The War of the Moons

[Aeti]

Chapter One


It was early in the Merchants season, when the last howls of winter still sounded faintly through the peaks, that the Festival came upon the city of Fair Reach. All citizens busied themselves with preparations for the excitement. Blushing maidens wove scarves of green satin and flowers, and plump mothers prepared saucers of milk spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon. Politically minded throngs of the young and old alike readied armbands and old arguments for throne and country. In the shadow of the ancient castle walls, large wooden scaffolding was coaxed into a stage by workmen, while laughing children stole nails and sticks for make believe swords.

And outside in the villages and homes beyond walls strong with stone and laughter, stout hands prepared black iron knives and readied axes, for they knew well the forest deep.

* * *

As an adventurer of skill and renown, you are cordially invited to Participate in the seventh Festival Contest of Generals. Please attend the General’s Leisure upon the ninth of the first tenday of the Merchants season.
Elevate through action to glory, or displease the Lord and Lady.
The Contest Awaits!

Robin Wellman,

Magister officiorum
Fair Reach Council

* * *

With letter in hand, you make your way to the General’s Promenade. It is there that you will attend the official opening of the Festival, and be introduced to the General’s Council in front of a cheering crowd. Throngs of partygoers already pack the streets, gathering to celebrate the opening of the Festival in a great mass of excited chatter. You spot quite a few people wearing blue or red armbands traveling in groups of like colors.

Ahead of you, the Promenade opens in a wide, paved area of neatly fitted stones. Straight ahead is the stage, which has a podium, a couple dozen chairs and is decorated with banners of the city. Along the periphery, vendors make a brisk business while shouting their wares. All manner of shops are open for business.

“Spiced buns! Spiced buns!”
“Get your charms and safeguards! Don’t let your children leave home without a safeguard!”
“Scontan ginger-rum! It’ll put hair on your chest, my lad, or burn the hair from your lady’s chest!

Upon the stage, finely tailored clothes mark the status of those gathered there. The Generals are yet to arrive, but other nobles and schemers mingle in conversation. Only those with an invitation are allowed up, meaning the socialites there are the most important names in the city. And, perhaps, your opponents.

Even above the general din of the crowd, you can hear some sort of commotion from the Eastgate road. A thick mob is gathered with their backs towards you, screaming appreciation. Maybe the Generals are already making their entrance?

Near the Oldtown road, you spot something else odd. A section of the Promenade is empty of people, but a hushed crowd has gathered around it. You can’t tell what is inside the ring of people, but there is a small gnome standing on a giant chair gesticulating wildly as he talks.

You know you have a few minutes before the ceremonies begin and your whole life changes. As a participant in the Contest, you’ll be a local celebrity. This, then, could be your last chance to take in the sights as part of the crowd of common folk. Or to set plans in motion. The energy of the crowd is infectious, and adventure calls!

[jm_jazzman]

Wrapped in a forgettable traveller's cloak and hood, Adonius surveys the crowd. The buzz of excitement in the air is warm and comforting, like the smell of a favourite childhood meal. He hadn't realized until now how much he had been missing crowds (especially their cheers of adoration). It's nice to have an excuse to be back amongst the masses now, even without Mervin at his side taking care of all the little details.

Although Fair Reach is very much still the city he remembered, little changes mark the passing years since he was last here. Some of the buildings are new, his favourite armorer is now a pub (drat!), but at least the castle still looks the same. He tries to remember some of the friends and lovers he used to know here, and wonders for a moment whether or not he might see any of them (or their children), and if he would even recognize their faces now if he did.

So far nobody has recognized him, his face half-hidden and his iconic accoutrements either concealed under his cloak or wrapped in plain cloth. The power of branding! He chuckles to himself, the more identifiable it makes you, the more invisible you can become when you take it away!

For a moment, he almost worries that perhaps he won't be recognized even with his handsome looks and famous artifacts on full display, but of course that would be ridiculous! He had been invited to the tournament, after all. And then even those too young and too sheltered to know his name yet certainly will. He may be older now, but he is still Adonius!

Careful to not draw the eyes of pickpockets, his hand reaches inside is cloak and checks that his coin purse is still there. Not nearly enough for a proper breastplate, he frowns. In fact, it wasn't enough for much of anything. Telling tales of his exploits hasn’t been as lucrative recently as it once was. Mervin used to organize very profitable speaking engagements. No matter, I've worked my way out of worse situations before. If I have to do any sneaking about in this tournament, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

Allowing himself to forget his worries and enjoy the little joke of his anonymity, Adonius melts into the crowd and, careful not to let his scale mail clink too loudly lest it give him away, wanders over to the ring of spectators by the Oldtown road to find out what has captivated their attention. Safe in his disguise, he allows himself to stoop and shuffle like an old man instead of maintaining his posture and stride.

[Aeti]

With some nudges and deft moves through the crowd, Adonius finds himself at the front. Where he belongs. In the centre of the circle of the onlookers is... nothing. A seemingly ordinary bare section of fitted paving stones. At the edge is a gnome wizard, balancing precariously atop a high wooden chair. Every so often, he flails his robed arms to catch his balance. To Adonius’ trained trouper eye, he’s doing a terrible job of whatever act he’s trying to perform. Most seem disinterested, and a few enterprising youngsters have tomatoes at the ready. Even the gnomes wispy hair looks like it wants to leave.

“No, not magic I assure you! Not as we know it! Instead, what can only be described as a nexus event at orthogonal planes! Behold! The Fair Reach Effect!”

Spoiler

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Perception - (1d20+3)[23]

That's just how I roll I guess! Aren't you lucky these rolls are for you <3

The gnome turns to the empty patch of paved stones, and pours a glass of water into the air. It falls towards the ground. About a foot from the ground, it splashes oddly, and water swirls. More water, out of nowhere, spreading outwards and deepening. It glimmers and catches the blue sky, somehow more real than regular water. Adonius can see into it, as if it were behind glass. Like it was glass. And in the middle, a tall shape rising out of the water. A pair of entwined figures, made of marble, like those you would find in a bathhouse or fountain. Each wears a slender crown, and carved along their arms is a flowing script. Though he sees it for a moment, his practiced eyes, those of a hero, take it in easily.

Aech, dan baen. Amoalaen feve i'heah.

A blink later, it’s gone. Nothing remains of the water he saw, nor the statues, and the ground is dry.

Adonius recognizes the stillness that falls at the end of this odd act. It’s the same one that happens after every performance, when an audience is poised on the knife’s edge between applause and withering silence. Or, given the mood of the crowd, an unexpected high speed fruit delivery for the gnome.

[jm_jazzman]

Adonius is intrigued. He claps politely, while tying to figure out what in the nine hells he just saw.

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arcana (1d20+4)[15]

He also considered the unusual words he witnessed for a split second, searching through his memories to determine if he had ever visited a land whose tongue resembled the words he just read.

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history? (1d20+4)[18]

[Aeti]

Ask near anyone walking down the street in Fair Reach and they'd tell you that some things simply are. Some things are just an inextricable part of the culture of Fair Reach. The guardsmen wear odd felt hats, no man would break a word honestly given, and strange things appear during Festival time. Dungeons can appear in cleared fields, surprising the farmer who has finished planting barley moments ago. This seems to be one of those strange apparitions, and yet.. what is it? Notable city scholars might have some theories, but Adonius has never heard of anyone controlling the Festival oddities. Adonius saw no signs of casting a spell, pouring a cup of water is too mundane for that.

Adonius would know that he's seen the script before - it resembles elven, but older than anything he's used to. In fact, he's seen similar writings before on ruins around Fair Reach.
He thinks it translates to something like Land, now two. Those that are sealed seek their equal.

[DrunkyTheClown]

A tall, dark silhouette moves towards the promenade. With the hood drawn, it billows gently along with the cloak as he walks. In a gloved hand, Sad-Face carries a folded document, perhaps after a cursory glance in his final stride towards the ceremony.

At Eastgate road, he stops momentarily and observes the crowd, the lower half his mask glinting in the light. His arm tucks inward and the letter finds itself hidden within one of his inside pockets.

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Perception (1d20+3)[17]

[Aeti]

At the Eastgate road is a screaming crowd, almost hysterical in their adulation. They are mostly young men and women of all races. In the centre is a meagerly dressed human monk, with a hulking bodyguard keeping the crowd at bay. He has robes road-stained from long travel and a shaved bald dome rising out of his brown hair. His face is tanned from long hours in the sun.

For a second, Sad-Face is drawn in. The roar of the crowd is a surging river that sweeps him forward. The monk's shaved head shines with the morning light and goes ting. Sad-Face feels the urge to attract the attention of this man, this beautiful man. The eyes set in the homely face seem to pierce deeply into his soul. But then, Sad-Face shakes the effect off. What is happening here? It's just some monk. He can hear the monk's voice carrying over the crowd.

"Please! Donations for the church should not be women's undergarments!"

By the time Sad-Face has shaken off the compulsion, the crowd has mostly passed by. He has time to catch up, but in their wake he notices the the commotion they have caused. A pair of teenage dwarves are about to come to blows in an argument. As well, the rowdy crowd has knocked over a merchants stall of oddities, and the dragonborn merchant is angrily shoving people away as they trample his goods.

[DrunkyTheClown]

A look of fascination has Sad-Face remaining mostly in his place just shy of the gutter on one side of the road. He allows the adoring fans to filter around him as the effects of the strange aura intensify and then subside, and his gaze quickly stiffens into an icy glare.

He takes a step back to allow the tail end of the throng to pass, when the sound of wood, canvas and glass causes him to turn abruptly. He approaches the merchant and attempts to help block some of the stampede from doing any more harm to his wares, until there is enough room to reach down and right the stand.

"Who is that man?" asks Sad-Face, attempting to place him within his own memory.

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In case there is an applicable check I should be rolling for (1d20)[15]

[Aeti]

The merchant frowns as he picks up a rumpled handkerchief. While he smooths it on his scaled shoulder, he glances at Sad-Face's imposing mask then speaks to the ground. "Good sir, that is one of the adventurers called for the Festival Contest. He tours the Free Cities, gives speeches about philosophy to crowds like you see here. I don't see what the fuss is about." He spits, and the phlegm sizzles on the paving stones.

One of the youngsters from the crowd trailing the monk turns around angrily. His hair is cut in the same manner, and he sticks out his bare chest belligerently. "Pal, that is Tonsure. The dreamer who invented the tonsure. He's one with the universe. I oughta make you eat that rag."

[DrunkyTheClown]

Sad-Face stares at the Merchant, head tilting to one side as though about to submit his own thoughts, only to have them interrupted. He doesn't move, but his eyes swivel across and then down at the youth.

"Tonsure." he repeats, crisply enunciating in so doing. "What nonsense."

He falls silent, his eyes still on the lad, expecting to hear more.

[Aeti]

The youth goes as red as the Festival flags hanging around the square. "Get lost, Masquerade Ball. Your mother give you that so she doesn't have to see your face?" He reaches towards Sad-Face, clearly aiming to shove him backwards.

Cloth clutched in clawed hands, the dragonborn merchant backs up. His tail flicks back and forth nervously.

[DrunkyTheClown]

Sad-Face turns and faces the miscreant, a gloved hand gesturing across various remaining items scattered on the ground, his eyes still locked in the same position.

"I think defending your leader's honour would be better served by cleaning up the mess you helped make. Don't you agree?"

By the tone of his voice, he is not merely asking.

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Intimidate (1d20+4)[16]
Athletics against his shove (1d20+6)[21]

[Aeti]

The youth hesitates, his hand outstretched. Sad-Face has faced down worse before, and the youth crumples as expected. Sad-Face watches a lie form behind the youths wide eyes, a scared attempt to save face. He blurts it out. "Y-Yeah, there's no problem. Didn't see what happened, is all. I .. can help. Sure." He scurries around for a moment, picking up odds and ends, before stuffing them into the merchant's scaled arms and fleeing.

The merchant lays the merchandise gently on the table. "Thank you, stranger. I am Ssam." He glances up at the imposing mask before again looking away hurriedly. "Perhaps I could thank you for your help? With ah, a 10% discount?"

* * *

Meanwhile, Adonius watches a dwarf shrug and drop his tomato. No one claps, but there are no jeers either, and with a few mutterings the crowd disperses to look at the rest of the attractions around the square. He hears a few people talking excitedly about the impressive cheese provided by the Councillor of Dairymire. The gnome wizard gets off his chair somewhat dejectedly, fiddling with a ring on his finger. He calls out, "I know it's not that impressive now, but with more research.."

[DrunkyTheClown]

Sad-Face allows the sudden backpedal to play out without any interference, as though taking the aspiring acolyte's words at face value, but not without his eyes burning into the youth's back as he sets about his emergency tidy-up.

Turning to the merchant, reaching into an inner pocket to produce the letter of invitation, "They call me Sad-Face. Perhaps another time... I have a feeling this won't be the last you will see of me." He lightly waves the letter before slipping it back into its concealed place, and follows the chaotic procession from a distance, "Good day, Ssam."

[jm_jazzman]

Adonius smiles to himself, glad that after all the places he has gone and things that he has seen that there are still mysteries and wonder left in the world to explore.

He approaches the gnome.

"Greetings, friend. I am curious about this effect you have discovered. How did you come across it? What do you think causes it?"

[Aeti]

The gnome goggles at Adonius, his mouth forming a comical 'o' of surprise.

"Aaaah!! Ah! A, ah, a patron! I mean," he straightens up, and adjusts his robes. If fussing with robes could remove holes repaired with fabric clearly taken from socks, he would look presentable. As it is, he looks like an upended laundry heap, but a laundry heap that is extremely pleased to see you. His words pour out of him.

"Hem. Harrumph! Pepper Fandlebother, at your service! Magister un-officiorum, if you will forgive a minor witticism.

"I've studied the Fair Reach Effect for years now. You have heard, of course, of the famous Festival Tree that appears during Festival time? Tonight, I believe. I was a young gnome when I first witnessed it. At first it's not there, and then... it is!!"

His descriptive skills could use some work-shopping.

"And as for what causes it.." He sizes you up, all his certainty fled. "The truth is, I've reached a, ah, undesirable truncation of my studies. This is my life's work, but I can, ah, support myself through theoretical pursuit no longer. An interested patron, though...?" Pepper trails off hopefully.

[jm_jazzman]

"Alas, I have not quite the kind of coin" Adonius leans in closer "what I do have is a connection to a famous name. A renowned explorer and discoverer of long-lost secrets. I could help you get his name attached to your venture as a collaborator in order to entice more wealthy benefactors to support you, to take your work more seriously! All for a reasonable fee or commission, of course, the details of which I'm sure we can work out...?"

[Aeti]

"But this is perfect! Don't you see, a famous explorer would solve many problems. I could have the wealth to publish my research in high society, yes. But ah, at the same time an explorer could locate sites of interest and bring back valuable knowledge to study!
"Please, what is the name of this famous explorer?"

Pepper rocks dangerously forward on his stool, which creaks ominously.

[jm_jazzman]

"Why, none other than the greatest, the one and only ADONIUS STEELHART!" he exclaims as he dramatically throws off his hood to reveal his bright eyes and charismatic smile.

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Performance for dramatic effect(1d20+8)[14]

[Aeti]

"Oh," says Pepper. "I was hoping for someone, ah, alive. An ancestor of yours?"

* * *

Sad-Face leaves the merchant behind him, walking across the Promenade towards the stage. His long strides carry him past more vendors making claims both magical and mundane. It's unclear to passers by whether he is walking with purpose or lost in thought behind his mask. He gives no sign as the crowd parts almost magically around him as people apprehensively move away. He's used to it, uses it to his advantage. It's especially surprising, then, when a Tiefling girl skips lightly up beside him to chat.

"So that's your deal then eh?" She says brightly. "Big stern shell over a soft heart?"

[DrunkyTheClown]

Sad-Face continues at an even pace, leaving considerable space between him and the spectacle ahead of him, at least until he arrives at the stage. Though feeling slightly caustic at the annoyance from earlier, the walk has already calmed him to some degree. It would most certainly be easy, then, for someone to catch up and strike up a conversation if they so pleased.

When this happens, Sad-Face doesn't exactly slow down, but looks sidelong towards the source of the small voice. The eyes, though unsettling, are more quizzical than usual. Perhaps eyebrows are moving somewhere under that covering.

"Who is asking?" he can be heard saying, eyes flitting back to the road.

[Aeti]

The stage is a solid, impressive construction; a wide wooden platform covered with painted heraldry and festooned paper chains. A guarded wooden stair leads up to the tall stage, which is raised up above their heads.

Tonsure has arrived already and joined the nobility in conversation. His adoring fans seem content to wait excitedly.

Sad-Face gets a good look at the strange girl. She's almost as short as a half-ling, with light lilac skin. Her dress is cut elegantly to display her long tail. One clawed hand idly twists a ribbon in her hair. "Men like a bit of mystery, don't they? Anyway, I'm not giving you something you should know already. I did my research."

She tries to link her arm through his, as if they were a courting couple strolling a garden.

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(Perception: 15+3) Sad-face can hear that she has a Scontan accent, but doesn't recognize her from his travels. He also notices the subtle raises under her dress of at least two concealed knives.
If you want to avoid her invasion of personal space, roll a reflex save.

[DrunkyTheClown]

"Ah... Well then I suppose there is not much left for me to say."

Sad-Face doesn't resist the gesture, though only participates in so much as to humour her; a slight bend of his arm. His eyes drift across the gathering in front of the stage, then down at the girl once again, his walk gradually slowing as they enter the crowd.

[Aeti]

The two make an odd pair. She seems content to match his stately pace. In contrast to Sad-face's flat mask, she smiles radiantly at the crowd. With the crowd, Sad-face notices, as she effortlessly exchanges smiles with apron-ed matrons and dour dwarves. She even stops to ruffle the hair of a small boy. And yet, on the arm hooked with his, he can feel the smooth strength of secreted armor under her sleeve.

Finally, the tiefling breaks the silence. "Someone went to a lot of effort to get you here." She says it lightly, as if discussing the weather. "It made a lot of waves with the Council." Her golden eyes are suddenly intent, searching up to meet his hooded gaze.

[DrunkyTheClown]

His attention shifts here and there, enough to adjust his gait to allow for these various interactions, and in doing so they do not go unnoticed.

Sad-Face slows to a halt in the midst of the crowd when the girl speaks up once more, his stare meeting hers once again.

"Why?" he says, after a drawn out moment, his wariness distilled into one word. It's not clear what statement he is asking 'why' to, though he leaves plenty of silence for there to be room to answer both.

[Aeti]

Her smiling face gives away little, as if she was the one clad in pewter.

"I don't know. All I know," she says, "is that when giants make plans, it's the little folk who are crushed."

[DrunkyTheClown]

He continues to match her stare, his eyes unblinking.

"It was not meant to happen. I can glean that much." he gives an almost sage nod, "Yet, here we are."

He pauses ominously, casting another look over the crowd before dipping his head and lowering his gaze again.

"Are you ready?"

[Aeti]

She takes a step back, untangling her arm from his. "Always, Wiltin."

Spoiler

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The tiefling girl is going to try to smack Sad-Face's backside before she leaves. If you want to avoid that, roll a reflex save!

[DrunkyTheClown]

He lets her slip away... But only just, stepping forward to maintain their proximity. His birth name still riding on the air, she really has his attention now.

"It's rude not to introduce yourself."

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Not going to resist the smack, but here's a grapple check if she tries to leave! :D (1d20+6)[10]

[Aeti]

Spoiler

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Roll a perception check please!
Slip Grapple - (1d20+6)[13]

"Oh, we're going to be seeing a lot of each other. Call me Lysenya." Her hand darts out to smack Sad-Face on the backside, hard enough that it stings a bit. Sad-Face reaches out to grab her arm, but catches only air as the girl twirls away through the crowd.