[IC] The City Dreamless

[Plerumque]

The light of the blue flames illuminating the dance hall glimmer in the crystal edges of half-full chalices, wink in the jewels arranged in folds of clothing, and shine in the eyes of the heiress as she spins with another ephemeral suitor, helpless as a moth in her glow. She bows politely to the nobleman as the orchestra of musician-mages end their spells one by one, and vanishes back into the crowd to be flattered and cajoled. Without her as the sun around which all else pivots, one might be forgiven for allowing one’s attention to drift elsewhere- here is the ambassador of the elves, clad in silk too fine to have been stitched by any mortal hand, there a flock of guild representatives courting smirking aristocrats, across the hall a cassocked priest orating to a group of dark-eyed foreigners, though the words of his sermon are lost in the murmur of a thousand other voices.

But these aren’t the only guests of the party, these sophisticates and their cohorts. Anyone who could manage an invitation is here, and everyone wanted an invitation. There are criminal kingpins, hands red from dealing in blood money; paunchy merchants, some still with salt-streaked hair from a long journey overseas; and spies- though they could not be distinguished from any of the others, everyone steps carefully knowing that there are dozens of eyes noting their every move.

Still, it seems even these are not the only factions here in the ballroom tonight, for around the edges of the floor and loitering in the corners are new faces no one can recall seeing before. Their expressions are perfectly genial, and their manner conforms precisely to the elaborate rituals of court etiquette, so they are dismissed as guests of the royals. The only strange thing about them at all, in fact, is that they do not speak, despite seeming like they would be as proficient in blandishments as any other guest. They answer any questions with white-gloved hands, but soon the novelty fades and the fickle patricians drift away, back onto the dance floor or into another one of the social patterns that form and vanish so quickly here, like air currents in a storm.

The conductor turns away from the orchestra after the next song finishes, facing the revelers. In a clear voice that cuts through the chatter as easily as a sharp edge, he announces that this will be the last song for the time being, as the queen will be making her appearance immediately afterwards. The music blazes back up, a grandiose symphony composed for impossible instruments, and people begin to flood back onto the dance floor. It’s the last chance, it seems- for one last swap of dance-partners, one last brokered deal, one last elusive conversation. The heiress even steps back in, skirts swirling around her ankles. Though the ball’s pace has been unhurried, a new sense of urgency arises, and each guest begins to wonder, Have I made the most of the evening?

[Darrin]

Dokar stands at the edge of the dance floor, not quite hiding in a corner, but not quite engaging in the festivities. He exchanges a few pleasantries, but keeps the conversations short, slowly working along the edges of the crowd, perhaps searching for something.

A silver raven slips in through a high window, glides over the dancers, and alights on Dokar's shoulder. If anyone else notices the avian's entrance, they politely ignore it.

"Keisoku," Dokar greets the bird with a slight growl. "As I expected, your reputation remains unstained with any hint of punctuality. I am here, as bidden. Have I suffered enough indignity to earn an explanation?"

Keisoku tsk-tsks at the half-orc. "And as I expected, your reputation remains unstained with any hint of patience. All in good time, my dear Dokar. Aragenthia would not have requested your attendance if she had no need of your services."

"And if I were to ask you what these services might be," says Dokar, "you would give me your standard vaguely cryptic answer devoid of any meaningful information?"

"Well, if you insist... *ahem*. The moon removes her mask at midnight. The breath of snakes carries both poison and wisdom. Don't eat any of those little white cakes, some idiot put nuts in them. Ooo! Are those olives over there?! Sorry, if you'll excuse me... but seriously, you're at a party, you snaggletoothed slughead! Why don't you get out there and dance?" Keisoku launches off of Dokar's shoulder before he can snap off a retort.

Dokar stews a bit, but then decides he's sulked enough... might as well try dancing.

The heiress even steps back in, skirts swirling around her ankles. Though the ball’s pace has been unhurried, a new sense of urgency arises, and each guest begins to wonder, Have I made the most of the evening?

Dokar sees his chance. Weaving into the crowd (two squares forward, diagonal, 5' step to the left, two more squares then diagonal, Tumble check to avoid the AoO from the fat Baron Hrogarth, spin, duck serving tray, one more diagonal), he matches his steps with the music, and times it perfectly, appearing at the heiress' elbow just in time for a brief pause in the music. Dokar smiles, giving Lord Valgard an eyeful of his sharp, prominent canines. "May I cut in?"

Valgard is too flustered to muster a formal objection, and Dokar takes advantage of the hesitation to take it as consent. If the heiress objects to the sudden change in partners, she hides it behind a bright smile. After all, if it's attention you're after, there's nothing that tops being seen out in public quite like being seen out in public with the wrong sort of people.

"Dokar! I didn't think I'd see you again after that little incident at my uncle's hunting lodge. What brings you out into polite society?" she asks.

"Grandmother insisted," explains Dokar, adding silently in his head, although she didn't necessarily explain. "Besides, that old windbag Valgard still going on about his hippogriffs? You looked like you were about to drop from boredom. If you want to render a horse airborne, I can think of a dozen other much more interesting methods than slapping a pair of wings on them."

"Oh, please don't! If you make me laugh in this corset, I'm likely to stab myself quicker than Pelor's healers can put me back together."

"Well, we can't have that. Perhaps you'd prefer one of your new chaperones, the ones with the white gloves? Not likely to get any jokes out of them. Seriously, though... are you expecting some sort of trouble? Or are these attendants royal matchmakers, determined to see you rescued from the unspeakable horror spinsterhood?"

[OMG PONIES]

From behind thick lenses of glass, Dr. Julius Mordenstein watches the party. One of his eyes is dull, lifeless, and never seems to blink; the other blinks so much as to unsettle folks. As such, this tuxedoed man in the corner is surrounded by a fine cloud of nothing. Nobody approaches, no conversation is held, and no laughter titters through the air. He stands in stark contrast to the scene around him--a marble sculpture in the middle of an impressionist painting. Dr. Mordenstein preferred it this way, as it allowed him to tend to his work.

"Fascinating, Petal..." he muses to nobody in particular. "The patterns!" As he mutters to himself, he sketches diagrams and equations in the diary he keeps. The man writes furiously, and at times one of his notations overlaps the other...not that it matters much. To any learned observer, Julius' diary was full of little more than the ramblings of a madman. But to him, he was creating a new science--the mathematics of life. The conductor's voice is hardly enough to raise an eyebrow from Julius. While others began to lament an end to the party that had not yet arrived, Julius eagerly awaited the moment so he could return to his laboratory posthaste.

[dysprosium]

Elle Flotte de Pied never thought that she would one day be at one of these high class functions, let alone be present for the Queen herself! As an azurin child in a prodominantly ignorant human community, she always had to run to safety. Run from those who called her a "blue eyed demon." Run from those who would hurt her physically or emotionally.

Those times are long gone now since she had her Three Visions of Ehlonna. The First would introduce Elle to the faith and Ehlonna's clergy. The Second asked Elle to become one of Ehlonna's Runners. The Third asked her to bring Ehlonna's Love to everyone, especially those who would spurn it.

Elle hoped that she would be able to present her case to the Queen about the recent incursions into the Grand Forest that was supposed to be free from settlement. Elle was to find out if the Queen knew about these men who claimed more and more of the Grand Forest in her name. Previous communications had been rebuffed, probably by low level bureaucrats that did not care about such things. But tonight Elle would be able to ask the Queen personally, even if informally. Of course Elle did not really know what she would do if the Queen was actively going back on the former King's word . . .

Elle's gown was not nearly as grand as most of the ladies' gowns were but was lovely nonetheless. It was green like the Grand Forest she was representing. "Oh, Elle," she muttered to herself, "what are we going to do?"

At least Elle didn't feel as out of place as she did when she first arrived. There were plenty of attendees that were most definitely not from the Royal Court. What was this night going to be about? She probably should find a dance partner for this last number.

[Plerumque]

Dokar

A few faces turn, mouths creased in jealousy, as the heiress laughs. "Oh, what they should think if you suggested as much to them! It is as if you would say a river dolphin's purpose must be to grow tulips." The music speeds up, and at the maestro's gesture the air fills with the hum of bees. The heiress twirls Dokar and dips him, supporting his weight for a moment as she leans close and whispers intently, "Can you smell it in the air? Taste it in the music? Something is coming."

Dr. Mordenstein

As the doctor leans against the wall, a woman with a precarious hairstyle and pince-nez balanced on the bridge of her nose emerges from the crowd, wineglass clutched in hand, though it's tilted so as to let the last drops drip from the edge and stain her ruffled dress. "Sir," she asks, eyes darting from side to side in a flushed face, "have you seen Margot? She was just here, I swear."

Elle

A long-haired young man approaches Elle as she deliberates and bows shallowly. "Good evening, mistress Flotte de Pied. Myself and Audrei here were wondering if you might do one of us the honor of the next dance. Alas, I fear Audrei is afflicted by a terrible shyness- ah, you see, he's vanished again." The young man turns to face the crowd, arms akimbo. "Well, let me tell you, Audrei, a rose that waits too long to bloom may find its petals rim'd with frost." He says the last line in an odd tone, voice rising and falling. "Lady Ambassador, may I have the pleasure?"

[OMG PONIES]

"One shouldn't swear, milady," Julius chides without looking up, "without knowing precisely what you're committing to. I learned that one the hard way..." The doctor doesn't turn his attention from his book for a long moment, until he realizes his nonanswer wouldn't dispatch the debutante. "I haven't seen her myself," he says, both clueless and careless as to who Margot was or is. "Perhaps she off and died?" Julius returns nonchalantly to his scribbles. Saying that Julius was a bit off-putting was like calling a rainstorm a bit wet.

[Darrin]

Dokar
A few faces turn, mouths creased in jealousy, as the heiress laughs. "Oh, what they should think if you suggested as much to them! It is as if you would say a river dolphin's purpose must be to grow tulips." The music speeds up, and at the maestro's gesture the air fills with the hum of bees. The heiress twirls Dokar and dips him, supporting his weight for a moment as she leans close and whispers intently, "Can you smell it in the air? Taste it in the music? Something is coming."

Dokar quickly surveys the ballroom again, and then gives the heiress a hard look. "Let me guess... it has tentacles?"

Skill Check, Knowledge (Arcana): Any weird magical ritual or cultist shenanigans going on that I might notice?
(1d20+4)[24]

Skill Check, Knowledge (The Planes): Any weird outsiders or extraplanar cultists doing something that I might notice?
(1d20+10)[29]

Skill Check, Sense Motive on the Heiress: Do I recall her being this strong/assertive? If not, could there be some sort of possession/doppelganging going on?
(1d20+5)[22]

[Plerumque]

Dokar Jaggedfang

The heiress giggles, intensity vanishing as she twirls back a few steps with skirts frothing. "Of course not. Tentacles are so last season. Everyone's been wondering about the new fashions, of course, but the designers are so hard to reach." She cocks her head as the music continues, shifting through an intricate symphony of honey and pollen to a lower, deeper melody like the beating of a massive heart. The left side of the orchestra raises their arms and gurgled gasps cut through the air. "It's so rare to find musicians today who truly know their art," the heiress remarks, and slips into a slow waltz.

Dr. Mordenstein

"That must be it!" the matron exclaims, eyes round. "You know Margot, she's always doing that kind of thing. It's odd, though... too early in the week for that, I thought. You never can tell with that girl, I suppose." She stumbles a few steps closer, and her breath smells of something sourer than wine. She reaches out a hand in thanks and freezes. The glass drops from her other hand and shatters into glittering splinters, and she lets loose a yowl like a trapped cat. No one seems to notice.

[dysprosium]

"Well, good sir," Elle says politely as she gives a curtsy. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am but I am afraid that you have not introduced yourself."

[assuming here that he does introduce himself] Elle holds out her arm to be escorted onto the ballroom floor. While turning she sees the half orc that Taylek had mentioned before, one of his tribe mates? (Is that a word?). Elle wonders who else is here that she may know of . . .

Elle lets her gentleman lead during the song, "Please, tell me what brings you to this gala."

[Plerumque]

The youth smiles at Elle. "Of course. You know my friend here, of course. My name is Audrei, and we are here as emissaries - as, I understand, you are as well." He grips Elle's elbow and leads her into the thicket of bodies. "The Widow was invited, but has asked us to attend on her behalf. The situation back home is dire - tensions are on the rise, and she may have to declare war on the sky if they do not abate. You could say that negotiations have been... stormy." He favors Elle with a thin-lipped smile and guides her forward.

[Darrin]

The heiress giggles, intensity vanishing as she twirls back a few steps with skirts frothing. "Of course not. Tentacles are so last season. Everyone's been wondering about the new fashions, of course, but the designers are so hard to reach." She cocks her head as the music continues, shifting through an intricate symphony of honey and pollen to a lower, deeper melody like the beating of a massive heart. The left side of the orchestra raises their arms and gurgled gasps cut through the air. "It's so rare to find musicians today who truly know their art," the heiress remarks, and slips into a slow waltz.

Dokar is at a bit of a loss with what to do with the heiress [OOC: Creb, Custodian, do you want to cut in?], but now that she mentions it, what *is* going on with the orchestra? Since when did gurgling harmonize with anything? Shifting with her into the waltz, he twirls her over in the orchestra's direction to see if they are doing anything outside of the typical range of 'unusual' for musicians (which, admittedly, is kind of broad to start with). To keep the conversation going, he offers, "Yes, a surprisingly distinctive performance, although I must say with the Queen's attendance I would have expected a more traditional programme. Still, can't have Her Majesty getting bored now, can we? Particularly as she was supposed to spend this last fortnight vacationing up on the coast... poor dear, always getting dragged back into court politics. So, what's got a burr up her bustle now?"

Skill Check, Listen:
(1d20+5)[10]

Skill Check, Spot:
(1d20+5)[25]

[Plerumque]

"You would ask me to disclose the news before Her Majesty's official announcement?" The heiress goes wide-eyed in affected shock. "The words could no more pass my lips than I could step out the window - and fall." She smiles again, showing gleaming teet. "But I may tell you this: there is no cause for sorrow, nor anger, nor fear. It is the Queen's greatest pleasure to disclose, and she would not have missed it for the world thirteen times over." As they circle around the edge of the dance floor, Dokar notes the appearance of the musician-mages in their formal cloaks, embroidered with indecipherable sigils that note their role in the orchestra. Hands are outstretched, fingers flexing and dancing in the air as the faintest glimmer of magic swirls in motes around the intangible threads of spellwork.

[Darrin]

"You would ask me to disclose the news before Her Majesty's official announcement?" The heiress goes wide-eyed in affected shock. "The words could no more pass my lips than I could step out the window - and fall." She smiles again, showing gleaming teet. "But I may tell you this: there is no cause for sorrow, nor anger, nor fear. It is the Queen's greatest pleasure to disclose, and she would not have missed it for the world thirteen times over."

Dokar tut-tuts dismissively, a sour face briefly tugging at the edges of his face. "I am such an ignoramous, I failed to make myself properly understood. I would not presume to ruin the Queen's announcement! My heart aches to hear it from her very lips. I was merely inquiring if you knew of anything bothering the Queen that she would not announce? Surely you must know something... but I am just a horrible quidnunc, fishing for gossipmonger morsels. Pay no mind to me."

[Plerumque]

The heiress laughs again. "Very well," she says, tugging Dokar away from the orchestra. "But I shall repeat: it is her greatest pleasure, with no cause for ill will. Beyond that I may say no more. But if it is gossip that you look for, I am happy to oblige. I have had many lessons in such arts. An example," she says, pointing out a portly man standing outside the fray, apparently amusing his younger companions with a startlingly accurate impression of a wild turkey. "His Lordship is rumored to have recently donated well over half his considerable fortune to a project for extracting sunbeams from cucumbers." Another few rotations brings the heiress to point out a rakish gentleman wearing an unpleasantly purple suit. "The Duke of Albia. He's recently been put on trial for committing a vile act of incest with one of his siblings. A most lurid affair, especially as he has none."

[OMG PONIES]

Dr. Mordenstein

"That must be it!" the matron exclaims, eyes round. "You know Margot, she's always doing that kind of thing. It's odd, though... too early in the week for that, I thought. You never can tell with that girl, I suppose." She stumbles a few steps closer, and her breath smells of something sourer than wine. She reaches out a hand in thanks and freezes. The glass drops from her other hand and shatters into glittering splinters, and she lets loose a yowl like a trapped cat. No one seems to notice.

"I'm sorry?" Dr. Mordenstein says, though "confused" may have been a better word. The woman either had a deliciously morbid sense of humor, wasn't listening to Julius' words, or something nefarious was afoot. In all his days, the good doctor had never met once someone who shared his droll wit, so that was out straight away. Likewise, Dr. Mordenstein wasn't used to being ignored, and as such wrote off that possibility as well.

Left no other option, he defaulted to the third: something was wrong. What others would call "unhealthy paranoia" Julius had always called his modus operandi, after all. Even more so, a grown woman shouting in fear would be enough to disrupt most polite company. Why did it seem like everyone at this party was on some strange sort of autopilot? He stares at the woman, looking beyond her face and words deep into her soul. Had he not already terrified her, she would be shaking by now.

As Julius peers at the woman's soul, he looks around the room at the souls of all in attendance to see if anyone was weaving some sort of foul magic through the air.

Casting Detect Magic
Knowledge Arcana - (1d20+13)[15] do I know of anything funky going on?
Sense Motive - (1d20-1)[14] do I sense what this woman's getting at?

[Plerumque]

To Dr. Mordenstein's eyes, the hall is dappled with magical auras. Illusion spells spark and fade between the hands of the musician-mages as they perform their parts in the grand symphony. Jewelry gleams with transmutation and enchantment. Here and there, gentlemen's sabres are edged with evocation, or their fine clothes with abjuration. There are no spells of unusual strength, nor any ensorcellment over the chamber as a whole. As Julius' gaze passes over the hall, however, the genial, wordless men turn and fix him with their gaze one by one. And as he peers through the crowd of the dance floor, the heiress turns from where she's speaking with Dokar and smiles at him.

[dysprosium]

The youth smiles at Elle. "Of course. You know my friend here, of course. My name is Audrei, and we are here as emissaries - as, I understand, you are as well." He grips Elle's elbow and leads her into the thicket of bodies. "The Widow was invited, but has asked us to attend on her behalf. The situation back home is dire - tensions are on the rise, and she may have to declare war on the sky if they do not abate. You could say that negotiations have been... stormy." He favors Elle with a thin-lipped smile and guides her forward.

[OOC: Where are the Perform (dance) ranks when you need them?]

Elle giggles at the pun and begins to dance with Audrei. "It appears that we all have something important to discuss here," Elle starts. "But it also seems like something unnatural is going to happen. I was just reminded of a nursery rhyme that I have not heard since my youth.

"But while I seem a bit uneasy, you Audrei seem to be doing quite well, as are many of the others in attendence," Elle says as she looks around the ballroom. "Do you know something that I am not aware of?"

[OMG PONIES]

Julius had never been a fan of unwanted attention, but it seemed to come part & parcel in his line of work. He arches an eyebrow at all the eyes on him and begins to scrawl further notes in his journal.

[Plerumque]

Elle

"Ah, who can say they have a legitimate claim to know anything?" the man asks. "Why, Audrei was telling me just the other day about a man who convinced his followers overnight that the sun went out. And then, the next morning, it never rose. Belief is a powerful thing, and truth is inconstant as an autumn's fickle breeze. If you fear us, perhaps you will be given a reason to fear us. If not... well, who can say? Nothing is certain." He spreads his arms, as if to encompass the entirety of the chamber. "All of this could just as well melt through your fingers." For an instant, Elle sees the walls of the hall stretching, dripping, puddling on the floor, and then she shakes it off as a trick of the blue light.

The music is slowing, now, the mages returning to mimicking normal instruments one by one. "I believe it is nearly time for the Queen's address," Elle's partner says. "Shall we try and find a good vantage?"

[Amphetryon]

Creb, unused to the crowds and the attention, slides to a relatively shadowed spot near to Dr. Mordenstein and leans in so he can be heard without shouting.

"Something especially noteworthy, Doctor, or just a reminder for later?" He smiles, genuinely curious but not wanting to impose.

[Plerumque]

The conductor brings each section of the mage-orchestra to a halt, until all that remains is a curious piping sound strangely unlike a flute, and then that too is silenced. The applause is thunderous, rising from the dancers and the spectators alike. It continues on as the conductor turns and bows, and throws out a hand. A stage heaves itself up from the dance floor like some great beast and settles. The silken curtains behind it part, drawn apart by invisible hands, and through them steps the Queen.

She is handsome like a marble statue, all gaudy ornament worn away by time. Her dress, too, is of simple white linen, and it sweeps across the wood as she takes a few deliberate steps forward to pause, survey the mass of upturned faces as the heiress makes her winding way through the crowd and up to her side, and finally speak.

The genial men, all around the edges of the room in their white suits and white gloves, speak with her. Each of the dozen mouths moves in perfect unison, and the words that reach the audience are clear, though overlaid with many voices at once.

"Welcome, subjects," they begin, and the crowd is absolutely silent. "It is Our pleasure to see you here at the dawn of a new age. For today we step forward together, in the realization of an ideal that has been the burden of humanity since we realized that we could be more than gaping apes, blinking in the light. Today we will come to embody that more.

"Yet to think that such a thing ought to be done on one's own is mere hubris. Thus, today, We are here to announce the alliance of our city with the Muse of the deep." They pause, as if expecting a gasp of recognition, but the crowd remains silent, though the tension is palpable.

"But let us not tarry long with banalities, when We are at the cusp of Our masterpiece. This city is Our canvas. Glory in Our work." And then the Queen is gone, and the heiress is alone on the stage, only it's not the heiress anymore, because she's stretching, unfolding, blossoming into some long-limbed creature of jagged smile and folded moth-wings, the heiress' grace perverted in every sinuous curve of its body.

The first few moments pass in shocked silence, and then the nobles closest to the stage slough their skin like snakes and the hall breaks into pandemonium. It's all noise and animal terror as people begin to claw at the crowd, tear at the flesh of friends and enemies alike to get away, and the numbers of the writhing dark things grow.

But the genial men are stepping forward at the edges of the crowd, faces frozen in the same polite smile they've worn all through the evening, and their gloves are no longer white but spattered with red, and though the crowd starts to surge higher as people try to turn, it seems there's nowhere to go.

[OMG PONIES]

"Everything is noteworthy, chum," Julius says out of the corner of his mouth in response to Creb just before all Hell breaks loose. Once it does, he adds, "especially this. Are you seeing this, my petal?" The last question seems directed at nobody, but as if in response the air around him coalesces into a ghastly visage of a woman about the same age as Julius. The visage leans to him and, as if kissing him on the cheek, transfers onto his face in a fluid motion. "Yes, that's what I thought at first as well, but I didn't detect any illusion magic at work," he says. To a casual observer like Creb, it seems like only half of a conversation can be heard. The conversation continues as Julius approaches the being formerly known as the heiress with the same polite smile and casual gait as the white-gloved men. "Fascinating..." he mutters to himself.

Know Arcana - (1d20+13)[26] NOW do I know what's going on?
Familiar Know Arcana - (1d20+14)[20] How about my familiar?
Familiar Know Religion - (1d20+5)[18] Any kind of religious rite? Also, "The Muse of the Deep" sounds like a religious title...any hits?

[Darrin]

"But let us not tarry long with banalities, when We are at the cusp of Our masterpiece. This city is Our canvas. Glory in Our work." And then the Queen is gone, and the heiress is alone on the stage, only it's not the heiress anymore, because she's stretching, unfolding, blossoming into some long-limbed creature of jagged smile and folded moth-wings, the heiress' grace perverted in every sinuous curve of its body.

"Why that little..." grunts Dokar to himself, "Last season my foot... looks like tentacles are back in fashion." He weaves his way through the crowd as it moves through a different kind of dance. Sticking to the time-honored tradition of, 'when the excrement hits the cooling device, go stand next to the cleric', he makes his way towards Elle. Along the way, he tries to get a closer look at the heiress, one of the nobles, or one of the gloved attendants.

Skill Check, Knowledge: The Planes. Do I see anything that looks like an 'Outsider' type, like Half-Farspawn or Pseudonatural template? Is this 'Muse of the Deep' an extraplanar kinda thing?
(1d20+10)[26]

But the genial men are stepping forward at the edges of the crowd, faces frozen in the same polite smile they've worn all through the evening, and their gloves are no longer white but spattered with red, and though the crowd starts to surge higher as people try to turn, it seems there's nowhere to go.

Dokar scans the room for the available exits, and notes how many of the "genial men" are blocking each exit. Now which ones really need to be horizontal the most?

[Plerumque]

Dr. Mordenstein

The heiress notes Julius' approach with the same obscure smile that greeted his spellcasting, and unfurls a many-jointed arm to point at him. A few of the dark things break through the outer layer of the crowd, shoving escapees into the deadly arms of the genial men, and reach out to touch the doctor as if in adoration.

Spoiler

Show

Aid Another: (1d20+2)[21] vs. 10
Aid Another: (1d20+2)[12] vs. 10
Attack: (1d20+2)[15](+4). If it hits, make me a Fortitude save, but you can make another Knowledge check with the new information.

Dokar Jaggedfang

There are three exits from the hall: one to the main staircase into the courtyard, one to the balcony fifteen feet above it, and one that leads deeper into the palace. There may also be one behind the stage, through which the Queen disappeared, but if there is it is hidden by the silk curtains. The main three exits are all blocked by one of the genial men.

[OMG PONIES]

"How uncouth!" the doctor cries out as the aberration formerly known as the heiress lashes out at him. "I'm being assaulted!" However, as the strange limb draws near, it does give Julius a better angle from which to study the creature.

Fortitude Save - (1d20+5)[9] +2 vs necromancy or death effect, +4 vs sleep/stunning/paralysis/poison/disease effect.
Knowledge Arcana - (1d20+13)[21]
Familiar Knowledge Arcana - (1d20+14)[26]

[Plerumque]

Julius feels something burrow into his mind, an alien, eel-like thought that ruffles the course of his mind before settling in a place where he cannot feel it. Something seems to ripple beneath his skin, or perhaps it is only a hallucination. Then the visions come, if only for a moment: not some invasion of his surface thoughts, but something deeper, some primal, ancestral memory that seems to be etched in his skin and bones. He sees oceans, rippling with shadow and chitin as they break across the skeletons of buildings, a monstrously obese man who reclines on a fire-glittering throne as misshapen tumors shift and grow, inch by agonizing inch, across his body, and a cavernous space surrounded by earth on all sides where the only light comes from a creaking lantern held by a vagrant picking through the ruins of glass. She picks up a book, pages pulpy and rot-stained from age, and then turns to look at Dr. Mordenstein. She smiles, again the same smile, and the figment breaks.

[OMG PONIES]

"How precious," Julius says dryly, unimpressed even. His smirk slowly widens to a toothy grin as he unblinkingly stares at the creature of the Void and says, "But you don't scare me, child. I scare you." As he speaks, the ghostly face of an emaciated woman appears over his heart. Her eyes seem too large for her head, and they too stare unblinkingly at the heiress. "You don't take hold of my mind, I take hold of your heart. And squeeze." At his words, even more tentacles burst forth in the crowd, emerging from the floor and enveloping the heiress.

Familiar Actions
Standard action: manifest a Visage over Julius' heart.
No action: Trigger Gaze of Terror on anyone within 30 feet who looks at the visage (Will save DC 13 or be paralyzed with fear for (1d4)[1] rounds.

Julius Actions
Standard action: Defensively cast Evard's Black Tentacles behind the heiress, catching her in the radius.
Concentration check - (1d20+5)[20]
Grapple check - (1d20+17)[25] vs any creatures in the radius
No action: Trigger Dreadful Wrath, catching each enemy within 20 feet (Will save DC 21 or be shaken for 1 minute).
Move action: Move within 5 feet of the Heiressbeast, probably triggering an AoO.
Free action: Trigger 5' fear aura (Will save DC 20 or be shaken, Heiressbeast's condition may escalate to frightened).

[Plerumque]

One of Julius' assailants stiffens at his gaze, eyes flickering with malice as it's imprisoned in their own misshapen bodies, but the other two reach out again with fingers trailing over his skin. From the stage, the heiress' eyes narrow as Julius backs up and begins to gesture, and her moth-wings flick out, revealing strange patterns roiling across their surface. The tendrils burst out of the floorboards, but the heiress is ready, and black ichor spatters as she rips apart the tentacles with eye-watering speed. Dozens more of the newly-touched are entangled in the enchantment, however, and the heiress' dainty features curl into a snarl.

Spoiler

Show

The crowd counts as difficult terrain, so together with the stage you don't actually have enough movement to get adjacent to the heiress. You can get within fifteen feet, but it'll provoke multiple attacks of opportunity.

Aid Another: 1d20
Attack: (1d20)[1]

[Darrin]

Dokar tells Elle, "I'm going to try to clear the stairway so people can get out." He ducks and weaves into the crowd, slipping his shortwords out of their sheaths as he does so.

Init: 26

Dokar Actions, Round 1:

Move action: Draw both shortswords and move towards genial man guarding stairway.
Standard action: Activate wand of surefooted stride (Charges: 49). This allows me to move normally through difficult terrain (such as a crowd).
Swift action: activate Travel Devotion (Duration: 10 rounds), continue moving towards genial man guarding stairway. Ideally, I'd like to end my movement about 20' from him.

Tumble check (for any AoOs, if needed): (1d20+15)[30]

Dokar Actions, Round 2:

Swift action: activate Travel Devotion (Duration: 10 rounds), move at least 20' to a square adjacent to the genial man standing by the stairway.
Full action: Full attack with both shortswords and tail.

Primary1, Shortsword#1: (1d20+10)[26]
Damage: (8d6+3)[6][6][5][5][6][2][1][2](33) (7d6+1 [cold] damage)

Offhand1, Shortsword#2: (1d20+10)[18]
Damage: (8d6+2)[6][6][2][6][5][2][6][4](37) (7d6+1 [cold] damage)

Primary2, Shortsword#1: (1d20+5)[18]
Damage: (8d6+3)[3][4][1][2][5][3][6][3](27) (7d6+1 [cold] damage)

Offhand2, Shortsword#2: (1d20+5)[18]
Damage: (8d6+2)[3][4][3][2][4][2][6][2](26) (7d6+1 [cold] damage)

Tail: (1d20+4)[10]
Damage: (5d6)[1][3][4][4][3](15) (4d6 [cold] damage)

Tumble check (for any AoOs, if needed): (1d20+15)[26]

[Plerumque]

The genial man feels sludgy as his skin gives way to Dokar's weapons, a greasy iridescence shining on the steel when the half-orc brings it out. The smile on his face melts and flows, coursing down his face, and as he lifts his arms dark oil soils his pristine gloves and drips down to the floor. He reaches for Dokar in a misshapen embrace as the blue light glistens on his face, and collapses into a wave of dark, slick liquid that spatters the stone of the floor. The last thing to go is an eye, which examines Dokar closely, blinks once slowly, and liquefies.

On the stage, he heiress beats her wings, sending flurries of intricate patterns swirling across them, and rises into the air. Hovering amongst the chandeliers, she tucks the remnants of her skirts about her in a farce of modesty and executes an elaborate bow. One of the windows high above the floor splinters into a thousand fragments of moonlight, though when the shards hit the ground it is with the patter of rain. The heiress hovers for a moment before the aperture, framed by the stars, before vanishing through with the soft susurrus of moth-wings.

Below, the tide of the dark writhing things breaks. The door that leads deeper into the castle is thrown open in the confusion, and several of the dark things disappear through. Others attempt to crawl up the wall and follow the heiress, beating newborn wings with impotent frustration, but still more continue to swallow up the remaining unchanged bystanders in their alien contagion.