind of practiced carelessness that comes with true skill, while the elf woman strokes her feather cloak for comfort. She is afraid, although she does a passable job of concealing it. For the most part, though, her features are nauseated. Both of them seem to be more than willing to follow up on the bard's suggestion to head towards the Star Sapphire.

News travels fast in Onyx: by the time you get to the inn, the only word that anybody cares about is the Six. A couple of stragglers tailed you for a time through the streets of Old Town, but the prospect of getting wounded has scared off all but Arran, who continues to follow at a respectable distance. The great glass diadem above the bar gleams as you walk in, taking in the new landscape of noises. You can hear the scraping of mugs on sanded wood, the trickling of various beverages from the series of taps at the front of the establishment, and the low hush of fearful whispers. Other than the barmaid - who is more than happy to give you a private table near the corner of the main room - nobody speaks even at an indoor volume. The air is tinged with conscious implication. Loque orders a tall ale before seating himself, but Ala'thea drinks nothing of note. As you sit, you can see that the former displays no outward signs of concern. He fingers the head of his hammer idly, as if he had forgotten the rest of the world had ever existed.


Lirian: As your feline eyes become more adjusted to the dimness, you can make out actual buildings within the contours of the treeline. By the looks of things, the twin structures at the edge of the wood serve as guard posts, while a subtle archway denotes the entrance itself. A trio of armored elves sit beyond the circle of light, all carrying loaded bows. None of them are pointed at Sylvia. When they do break the armed silence, it is in the common tongue.

"And who are you, to test the borders of our domain so freely? You carry with you an odd scent, catfolk."

Sylvia turns to you as well. In such scenarios, it is best to let one's companion introduce themselves.

[Ajadea]

Calia pulls up a seat against one of the walls, leaving other people to sit with their backs turned to the crowd. She did not want to be where she could not see. She orders nothing to drink herself, but keeps an eye on what the others order so she can leave an appropriate amount. "I am Calia, in case you haven't yet gotten a good look at that scroll," she says. Her words seem to be a little louder in the buzzing silence, and she decides to be a little quieter to compensate. The others would simply need to listen better. "This may be framed as a competition, but it does not need to be so." Yet she found herself hoping that it would be, in a way. That information was very tempting indeed, even if it came from such a group as the Six.

"Each of us was chosen by one of the existing Six - or, well, five, now. So one of you, I surmise, has met Annas. If you know anything, do not hesitate to speak up. What I know is that she is a dangerous woman, with no sense of empathy or any known distinction between people other than predator and prey. She works from the shadows, and I believe she is also a skilled information gatherer. Hiding will not work against her. Our best defense is through working together. Five pairs of eyes may see what one alone cannot." Calia wills these people to believe her, to trust her. She needs their trust if she is going to get through this macabre competition. And though they cannot assist her, she wishes her companions might know as well.

Well, they are in a tavern. What better place to spin a little tale? Calia leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. "Know this. This competition is being held for a reason. There was once a changeling, named Senn." She deliberately emphasizes that name. A sort of confession by proxy. It is a little overdramatic, but all good stories are. "She was one of the Six, stealing faces and rousing armies to battle under her false name. But for all her armies and all her strength, she died, alone, in the ice fields of Valeria, and her corpse was drawn and quartered like a common criminal's. I know, because I was there when it was done." She lets that sink in for a moment before continuing. The others might have accomplishments, but not like that. "The Six are powerful, but not immortal. They can be defeated. They can die. We are not helpless against their tests, nor would we have been selected if we were. Each one of you has the potential, or the power, to match these Six. Do not doubt it." She meets each one's eyes in turn with her own, with no trace of doubt. Her eyes are the color of copper, warm and bright.

Spoiler

Show

I think Diplomacy is the skill best associated with motivating people and getting them on your side.

Diplomacy - (1d20+15)[33] Includes... half of my Presence Aura? Forgot the bonus increased . Add 1, for a result of 34

[Sen isSaqqara]

Lirian snaps out of her reverie, her mind scrambling to put together the proper answer.
"I am Lirian Isepat, presently of the Valerian Adventurer's Guild. I wonder, to which old scent do you refer?"

Perhaps the scent of the library I grew up in? Perhaps that of the elves I met? Perhaps the scent of ancient echanisms long undisturbed, or of detonated pale fire? Or, perhaps, the scent of a certain familiar who hasn't had a bath in far too long?
Ha. Amusing. Truly. Try it and I will scratch your eyes out.

[esorscher]

Arran enters the Star Sapphire casually and sits down at a table within earshot of the table where the contestants are seated. He orders a water and watches them. He makes eye contact with Calia and winks, but otherwise says nothing. Once the water arrives, he holds the mug up to his lips and takes a refreshing sip, then whispers into the earpiece, "I've got us a table." He then relaxes into an (apparently) more relaxed position, his left elbow on the table and his chin resting on his palm, staring into empty space above and left of the contestants. He occasionally takes a sip of water.

At least, that's what it looks like. In truth, he is listening intently to their conversation, reporting everything that is said to Ben through the earpiece, his voice barely audible. "Calia's introduced herself. She's told them about Senn, 'she was one of the six, stealing faces and rousing armies...' She's rallying them to fight. She knows I'm here." When other participants in the meeting speak, Arran will report what he observes to Ben, so that the gnome is as aware of the proceedings as if he were seated next to Arran, and is up to speed when he eventually arrives.

[PersonMan]

Elara continues to follow Calia, identifying her relatively easily after having just looked over the brief description and sketch of the scroll. The trip to the Star Sapphire isn't long, and before she's even begun to feel like their journey has begun, the group arrives. The atmosphere inside the establishment eases the mage's worries somewhat, but the similarity to the warm, welcoming air of the common room of the Painted House the day before keeps Elara from feeling entirely comfortable. Considering what she'd observed during their brief walk to the Star Sapphire, she feels drawn towards the elf woman Ala'thea, seeing something of a kindred spirit in her. At the very least, she knew that the wild elf wasn't insane.

Seating herself next to the feather cloak wearing woman, Elara offers her a smile before their guide begins to speak. Turning her attention to the woman, the vagabond feels a vague desire to paint her, but given the circumstances the normally powerful drive is a mere wisp of its normal strength, nothing more than a brief itch that passes through her mind. Calia's speech does warm her somewhat - hearing that this woman was present during the death of one of the Six gave her confidence that she had indeed chosen correctly. Considering the request for more information, Elara shifts for a moment before speaking.

"I've met her. She's an insane, heartless killer," the mage begins, eyes on her fingers, tapping at the table before her. Like Ala'thea, she hadn't ordered anything to drink. "She tracked me down within a few hours of my arrival in Onyx, and she has the ability to channel some sort of silence into her blade," Elara continues, tone bereft of anger or open sorrow. It held pain, but the hurt was bound, the vagabond's concentration keeping her feelings in check despite the horrid feeling that arose in her whenever her thoughts went back to the night before.

"She will do her utmost to kill as many of us as possible. She isn't sadistic, but if she can kill you, she will, without any further reason," Elara sighs, voice filled with the tired resolution of someone who is faced with a task that must be done, despite not wanting it to be done.

"She must die. And I will kill her, as long as she doesn't end my life first."

[Togo]

Myr sits, his helm on the table in front of him. He doesn't order a drink, but he eyes the tiny coffees ordered by the next table over with a faintly wistful air.

I don't doubt we can beat the six. They look formidable, and one on one, I suspect we may be in trouble. But if we can find a way to work together and they don't...

He spreads one hand on the table.

Well, we'll see. If we can't at least give them a nasty shock, between us, I'll be surprised.

But, I'm not sure dealing with them is enough. Doesn't this seem a very strange way of recruiting to you? A series of lethal contests that most likely end in the deaths of, well, almost everyone.

His hand turns upwards.

It's being billed as a contest, but I'm not harbouring any secret desires to be the secret terror of the three kingdoms.

He frowns, staring at the table, at the helmet in front of him.

No matter how many people think otherwise. And I don't think Elara was either, particularly not after the brutal murder of... ah...

He coughs.

The point is, none of this is intended to make us want to join. And the six, or five, or whatever you call them, have to work at a disadvantage and kill eachother for breaking the rules? Why would they agree to that? Why would we?

He looks around the table.

The only conclusion I can come to is that this Oberon doesn't expect us to have a choice.

I met the one who chose me. He was rage, maddened insanity, wrapped in iron control. I don't know that the control was his. Oberon spoke in our minds, in our heads. He's the one who speaks, the one who writes the rules that all must follow, the one who was gloating at a city in fear of his contest, his game.

Are there Six in Shadow because six is the most he can control at once? Do they have any more choice in this than we do?

Cooperation is an obvious move on our part. There must surely be be a plan to divide us, to encourage us to forget that this is not a contest, not a competition. For the victors, the ones who replace the fallen from the Six, will surely be subject to a most lasting and unpleasant enslavement, until we can be trained to our new role. I don't know what that plan might be, do you?

He sighs thoughtfully.

Either way, we must find a way to work together. We must find a way to pick off these five adversaries, one by one. Preferably without doing them permenant harm. But not for some comptition or prize, but in order to defeat Oberon.

He looks up.

I'm Myrmidon, if the picture didn't do me justice. Call me Myr. I've worked with small teams like this before, which might help give us an edge.

[Ajadea]

"Malthus," Calia says abruptly. "That is the one you met, Myrmidon, the one who chose you. The Shaper. What you say matches what I have heard. He... his mind has been changed by Oberon. He is the most outwardly dangerous of all the Six from Shadow, and is capable of changing his form as will. I assume Annas, in her own twisted manner, selected you, Elara." Her hands slowly clench and release again. Each of the Six selected their own candidate, presumably for some reason. She doesn't want to go where that particular line of thought is taking her, so she lets it slip through her mind and be lost. "A misjudgment perhaps, on their part. Of the five that remain, Annas and Malthus think the least like mortal beings. Perhaps they did not think you needed incentive. Or that the lure of greater power would be enough." Idle speculation, dancing around the issue and the winding thought weighing down her gut. She... did she? Yes, there could be no harm in saying it within the confines of her own mind. Part of her wanted to know what they knew. This mysterious employer of the Six, and whatever they wanted with the Starstone and its secrets. Dark thoughts, ones she could never admit out loud, not to the others from the Guild, and not to these strangers in front of her, who knew nothing of what lay under the ice up north and if she had her way, would never know. She sighs, and realizes she has been silent for some time. "The Six are infamous for leaving destruction in their wake. Perhaps they merely thought this would be an entertaining way to choose the next among them."

A sick sort of entertainment. One she finds repulsive. More than enough reason to oppose these Six and all they stand for. But nevertheless. She wants, and she doesn't know if the acknowledgement has lifted her burden or made it worse.

[PersonMan]

"If you think they can be permanently stopped without permanent harm," Elara says as Myr speaks of disabling the Six temporarily. "I don't want to be involved in this, at all. I want to leave Onyx and never come back. But I can't, because if I do the Six will keep doing what they do, burning the world's beauty for their own wealth and power."

Myr finishes, and the woman Calia speaks again. Her thoughts are more or less in line with what Elara's own are regarding the choices and the situation, leaving the mage without much to say in direct response. Choosing to nod, her thoughts briefly go back to what Myr had said. At least he was thinking in the right direction, even if she still felt bitter about what he'd done the night before. The repeated mention of five adversaries - it was still odd to keep thinking of the Six as five - brings a thought to the front of her mind, a realization she'd made then lost regarding the odd terms they had been given. For a moment she wants to say nothing, but the thought of her silence costing the group their lives keeps her from hiding it. A sick twist of her gut reminds her of the feelings that such death brings with it.

"We don't need to fight them on their terms," Elara says after a few moments of silence. "We can engage them outside of their trial time, gaining the element of surprise. If we kill them or...nonlethally remove them," the mage glances as Myr as she says this, "outside of their time, then they will obviously be unable to kill any of us during their testing period."

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: "Well, I think I've heard enough." Loque's broad shoulders seem to quake as the giant finishes off his drink and begins to rise from his place at the table. He grips his hammer tightly, but his face is marked by a wolfish grin.

"Unlike you, my candidate was straight with me. She's stirring for a fight, plain and simple. No tricks, no outside help. That's something I can deliver easily enough. I was born in Forger's Row - I know how to handle a little fire." An uncomfortably loud scraping noise fills the air as the scarred warrior pushes his seat back. A few other patrons cast glances your way, but nothing pressing. Loque heads for the door, turning back only once before he leaves.

"Best of luck to you all. You'll need it."

In the quiet that follows, Ala'thea seems even more nervous. She looks to Elara, reciprocating the mage's silent support before speaking herself. "My... my candidate. Maniakh, he called himself. I saw him kill an entire guard patrol with an army of conjured shadows. He kept laughing, like it was all one big joke. And after they were all gone, he stood over the bones and he... gods help us." She shudders openly instead of finishing the tale.

The doors to the Star Sapphire burst open quite suddenly, as a trio of newcomers rush up to the bartender. The everyday grime that they wear would seem to suggest that they are little more than enterprising neighbours. The first hands the bartender a series of sheets, and you can see her face grow ashen as she reads. Before too long, she is staring hard at your table. It isn't just her, either: just about everyone left in the establishment is either staring at you or trying hard not to look. Even at a distance, you can see the official seal of the Onyx Republic. Whatever is being passed around, it was not written by the Six.


Lirian: The elf that initially spoke steps forward. In the growing dark overhead, his hair seems to be woven out of night's own strands. His stare is level, his tone matter-of-fact. "You smell of old magics, and things best left forgotten. I do not see why we should permit you into our borders."

At this point, it is clear that Sylvia has had more than enough. She steps forward, between you and your interrogator. "Come now, Quen'this! I have vouched for her. Or have I more to prove to elvendom?" The elf - Quen'this - falters at her rebuke, as if unsure of the right thing to say. His two companions seems to side with the librarian, as one of them rests a hand upon his shoulder to pull him back. After a moment, he relents.

"Welcome to Arborgate, catling. If you follow me, I will take you to the Worldpine." His companions disappear back into the underbrush, but Quen'this waits for you and Sylvia to approach before showing you to the path. The old woman glances back out at the rain-soaked rooftops of Onyx once more before embarking into the twilight.

[Ajadea]

Calia shakes her head. He - Loque - would be an opponent. And probably dead, soon. She tries not to think of that as a good thing. She is about to comfort Ala'thea when the door bursts open. She stands up, suddenly regretting that she is against the wall. The bartender's change of expression is worrying. She shoves Loque's chair out of her way firmly and intercepts the nearest newcomer, putting a hand on their shoulder and only realizing too late it's probably a bad idea. "Excuse me," she says, voice honey-sweet, "But if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to see those papers you have there." It's not really a request though, and while she's dimly aware she's not making the situation any better, short of stabbing one of them there's probably no way it could get worse either.

[PersonMan]

Elara shrugs as Loque leaves. It was unfortunate, but if he wanted to fight his opponent on his own, he was free to try. Of course, she imagines that if they could track him down and wait until he's locked in battle with his tester, then spring in and take her down after she's been weakened fighting him, that would be an ideal method of using his urge to go in alone to their advantage. Of course, she doesn't see why he thinks that he wasn't lied to - Elara has never been one to look for a fight, but in her experience one didn't need a large event like this is that was all one wanted. She doubts that the hammer wielding man will get what he expects. As the elf at her side speaks up, the mage turns to give her her full attention. Another grisly story.

Whispering soothing words - unfortunately, this wasn't the first time Elara needed to comfort someone who'd seen terrible things - she puts one arm around Ala'thea's shoulders, doing her best to bring the elf into the present again, to give her something other than the horror of the past night's slaughter to think about. At least her story confirmed that Annas wasn't unusual amongst the Six. As the tavern's atmosphere changes, the mage sighs inwardly, but ultimately pays the events on the other side of the room no heed, instead focusing on the wild elf at her side. She couldn't change what was happening there, but at least she could help someone going through a horror similar to her own.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: Ala'thea is quiet again. The experience is behind her eyes still, raw and dark and festering. It is not so unlike your own. Her hand slides across the table, as though to grasp a hand in support, but instead lies listless. And yet she musters up more words, if only to keep from thinking too hard about what has already happened.

"I don't think... that any of us are supposed to survive this. Myrmidon is right. When I close my eyes now, all I see are the whites of his eyes staring back at me. I think he found it amusing, picking one of my kind in his stead. He defiles everything I hold dear, and expects me to follow..."

She pauses, as the reaction as Calia gets up and moves towards the bar is immediate - most scramble to stay away from her, others merely sink further into their seats. The newcomers themselves back off after wordlessly handing her the paper. The fear is all over their faces.

The document itself has been written on surprisingly common vellum, and in a hasty hand. By the looks of it, the parchment has been dried very recently. It takes you a little while to read the file over from end to end.

Spoiler: To the People of Onyx

Show

Earlier today, our offices have received numerous copies of a letter penned by an individual who claims to speak for the Six from Shadow. While it is not the place of the Onyx Republic at large to try and characterize any rumors surrounding such a group, there are those of us who feel that it is in the public's best interests to stay as informed as possible. Therefore, this office is breaking an executive order in order to fulfill a civic responsibility - to keep the people of Onyx safe.

Upon inspection of the terms offered by this 'Oberon', we have decided that the only remaining course is to lock down the city and officially declare martial law. Every gate to or from Onyx will be closed until this contest is at an end. Nobody enters, and nobody leaves. The arrangements already made for the Festival of Lights will provide for enough emergency rations, in case of immediate shortfalls. The guard presence around the outer perimeter of the city is being tripled, and reinforcements are being called from neighboring regions. The terms outlined in the competition between the Six and their candidates are exact in their restrictions, but vague in their consequences. Ensuring that the Six do not take action against the people of Onyx is this office's first priority, and we intend to uphold that promise.

In the meantime, here are a few guidelines to follow in order to ensure your own safety while this competition is still occurring:


- Stay off the streets if at all possible. If you are not a native citizen of Onyx, we would encourage you to try and find a friend or other company to stay with until such a time as these events calm down.

- Make sure that if you do need to leave your dwelling, that you are armed at all times. There will be a guard presence within the city itself, but please understand that we cannot be everywhere at once. The duty to defend the citizenry is our responsibility, but the duty to defend your own life is your natural right.

- If you do see a member of the Six from Shadow or one of the candidates, make sure to let somebody else know. Speaking to the Six is likely to invite personal harm, and speaking to any of the candidates is just as likely to invite harm on the entirety of this community. Do not give them the opportunity. In the name of public safety, sketches of both parties are being widely distributed along with this newsletter.


We understand that such an extreme decision is hardly optimal. This office is here to make hard choices, and there is nothing more agonizing than being asked to risk everything, with no promise of reward. But that is what we are asking of you today. The Six from Shadow are a blight on this city, and we intend to wipe them out with whatever prejudice we can muster.

Yours in good fortunes and in bad,

Titus Vasher, Commander of the Ninth Legion and Primus Terrenus of the Onyx Republic

"Is... is that you, then?" The barmaid's voice quivers as she points to your vague portraits, attached to the back of the letter. The pictures themselves are hardly impressive, considering that they are twice derivative. The official artists of the Republic are of a far less steady hand than whoever designed your likenesses as they appeared in the original documents. Outside, you can hear the rain continue to fall. Inside, the silence is deafening. Ala'thea looks to Calia, to Myr, to Elara, and back to Calia as if unsure what to do. She does not dare answer herself. The entire bar is waiting to exhale.

[Sen isSaqqara]

"Thank you," says Lirian as the elf leads onwards into the trees. "I apologize for any scent I bring with me. While it is true that I've been witness lately to things likely best left forgotten, it is also true that there are those who would remember those things for less than noble purpose. Since you seem to know enough about it to recognize the scent, I assume that you too keep this knowledge with the purpose of keeping it safe."

[Ajadea]

"...I think that one's supposed to be Elara, actually. These aren't very good," Calia comments, tracing the jawline of the sketch. She swallows, mouth dry. The atmosphere is somehow even more tense than before. So much for subtlety. She hands the papers back and speaks, hoping her nerves don't show in her words. "Yes. We are the candidates in this... test," she says, mouth twisting slightly. "I am Calia. I consider Onyx my home, and it pains me to see it like this. But you should know that as long as at least one of us endures, the Six will leave. Whatever their intentions, I believe they will follow their own rules. Therefore, it is in your best interests to neither harm nor help us, and though it is much to ask, I ask you to trust that this nightmare will end." Or at least, that is what she hoped. She fixes Arran with a significant glance, then walks back to the table. Any number of them could drive the Six out, but only one could win. The thought is nauseating. She puts a hand on Ala'thea's shoulder. "And you're going to do what Maniakh wants?" If they figured out... they knew who had selected the others, simple elimination would reveal who had chosen her. And she wasn't quite sure how any of the others would react to that little tidbit. "You're stronger than that. We are stronger than this. Myrmidon, I doubt we will have the luxury of making this a nonlethal fight. But... Elara's plan is sound. Let's see how many birds we can take down with one stone. Ala'thea, can you take us to where you met Maniakh?"

[Togo]

Myr frowns, looking over Callia's shoulder at the parchment.

Is my chin really that big? Seriously?

He straightens.

By all means let's move. The quicker we react, the less likely they are to have finished their own preparations. If nothing else, this Oberon seems to make all his arrangements using magic, so he may be counting on scrying us to keep tabs on where we are. Certainly the entire idea of this contest falls apart if they don't know where we are at all times, so they must have some way to track us, even to anticipate our movements.

I remember from school that most locating magics involve creating a sort of magic eye that follows you around. Hard to spot, but not impossible, if you're good at that sort of thing. And it often moves slowly. We don't have to.

His mouth quirks.

Are there any other patterns we can work out? Maybe between who they chose? I can't see any connection between Elara and her antangonist, or between me and mine. Is there a pattern?

He shakes his head.

And yes, we may not be able to leave any of them alive, but we should try if we can. If nothing else we badly need information.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: Ala'thea's nod is almost imperceptible, and she follows it up by sliding out of her chair with all of the grace that escaped Loque. She does not dare to meet anyone's eyes and heads straight for the door.

The quiet buzz follows you all the way back out into the streets of Old Town. You notice that the rain has calmed down for the time being, leaving only overcast skies and the faintest of wet breezes to blow across Onyx. It's too dark for early afternoon. Those few unfortunates still packing up their belongings in the streets cry piteously to passing customers, all but giving away their life's work for a pittance. They cannot afford to be stuck in the city when the gates close, and yet cannot leave everything they have built behind. A few stragglers offer them charity, buying banners or ghost masks for a quarter of the price that they were this morning. Or perhaps they are opportunists, taking advantage of the desperation of others. The empty streets don't seem to care either way. Everywhere you look, the orange and gold is being taken down. The Festival of Lights is already over.

Ala'thea does not stick to the main thoroughfares, picking her way through side streets half-eaten by shadows. Nonetheless, your trail is noticed by more than a few civilians. The elf's head is bowed the whole way, so as to deter the curious or the foolhardy. You soon notice that it isn't just the public at large that she is uncomfortable opening up to - as a traveling companion, she says less than little. It also becomes incredibly obvious that she knows the routes of the city better than most, as you never get lost or double back. It is not too long before you reach the blurred edges of Old Town's grandeur and step into the busy heat of Forger's Row. At the end of a series of warrens, the old city wall has collapsed, leaving a passageway large enough for three or four humans to walk abreast and into Onyx's industrial district. On the other side lies a forge complex, which is still in use but has clearly seen better days. The opening leads towards a kind of central courtyard, filled with soot and iron bars. A trio of orcish teamsters is in the process of lifting them - several bars at a time - into a waiting wagon for delivery. A human overseer stands with his hands on his hips, watching them work. None of them look to be carrying weapons; none of them have even noticed you watching them through the breach. Ala'thea stops about thirty yards from the wall.

"I was in there, last night. I had heard rumors of a new method of forging that would have put many of the worker unions at odds with elvendom in this city, and had come to see if they had any substance. He - Maniakh, I mean - found me there. I don't know how. He told me who he was, attacked me without warning. When I tried to fight back he summoned his shadow guards. The fight carried out onto the street, and that's when the guard got involved. I... I tried to help. But when I turned to strike him, I found that I had no strength left to give." A line of raw tension works in the elf's jawline. For the first time since meeting her, you can feel the anger in her voice. The frustration at being so easily beaten by one of the Six. There is perhaps more to this elf than you first suspected.


Ben: The hard grey light of the clouds is still a bit blinding, even long after you have made your way out of the winding dark of the tunnels. On the streets, everything about the Festival is being fastidiously put away. Kalyk and those who followed him are gone. Whatever contest you may have been a part of is long since over. Rhea remains at your side through the whole thing, although the way she grips your hand makes her position on the surface quite clear. Every stranger is an assassin, every voice in the street a call to arms. In her eyes, you are surrounded by enemies.

"Do we have to be out here? Please. They will see us. They will see."

But you have been following the directions of a different voice, and soon see Arran trailing a group of four other figures into a nearby alleyway. You can also see Calia, although she seems less than thrilled at the moment. Beside her is another woman with dark hair, a blond man in very fine armor, and an elf wearing some kind of fur cloak. She seems to be leading them north, way back up to Forger's Row. However, the route she is taking would lead you towards the western side of that district, instead of the entrance that you made use of last night. Rhea notices the group as well, but says nothing. The significance of her stare is enough of a question.


Lirian: As you move further into Arborgate, its various intricacies become clearer. The initial half-mile or so of brush serves only as a kind of living camouflage to the thriving community beneath, as you can make out more recognizable shapes in the wilderness around you. The structures of the elves are not merely worked into the trees that make up this overgrown district: they are the trees. From the lowest root to the loftiest limb, each of the massive organisms is a microcosm of elven life. A series of little rivulets run through channels in the ground, feeding their endless appetites. At the base, the armored bark has been sung apart like a curtain. It forms open archways into halls so plain they could be called grand. From there, you begin to make out the bits and pieces of homes that are at once utilitarian and elegant. The salons, gardens, and dining rooms in Arborgate are not made, but grown. As your gaze travels even farther upward, you can see that many of the larger branches between different sets of trees have been woven together to form an impossible network of bridges and stairwells. The single stone path you are walking seems more than a little bit insulting as a result. The unhurried silence of your guide serves to reinforce this.

"We know a great many things. My people here many thousands of years before the first men arrived carrying the Justinian banner, before even the dwarves and the other mortal races sprung up from their holes in the ground. We are of light." Quen'this points straight upwards, and at first it seems as though he is only pointing out the beauty that you have already witnessed. But it soon dawns on you that he is looking beyond the canopies, out into the beyond. The sky itself is dark, and full of strange stars that you have never seen before. Here, there is neither sun nor moon. The abstractions of time itself seem lost on these beings.

Sylvia can barely suppress another snort of laughter. "Don't be so melodramatic. You gate-keepers are always trying to awe newcomers. It really is no wonder that there are so few elf-friends in Onyx. Come on, Lirian. By my calculations, we should be more than halfway to the Worldpine."

[gallagher]

Ben takes her hand and slows down. He whispers to Rhea Lucky for you, not only before I was a cleric, I used to also be quite the sneaky gnome. My family and I used to sneak up on orc raiding parties, hide right under their noses, and force them to turn away from innocent villagers. If you are worried about people seeing you, I will teach you how to hide. Act as I act and do as I do.

Ben takes Rhea and uses the natural hubbub of the townsmen cleaning up after the festival, showing her where to walk so that common people will not glance, and points out different places that offer cover from view. Once he sees his friends, he keeps a very broad distance, and whispers into his earpiece to Arran: I spy with my little eyes a group of girls and guys I know. And some I dont. Dictate into my ear directions to where you are heading so I can follow at an unreasonable distance, adn when I cme across any inn that might have a vacancy, I'll get her dinner and drop her off, it shouldnt take more than half an hour. Calia might be under some kind of surveillance, but nobody has reason to even consider me as of yet. I want to keep it that way until Rhea is safe. Where did you leave Lirian? After getting word from Arran, he turns to Rhea: You are doing really well at sneaking. You must have a natural talent! Maybe with some practice you can get as good as me! Lets practice some more, some of those guys up there are some more of my friends. We have been on many adventures together. Lets practice sneaking as we follow them, and when I see an inn with an open room, I'll check you in and I will get that dinner I promised.

Spoiler

Show

Spot to look for anyone suspiciously following the group: (1d20+3)[7] I keep forgetting that I put another skill point in spot, so I got an 8

[Sen isSaqqara]

"Good," replies Lirian, somewhat detached from the conversation, "I've got quite a bit I want to tell you, and perhaps more that I want to hear from you." The banter slides through her mind, entertaining and perhaps worth note, but not as important at the moment as the sights she's passing casually by. Her gaze darts out into the surrounding glade, trying to take in as much of the odd architecture as she can. She can feel that Frost has risen to watch as well. For once, he too seems genuinely impressed.

[esorscher]

"I haven't seen Lirian since we split up last night," Arran whispers as he walks tailing the group, certain they are being observed by the magical observation device that he'd overhead the previous night. And, if they weren't, it was worth assuming just for the risk. "One of us will have to go find her." He had no way to communicate to Calia that he'd understood her warning, but would still put himself in a position where he was close by, surveilling. Now that they were out on the street, he tries to be as discreet as possible. Sometimes he moves ahead of the contestants (though far on one side or the other) but always drops back behind before they get to a crossroads. He drops a gold piece each on the tables of a handful of salesfolk as he goes, not picking up any of their wares but ostensibly mingling with the crowd. When they eventually reach the alley, he will watch from the street, opposite and across from the entrance to the alleyway. "I'll keep tailing them, keep telling you what's going on," he says to Ben, telling him where they all are.

Spoiler

Show

Hide: (1d20+6)[7]
MS: (1d20+6)[13]

Just in case.

[Ajadea]

Calia tosses a gold mark down on the table as she leaves, more to pay for the trouble than Loque's drink. She follows Ala'thea, silence chilling her to the bone. The last hawkers are practically giving away all they have, perhaps so they can take as much coin and as little weight as possible before the gates close. She picks up another mask, painted gold and covering one's entire face, illuminated crescent winding around one eye in black, and pays several times what the salesman asks for it. Her brief delay forces her to break into a brief run to catch up with the others. She wonders if Oberon is really watching them. Perhaps he'll like the joke.

"And you told no one of this." It's a sinking feeling and a relief all at once, that the others might have reacted in the same way she did. Suddenly, her fear seems less shameful. "I don't - I can't track," she mutters, suddenly realizing this plan might be rather less well thought out than she would prefer. She rakes a finger through her hair, making her already rather haphazard bun even messier than before. "I was - am part of the Adventurer's Guild in Valeria. Worked with a ranger. I guess..." She still thought like she was working with them, expected to be able to rely on them. That wouldn't do. They had to stand on their own... right?

"Elara, let me see that scroll again. I think... We can't get help against Annas, right? Because this is her time, and her test. But none of this has anything to do with Annas. I mean, I don't want to risk doing anything if it means threatening the entire city, but...."

[Togo]

Myr shrugs. Very few trackers work well in cities. And certainly the person I tried to follow disappeared very quickly. They may have been transported magically. Still, if I can get a description, we can ask around, see if anyone has seen them.

He looks around curiously, then down othen turns back to their witness.

Can you remember what they were wearing? We've just walked through over a hundred feet of sooty ground. If he had any mud or water on his feet, he would have picked it up. Was he leaving footprints, or were his shoes clean? Was he sheilding his eyes from the light of the forges, or did he seem used to bright lights. Did you get close enough to smell him?

[PersonMan]

Elara doesn't pay much attention to the sudden, drastic reduction of prices in festival goods. She notices the decorations being brought away and feels a brief sadness - she still wanted to paint the Festival in all its wonderful colors. Perhaps she would paint off of memory, to make a scene or two like the one she had seen the day before. But, like all her thoughts on their journey, in the end she's lead back to a simple fact: the Six were responsible. They had to be stopped.

As the group makes their way across the city, Elara sticks to Ala'thea, hoping to bring the elf some peace with her continued presence. She knew that she had, however briefly, felt better when she had been helped after what happened to Merrelis. Now, although it was far later, perhaps Ala'thea would gain some comfort from a similar gesture of support. The others - Calia, Myr and the now-absent Loque - seemed to have gotten lucky and had no such murderous meeting with their counterpart. Perhaps Calia had, but wasn't mentioning it; in which case she didn't need the mage's help.

As they arrive and Ala'thea talks about what happened, Elara nods, handing the scroll to Calia as it's requested, curious about the new emotions that the elf is showing.

"As much as I'd like for us to focus on Annas, the terms say that we can't get help for dealing with her. This Manak, though - he isn't the active tester, so we can get help for dealing with him if we do it before or after his test," she says. Then, as if making an off hand comment, but lowering her voice, she adds "We've also been followed by someone. Someone armed."

[Ajadea]

"I know."

Calia barely lifts her eyes from the scroll she's holding. "We did want a tracker, no?" She lets her eyes shutter, recalling all she knows of the monster they seek.

"Maniakh the Unborn is the newest member of the Six. He replaced one of them, likely by force. He is a necromancer who has joined his creations beyond the reach of death. His spells are potent enough in their own right, but his strength lies first and foremost in his army of dark creations. What we seek is not a mortal man." She rolls up the scroll and hands it back to Elara belatedly. "I don't know how much that helps. But that's all I know."

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: "All you know? Gods above, you don't know much then." You hear a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a rasping cough, and a robed figure emerges from behind one of the warren doors behind you. Maniakh. He leans on his staff of gnarled wood like a cripple might, and yet the way he moves would seem to suggest that such bodily pains do not afflict him. His eyes are flat and silvered, like those of a dead fish. They are filled with hollow mockery, but also a kind of genuine amusement. He strikes you as at once conversational and terrifying.

"Is this a welcome party? Just for me? You really shouldn't have. I was hoping we would do great things together, ears. Honestly, I'm a little disappointed." Very quickly, you see that he is not alone. A quartet of shadows follow him, like spectral mummers in a kind of twisted play. They are as silent as he is loud. What's worse, you recognize another figure at his back. The pale, featureless visage tells you that it is Malthus. The changeling seems more than willing to let his undead companion do the talking for now, though.

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened to all of those guardsmen. But to be fair, they were trying to kill me. People are just so narrow-minded these days. It's like my very existence is an affront to everyone's decency - can you imagine?"

"I'm imagining crushing your head between my hands right now." Ala'thea's face is set in stone, watching as both members of the Six slowly come abreast in the alley, blocking your way back into Old Town. The shadows form a kind of semi-circle around their master, waiting for any of the four candidates to make the first move. Thankfully, none of your enemies seem to have noticed Arran standing a ways behind them, around a nearby corner.

Spoiler

Show

So I'll roll initiative for all parties in the alley in case combat ensues (the shadows will share Maniakh's score, as they act on his turn). This is obviously in the interest of saving time. Group initiative will be in effect, so again I'll take the average of your scores versus the average of theirs. Arran will have a surprise round if he so chooses, and if he joins combat then he can roll as well. I will have the Roll20 map up soon as well.

Ala'thea: (1d20+3)[20]
Calia: (1d20+1)[21]
Elara: (1d20-5)[-2]
Myr: (1d20+4)[14]

Malthus: (1d20+2)[20]
Maniakh: (1d20+2)[4]

Edit: so your team has an average of 13.25, beating their even 12, allowing all of you to act before any of them do.

[Ajadea]

"I know enough, Maniakh." What worked? What impressed the Six? Calia draws herself to her full height and strides to the front of the group, face schooled into a perfectly hard and blank expression. Show no fear. She was not afraid of them, nor their mindless minions. There is nothing to fear. She is strong enough to endure. Her boots clack on the sooty tiles of Forger's Row with each step she takes, and her hands are spread wide, unarmed and magnanimous. She had been chosen for a reason, more than what knowledge she could provide, and she might as well demonstrate her strengths.

"Truth be told, I'm surprised to see you in the city at all," she lies. Her voice is light, but her gaze never wavers from Maniakh's flat silver eyes. "With your talents, I expected you to be in the Necropolis with the rest of your kind." She licks the inside of her teeth and tastes sour acid. Good. She needed to be ready for whatever they might do. She puts a hand on her hip and mimics Maniakh's casual, amused, tone. "Hello, Malthus. I don't believe we've met. You don't need to hide behind your friend here, you know. I don't - well, I don't think anyone here bites." Could they disable, or kill, one or both of them? Could they even gain enough time to run? She has two pellets of daylight, battered old things from a lifetime ago, but she doesn't know if that would, could, be enough to fight the living darkness before her. They didn't know about the company in the shadows. It might be enough. Maybe. If they do this right.

Spoiler

Show

Move Action: Get towards the center of the alley, in front of the others.

Bluffing them like crazy: (1d20+16)[32] with Presence Aura

Standard Action: Ready
If any enemy attempts to attack me or any ally
Use Breath Attack (3d6)[9] acid damage, Reflex DC 18 halves damage.

[Togo]

Whereas I know nothing. says Myr cheerfully. But I do have some curiosity. Is there some reason for your choice of people? I mean you and Callia clearly have some history between you, but I'm pretty sure I would have remembered if I'd seen Malthius before.

He shifts on his feet, making a show of reaching into first one pocket and then the next.

And I don't think I brought with me an appointment book or dance card. Shouldn't there be some kind of introduction before you we join you in festival of murder? I mean, it's only polite..

He frowns.

And.. do those servants follow you everywhere? I wouldn't have thought you'd get invited to many parties, with that lot jogging your elbow.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia, Elara, Myr: Maniakh can barely keep himself from laughing again, his thin blue lips curling upward to reveal rotting teeth. He is hideous, and yet his smile is horribly honest. He wags a finger in Calia's general direction, as though about to tell her off.

"Well look at that! Standing up for your fellow contestants. Oberon told me you'd do something like that. He asked me to tell you that the deal is still on the table. As for my friends, they don't bite either - the undead are great traveling companions! They're quiet, obedient, and never get in the way. What more can a man ask for?"

"You're disgusting." From out of nowhere, a staff appears in Ala'thea's hands. She steps forward, still behind Calia, but clearly preparing to cast some kind of spell.

"Come on, ears. We didn't follow you all this way just to fight you. You're smarter than that. No, no, no. That would just be so... well, so boring. My friend and I came out here to talk at you some. Well, your friends anyway. I'm not sure how much fun you're being right now. I think instead, I'll start with you." Maniakh points directly at Myr this time.

"I can see a story with you, son. Armor that comes when you call, weapons at the ready. You're never without some steel at hand, am I right? Always have a plan? Oh yes, I've met plenty of men like you before. You work in omissions, always half-truths. What kinds of secrets are you keeping from them, I wonder?"


Ben: The barmaid at the Star Sapphire seemed more than willing to take in Rhea for the price you have paid. Wrapping an arm around the little girl, she led her over to the counter in order to fetch her a bowl of hot broth and some local vegetables to eat. Not for the first time today, Rhea's smile has reached into a place within you to pull out an old memory. In here, the shadow of the Custodians can be forgotten even for just a moment. You see family, and a place by the fire. She will be kept safe, for the time being.

But then your gaze falls on the posters. You see sketches of Calia, as well as a few others that you recognize from not too long ago. Their faces are all over the streets now, written on papers with their names attached. Elara Enhall. Ala'thea. Myrmidon. None of these names are familiar to you, and yet your companion seems to have been dragged into something alongside them all. You are suddenly conscious of the weight at your ear. Arran has been silent for a time, but the last thing he mentioned was tailing them up north, back to Forger's Row. Perhaps it is time to follow him.


Lirian: The series of rough stones at your feet end quite abruptly. Directly ahead lies a mossy field, and the banks of a great pool. One look at the crystalline waters and you can practically see the magic of the sages at work. The constant stream from the depths feeds the myriad streams that you have seen throughout the district, and probably beyond. Their source can only be underground, for you can see no other.

But your attention is focused on the Onyx Worldpine.

The base of the great trunk is wider than the great temple at Fiorne, and taller than any tower in the city. It stands upon an island in the middle of the pool, like some kind of grand altar to nature. All in all, the great tree is not dissimilar to the central hall of Ars Elvondin. Its coniferous boughs scrape the sky itself, dwarfing even the enhanced vegetation you have seen thus far. Unlike the rest of the dwellings of Arborgate, the Worldpine is not connected to the great network of bridges. It stands apart in its own clearing, needing no other. And all around, the great white lights of the glade float endlessly.

"I remember the first time I was here. A treatise on the maturation of different kinds of tree bark for use as a spell component. It seemed so important then." Sylvia watches the circling lamps. Her eyes are veiled. She has not spoken nearly as much on her journey either, her quick witticisms lost in the dark. Whatever fear has her in its clutches is refusing to let go, and sorrow is not far behind.

"Come on. If we are to be presented to the elves, it would do us well not to be late. We will talk in private later, I promise."

[gallagher]

Seeing the posters, Ben's focus shifts from protecting one to assisting another. He pays the innkeep an extra gold, telling her If anyone asks, Rhea is family, and that is all they need to know. Ben then hands Rhea an invisibility potion, with the instructions to use it to help run away if anyone bad came to get her, and to find a church for sanctuary. They'll protect you, tell them a cleric sent you there, and that I will know to find you there Ben says. With that, he tussles Rhea's hair one more time, puts his old, dark cloak over his adventuring clothes, and heads out the door.

Outside, Ben heads towards Forger's row. His absence from the side of his friends gives his steps purpose as he heads down slightly familiar streets. Arran, how far in on Forger's Row are you? How will I know that I am near? Calia's face is on posters all over town, is she okay?