Missionaries of Kalth (IC)

[mephassovar]

{OOC Thread, for your convenience}

Having all recieved letters from Iaseiveran, you assemble in the lobby of the Planar Cartographic Society. The city is very still and quiet this morning with a touch of chill in the air. You have probably never been in this building before, but will certainly have seen it's imposing pillars which occupy on side of the grand Babel square.

A footman has directed all of you into a luxurious lobby with green chesterfield armchairs and marble floors, he informs you that Iaseiveran will be arriving at 9:30 (half an hour's time).

[While you are waiting, please give a description of yourself and RP introductions]

[C12H22O11]

the Guardian

First to arrive, the Guardian carefully inspects the room, paying particular attention to the luxurious seating accomodations. After looking around for several minutes, it takes up station by a side wall, in easy view of both the entrance and exit, and waits patiently for Iaseiveran to provide further instructions.
It would be easy to mistake the Guardian for a piece of decorative statuary, as it stands completely motionless. A closer examination will reveal that the exposed steel frame is pitted with rust, and even the carefully forged mithril armor plating covering most of its body has succumbed to corrosion in places, a strange flaky whiteness that mars the silver sheen of the exotic metal. No warmth or sound gives clue to the Guardian's true nature, but if you look carefully from the right angle, the towering seven-foot figure's smooth gemstone eyes seem to glow just a little brighter than you would expect from the lighting in the room.

>Destination reached. Entering standby mode.
>...

[Ifni]

Azrien

The Guardian hears light footsteps outside, then a young woman steps briskly into the room. At the sight of the construct standing near the side wall, she smiles brilliantly and her eyes light up - quite literally, shifting from their original molten gold to a blazing white. The new color doesn't last for long, though, rapidly changing again to a clear turquoise hue, and then a luminous violet.

The newcomer is slender, and of average height for a human. Her long, gleaming white tresses are bound back by bands of silver and lapis lazuli. Her face is fair-skinned, but covered with a fine mesh of scintillating, crystalline scales: they too shift in hue as she steps past the shaft of sunlight in the doorway, from mirror-silver to deep blood-red. A tattoo of a ghostly falcon stretches its wings across one side of her face, and her forehead bears the brand of a black skull: a small crystal gleams in one eyesocket. Despite the tattoos and scales - or perhaps in part because of them - she has an extraordinary, exotic beauty, and despite her strangeness and her mesmerizing presence, she does not seem threateningly alien: on the contrary, something indefinable about her seems familiar and friendly.

She wears a robe of soft, dark indigo velvet, belted at the waist: it seems to have depth, as if you gazed into the night sky. A glorious cloak falls from her shoulders almost to the floor: the fabric is many-layered and opalescent, white as mists and snow, but sapphire dragonscales have been sewn into it to create the silhouette of a dragon in flight among the clouds. Beneath the open front of her robe you can see that she wears a gold-embroidered white vest over a long-sleeved shirt and trousers: her clothes are simple in cut, but richly colored and lavishly embroidered. A blue-dyed leather pouch hangs at her belt, and she carries a sturdy haversack and an old battered quiver. While she bears no weapons, a semi-translucent, black-enamelled buckler is strapped to her left arm, over jet-black bracers. A golden disc on a chain hangs from around her throat, set with the ivory image of a dragon's head, and a delicate coronet of wrought silver rests on her brow. A translucent orange prism lazily orbits her head.

She glides quickly over to the Guardian, examining it with interest. She murmurs a word of power and her fingers writhe briefly in a spellcasting pattern, as she attunes her sight to the currents of magic. Her smile fades as she sees the rust and corrosion.

"Poor lovely one. Who let you get into such a state?"

Her voice is sweet and musical. She spoke in a low voice, as if to herself, and does not seem to expect an answer.

[C12H22O11]

the Guardian

>Audio enhancement in progress... loading Common.
>Signal verified. Patching translation to Main...
>Patch stream synchronized.

As the exotic-looking woman speaks, the Guardian's eyes flicker to life. The glow brightens and takes on a slight golden tint, like mid-morning sunlight through a pane of glass. A slight grinding sound accompanies the movement of the Guardian's head as it peers down at the woman.

"Original damage sustained in combat. Condition exacerbated by prolonged exposure to saline solution and primary systems failure. Unable to peform needed repairs due to lack of required materials. Query: Are you familar with mechanical systems? Repairs would be greatly expedited by skilled assistance."

When the construct speaks, it is with a deep and resonant tone, but there is an odd crackling sound underlying the words. For some reason, it reminds you of a voice gone hoarse with age and disuse, although the words themselves are clear and precise. After speaking, the figure remains in the same position, head declined towards the robed female and eyes aglow with golden light.

[Ifni]

Azrien

Azrien's eyes widen in delight as the Guardian speaks. Her expression turns considering at its question. "Hmm. I am skilled with magical machines. Not so much with non-magical. I'm sure I could figure something out, though - or if you were willing to come back to the Flanaess with me, I know a gnomish artificer who specializes in construct repair and owes me a favor. We would still need to supply the materials, however."

The sorceress takes a breath and smiles. "I didn't realize you were active, when I came over. Do you have a name? I am called Azrien, or the Dreamer."

[C12H22O11]

the Guardian

"Designation: Guardian. Used for personal and property protection, medium to heavy melee and ranged combat, and high-risk or hazardous environment reconnaissance."

>Reference: Flanaess not found.
>Context: Location, 57%. Vessel, 36%. Person, 7%.

The Guardian's head tilts to one side in a surprisingly human display or curiosity, although the shower of rust flakes that patter to the floor when it moves give no doubt as to its true nature.
"Please clarify 'Flanaess'. Repairs will require approximately one hundred pounds of unworked mithril metal and six hundred linear feet of copper wire, diameter one sixty-fourth inch. Repair of structural components and restoration of ambient environmental protection layer will require one gallon aqua fortis and approximately fifteen pounds of marine-grade creosote or tar. Current market prices indicate a total cost of not less than sixty-seven thousand gold pieces or equivalent. Advance payment for contractual duties will cover expenses, although additional repairs may be necessary after primary systems regain full functionality."

[Ifni]

Azrien

"The Flanaess? It's the world that I come from. Well, the major continent, I suppose. If we went there, through a portal or by planeshift, then I could teleport us to Nonisburg, where my artificer friend lives. Unless you're a golem - but you can't be a golem, you can talk."

"It might be simpler to look for someone to repair you in Sigil, first, though - teleporting with all that metal and wire and tar could be tricky. Or maybe one of the other people waiting to meet Kalth will know how: my letter said they had hand-picked a group of people. I could buy some scrolls to improve my mechanical skills and try to repair you here, in the worst case."

Azrien looks curiously up at the seven-foot-tall construct. "You were made for protection? Are you - were you - a Shield Guardian? Or a Runic Guardian? I fought a mage recently who had two runic guardians. He really should have taken our offer and betrayed the Old One: Zagyg is a much better deity. But he decided to ambush us instead." She tilts her head. "Did your creator do something foolish? You said you'd been damaged in combat, and then put in salt water? That must have been terrible."

[C12H22O11]

the Guardian

>Positive ID acquired for equipment in location AL2.
>Communication established...
>Diagnostic indicates multiple equipment failures in location AL2. Repairs necessary.

The Guardian's eyes flicker and dim when Azrien mentions the 'Shield Guardian'. A few moments later, the Guardian lifts its left arm. A series of rapid clicks emanates from a bulky mithril protrusion on the outside of the forearm, followed by a faint dissonant chord from somewhere deep in the Guardian's chest. The clicks repeat, this time accompanied by a crackling electrical discharge and the strong smell of ozone. You can see now that there are several grooves along either edge of the strange accessory, but the edges have been bent in several places, and a few spots show the bluish halo and half-melted edge that is telltale of melting by electrical arc.
The Guardian's eyes glow brightly again, the gold replaced by a dull red.
"Waiting for others will suffice. Repairs must be completed prior to planar travel, or further malfunctions may occur. Creator... Chalthrex... was destroyed by those he imprisoned. This Guardian was unable to successfully defend Chalthrex, and was severely damaged while attempting to perform specified duties. Intervening memories have been corrupted due to main systems failure, but motile system degradation is consistent with immersion in seawater and prolonged immobility. Internal chronometer supports this assessment, as there is a 237 year gap in systems log reports. Request: Please elaborate on Old One and Zagyg. Knowledge pertaining to deity interactions is limited, and may be of value during upcoming mission."

After speaking, the Guardian flexes its left hand almost experimentally, as if stretching muscles gone stiff with disuse. The fingers seem to work fine, although the scraping of metal on metal is audible with even the slightest movement.

[Ifni]

Azrien

Azrien looks up at the Guardian, and reaches out to tentatively pat its metal arm. "You shouldn't feel bad about not being able to defend your creator. It's not your fault if you tried your best and those you were fighting were just too strong."

"Now, hmm, the Old One? Well, I guess it's probably all right to speak his name in Sigil. At home, you mustn't ever say his name: he hears if you do. His real name is Iuz. He rules an empire in the northern part of the Flanaess: he has armies of demons and undead, and keeps trying to invade the neighboring countries. My country... was one of those. Iuz's mother was Iggwilv, the Witch Queen - she's a necromancer - and his father was the demon Grazz't. His family is pretty strange. The mage I mentioned, he worked for Iuz, running an extraplanar prison: we went there to free some of the prisoners."

"Now Zagyg, he's much nicer. He used to be human, just a few decades ago, but then he ascended to godhood. He's the god of magic, and madness, and chaos and trickery." Azrien's hand goes unconsciously to adjust one of her white-gold earrings, shaped like some sort of zigzagging rune. "I met his House, you know? Where he did all his research on deific ascension. It was a very nice House - it talked, too, like you. It's the one who told me I was a goddess. It would've been much more useful if it had also explained how the whole spell-granting thing works, and told me what my portfolio was. I think I'm starting to figure it out though."

Azrien regards the comfortable-looking chairs thoughtfully, and walks over to sink down into one. "Do you ever sit down, Guardian? Or do you rest standing up?"

[C12H22O11]

the Guardian

The Guardian looks at the empty chairs, eyes shifting back to gold.
"Rest unnecessary. Design includes provision for full range of motion, including all common humanoid postures and activities. Current accomodations lack sufficient structural intergrity to support frame mass, however. Query: Are you familiar with prospective employer's proposed portfolio?"

The Guardian flexes its right hand now, with the same results as before. Raising the arm to eye level, the Guardian peers intently at a mithril object attached to the forearm. Similar to the one on the left arm, this one lacks the grooves along the side and instead has several short mithril tubes connecting each side to the forearm itself. With a slight snick, a hidden catch somewhere releases, and the mithril folds back along a hidden hinge. It reveals a tangle of copper wire and small metallic cylinders, which the Guardian prods carefully with its left hand before looking back at Azriel with liquid gold eyes.
"Query: Can you provide focused heat or high-current electrical discharge?"

[Ifni]

Azrien

Azrien sits up, looking eager. "Focused heat? Yes, certainly. Why? Would it help repair you? Where should I aim it?"

[C12H22O11]

the Guardian

"Heat sufficient to melt hallmark-quality silver will enable repair of several peripheral connections and may restore some functionality."

The Guardian stides forward, kneeling by the side of Azriel's chair with a dull clank. With an unpleasant scarping sound, it presents its open right arm for inspection. "Here, here, and here," it intones, pointing with a scratched and tarnished finger to three spots where the thick braided copper wires have been torn free from shallow recesses. Traces of once-molten silver still cling to the holes and the ends of the cables, and if the metal could be remelted, the sundered ends could be rejoined...

[mephassovar]

At this point the footman that brought you both in, coughs to announce his presence saying:

Unfortunately, madam, spellcasting is not permitted in this lobby. If you wish to make magic, it would be prefferable if you could wait... or book one of the research rooms down stairs.

Excuse me, please. It appears that another of Iaseiveran's guests has arrived.

[Ifni]

Azrien

Azrien sniffs. "Hmm. Very well, then. I suppose we are guests, and should be polite." She looks apologetically at the Guardian. "I will try to fix those connections as soon as I can - when the footman comes back, maybe we can arrange to go to a research room, while we wait for the other interested parties to arrive. I know a basic repair cantrip which might work - if it fails, I'll see if I can weld them with firebolts. If we need more sustained heat, I'll call in a fire elemental to assist. Or... hmm. Avorals can heal people. Maybe they can repair guardians? I know they have lightning powers. I'll think about it."

Azrien watches the door expectantly, waiting for the new guest to show themselves. I hope they're as friendly as the Guardian. Maybe they'll know something about construct repair.

[Sneakystabsalot]

Moonwort

A young man is led into the lobby. Bare feet slap against the cold marble floor. He is small in stature, his pale face framed by a mass of wild knotted hair. Simple brown hooded robes cover him. Ornate torques of bronze bind his neck, wrists and ankles. In his hand a staff of oak.

He would appear calm but his eyes betray an unease. They flit to and fro never resting for more than a few moments. Strange eyes. One deep green, the other a light blue. They finally come to rest upon the young woman.

Strange creatures, not of my world. Are they to be my companions? The brothers have all agreed and there can be no turning back.

He does not speak.

[Ifni]

Azrien

Azrien smiles warmly at the young man, but does not move from her chair. He seems a little shy. I'll just stay here for the moment.

"Welcome! Come, have a seat. I am called Azrien, or the Dreamer. This is the Guardian." She indicates the tall construct next to her with a wave of one red-gloved hand. "I take it you have also come to speak with Kalth? Do you know anything about repairing damaged constructs?"

[Sneakystabsalot]

Moonwort

Moonwort approaches slowly and perches on the edge of the chair opposite. He lays his staff on the floor. His eyes remain fixed on Azrein. He speaks with almost a whisper.

Greetings to you Dreamer and your guardian. I am named Moonwort. I know nothing of constructs, let alone how to repair them. I was sent here to meet with Kalth.

Her guardian is badly damaged, she must have been attacked by something powerful. Her enemies will become mine when our journey begins. I must trust in the wisdom of the brothers.

[C12H22O11]

the Guardian

With the footman's words, the Guardian's eyes fade slowly to a dull gray color. Reaching across with its left hand, the Guardian replaces the mithril cover with a sharp click and addresses Azriel. "Reimbursement for research room cost will be provided regardless of success or failure of repair attempts."

>New target acquired.
>Negative ID. Intiating level 5 scan.
>Results of scan pending. Assigned ID: 'Moonwort'
>Suggestion: silence. Advantage may be gained prior to correction of error by Moonwort.
>Action approved. Vocal transducer locked.

The Guardian turns to face the newcomer when he enters the room, but says nothing, and its eyes remain the same dull gray as before.

[belladonna]

Yvette

The sound of claws on marble echoes in the hall outside the lobby. Partly cloaked by her black, clawed wings, an elegant yet terrifying nine-foot-tall fiend enters the room. Her head is almost as wide as her shoulders and she has a pair of long, black horns on her lizard head. Her dragon-like eyes are yellow with brown pupils and her pointy jaw reveals many razor sharp teeth. Her complexion is entirely black, as are her clawed hands and feet. The two-inch talons of one hand, protruding from a soft leather glove, rest upon the hilt of a delicate sword.

Partly hidden by Yvette's large bat-like ears, a golden circlet nestles amongst the horns. A grey silk shirt, tied with a black cravatte sits under a beautifully embroidered black velvet jacket, which comes to her knees. Black velvet breeches cover her legs and a long black tail is visible between them.

Good morning, All.

Yvette addresses the group with a surprisingly eloquent and sophisticated voice. She paces towards an armchair. Removing her gloves, she lightly rests her claws upon the arm.

Very soft...

[Ifni]

Azrien

Azrien listens carefully to Moonwort's soft-voiced introduction and inclines her head to him in acknowledgement when he finishes. She seems about to speak again, but then is distracted by the lady fiend's eye-catching entrance.

"Good morning!" she responds happily to the newcomer's greeting. "May we know your name? I am Azrien, the Dreamer." Glancing up at the Guardian, she sees the dull grey of its eyes and continues almost without a pause, "and this is the Guardian."

Moonwort seemed reluctant to speak in the first place. He can choose whether or not to give his name.

[imperialspectre]

Alain

A mist wafts through the door, then coalesces into an elf wearing loose, dark clothes, a longsword slung over his back. A circular disk of heavily burned, melted, and blackened metal (it might once have been a holy symbol, but is too damaged to identify) hangs on a chain on his chest.

Tall for an elf, his skin is the light tan typical of Faerun's sun elves. Piercing green eyes sweep over the gathered adventurers, seemingly sizing them up and evaluating their probable intent and capabilities. A flicker of interest passes through his gaze at the sight of the Guardian, standing next to an unusual-looking spellcaster. Like one of those warforged, but more impressive. Might have to take it seriously. Wonder if it's guarding the caster. The inspection apparently complete, he bows slightly at the neck to those of the adventurers who note his presence. "I am called Alain. A good morning to all of you."

[Ifni]

Azrien

Azrien inclines her head to Alain. "Good morning to you as well. I am called Azrien, or the Dreamer." Her rainbow gaze lingers on the latest arrivals. "Do either of you know much about repairing constructs? The Guardian -" she indicates the tall warforged with a lift of her chin "- has been damaged, and while I can think of several possible repair methods, I am not an expert in such matters."

She leans forward in her chair. "Hmm. Perhaps this is a good time to discuss skills more generally, as well. I was invited here by a friend of a friend of a friend, whose client Kalth aspires to deification. I take it the rest of you are here for the same reason?"

[Tishlin]

Tomlin

From outside the doors you hear a booming voice, with rich rolled syllables and bellowed exclamations.

Aha! This one is it? Much obliged.

Bursting through the doors in a sweeping burgundy and gold travelling robe in a deep, sing-song baritone: Good morning friends and fellow travellers.


Open armed he moves up to the each person in the room. His cool blue eyes dart about in a wild bearded face. He has a mane of beard and hair that peaks in a rusty red at the top, but comes to a black striped point at chest level after passing through shades of white and grey. He has no neck worth speaking of and is built like a barrel. The upper part of the robes barely contain him.

He greets each being in the room in turn taking a moment to firmly shake hands and pat backs. He throws a wink to the fiend in passing. He's light on his feet for such a big man, but does take a moment to come to a halt.

He finally halts in front of the towering metal man, but shows no sign of greeting it like one of the others. He looks thoughtful and then turns to the room.

[mephassovar]

Tomlin is almost immediately followed by Iaseiveran, it is half past nine.

Iaseiveran is a tall and handsome middle aged human. He has short white hair and a neat white goatee. Dressed in his cartographic society robes (charcoal grey, with blue and yellow edges), he appears official and academic.

My apologies to you all for my unexpected delay this morning - news from Eupharr, actually. We must be getting on, nevertheless. Follow me, if you please.

Iaseiveran guides you through the many corridors of the society's grand headquarters. He takes you to a sweeping, spiral staircase (in red marble) and you descend down until you are three stories underground. A short walk and you come to an oak door with a gold plaque on it:

Office of Interplanar Occult Studies
Professor J Kalth

The door is opened by Iaseiveran and you see the face of the man that you will be spending the next year representing. Kalth is sitting down at the other side of a neat and unadorned (save a glass of water) desk. Because he is seated, it is hard to establish his height, but he has an air of confidence about him. He pauses before asking you to come in, as if he needs to focus himself before his first impressions.

His hair is black, but otherwise he appears quite similar to Iaseiveran, with a neat goatee and society robes. Their faces have a remarkable likeness - they could even be brothers - or it could just be coincidence.

Smiling broadly, he says:

Welcome! I am so glad you could all come. There is much we must discuss, but let me inform you of everything that I think you need to know and we shall take it from there.

His voice is very pleasing to the ear, with lots of ups and downs in his pitch and his pauses are very well measured. There are five wooden chairs arranged in front of his desk, one iron... throne is the best word to describe it and one stone stool at just the right height for the Guardian. Iaseiveran indicates for you to sit.

Let me start by telling you all a little about myself. Before I joined the society, I dabbled in various magics and fields of study. I was wealthy and fickle - my father secured a reseach position here so that I could travel and explore the multiverse. I became fascinated with knowledge and the secrets that lay in the great unknown places. I realised that I soon knew many things that is was very rare to know and this created in me a sort of responsibility to myself; a desire to see what I could do with my specialist knowledge.

My potential was noticed here and, almost overnight, I went from being a layabout dilettante to the professor of interplanar occult studies. What do I do now? I've amassed a lot of wealth and power but I seem to have come to an impasse. Our lives are short and undead transformations change a person too much. I have no great desire to become an underling in hell and spend the next millenium rising through the ranks, either. Most of the gods were once mortals and I have studied many of them in great detail. The answer to my desires was obvious - deification.

One of the great luxuries of my position here is that I have first hand access to the discoveries of the society. I have spent the last few years searching for a suitable place for my ascension and then I read the report on Eupharr. Eupharr, as I have already told you, is ideal for my requirements because there is a large portfolio gap owing to the demise of a god named Ratheni. Becoming a god is a complicated business and it is not wise to attempt it on your own. There's a lot you need to deal with on your own, mostly in the Astral Plane, and it's very useful to have representatives working on the material to gather followers and such.

I would be a god of knowledge and of personal ambition. I have used many dark and mysterious sources to gain my power and would teach my followers how to nurture their abilities in a similar way. I am not keen on moralising - I have seen too much of the planes to think that belief in the power of good is all that is needed to find happiness. Sure, you'll get your place in Elysium, but what will you have accomplished? The real innovators are not bound by principles, they realise their ambition by whatever means necessary.

Kalth pauses and takes a drink of water. He waits to make sure that he has everyone's attention and then continues:

You will be my representatives, my missionaries if you like. You are to be employed for a year and paid three hundred thousand gold pieces for your time. Iaseiveran here has six credit notes worth a hundred thousand - they're as good as currency here in Sigil and you'll recieve them as soon as you leave this room if you're happy to take up my offer.

My plan consists of several stages, but the first might be the hardest. In order to gain the spark of divinity I need you are to seek out an ancient artifact - the Gem of Falarni. It is apparently held by a tribe of nomadic people in the north of Eupharr and is rumoured to be linked to a very long gone deity. My divining magics tell me that I can use this gem as the component of a ritual which I have read of. This ritual will be my first step towards godhood.

If you are prepared to accept this mission, I will see you again in two weeks, when you will set out for Eupharr. In the mean time, Iaseiveran will lodge you in his house and you are free to do as you please.

Any questions?

{OOC: pls take a look at OOC thread, as I will be posting a few relevant things there, and sorry for the uberpost, but it's all plot exposure}

[Ifni]

Azrien

Azrien inclines her head to Kalth as she enters, and seats herself gracefully on the wooden chair closest to the stone stool. Her gloved fingers tap lightly on the arm of the chair as she listens to his explanation of the mission. Her face brightens with a sudden sympathetic smile, like an unexpected shaft of sunlight, when Kalth mentions gaining power from dark and mysterious sources, but she does not interrupt. When he finishes speaking, she sits back in her chair and gives a slow nod. Her cerulean eyes hold respect, and approval.

"For myself, I would be glad to help you, Kalth. The search for knowledge and power is not something that should ever be denied, to anyone. Too many "good" folk believe in the corrupting nature of power, and so set themselves up as moral arbiters, seeking to withhold it from all those they do not consider worthy." Her eyes darken briefly to a depthless black, matching the brand on her forehead.

The Brotherhood, who considered all non-Suel unworthy. The priests of the Pale, who thought chaos-magic was fiendish - even the best of them, even those I called friends. The "paladin" Karistyne, who would have sacrificed souls to Tharizdun and cursed the Bright forever, to keep power out of Rary's hands... and those who were once my parents, back in the beginning, them as well.

"I have some questions, though, regarding the mission itself. First, what can you tell us about Eupharr? I have not journeyed there, or even heard the name before I received Iaseiveran's letter. What are the major races there, and what is their level of technology and magical advancement? Will our mission be global in scope, or is there a particular area you wish to focus on? What are the major religions, and do you have any allies among the established deities? Anything you could tell us about the culture, language and beliefs of the nomadic tribes of the north, who hold this gem you seek, would also be most helpful."

[mephassovar]

Eupharr has only recently been discovered, so we do not know as much as I would like to know about it. I have read the reports and have travelled there myself twice: once to meet with a dragon to try and solicit his help (he was not forthcoming) and another time to perform a great deal of divination - this is when I found out about the gem.

Most of the plane's population is human, with a large hobgoblin nation and a smattering of elves, dwarves and forest dwelling halflings. There was once a mighty giant empire that spanned the entire world, but this is long gone. Some giants remain, but the true giants have mostly been replaced by trolls and ogres.

As for magic, there are some talented mages amongst the humans - in Arminia and Silgance particularly. The elves have a great propensity for magic, as Alain proves, and the Daltharian elves prize wizardry over all things. They try to use their power sparingly, however - they believe that their use of magic is what caused them to be prohibited from the great forest which fills the western end of their county... there are exceptions, of course. The hobgoblins have mastered the power of the mind and they are undoubtedly the most organised society in Eupharr.

As I have said previously, there are very few gods in Eupharr. There are two human deities. The church of Sollen (a sun god who promotes naive moralising and the greater good) is vast - it even has it's own city state called Hasternet. The majority of the humans of Usalia, Arminia and Drax give, at least, lip service to Sollen. The people of Tragar were once a collection of nomadic tribes, but were brought together as a nation many centruies ago. The people are tough and gritty, placing martial prowess above academia. They worship Asterii, the civiliser. He is said to have liberated his people from barbarism and he is obsessed with law and order. The Elves worship a god named Tularn, who is said to be a great academic. The hobgoblins worship Frogarth, a god of war and conquest. The dwarves have Undi, their God, and he serves them well - many dwarves are very devout. The giants are too few in number to have organised worship

Ratheni, the now dead god, was apparently widely worshiped in Urukar. I know very little about this place. Many of those that seek personal power worship fiends. This is especially true in Silgance which, as far as I can tell, seems to be some sort of magocracy.

As for the tribes in the north, they occupy an area known as Stlarivir. They share their land with the dwarves of the mountains and they are many tribes, constantly warring with each other over territory and resources. A tribe led by a man named Barum has gained prominence over the other tribes recently and it is said that they have an impregnable stronghold in the mountains and that it is stolen from the dwarves. My divinations said that Barum's tribe possess the gem, but I do not know more than this. I believe the tribes of the north speak a dialect of giant.

Kalth opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a map. He hands it to Azrien saying,

This map is as much as the society has on Eupharr. You now know about as much as I do about the plane.

[C12H22O11]

the Guardian

The Guardian shifts slightly on the stone bench, and the sound of metal scraping on sandstone is loud in the cramped office. The glow emanating from the Guardian's eyes has changed at some point, now a soft golden color that only Azriel has seen before now. "Contract terms are acceptable. Observation: Kalth's character is sound, and will contribute to satisfactory interactions through the duration of contract obligations. Query, Kalth: Do you wish the barbarian tribes eliminated, or converted to your cause?"
The words take a moment to register with most of those present, the cold implication at odds with the smooth and level tone of the Guardian's voice.

[Tishlin]

Tomlin looks to Kalth, as if for a cue. Up until now he has held a stern expression, bordering on angry, solidly in place, but made a sharp, lightly hammy double take the moment the guardian spoke up. He slaps a thick fingered hand on the chestplate of the machine.

The tin man makes a fair point, Kalth. How much of a blood war do you expect us to wage on your behest? You've got folk of courage here. Bah, I admit I'm frothing to be back at the fray...

He punctuates his words with short, unconvincing punches at chest height, with clenched teeth and ferocity accentuated by wild black eyebrows.

But! Well, you've to keep the inconvenience to the average folk on the slimmer side. To the top I say, demand an audience with this Barum. Tribute and pomp and a little finery... looks up from the map and twinkles at Azrien and I can't see why he'd not jump at the occasion. Offer him the chance to solidify that advantage he's recently siezed, or to bonk a few shortarses on the noggin. Strike a deal, and if not we threaten to go accross the road and deal with the dwarves.

[mephassovar]

Kalth listens intently - he is in no way perturbed by the Guardian's callous perspective.

I do not desire excessive carnage - we do, after all, want to convince as many of the people of Eupharr as we can to worship me. I am not afraid of appearing strong, however. If enemies stand in our way, we must strike them down with memorable force. You must retrieve the gem, whatever the cost and if that means bloodshed? Well, I'm sure you'll accomodate.

[imperialspectre]

Alain

Alain leans back into his chair, evaluating the various commentators, but mostly focusing on Kalth's statements and reactions. You really have thought most of this through... At the Guardian's question, and Kalth's response, Alain speaks up.

We will be better off if we focus more on the proselytization and avoid direct harm to the populace. Deities gain most of their power from their worshippers. Our more aggressive efforts would probably be best directed toward major powers that would not want Kalth to come to power.

That dragon, for example.

Walking over to the map, Alain looks over it, absorbing most of the map's details with a moment's attention. Also, we may be able to create the illusion of an imminent dwarven assault or some other threat against these humans in possession of your gem. One of his hands trails over the hilt of his sword, which--as he stands closer to the others in the room--has the appearance of strong, very dark wood.

Another question: how was the dead god Ratheni removed from power? Was he attacked? If so, by whom?