Act I: The Beauty...

[Miraqariftsky]

midmorning, 1st of Barrakas, 999 YK
----------------
At Morgrave...

A wash of bright sunlight washes over the hall, brass fittings gleaming like gold on the ends of bookshelf upon oaken bookshelf. Thousands of tomes there stand within them, an army of paper and leather, with swords of words and steel of knowledge.

In a certain section there is an area cleared of shelves, where long, broad tables and lightly-upholstered but sturdy chairs dominate the scene. At one end is the wall of glass that lets in the glory of Dol Arrah while at the other end is a pair of grand doors leading into a four-sectioned corridor.

One path leads to a dark, windowless room that, when the mageglobes of eternal fire are lit, reveals a ceiling-high orrery of the planes and an observatory of magical energies with all necessary instruments furnished in brass, in gold, in dragonshards and other more exotic materials.

The other path branches off to several classrooms from which emanate the buzz and chatter and drone of professors and students. At the end of that path is a stairwell with flights going both up and down. The downward stairs lead to the lush garden outside the school proper, a garden of trees, plants, herbs and flowers drawn from far-off lands by previous successful expeditions. The path turns cobbled as it goes through these outer marches of the campus and joins the cobblestoned streets of Sharn a half-mile from where you stand.

Throughout it all, sages and scholars of all stripes walk hither and yon. Some bear books and others prize artifacts and relics with the covetous eyes and spindly touch of a miser with his gold. Others walk about in a throng, conversing loudly, debating the merits of old Galifar's constitutions or the development of dragonmarks while some smaller groups speak more softly and walk more quickly.

Here now passes a warforged easily balancing a stack of heavy books with one hand while handing out scrolls from a satchel to students following in a train. A grey-whiskered shifter plays chess with a young gnome sitting on several cushions stacked high. There go a couple of truant lovers, seeking privacy in some of the darker, more abandoned shelves. A young man possessed of Karrnathi features adjusts her spectacles and leans back from a session of intense study over a black-bound book. A ruddy-furred hobgoblin woman in an elegant leathern dress speaks with a smoky, haughty voice as she debates with a silk-clad orc with heavily-waxed hair whose deep rolling accent betrays his Marcher origins.

And yet on the other, less scholarly side of the current populace, you see some people wearing clothing more meant for the wastes of Droaam or the battlefields of the Last War than for a university in the middle of Sharn. Here and there you catch sight of hard, scarred visages or fiery eyes and mischievous features. Whenever one of them slips... or lets slip, you glimpse the sheen of steel, the sparkle of silver--- the hint of armour, the tease of weaponry.

The third path is the shortest yet richest, covered with a soft scarlet carpet and bearing a gold-framed diagram depicting the history and geography of Eberron as far as is known. Expertly wrought from inks so deep blue that they are almost black and a thick, broad sheet of parchment that seems to whisper with the voice of ages, it reaches out to your hearts in a manner unfathomable, in a way within one's grasp yet ever beyond one's reach. On its lower right corner is signed, in bold Dwarven, the name Threvick Silverbeard. At the end of the short corridor is a stout redwood door with a plaque at its centre, emblazoned with the appellation, "Dean Threvick Silverbeard, Professor Emeritus and Chairman of the Geotemporal-Historical Institute of Morgrave"

Suddenly, something touches your minds, a whispering voice yet none seems to be near you. The voice in your head is clearly femenine and reminds you of the sound of running water. Come, applicants. You seek the door beside the large diagram. Mark the name on the plaque, you'll know the path is true.

Spoiler

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Make a Will save. If you pass DC 10, you heard the message above. If you fail DC 10, all you felt was "Cooooommmmeee to mmmmmeeeee..."

Make a Spot check, yo.

-------------
At Malleon's Gate...

Far beneath the opulence of the Upper City, in the dank, dark squalour of Malleon's Gate, stronghold of the worst of cutthroats, the most fallen of nobles, foothold of the seeming-savagery of Droaam and Darguun in the heart of Sharn.

The streets are bustling today with a thousand bodies, a thousand beings jostling and cursing and shouting. Merchants hawk their wares of exotic essences, tribex meat, Q'barran spidersilks and dull-eyed but heavy-muscled slaves.

In one red-bricked building of moderately good repair, you finally find the address that was written on the wind-borne advertisment. Ascending the rickety stairwell, you come upon a hallway with "Sharn Inquisitive" badly scrawled in Common on one of the walls. Tacked on is a small sign that reads "Apologies for the inconvenience. This branch is undergoing repairs. Still open for business. Expedition applicants, feel free to enter"

WHABBAG!

Suddenly, a door roars open and a ragged, scarfaced warrior in mismatched mail flies out and slams against the opposite wall, moaning. A stentorian voice roars from within, "Application denied! NEXT!"

Spoiler

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Make three Spot checks and three Listen checks.
For every one of those that succeeds, roll an AoO. Yes, somebody tried to pick your pocket.

[Glawackus]

Hat jammed on and hands in the pockets of his professor's garb, Throtherby reaches out to knock on the door. He pauses.

Spoiler

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Will save: (1d20+1)[15]
Spot check: (1d20+4)[13]

"Psionics," he grumbles, reaching out for the doorknob to enter the office.

[Ghal Marak]

Gonk

Spoiler

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Spot checks
#1:(1d20-1)[15]
#2:(1d20-1)[9]
#3:(1d20-1)[5]

Listen checks
#1: (1d20-1)[10]
#2: (1d20-1)[2]
#3: (1d20-1)[7]

AoO (If I pass any checks)
S#1: (1d20+10)[14]
S#2: (1d20+10)[18]
S#3: (1d20+10)[25]
-----------------------
L#1: (1d20+10)[12]
L#2: (1d20+10)[26]
L#3: (1d20+10)[23]

Damage (If any attacks hit)
#1: (1d8+5)[8]
#2: (1d8+5)[10]
#3: (1d8+5)[10]
--------------------
#1: (1d8+5)[10]
#2: (1d8+5)[7]
#3: (1d8+5)[9]

((I'll fill in the rest of the post after I get the results.))

[Neftren]

Stifling a rather rude remark about the waste of psionic talent, Aeril crosses the room. Unfortunately his entire body is clad in a concealing, black cloak that reveals nothing other than he is approximately humanoid.

Scribbling his name on the plaque at the side, Aeril then opens the door and walks in.

Spoiler

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Will Save:(1d20+4)[15]
Spot Check:(1d20+11)[20]

[kamikasei]

Spoiler

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Will - (1d20+3)[21]
Spot - (1d20+7)[15]

Pawn is just discovering that Morgrave doesn't make much effort to keep its campus maps or office charts up to date when the voice whispers within his mind. Startled, he stands stock still for a long while until he realizes he's beginning to draw attention, then carries on his way. The experience is unsettling to say the least, and he makes a mental note to request the speaker not repeat the feat as he obeys the psychic instruction.

Though his cloak is worn so as to provide some discretion, his appearance is still that of a mercenary or bodyguard more than any other group known to frequent Morgrave. His sword is not at his side, but the hilt protrudes behind his head, serving to mark him as ready and able to fulfill the duties for which he intends to apply.

[John Talbit]

Casey smiled under the wide brim of his hat. This was his kind of place. For a moment he pondered seeking out an attractive female slave, but decided it best to hurry on. He noticed the building ahead, steering himself through the crowd expertly. As he neared, the door burst open and out flew a tough-looking man. Casey muttered.

Amateur....

Spoiler

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Spot Checks--->

[roll]1d20+0[/roll]
[roll]1d20+0[/roll]
[roll]1d20+0[/roll]

Listen Checks--->

[roll]1d20+0[/roll]
[roll]1d20+0[/roll]
[roll]1d20+0[/roll]

AoO Rolls--->

Spot

[roll]1d20+6[/roll]
[roll]1d20+6[/roll]
[roll]1d20+6[/roll]

Listen

[roll]1d20+6[/roll]
[roll]1d20+6[/roll]
[roll]1d20+6[/roll]

Damage--->

Spot

[roll]2d4[/roll]
[roll]2d4[/roll]
[roll]2d4[/roll]

Listen

[roll]2d4[/roll]
[roll]2d4[/roll]
[roll]2d4[/roll]

[darkzucchini]

Lorne

Lorne narrows his eyes as the voice probes his mind.

What man of virtue needs such tricks to speak to another? I have little trust for those who would welcome a guest without first seeing their face.

Scanning the hallway around him, Lorne cautiously makes his way towards the door and, placing a hand upon it, slowly pushes it open.

Spoiler

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Will Save - (1d20+10)[14]
Spot - (1d20+2)[5]

[vargen]

Leoneiros

Leon wows to himself that he will never let that happen to him, he knows that he is a good addition to any team and hopes that the rest of the team will step up and do their job.

He walks up to the door, knocks a few times and enter.

Spoiler

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Spot

(1d20+4)[7]
(1d20+4)[10]
(1d20+4)[11]

Listen

(1d20+4)[13]
(1d20+4)[15]
(1d20+4)[19]

Against what DC?

I roll a few AOO just in case

(1d20+4)[16] Damage (1d4+1)[2]
(1d20+4)[6] Damage (1d4+1)[5]
(1d20+4)[15] Damage (1d4+1)[3]
(1d20+4)[9] Damage (1d4+1)[2]
(1d20+4)[22] Damage (1d4+1)[5]
(1d20+4)[16] Damage (1d4+1)[4]

[The_Snark]

The elf in ragged, faded finery pauses to pay heed to the voice in the air, nodding as if in thanks to a person she could see. The Library, with tall shelves of books and heatless torches, was here more frequent haunt by far at Morgrave, to the point where the longer-standing librarians knew her by name, and that they need not ask her if she needed assistance. The other layers of Morgrave were less known to her, and she looks somewhat out of place; even the workmanlike leather and mail worn by some was well-kept compared to her clothing. If she feels out of place, though, Saera does not show it as she stands at the branching corridors, still looking thoughtfully at the air.

And then she moves to the door, slipping inside and immediately glancing about with wide eyes, as if to take everything else in before the people inside. The set was always seen before the cast, after all, save the narrator.

Spoiler

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Will (1d20+10)[22]
Spot (1d20+5)[23]

[Miraqariftsky]

Midmorn, First of Barrakas, 999. Dean Silverbeard's office, GTH Institute, Morgrave University...

The door opens with scarcely a squeak and you enter an opulently furnished, albeit garishly decorated room. A wall of plain stone on one side feuds with the bright, raging colours of red and yellow opposite it, this other wall painted with what seems to have been either a rag or a sponge. An abstract painting depicting a beast with the body of a large grey wolfe and the head of an oversized rabid rabbit hangs on one wall. The phrase "Bibaronhaz 957" is signed in what seems to be old dried blood on the ragged ear of the beast. The last wall is a moderately sized marble sculpture of Tira Miron slaying a daemon.

Curiously, there are no windows in Dean Threvick's office and yet several curtains hang from the walls, draped in such a manner as to suggest the frame of either a large window or a small door. One curtain is made of beads and bones, the second of softest velvet, the third of fur and mink and the last is a sheet of very fine chain links, most likely made of mithral.

Overhead looms the only source of the soft yet steady illumination--- a massive chandelier cut from what seems to be a single piece of

Beneath the painting is a well-stocked personal library. A cursory glance along the shelves yields titles ranging from The Conqueror's Chronicles to Silvern Songs to Kashana's Little Book of Adaran Stew Recipes. Serving as bookends are pieces of Q'barran, Lhazaarite, Droaamish and Eldeen figurines and pottery.

In one corner of the room stands an imposing wooden mannquin, clad in an ancient suit of armour, its jagged leaves still somehow bearing its gilt of old. In its hands is a length of heavy chain with a pendulum-like blade on one end and an iron ball on the other. The wooden warrior's beady black glass eyes glare out at you from within the befanged maw of its fearsome helm. At its feet stands a sign that reads "Lhesh Dre'khuul, Dhakaani warlord, date uncertain"

At the centre of the room is a rug made from the fur and skin of what seems to be a panther but a closer look shows that it is too large and has far too many appendages to be a panther. The purplish pelt stretches forth a tail, six legs and two spiked tentacles all the while with its yellowed maw open in one last silent roar of raging defiance. Between the appendages are set several chairs carven from ebony and padded with whitewashed leather.

There, at the beast's tail is a darkwood desk stacked high with paperwork on one side while bearing a strange and aberrant trophy on the left side. It is a bleached skull with broken horns and huge tusks, no eye sockets and several strangely shaped apertures at its bottom. In the centre of its forehead is stuck the shard of a blade of silversteel.

Suddenly, a woman of slender build and possessed of a dreamlike realization of the very idea of cold charm, clad in a simple brown robe walks out from shadows of one of the seeming-windows beneath the velvet curtain. Her eyes dilate suddenly upon seeing you but she takes a breath then bows over folded hands.

And then... the stacks of paperwork part, revealing the visage of a blue-eyed dwarf with a flowing silver beard. He drums his fingers on the table, sets aside his quill, stands then walks to each of you, shaking your hands. As he does so, though, his hands tremble and you feel his palms are clammy. Despite this, his deep voice wavers not when he says, "Good morning, one and all. I am Dean Threvick Silverbeard and this is my assistant, Professor Shivakri"

Smiling warmly, he continues with the greetings, motioning to the various odds and ends of his office. "I am glad to have had another good turnout for this year's expedition. Here you see the spoils of previous successful expeditions to all over Eberron. The map outside is the culmination of several decades' work by the Institute"

Suddenly slapping his forehead, the dwarf bows to one and all and says "Oh how churlish of me! I apologize for mistress Shivakri's... um, forwardness... she is but newly arrived from Adar, a consultant lecturer, you see... I understand she contacted you through use of... psionics. If you were offended, I apologize on both her behalf and mine. I should have gone out to meet you applicants in the lobby had I not forgotten to check the time..."

((Make a DC 15 Spot check, please))

Spoiler

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While he speaks, some of you may notice that Shivakri begins to shudder. The kalashtar's eyes are closed and rolling rapidly, her jaw chattering fiercely though it is apparent that she is trying to control whatever is coming upon her.

Beaming, Threvick meets Saera's eyes and says, "Well, mistress... Saera... we could indeed use a sage of such skill as yours on this trip... Heh. Looks like you'll soon be living out the spirit of the scripts, so to speak, eh?"

Threvick's eyes widen even more upon alighting on the hatted Trotherby. He practically surges forward despite his apparent age and heartily thumps the famed adventurer on the back. "Hoho! Aundair Morrs, what a pleasant surprise! And after all you've contributed to Morgrave, oh-ho-ho..." And then for the slightest moment, his gaze turns grave and he tells his compatriot in the Dwarven tongue, "Khaz dai morak, Vishtakar palhere fervatur..."

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Troubled times, comrade. Shivakri will tell you later, after the applications

Pausing and standing on the centre of the displacer beast's back, the rather cheery dwarven Dean then beckons to the other applicants, "Come now, come now, we're all well met, eh? What are your names, affiliations, if applicable and what do you think you can best contribute to an exploratory expedition into uncharted lands?"

Spoiler

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Feel free to make Spot/Listen/Survival checks. Also, feel free to do some various Knowledge checks... mayhap a coupla Spellcraft and Healing checks might go well (the latter especially for those who passed the Spot check earlier.

--------------------

Midmorn, First of Barrakas 999. Malleon's Gate, Sharn Inquisitive, Lherrok's office

At the instant that McGrath crosses the room's threshold, a chair is pushed back and there is the sudden sound of a steel sword escaping a well-oiled scabbard. A hobgoblin with a goatee and wearing glasses crouches on a desk, poised ready with a heavily notched goblin-forged greatsword. "McGrath, is that ye? Damn, yer here fer the 'xpidishen?"

Lherrok's gaze narrows and he backs up just a step and raises the blade ever so slightly as the massive Gonk strides in and he mutters beneath his breath, "By the Six..."

The hobgoblin's goatee twitches and his lip curls back in a savage smile as he sees the Cyran veteran, Leoneiros walk in. "Red Gauntleteer, right? How's Thronehold, Mourner? Ye here fer the job too?"

Spoiler

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Money lost to theft:
McGrath: (2d6)[10]
Gonk: (2d6)[2]
Leoneiros: (2d6)[6]
Yes, subtract whatver ye got from your current highest-value currency.
Yes, you all decked at least one pickpocket on the way there.

[Ghal Marak]

Gonk

Gonk nodded at the hobgoblin and banged his normal fist against his chest and spoke. "Job. I come too." Gonk ignored the other two in the room, focusing his gaze on the hobgoblin.

[Glawackus]

Aundair goes over towards the armor and looks it over for a little bit, and then turns back towards the stacks of paper at the sound of the woman's approach.

Spoiler

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Spot check: (1d20+4)[12]

He smiles at the Dean's comment. "Happy to come, Dean. I can smell the Stormreach air already." He pauses. "Actually, that's a bad thing. Nice piece of Dhakaa--"

"Harrak khaz jolgar. Dervak khaz-mror?"

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I'm sorry to hear that. She speak Dwarven?

Aundair glances at the woman and tries to take in as much as he can in a brief moment, and then looks around the room, clearing his throat. "Aundair Morrs. Professional explorer, adventurer, and obtainer of antiquities ancient and dangerous. Don't mean to brag, but the only people who know more than me about Xen'drik are probably at the bottom of an Age of Giants-era spike pit somewhere, working for the Emerald Claw, or worse."

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What's With Her?
Knowledge (arcana): [roll]1d20+5[/roll]
Knowledge (dungeoneering): [roll]1d20+5[/roll]

Nice Stuff
Knowledge (history): [roll]1d20+5[/roll]
Knowledge (nature): [roll]1d20+5[/roll]
Any sort of special pattern to the stuff here? Any fakes? Anything that Aundair got for the University?

[kamikasei]

Spoiler

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Spot - (1d20+7)[9]

"I am called Pawn," the warforged says in a flat, surprisingly mild voice. "Late of Cyre, now a free agent. I have some skill as a soldier, and may be of service as a guard or escort."

His dull eyes are trained on the Dean as he speaks, but now he looks around the room, taking in the furnishings but showing little interest in them. His gaze comes to rest on the head of the rug. "My interest in Xen'drik is. Personal."

[Neftren]

While not appearing to do so, Aeril curiously glances at the Kalashtar from under his extremely concealing hood. Immediately shifting to the alert phase, Aeril listens closely to the surroundings. He also examines whether he recognizes any of the objects in the room.

Spoiler

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Spot Check:(1d20+11)[17]
Listen Check:(1d20+11)[13]
Survival Check:(1d20+11)[26]

Heal Check:(1d20+3)[20]
Knowledge ~ Dungeoneering:(1d20+3)[4]
Knowledge ~ Nature:(1d20+3)[5]

Oh my. I'm quite the battery of skills here.

[Neftren]

The party suddenly sees Aeril shudder and gag, and then recover. "Does anyone... smell that...? A vile sort of stench... like...blood? It's coming from behind that mithril chain curtain." You see Aeril's hands withdraw into the cloak.

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Ho Hum. I'll surreptitiously ready an action to draw Black Lotus in the event that any... hostilities occur between our party and the Kalashtar lady.

[The_Snark]

Saera's eyes pass over the dwarf's quickly as he shakes her hand, as if she considers them no more or less worthy of attention than the room's other fixtures. "Living out my scripts, master Threvick?" The voice matches what her clothes must have looked like when they were new: elegant, refined. She shrugs, her gaze lingering over the bone-and-bead curtain and the carved marble wall as she speaks. "Perhaps. I am here for the same reason one sees a play, rather than being content to hear of it from others."

Only then does she begin to examine the others, her eyes rather wide, although none of the rest of her looks surprised. "Saera," she says finally, giving her own name and lapsing silent.

Spoiler

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Spot (1d20+5)[6]
Listen (1d20+5)[10]
Heal (1d20+13)[18]

For the stuff in the room:
Know (arcana) (1d20+8)[11]
Knowledge (history) (1d20+6)[21]

Lore (1d20+6)[8]

Feel free to roll anything else that might tell her something—Religion, more lore checks, Knowledge (local).

[darkzucchini]

Lorne

Lorne's gaze slowly glides over the collection of oddities placed about the room, resting for a moment on the sculpture of Tira Miron. Perhaps I have judged these people wrongly, perhaps they have also been guided by the light of the Silver Flame as I have.

Lorne's attention turns from sculpture as the woman appears from the shadows. Reflexively, Lorne's muscles tighten and an inch of gleaming steel is drawn from its scabbard before the woman bows. Letting his blade slide back into its sheath, Lorne returns the courtesy with a short bow of the head but quickly straightens as the aged dwarf emerges from behind the mountain of papers and books.

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(1d20+2)[18]

Lorne accepts the hand offered to him and gives it a firm shake, but his eyes do not meet those of the dwarf. Instead he finds himself staring at the thin woman as she begins to convulse. What is the matter with her? Is she ill? Has she become possessed by demons? Lorne's eyes narrow as he peers at her, trying to discern any reason for her condition.

Spoiler

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Use Detect Evil
Sense Motive [roll]1d20+8[/roll]
Knowledge: Religion [roll]1d20+9[/roll]
Man, I have no idea what is up with the roller tonight, has been nothing but trouble. I will see if the OOC Thread gives me any more luck in getting some rolls down.

Lorne's concentration is broken as dwarf coughs to polite inform him that it is his turn to introduce himself. Scanning the gathered crowd, Lorne straightens his back and speaks in a loud, clear voice. "I am Lorne Kedoryn, Priest of the Silver Flame, Defender of Flamekeep, and Protector of the Innocent. I know little of Xen'drik, but I do know that evil dwells in every corner of the earth where man has set foot. It is against such evils that I will be your shield, to stand between you and those who would do you harm, and your sword, to strike a victory against evil for the Silver Flame and for all that is Good and Just."

[Miraqariftsky]

Pre-noon, First of Barrakas, 999. Dean Silverbeard's office, GTH Institute, Morgrave University...

Dean Silverbeard smiles sadly at his younger and more adventurous colleague and shakes his head, saying cryptically, "She doesn't need to..."

Before the dwarf or anyone else can respond to your words, a sudden change comes upon Shivakri. Her entire body visibly shudders now, and bloody froth poars from her lips. When she looks at you, she does so with eyes gone white.

"KKKKTTTTTHHHHHH!" she hisses loudly and claws at the air with suddenly talon-like hands and gaut-stretched arms. Her head sways from side to side, the vertebrae of her neck crackling dangerously. Her teeth she bares in a savage grin most uncharacteristic for kalashtar...

Stumbling and shambling at first, she charges for Threvick, uses his rotund belly as a ramp and then leaps for Aeril. She lands in a crouch and spits bloody spittle at his crotch then says to him in a singsong voice

"Spawn of Khyber, son of Shevarath
May men learn to fear your wrath
Fear your blade's accursed path
The blood of innocents, ye b' destined to shed
Beware, beware the Black Rose's bed
Sweetly stained with reaving red"

Shivakri then dances over to Saera and takes her hands in hers and shakes and twirls them merrily, all the while grinning madly. Still pumping the elf woman's hands with a strength unnatural, she continues her seemingly insane song.

"You dream and yet you do not sleep
Have eyes, but are, to truth, blind.
Flayed blood and flayed mark...
Your mother calls, oh hark!
Seek within abyss of mind
The key to gate, eternal deep"

The visiting professor from Adar then flounces off to stand before Lorne. There, a moment of calm seemingly comes upon her, but 'tis just that--- a moment. And then Shivakri returns to her music of madness, all the while tracing cold, slender fingers across his face, his neck, coming to rest around his stylized arrowhead, a sacred sigil of the Silver Flame. With a sharp, savage motion, she drives the tiny blade deep into her palm, not even wincing, not breaking note with her song as she does so.

"Oh soul of steel that so shall rust
Flame and ash and dust
Searing season on shattered land
So soon does fade away
Into dreams and memories so darksome grey
Reach forth with harrowed hand"

Here she steps away with red rivulets of blood dripping down her right arm, winks at the paladin, blows him a kiss and then roars with laughter, dark and deep. "NYYYAAAAAHAHAHAHA! BUURRRRRN! BURN! BURN!" A chorus of disembodied voices, myriad and unfathomable now sings with her, the air now crackling with a mystic heat that makes your brows instant sweat and yet your backs run cold...

Shivakri once again uses the horrified Threvick as a jumping board and leaps, lightly landing on Pawn's broad shoulders... or so it seems. There she floats and twines posies of phantasmal flowers from harmless white fire that she drapes over the Cyran warforged's neck.

"O sage of steel and stone
Beware the ones whose blades are bone
Where went your soul
Warrior born of coal?
Look not in dark and cold, so bound in mist
But seek the shades of the city of glass and to them list"

Leaping nimbly off, she slaps Aundair's face viciously, her flying hand setting the dwarven rogue's hat askew. Laughing and spitting, she spins around and draws a breath, preparing for another round of sanity-sapping song.

Suddenly, her eyes open wider than ever, white fire seeming to leap from the now-pupiled yet still bloodshot orbs. She collapses to the floor in a heap.

For a long while, she lies there unmoving and then she stirs, moaning. Shivakri then sits up, rubbing her temples and nursing her wounded hand. With tears streaming from her eyes, she mutters, "Light of Il-Yannah! What have I done?!"

--------------------

Pre-noon, First of Barrakas, 999. Lherrok's office, Sharn Inquisitive, Malleon's Gate branch...

"Damn big bruiser ya got there, t... er... 'forged" Lherrok utters, still not lowering his blade. "Wanderer's whistles, looks like we've got us a right good party here already... Um, hold while I get the paperwork..."

Here he takes one hand off his hilt and begins rummaging through the mess of his desk when suddenly...

WHHAAAGG!

...the door bursts open and a breathless goblin tumbles in, barely managing to mumble, all the while waving a ragged scroll. "D-d-hiii-spatch fer L-HERR-ook!"

[kamikasei]

Pawn's eyes brighten momentarily as he stares at Shivakri on the floor, then quickly fade to their usual washed-out hue. The effect resembles a deliberate widening of the eyes, or raising of the eyebrows.

He looks to Dean Silverbeard.

"Is that normal for her?"

[Miraqariftsky]

High noon, First of Barrakas, 999. Dean Silverbeard's office, GTH Institute, Morgrave University...

"Normal?" Dean Silverbeard mirrors, shaking his head and helping the foreign teacher up and into a chair near one of the displacer beast's tentacles.

"This, my good defender of Metrol, is most uncharacteristic for kalashtar" he says with furrowed brow. "I had hoped she'd be able to hold off the seizure but alas, it was not so..."

Straightening his turquiose glamerweave tunic, Threvick walks back to his desk and quickly flashes his signature on several lines in what seems to be a contract. Returning to you, he passes the paper to you, along with a long hollow needle filled with ink, motioning for you to sign at the bottom and pass it along.

Clearing his throat, he says, "Well, the gist of that contract is to explore, map, chronicle and, if possible, bring back relics from what we at the Institute have begun to call... the Black Rose"

The dwarven dean takes a sigil-scribed stone from his pocket and tosses it onto the centre of the displacer beast's back. He then passes a hand over it in a mystic gesture. A copy of the map outside his office comes into three-dimensional being, made of a cleverly wrought illusion. Threvick's nose flares in concentration and the image focuses on the continent of Xen'drik.

Mountains of mist and lush jungles teeming with wildlife greet your eyes. Here and there are seen, wrought of ancient crumbled stone, cyclopean ruins. The coastline facing Khorvaire is a forbidding line of jagged cliffs and treacherous tides. The only break leads into the harbour of Stormreach, the only city, the only sign of current civilization on the whole landmass.

Threvick shrugs and sighs. "Forgive me but this is still an ongoing project and the map is still unfinished. There are still many parts of which we are uncertain"

Pacing around the ring of chairs, he continues, somewhat stuttering. "Well, that's the official purpose of this expedition. The other side of it is... well, Shivakri came here to Sharn whole and hale in mind and body just six months ago. Whenever she comes near any map, any map at all, it... well... um... it burns up. The first time that she came by an image of Xen'drik, it immediately changed into the image of a black-petaled rose... and then everything else burned up..."

"Khyber's crap..." he swears through his teeth, the stress showing in his eyes. "Aye, and not long thereafter, she began reciting those strange verses and singing all kinds of crazy. Pardon me. Very disturbing. We took her into our care, cast divinations, but all that would come up is that her malady's cure lies in the shattered land of Xen'drik"

Running a trembling hand through his sparse hair, he gestures at the hobgoblin woman whom you had seen earlier. Apparently, she had also been called hither... When you glance at her, she bares her fangs and twitches her ears then inclines her head ever so slightly. Threvick then continues, "Meet Khraax, a dhuur'kala of the Kech Volaar. She was the diviner who managed to pin down at least some solid information about 'the Black Rose'. According to her, it is an elven ruin near the Monolith of Karul'tash and that is shaped exactly like a black rose, wrought from three miles of blasted obsidian"

Threvick then sighs and says, "If you fail in obtaining a cure for her or if her seizures get out of hand, you'll probably like to seek out Derron Silverbeard, my brother. 'Tis he who's the chief... er, father abbot of the only Silver Flame temple over there. He's also the one who runs the only sanitorium and mental asylum yonder."

[Glawackus]

As the kalashtar spins off from whacking his hat, Aundair pauses, stunned, raising one hand to his face and the other to his hat. "She touched the hat." He reaches out for the first weapon that comes to him, ready to strike her unconscious before the madness can continue, but as he grasps the heavy Riedran carving, she falls unconscious. Aundair replaces it delicately, hoping the dean didn't catch him moments from braining the kalashtar.

...

With a flourish, he signs the document and passes it along, Aundair frowns at the hobgoblin woman and turns to the professor. "Is she coming with us?" He jerks a hand at the gobliness.

Not waiting for an answer, he moves on to look at the map. "Have you looked at the books for anything about this Black Rose? And don't tell me you looked at Brundarrson. I don't think the man's ever left Korranberg, let alone Khorvaire."

Spoiler

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Wondering about the Black Rose/the Monolith the Dean mentioned. Perhaps Aundair's passed through the area before...?
Knowledge (Dungeoneering): (1d20+5)[12]
Knowledge (History): (1d20+5)[7]

Oh, and did Aundair catch what those voices were saying while Shivakri was speaking?
Listen: (1d20)[14]

Knowledge (History):

[kamikasei]

Pawn makes sure to read the contract carefully before adding his signature. If the delay irritates anyone down the line, he's oblivious to it. While he reads, he adds his own questions to the Dean.

"We are to take the Adaran with us to this site? Is there any way to suppress these fits if they occur at a dangerous time? What triggers her destruction of maps - will we be able to carry any with us?" His eyes flare briefly with a thought. "Is this elven ruin considered a 'city'?"

He ignores the kalashtar, and does not acknowledge the introduction of the hobgoblin diviner at all.

[John Talbit]

"A Job, yeah..."

Casey nods his head slightly. He doesnt seem too interested in the other two, but takes passing glances at them anyways.

[The_Snark]

Saera gazes curiously at the kalashtar professor after her outburst, not paying any attention to the paper as the warforged glances through it carefully. Then with surprising suddenness, she glides over to the stricken professor's chair, taking Shivakri's injured hand in both of hers and peering at the injury. "You," she says, looking up to her face, still bent over. "When you spoke you were certain. Did you truly know what you were saying? Have you now forgotten it—forgotten what it meant? Or did you speak without knowing what you said, only that you could not help but say it?" Her voice is intensely eager, and she keeps hold of Shivakri's hand the whole time with both of her own, one of her hands covering the wound. She doesn't press down, but nor does she relinquish her grip at any efforts for the kalashtar to free her hand.

[darkzucchini]

Lorne

Lorne reaches out a mailed hand to grab at the kalashtar as she charges Threvick, but mad woman dances out of the way, sending Lorne hurtling past here. His boot snags on the edge of the hide rug, nearly sending him tumbling, but he manages to catch himself on the Professors desk, sending a cloud of loose papers into the air and a number of books tumbling to the floor. As he turns after regaining his balance, he is met face to face with kalashtar, blood dripping down her chin. He stands there stunned as she runs her fingers across his scars and around his neck, and is unable to react as she plunges his holy chain, the arrowhead depicting the Silver Flame into her palm. The blood drains from Lorne's face as she spits her prophesy at him, leaving flecks of blood spattered across his face before dancing onto the next person in the room.

Lorne moves into action suddenly as Shivakri collapses to the floor, her mad song and dance number having come to its awful end. He rushes to her side and goes down on one knee, pulling the mail gauntlet from his hand and placing it on the kalashtar's shoulder. He focuses on the image of the Silver Flame, letting it consume him and, through his touch, consume the kalshtar as well with its soothing warmth. Tearing a strip of fabric from his surcoat, he gently takes Shivakri's hand in his own and wrapping the makeshift bandage about her wounded hand.

Once he is satisfied that the woman is calm and properly looked after, Lorne rises to his feet and accepts the piece of paper that his handed to him. He leaves a red smear of finger pints along the edge of the contract as he signs it, then hands it off to the next person waiting in line. I fear that we will be heading into a place of great darkness, these people will need me as a guiding light, to keep them on the straight path and to make sure they are not consumed by shadows...

Spoiler

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Uses Lay on Hands ability on Shivakri, healing 6 points.
Heal - (1d20+8)[15] to bandage Shivakri.

[Djinn_in_Tonic]

Pre-noon, First of Barrakas, 999. Lherrok's office, Sharn Inquisitive, Malleon's Gate branch...

The goblin steps forward and lays his missive down upon the desk before scurrying out the door as fast as his legs can carry him. Lherrok reaches down and picks up the message, glances at it, then takes off his glasses, polishes them, and returns them to his nose. He proceeds to stare at the note for several seconds before reading it aloud in a rather puzzled voice.

"Open the window? What the hell does..."

A quiet tapping sound stops him short.

All eyes turn to the office's window, and Lherrok's jaw drops at the sight of a young man perched on the window ledge. The figure is of average build, with wind-swept brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a mischievous grin. His clothing is neatly tailored and the height of fashion; all brilliant colors and fancy trim except for the battered leather satchel he carries slung about one shoulder.

The man reaches out, lightly tapping the glass.

"Hello, Lherrok! Mind if I drop in? I've got a bone to pick with you."

Spoiler

Show

Travis does like his dramatic entrances.

Anyway, on to the requested rolls, as per Nexus's PM.

Spot: 13
Listen: 20
Initiative: 13

[Ghal Marak]

Gonk

Gonk looked out the window at the colorful, his head cocked in much the same way a dogs would be. He looked down at the little goblin, then back up at the window. "Huhuhuhu. Funny man."

[Miraqariftsky]

Spoiler

Show

Everyone in the second group... prepare yourselves...

Unknown Assailant
(1d20+9)[16] Hide
(1d20+9)[22] Move Silently
(1d20+9)[17] Initiative

Lherrok
(1d20+3)[10] Spot
(1d20+4)[11] Listen
(1d20+1)[2] Initiative

Casey McGrath
(1d20)[6] Spot
(1d20)[7] Listen
(1d20+4)[8] Initiative

Gonk
(1d20-1)[1] Spot
(1d20-1)[4] Listen
(1d20+2)[6] Initiative

Leioneiros Norhorn
(1d20+4)[13] Spot
(1d20+4)[22] Listen
(1d20+6)[18] Initiative

---die rolls for/against Goblin Messenger #1foregone because of massive damage AKA overkill AKA plot purpose---

((Story post under construction. Please wear hard hat at all times. Beware fo falling debris words.))

[Miraqariftsky]

Noontide, First of Barrakas, 999. Lherrok's office, Sharn Inquisitive, Malleon's Gate branch...

The former Cyran patriot, Leoneiros Norhorn, hears the slightest slither of steel, the lightest laughter of leather, a soft creak of wood, a measured exhalation when suddenly, a distinct KRA-splurtch resounds through the room.

Lherrok hisses and claps a hand to his nicked and singed ear then leaps away as the papers on his desk curl away from the line of flames trailed from the arrow's flight and then they burst ablaze. His sword drags along the floor as he struggles against the searing pain.

The goblin, though, fared not so well. A flaming arrow skewers his head through and through, the magical flame on it setting bits of dripping brains afire. The messenger staggers two steps, bloody froth in his poor mouth, a fey light in his fading eyes when suddenly, the arrow, along with his head explode in a flash of arcane power, spattering the room and its occupants with flaming gore.

A shadow, strangely vague and indistinct drops out of the rafters and lands on the floor without the slightest difficulty. klick-KLIK The distinct sound of a crossbow being reloaded echoes through the room...

"Pick yer bone later, Traveth! Scoop's'a brought itself to us!" says Lherrok as he steadies himself against the wall, brings his blade to a low guard position in preparation. "Hey applicants! C'sider yerselves hired! Put out them fires and this 'ere assassinatin' nuisance an' we'll talk 'bout Xen'drik!"

--------------------

Noontide, First of Barrakas, 999. Dean Silverbeard's office, GTH Institute, Morgrave University...

"Chaat'oor!" Khraax curses as she surges from her seat sharply, causing the ebony chair to scrape back against the floor. In a trice she strides across the room, hand on hilt and glowers darkly at Trotherby. "She won't be needing the cure of iron or in your case, a cure of stone just yet. And no, Professor... Morrs... sadly, I would not be accompanying this expedition as I still have other more pressing duties both here and at the vaults of the Khazaal Draal"

Drawing an inch of steel, she bends down from her six-foot height and brings her face to an inch away from Aundair's. "I have a name. Use it. And if you ever bring dishonour to my name again, you will face the wrath of my ancestors in steel and song"

With narrowed gaze and exasperated sigh, Threvick snaps, "That will be enough, dhuur''kala Khraax. I'm sure Aundair meant it well... however well one can take euthanasia, or, Khyber, forceful anaesthesia... And NO, it is entirely unprecedented! It's got a huge surface area, a very high profile and yet very few of our contacts in Stormreach have even heard of it AND even Khraax here was only able to divine what she was able to find on her thirteenth bloody attempt!"

Massaging his temples, he turns to Pawn and answers the warforged's questions. "Yes, yes of course you'll take her along. She is the one needing a cure after all. As I said before, if you don't find any cure for her, at least put her under my brother's care at the Stormreach Silver Sanitorium.

Aye, well, I contacted her sister... said she'll be arriving in Sharn at exactly the hour that ye'll leave. She'll meet ye at the airship towers, ye can't miss her. Face like white marble, night-black hair reaching her knees. She said through Sivis post that her power might be able to hold back her sister's madness but as for the cure, she still doesn't know."

Pacing now, he moves back and forth from the shade of the bone-and-bead curtain to that of the mithril-link one. "Aye, that be a problem for the expedition, true. There be a man of the Inquisitive, Travis d'Amerila by name. He's got some skill at... recording information and I sent me messengers but none of them reported back.

Is the Black Rose a city? None of us know, as yet. That's what ye'll be going to find out... is it a city, a temple, a coliseum, a palace or just a huge sculpture? What's all the more astonishing about it is that the elves, especially the ancient ones before the advent of Aerenal, they never were known for architecture, engineering or civilization. They were savages..." At this point, he bows toward Saera and continues. "...no disrespect meant to current company, of course... and they were enslaved by the giants of old"

Meanwhile...

Shivakri's teary eyes look up at Saera and Lorne as a child would look up at her parents. Her hands clasping and unclasping and somewhat loosening the well-wrought bandage, she stutters a reply but as she speaks, her voice gains confidence... "I... I don't... know. It must all be a test, it must be! Oh, il-Yannah! When the song comes, I'm just swept away into a mad, mad tide, drowning in a sea of screaming souls..."

...and suddenly, she falls back, her hand reaching, clawing heavenwards, twitching spasmodically. "Ayshi-kashi-kshyi-yshki-yashi-kshiya..." she sputters before lapsing gratefully into unconsciousness.

[Glawackus]

Aundair puts up his hands. "I was just afraid she was going to hurt somebody! Or herself! Khyber, maybe even both!"

He looks up at the hobgoblin without flinching. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I can be a little...brusque."

When the kalashtar woman speaks, he goes down on his haunches--even closer to the ground now--and strokes his beard, ending with a little pull and a grunt when she finishes speaking. "Quori? That was Quori."

He walks about and reverts into his usual professorial mode--looking for a reference. As he--delicately--lifts papers and looks behind sculptures, he pauses. "D'Amerila? The reporter?"

Spoiler

Show

Search for a Quori reference. This guy's got everything. Maybe he's got a book on it?
(1d20+8)[20]