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At a small bar in Sigil, a group of five companions sit around a table, reflecting back on the events of the last year. It's again midsummer's eve, but the setting this time is vastly different from the banquet you attended in Selienesse the year before. The inn is quiet, especially by Sigil standards. The war in the Feywild has detracted many travelers, and across the planes there seems to be a vague feeling of uneasiness that seems to permeate even the city of doors. At the bar, Karl, Limara, and Lord Ressort speak quietly with a red-haired human, all enjoying a rare moment of rest after a year of bloodshed.
The past 12 months had taken a toll on the five at the table, and they all bore the scars to prove it. It had been a dynamic year, starting with the razing of the Printempest estate by the Green Fey, the siege of Mithrendain, two months of unending battle in the Maze of Fathaghn... All long, hard battles against the forces of Winter that had left countless on both sides dead. But finally, the tide had turned. The surprise attack through the Feydark, Silver Dragon riders from the temple of Bahamut, the march of the Coral Court. The years of preparation by the Winter and Green had been enough for early victories, but the unexpected events at the Court of Stars and the assault on Tiandra had alienated many promised allies, and galvanized their enemies.
Now the Fortress of Frozen Tears itself was under siege, separated from the bulk of the Winter and Green armies. While the fortress has been effectively cut off, the magical defenses surrounding the Frost Prince's palace have proven completely impregnable. The war had entered into a stalemate.
OOC: So, what I'd like to see first off from everyone is a quick summary post of what happened to your PC over the past year. Feel free to take some creative licenses. Here are some ideas to start you off on, but feel free to run with these or ignore them or completely change them:
- How'd he achieve the rank of General?
- What happened at the siege of Mithrendain that caused the city to give him one of their legendary blades?
- How did Aramil react to his betrayal by Muriel Mahli from the White Lotus Acadamy?
- What caused Shep to lay down his Shepherding Crook for a dagger?
- Why did Shep sneak into the Baba Yaga's Dancing Hut?
- Upon a brief visit to Fallcrest, how did Shep react when his flock did not recognize him?
- How'd Pavick utilize his status as a folk hero among the gnomish people?
- Why did Pavick fail the trial to be recognized as an Archmage?
- How did Pavick lead the surprise assult through the Feydark to turn the tide of the war?
- Did Lucan re-connect with his father in Sigil?
- How did Lena lose half of a wing during an assassination attempt on Lucan?
- What did Lucan do at the temple of Bahamut to convince them to join the battle against the Winter Court?
- How has Zyrr reacted to being simultaneously the most liked and most despised Drow in the Feywild (depending on who you ask)
- Why did Zyrr become the captain of the spelljammer they took from Alexsie?
- How has the relationship changed between Zyrr and Eilestraee?
This is the continuation of the "Adventures in Sigil" game.
The rain had been pelting so heavily that night. The thick, angry clouds above had blotted out the moon and the stars, and all around the little round hut the clearing was curtained by deluge. The little hut had a ramshackle fence thrown up around it, and though it was threadbare and shabby, it turned away all that came far too close. The heads mounted atop it saw to that. As the wind howled, and the wind shrieked, the gate that had always so meticulously kept itself shut clanked with every shudder. Someone had thrown it wide, and now it filled the clearing around the hut with the sound of forlorn metal.
The hut was perched high above the flooding ground, marshy and soupy as it was becoming; the brown earth had turned to eddies and murky pools, covered and crisscrossed by swelling three-toed prints. Two stilts kept the hut safe, standing it tall and erect and stable; the rain made it so hard to see them, and the eyes played tricks in the shadows of the little house. They almost looked like bird feet.
It was quiet save for the screaming wind and endless beads of dropping water and the shuddering bang of the dilapidated gate; the hut was still and dead, not even a single tongue of smoke licked its tall chimney. Just a heavy shell, sodden with water.
Light blazed in the clearing, pale and bone-white, as a sliver of lightning split the sky. The clouds bellowed in pain a moment later, cracking their cheeks and splitting their underbellies. When the thunder had died, and the sky resumed its inky hue, the door of the hut suddenly shook and rattled.
Thump-thump, the door echoed. Thump-thump, the noise came again.
The noise brought only silence with it, choked and heavy.
Thump-thump. The shadows in the house thickened.
Thump-thump. It loomed up taller; the shape of it blotting out the sky and covering all of the clearing.
The night was split with the tiny sound of yawning iron. The door glided open just a crack, the tiniest of cracks; the world inside of smoke and darkness and strange perfumed smells. It was quiet again, only the rain and the wind and the gate.
"Little Grandmother." A voice spoke, thick and heavy and broken.
"Little Grandmother," it repeated, "The fool is ready to see."
The door opened wide on silent hinges, and the mouth of the house yawned into utter blackness.
The goliath had changed; it was evident when he finally returned to Sigil some scant few days ago. He had seemingly dropped off the face of the Feywild after the Court of Stars. That night the companions slept restlessly, but the following morning the bed that had housed the great goliath was empty, his things were gone, and all that remained was a small note, written in a clumsy scrawl.
"There are things I must see.
Whatever he had seen, Shep had said nothing of them. When he finally returned, he hardly looked himself anymore; dark circles swam under his eyes, heavy with lack of sleep, giving him a sickly pallor. How a rock could possibly look pallid was beyond anyone, yet Shep displayed it plainly. No longer did he carry his great, gnarled crook; the beloved tool he had carried with him from the moment he stepped into Lord Rex's study. Most startling of all, perhaps, was the fact that Shep had shaved. That dignifying, coarse beard of salt and pepper, that which he used to stroke whenever he found himself lost in thought, had been cut from his chin. His face was truly a rock slab now, with a heavy, chiseled chin and flat crevice of a mouth.
He sat very quietly now, nursing a cup of slowly cooling tea; Shep had become quieter than normal in his return. He had smiled a broad, tired smile when he first laid eyes on his companions in the Inn of the Lady's Favor, and he was quick to ruffle Pavick's hair as he so often did. But Shep had said very little since, and he had winced when he was called "The Shepherd." One thing was certain about the goliath who came back, the goliath who said little and nothing about where he had been; he was only Shep now. Nothing more.
Last edited by Haberdashery : 02-03-2012 at 06:47 PM.
At a quick glance, the Eladrin at the table does not seem of particular note, and indeed many would pass him up while looking for the Feywild's rising star, the brilliant new general who delivered the killing blow to infamous Winter Witch and drove the Prince of Frost back to his impregnable fortress... and that is how he wants it. His cloak, subtly and intricately embroidered, hides the ornate longsword sheathed in a ruby-studded scabbard, and the circlet on his head--nominally common headgear for young fey nobles--blends in with the golden hair it is tucked into. This is Aramil Printempest, general of the Spring Coalition forces, the Sidhe lord rumored to ascend to the ranks of the Archfey despite not having lived even fifty summers due to his efforts in the war. His smirk is gone... combat no longer invigorates him, and victories will not bring him joy until the Prince is finally defeated and Tiandra is freed from her frozen prison.
He did not need to tell his companions his tales, for they themselves played a part in many of them, and news of his feats spread across the planes. Who didn't know of the siege of Mithrendain, where the swordmage flashed like lightning with but a small escort to single-handedly outflank the siege works and blazed through the enemy commander's ice-magic and slew him in single combat, breaking the Winter forces into disarray? Or when the flights of silver dragons came to the aid of the Coalition forces and shattered the Winters' hold on their own Vale of Long Night, how he stood fighting alongside them without fear of being caught by their deadly breath? Yet all these stories of battles valiantly fought would seem only bittersweet when told by the general who lead them... how many good men--mercenaries, soldiers, and officers alike--had he ordered to march to their deaths? These were not dashing tales of daring-do with which to woo ladies, it was not adventure, it was war. And war? War never changes.
"Don't step on the unicorn," Lucan warns each of this companions as they find a seat. The unicorn in question is settled on the floor, his legs beneath him, watching Lucan as he plays. The bard is not playing anything in particular, just a few verses of this and that, pieces that he's picked up in his travels. Lena's hovering nearby, still flying lopsided due to missing part of her wing, but she's too proud to let that slow her down. A Coure attendant is really not big enough to stop an full-grown eladrin, but she'd done it somehow, throwing herself at the assassin with a fierce abandon that he hadn't been expected. His knife, meant for Lucan, had only nicked Lena's wing, but by the time Lucan's sword had been planted in the assassin's heart, the frost on her wing was spreading. Lucan had done the surgery himself, the razor surprisingly steady in his hand, as he cut away the poisoned wing before Lena was as icebound as Tiandra.
Lucan had grown up some. Not as much as some might have hoped for, but tragedy had given him some maturity. He was no longer as obsessed with Lings, having finally accepted that the pixies had killed the last of them. But more than that, a growing sense of responsibility had forced him to learn to think for himself, to be less trusting and less foolish. That didn't make him clever, by any means, but it had begun to make him wise.
The beginning had been meeting his father. Lucan was, by then, certain that his father was not the honorable man he'd hoped that he would be, having left his mother for good and noble, though hidden, reasons. And while Lucan had not been surprised to find a selfish and foolish man, it had still hurt. Not that Edgren wasn't grateful, but the offer to pay Lucan for his troubles in rescuing him was insulting. They had eventually settled into a courteous but uncomfortable relationship, with Lucan and Edgren his share of the ownership of the inn between them. But Lucan had soon grown lonely in his father's company, and sought his old companions.
After months of playing pirate with Zyrr, he'd learned that pirating was more than saying "Arrgh!" and "Matey!" and trying to get Lena to speak like a parrot. "Walk the plank. Ka! Walk the plank!" It turned out that real pirating meant hurting people and taking their things, and even when those people were bad, or at least working for bad people, it just wasn't much fun. So he had volunteered for the mission to the Temple of Bahamut, to try to convince the dragons and their riders to join the war.
Bahamut has a strong sense of justice, so one might think it'd be easy to convince them to fight against a traitor who'd imprisoned his own mother, but they were outsiders in the Feywild. They weren't fey like the eladrin, or the fey dragons, so they hadn't felt that it was their part to interfere in this fight. Lucan and Lena had done their best to convince them, but in the end, it was probably Yuri who had made the best case. Lucan had been as surprised by his arrival as anyone, a unicorn boldly entering the Temple of Bahamut, but he had recognized the animal. The distinctive black patch on his flank marked him as one of the unicorns rescued from Captain Farrel's ship, and since returned to the Feywild. Lucan never learned how Yuri had found him, but the Bahamutian priests had taken it for a sign, and Lucan had flown to the battle on dragonback. Somehow, the fact that there was no way for a unicorn to ride a dragon had not been an impediment to Yuri in the least, and he had shown up in time for the battle.
The stylized black and white crescent mask does nothing to conceal its wearer's identity. Eladrin across the feywild know that both the purple feathered hat above the mask, and the eternal grin surrounded by dark skin below can only belong to one person: Zyrr'delin Morvyndis, the ascended alchemist. His story of the past year isn't quite so bleak as his fellows' and he's quite happy to re-tell it to any who ask.
After his forthright, professional testimony at the Court of Stars, the drow was more welcome than ever amongst the Spring Court. He enjoyed his celebrity status for a month, toasting new friends with one hand and counterstriking new enemies with another, until the razing of the Printempest Estate. Zyrr was quite distraught at the destruction of his new home, and responded with one of his trademark crazy plans.
The first part of this plan brought him to the deck of a demonic ship, facing an unfamiliar captain in a game of Three Dragon Ante surrounded by a familiar crew.
The second saw him in a seedy Prime tavern, recruiting three tieflings with promises of gold.
The third placed him in an alley amongst the endless streets of Sigil, discussing with a ragged, dark-skinned cranium rat killer the blessing that comes with the curse of freedom.
Within months, rumors began circulating across the Feywild and beyond about the ship known simply as the 'Jammer, captained by a drow in a mask of the old triune: jet black for Lolth, lunar white for Eilistraee, and dotted with Corellon's stars. This drow who saw one home closed off to him, another destroyed, and therefore vowed to never stop his voyage until he had avenged those who wronged him. This drow who could appear anywhere, any time, even in two places at once, using knowledge of secrets never uttered.
....The truth of the matter was far more mundane, as Lucan can readily point out. Zyrr and Kosalram came to an agreement: First Mate Kosalram only dons his spare mask while Captain Zyrr is away from the 'Jammer, and in return he gets a rather permanent job as a nearly self-employed man. The crew gets the profit of all the plunder it can get, so long as the only ships and stockpiles it harries are those allied with the Undercities or the Prince of Frost and his lackeys. And as for how they know who to target and where they'll be, well, as he's learned with Pavick time and again, nobody notices a gnome until he makes himself noticed.
And so there Zyrr sits today, the masked privateer, pirate, and hero.
Avatar gladly adopted from Ink!
Anywhere else in the multiverse a little gnome riding a large snake through the streets of a city would have turned a few heads, but this was Sigil. The snake halted its slithering outside the Inn of the Lady's Favor and the little gnome climbed off. Almost immediately the large serpent shrunk down to the size of a tiny snake. Pavick leaned over and picked him up, and Slick crawled back up his sleeve. Slick liked the feeling of being large and in charge, but at the same time there was nothing like the warmth and comfort of Pavick's sleeve.
Pavick looked up at the sign outside, taking a moment to reflect on how things had gone since the last time they were all together, it had been a long time, and now almost everyone was expected to be back. Pavick had seen each of them in the intervening year, but it would be good to get back in touch with them all again. Kind of like Slick, feeling the comfort of his sleeve, Pavick hoped he would be able to step right back into that familiar feeling of belonging with his friends.
Walking into the inn, Pavick didn't look much different than the last time his friends had seen him. A little older perhaps... maybe a little more tired as well, but all in all he was still the same Pavick.
Pavick had spent his intervening year reconnecting with his gnomish brethren in the Feywild. Frequent contact with Yojend had led to several missions into the Feydark to liberate his people. In return, Yojend had helped Pavick organize several hit-and-run raids into the Winter Courts holdings. Pavick's mix of illusion magic and teleportation were perfect tools for waging a guerrilla warfare campaign against the Prince. Most of his friends already knew about this, as he'd often sought to organize his own efforts with the greater strategy that Aramil had developed.
Pavick loved the attention he got travelling amongst his own people, but even with all he'd done for them, he never felt like it was enough. Their constant adoration made him feel unworthy of the praise, so Pavick looked for something else he could do. He found it in arranging training for several promising pupils in the Fallcrest guild. Nimozarran the Green was not to pleased when Pavick showed up with new batches of apprentices a half-dozen at a time, but Pavick had talked him into it. The mage's guild in Fallcrest was quickly being overrun by gnomes, but that was just the way Pavick liked it.
Pavick quickly found the table where his friends had gathered. He gave each one a warm greeting and climbed up into the chair. His legs swung under the table.
In spite of having rarely seen one another over the past year, the conversation soon slips into that same familiar groove. The silences and lulls that occur from the increased stoicism of Shep and the newfound maturity of Lucan are instead filled with sarcastic whinny-ing from Yuri and even more flamboyance from Zyrr. There was no replacement for the preaching or exasperated sighs that Eltain had always provided, but few wanted to let their thoughts linger on anything related to the Winter Fey. For the moment, the war and all the losses suffered were forgotten.
Still all moments have to end, and eventually Limara clears her throat politely, and takes a seat. "I am sorry to interrupt this reunion, but I'm afraid that our reminiscing here will not end the war any sooner. We're here to figure out how to end the siege of the Fortress of Frozen Tears."
Lighting his ever-present pipe, Lord Ressort gives a harrumph. "No, we're here to figure out what to do. I've keep telling you, there's no point in breaking the siege if we cannot stop the Prince himself. None of the Archfey will confront him face to face after what happened to Tiandra, and if we send our troops in they'll only serve to fill the Fortress with more frozen statues." Lord Ressort puffs his pipe, frustrated that Limara had not listened to his concerns.
Karl shakes his head, "Further attempts to penetrate the Winter Courts will inevitably prove our undoing. We should negotiate with the Prince and arrange a suspension of hostilities before the entire Feywild is enervated and open to an increasingly probable assault from the Fomorians or the Dark Elves!"
The three begin arguing with one another, clearly retreading old ground. Edgren, casually cleaning a glass, watches the whole thing for a moment before speaking up. "Woah, woah woah now....are you people forgetting something?" The two spring fey and gnome turn to look at the bartender. Edgren nods towards Lucan. "That "Fates" thing you were telling me about. If there's something that my boy can do to take care of your problem, shouldn't you be focused a bit more on that?"
Karl scoffs"Oh come now, surely you know better than to put stock into vague crypticisms of an old- Edgren holds up a hand to cut him off. "I know what you're going to say, but just shut up and let me finish." Karl frowns, but stays silent as Edgren continues. "I don't know how trustworthy that prophesy thing is, but I was thinking about what you told me they said, about 'bringing forth strings' and all that. What if it's talking about the Harp of Sharaea?"
History, DC 23
Sharaea was the betrothed of the Prince of Frost while he was still a member of the Summer Court. She left him for a mortal lover, which initiated his transformation from the Sun Prince to the Prince of Frost. According to legend, she had a magical harp whose music had captivated the Prince, and fueled his initial infatuation. After Sharaea's disappearance, the harp had been passed among the Archfey of the summer court, until it was taken by the drow during the ill-fated campaign of the Rose King. It has not been seen since.
Limara purses her lips, "It is a nice thought, but we cannot delay in a search for lost relics, the siege must be lifted!" Lord Ressort shakes his head, "Not until we find a way to cure Tiandra" "Why won't you even consider parlay?" "Look, if my boy is prophesied about I'll be damned again if you think you'll stop him!"
The four stand there arguing with one another, oblivious to anything else going on in the inn.
"Thousands of beings have searched for that harp, and none have found it... though it is an interesting interpretation of the prophesy."
He holds up a finger to quell any interruptions. "Karl, when the Fates speak, one listens. Those who have dismissed their prophecies have fared as poorly as those who work against them. Lord Ressort, I've told you already, the magic binding Tiandra is Primordial in nature. Unless we manage to gain the favor of or bind an equally powerful Primordial of fire, our only chance to break the curse is to defeat the Prince. Fortunately, I have reason to believe that he cannot fire off such powerful hexes frequently, as otherwise Lucan and I would have been frozen just as easily."
Pavick glances uncomfortably at Shep, then looks back to Aramil. "We should go after the primordial fire. You're right, the Prince probably can't fire off that kind of power often, but I have to believe he's replenished his energy reserves by now. He could freeze anyone the next time that we face him, and I doubt freezing any of us would take as much out of him as what he did to Tiandra. We need a counter for that power before we try to end this. And bringing Tiandra into our ranks could only bolster our chances for success."
"It'll take murdering or bargaining with a primordial? Well we've done both to demons, deva, and beholders, so why not take it up another notch? Count me in."
"I'll add this, though, since it bears saying." The drow removes his mask, kicks his legs off the table, and stares Karl down. "There will be no negotiating as you might expect it to be. The Prince has been acting like a true drow Matron this entire time; the only peace agreement he'll accept is total surrender and servitude, mark my words."
Avatar gladly adopted from Ink!
Limara's eyes widen. "A primordial...? Surely you can't be serious! You may as well say that you're going to kill a god! This is not just suicide, this is madness! You may as well throw yourself at the mercy of the Bramble Queen!"
Karl quickly nods, "I concur that liberating Tiandra would make the ongoing exertion against the Prince infinitely more surmountable, but this is folly! Pavick, surely you know better than to propose such an inexcusable plan!"
Edgren, at first a bit put out that his theory was not as well-received as he would have liked, tilts his head in thought. "Huh...well, it's daring, I'll give you that. And they'll never see it coming."
Lord Ressort continues his impersonation of a chimney for a long moment, before nodding. "So, where do you intend to find a primordial of fire?"
Limara looks at the stirring Goliath. "But killing one who was made of ice was no concern?" She gives that trademark Printempest smirk before continuing. "I believe my brother told me that it would take the heart of such a creature to free the Summer Queen. While Primordial physiology may be different from our own, I doubt that any would be willing to give it to you of their own free will..."
Karl nods, "I've had the liberty of studying some of the texts that Pavick has on the outer planes, and I fear that Limara is correct. The primordials don't care about the world, and would prefer to rip it apart down to its base elements. That's why the gods imprisoned most of them. If you're going to find one, it will either be in a divine prison or hiding somewhere in the elemental chaos.
Shep frowned, furrowing his rocky brow. "Koliada attacked us; we made winter our enemy long ago."
The goliath sat upright, and nodded at Yojend. "You said it yourself, a primordial is not like you, or I, or any of us. I certainly know of no way to kill the essence of fire. Taking its heart after defeating it in battle, does that slay it?" He tilted his head, his face calm and unstirring. "I would not be so very happy if something came along and knocked me out, stole my heart, and then ran off with it. In fact, I'd be rather upset about it. And if not me, if taking my heart did kill me, wouldn't the four of you be upset about it?"
"Do we really need more enemies than we already have?"
Pavick flashes a smirk at his gnomish counterpart. "You should know me better than that by now, Karl. Of course, my vote goes for the most outlandish plan possible. It is dangerous, I'll grant you, but it is possible. And if we manage to pull it off, think of the accolades!"
Pavick glances around the table. "So are we agreed then? If so, we'll need to decide on a strategy. I'm thinking deception might be the way to go. A face-to-face battle would be exceedingly difficult."
Yojend, who up until now had been hiding in the shadows on the far side of the Inn, completely unnoticed by everyone until Shep nodded to him, speaks up. "I said nothin'of the sort. That was Karl. I'm beginning t'think you can't tell th'difference between all of us short folk." He spits on the ground, and it's hard to tell if he's joking or not.
"I'd agree that this sounds like a bonkers plan, but I've seen tha'one do at least three crazy things a week since I've known him, so I can't say I'm surprised. He nods to Pavick.
Edgren stares at where the gnome just spat on the floor. "I knew getting rid of the spittoons was a bad idea. I never should have let Adahn talk me into it..."
At the Shepherd's final remark, Zyrr glances toward him with a smile. "Drow logic 101: You can never have enough enemies, each foe just gives you a new pool of allies to draw from. If you're worried about retaliation, perhaps we could seek sponsorship from a rival primordial; he sits back and watches while we get our hands dirty, and once we're done he clears up any fallout that results."
The drow leans over the table and addresses the room over interlaced fingers. "At the very least we can look into it. If it turns out this primordial's clearly too much for us to handle, we'll change plans and see to looting that harp you keep talking about from my kin. I for one would relish the chance to fight down some fanatics and flaunt one of the Flowers' failures in their faces. That's two plans sorted. The third, diplomacy, we should leave to Eltain and his brother. Those two can do more from inside the Winter Alliance than we ever could; if the Prince's domain is open to talks of anything short of domination, they'll be the first to let us know." The stars on the mask beside him glimmer in the candlelight. For now, it seems Captain Zyrr is at the table.
Avatar gladly adopted from Ink!
Limara nods her head in approval at Zyrr's words. "Wise precautions. Now there's only the matter of finding one. The temple of Ioun, perhaps?"
Karl tsks slightly. "Unfortunately, for perfectly justifiable reasons the whereabouts of imprisoned primordials isn't something that the church of Ioun permits outsiders to peruse, so you man need to pursue other methods for learning about the elemental primordials. I would recommend seeking out the Cult of the Elder Elemental Eye."
Edgren scoffs at this idea. "Bar That! You take my boy to be a Ladywatcher? Those cultists are barmy!" Edgren pauses, realizing his slip into Sigil Cant, and clears his throat. "Have you ever seen the "shrines" they build down in the Hive? It's horrifying. You may as well go to the Temple of Elemental Evil itself, if it even exists." Edgren chuckles dismissively, but continues. "Look, take advantage of where you are. There's nowhere better than the Cage to find information you shouldn't know. Odds are someone at the Grand Bazaar would have what you need, or if nothing else the Salon of Skulls."
Ressort takes a long puff on his pipe, thinking. "If we can't learn what we want from Ioun, what about the church of Venca? Surely they'd be interested in an exchange of knowledge of some sort."
"I think my father's right," he says. "Sigil's Bazaar is second to none." He pauses, struck by a sudden thought. "Except maybe the City of Brass. If there's any place you can buy information about a primordial, it's there."
Last edited by DSCrankshaw : 02-09-2012 at 10:13 PM.
Pavick smiles and pats Shep's elbow. "I've missed you too, big guy. Even the beard. What's up with that disappearing anyway? It was one of the only ways I could tell you apart from a boulder when you were trying to hide. Rocks don't have beards, don'tchaknow."
Lucan explores the Bazaar, asking random strangers questions about primordials. Ordinarily, a half-elf with a fairy and a unicorn in tow asking about primordials might have gotten a second glance, but this was Sigil.
Streetwise - (1d20+18)
Last edited by DSCrankshaw : 02-11-2012 at 02:15 PM.
Zyrr travels with Lucan, his mask displayed on his face. These foraging outings are pretty familiar to the duo, given Lucan's time on the 'Jammer, so Zyrr has learned how to play backup to Lucan's social digging.