CHAPTER 12
Outskirts of Lo'driel
Early February

Having left Cassie and the Slyvan Remanent to their own devices in Fey'driel, the P.A.R.T.Y. executes a magical jump to return them to Aeryis Prime.

The transportation spell goes off without a hitch, reverting the P.A.R.T.Y.'s surroundings from the lush, verdant lands of Nature's paradise to the drab reality of Aestrenian winter.

The bitter winds of winter whip against your cloaks and skin as you suddenly find yourself standing in a sparse forest blanketed in ankle-deep snow. The stars twinkle faintly where they peak through thinning clouds and scattered limbs in the light canopy above your head.

Far to the south, a plume of smoke that appears black even against the velvet shroud of night can be seen. The light forest extends in all directions, and if you had to guess, the weather patterns suggest the next day will be a snowy one.

Zuriel shivers in the icy air, drawing his cloak tightly about him.

"Our first priority is to meet up with Baldwin. Do we have any idea where we are? Or where he is, more specifically?"

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 2):

Maeve watches, less astonished than when it happened the first time, as Wes and Stony materialize beside them.

Damndest thing, that.

"Never hurts to ask him.  We do have the journal.  Or if we know of a particular item that he carries on his person, Lyriel can scry for it."

Probably a flagon of icewine. . . .

Boreas takes stock of the surroundings, but the fallen snow makes it difficult to tell where the group has emerged.

[Survival 11]

He pulls out his magic compass and looks at all three settings.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 4):

Boreas takes a moment to ponder the compass, then puts it away thoughtfully.

[Private to Boreas Highwind: Nearest magic: Southwest; Nearest Evil: South; Nearest Good: Northeast]

Though the woodsman cannon determine precisely where he is at the moment, he is aware that the position of the stars and moon implies night has only just started to fall.

Perhaps in the morning he'll have better luck determining their location, but the pressing question of the moment involves whether the P.A.R.T.Y. wishes to march through the night or set up camp as best they can on the cold, wet, snow-covered ground.

While Boreas is determining this, the others check the journal for word from Baldwin.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:49, Mon 13 Oct 2014.

Lyriel shakes her head. I don't need an item, I  can scry him directly. We'll want to let him know though, or it might fail.

She looks out into the darkness. Come morning, Keef can teleport us to him, if we're close enough. And then from there to Lo'driel. I'll want to inform Choso of our plans. Incidentally, Knight-Captain Edrahil has Order mages on retainer. He can create a temporary gate where and when we need him. Choso is likewise prepared for war.

Lyriel takes a moment to cast a Sending while the others make an inquiry to Baldwin via the journal. Sending > Choso: We have returned to Aeyris. Going  to find Baldwin. Can we teleport to Lo'driel? Or are there wards? Could also use the lake tower.

A shiver runs through the priestess as the wind wips up a flurry of snowflakes. We should make camp for the night. I don't think it will be helpful to press on without our bearings.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:49, Mon 13 Oct 2014.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 6):

Baldwin's journal holds the following message for the P.A.R.T.Y.: "Holed up in Crannymeade, a small village about three days northwest of Lo'driel. The snowfall has rendered travel impractical, and I will have to remain here until the weather improves. Besides, Wardens are everywhere."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:53, Mon 13 Oct 2014.

In reply to Baldwin (msg # 7):

The Glass Tyrant's response to Lyriel's inquiry comes almost immediately.

"Teleportation within Lo'driel without using one of the appointed circles is impossible for all but the most staggeringly powerful mages. Use the tower or walk."

Lyriel, familiar with the limitations of Sending magic, is wise enough to realize that the terse response was due to the spell's terms than any implication of ill will or annoyance.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:52, Mon 13 Oct 2014.

Lyriel dutifully relays Choso's response to the PARTY. We don't have time to wait for the snow to melt. I propose we teleport to Baldwin tomorrow, and then from there to the lake tower. Plus, we can avoid the Wardens better this way.

She eyes the cold and wet ground dismally. Let's get some rest while we can.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 9):

Lacking any better options, the P.A.R.T.Y. makes camp as best they can, sets watch, passes the night without incident.

[Private to Lyriel Vesper:

Lyriel's dreams dredge up a memory of time long past...

A little over two years ago

Lyriel looks down in concentration at the glyph before her. Lines of saltpeter swirled and curved together on the tabletop to form the alchemical runes for Creation. She wrinkles her brow, and compares the rune to the illustration in her tome. Making a slight correction to a line with her ring finger, she nods in satisfaction.

Holding a single white feather above the rune, she closes her eyes and focuses inward. Opening her other senses, in her mind's eye Lyriel beholds the web of energy that permeates all existence. Focusing on the nexus before her, she utters a single word of power. "Prakarana!" she intones clearly. The glowing nexus resonates, as if a chord has been struck in the fiber of reality. She opens her eyes, and beholds a white dove in her cupped palm.

Letting out a cry of delight, Lyriel looks up to show her instructor. She arches a sculpted eyebrow in confusion as she notices Professor Annalíena absent from her usual position at the lecturing podium. Looking over to the entranceway of the instruction hall, she sees the professor deep in conversation with one of the Academy aides, usually responsible for running messages between Academy council members and professors. Professor Annaliéna and the aide were discussing something in urgent whispers, both of them shooting glances over at Lyriel.

Annalíena beckons Lyriel over with a wave. Confused, Lyriel gets up and walks over, dove still cooing in her open palm. "Well done," she says absently, indicating the dove. The professor brushes a lock of hair - black shot with silver - from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear before addressing her student.  Her normally businesslike demeanor was colored with concern.

"Lyriel, the aide here has brought a message for you. Your father is waiting in the reception hall, and bids you attend him immediately," she says. A look of confusion comes across Lyriel's face, and she makes to return to her desk to gather her things.

Professor Annalíena notices her hesitation, and gently interrupts. "Don't worry about your workstation dear, I will tidy it up. You had best hurry along," she says, her voice infused with a kindness very unlike her normal succinct lecturing cadence. It was that tone, along with the indecipherable look in the older woman's eyes, that turned Lyriel's confusion to concern.

But Father isn't due back from Tris for another two fortnights... The aide holds the door open for her before letting it slam shut with a dull boom. What is this about? Lyriel asks the messenger pointedly.

"With respect milady, I know nothing more than I was bade tell Professor Siléndril. Lord Tolliver Vesper awaits you in the High Council chambers, and asks you to attend him with all due haste. I'm sorry, that's all I know." To emphasize the point, the messenger picks up the pace to a speed Lyriel would have found quite rude had she not more on her mind. She follows without further comment.

The day is unseasonably cold for spring, as if winter was making one last bid for dominance before surrendering to spring's thawing warmth. Her footfalls echo distantly through the stone hallways as she follows the aide to the center of the Twilight Order complex. The young apprentice's mind begin to churn as she walked. There were only a few reasons why her father might require her presence and interrupt her studies in such an uncustomary manner. None of them were good. The one she feared most was the one which cold reason told her was the most likely, and with each step, her sense of dread grew.

Entirely forgotten, the dove vanishes into a pile of dust in Lyriel's palm.

***

Before Lyriel quite realizes what has happened, the aide is opening the door to the High Council antechamber. He gave her a respectful bow as she entered, and then closed the door behind him. Of all the buildings at that Twilight Academy, the High Council building was by far the most opulent. It was built in the traditional Hae'driel Imperial style, with marble columns supporting a frescoed ceiling. In departure from the traditional Hae'driellian subject matter, the ceiling was a map of all the planes in the multiverse, inscribed by arcane runes of translocation. The runes were inert, of course, but they still looked rather impressive. The few times in the past Lyriel had occasion to visit the building, she was always entranced by the ceiling. She would trace out a route among the cosmos, starting in the center and marking a magnificent journey to some plane where ships sailed the skies like oceans, or cities of living crystal rose from seas of glass. Today, however, she hardly even noticed where she was.

Despite the grandeur of the room, Lyriel saw only its sole occupant. Upon her entrance, Lord Tolliver Vesper struggles to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. It seemed every time Lyriel saw her father, he was bearing more and more weight on his shoulders. He greets his daughter with a strained smile that doesn't even begin to conceal the weariness in his eyes.

"I apologize for the sudden summons, dear one, but..." Tolliver Vesper's voice breaks, and he trails off. "We - I - need to talk. Let us return at once to the estate."

Her father's dark expression caused her stomach to knot, and her mouth became dry as cotton. No, Father. Whatever ill tidings brought you here personally to find me, I would know now. I'll not sit in dread the whole carriage ride home. Tell me. What is so urgent?

To her credit, Lyriel manages to keep her voice from quavering, though her heart is racing madly, and the bitter taste of acid fills her mouth. Her father simply looks at her with an exhausted expression, eyes filled with unfathomable sadness. He speaks, and his words confirm Lyriel's darkest fears. With six words, Lyriel's entire world is shattered.

"Your brother has fallen in battle."

Though she had feared the worst, nothing prepared her father confirming it in truth, making all her nightmares for the past month real. Her entire body goes numb, and she sinks into the chair her father had formerly occupied. Distantly she notes that she is shaking uncontrollably, but she cannot actually feel it. She sees her father's lips move, but she cannot hear his words. Her entire body contorts into great, wracking sobs, and the world becomes a smear of light and color through her tears.

***

Her memories of the week that followed are disjointed. Snarled, fragmented, and incomplete. Images of her family, shattered and grief stricken. Her time was spent either mourning in her room, or at other times frantically pacing the rest of the manor, when it seemed as if Eldric was just in the other room, and if she could only get to him he would come back, alive and well. The lines between reality and her fevered nightmares blurred, and she could no longer tell which was which.

Her mother, red eyed and, for the first time in Lyriel's life, unkempt - hair awry, her makeup forgotten black smears on her face. The high-pitched wails of little Alara. Her father, stooped on his cane like an old man with the weight of ten thousand lifetimes on his shoulders, crushing him, grinding him into defeat.

A vision of Eldric, the day he and his force were deployed. Where to, he could not say, but the grim look in his eyes spoke volumes. Lyriel had a horrible feeling that chilled her to her marrow. As he sat mounted at the city gates, ready to ride forth, she had begged him on the brink of tears not to go, to ask for some other assignment. He had simply looked at her sadly. We all serve as we must, sister, he had replied distantly. No matter the cost. Honor demands it. Our family knows that better than any other. Then, leaning over in his saddle, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Be well, Lyr. You have your first semester at the Academy to keep you busy. I'll be back before you hardly even realize I've left.

She had smiled through her tears and nodded, but they both knew neither of them believed it.

Every clanging of the manor doorbell brought fresh condolences from the rest of society. Too many 'sorry for your losses,' 'Tassada has a plan for us all,' and 'he died a heroes' death' to count. Lyriel didn't wan't sympathy. She didn't want pity. And she didn't want memories of a hero. She wanted her brother back.

One night found her prowling the manor well past the stroke of midnight. With all the tapestries replaced with gauzy black curtains, the house seemed darker than the Abyss. She pads silently from room to room in a daze of grief and restlessness.

Voices from the sitting room draw her attention, and she floated over the hardwood floors as the voices became distinct. With dull surprise she registered her mother and father speaking in hushed tones. Drawn more by a need to breakup the monotony of her own thoughts than any desire to eavesdrop, she drifts closer, silent as a specter.

How could they do this? Our only son, lost to some fool mission! her mother said in a quavering voice. To send him to - Lady Vesper's voice is cut off by a curt shushing from her father. "Not even here, Regina. The official story must stand. They can't know you know the details."

From Lyriel's position in the shadows, she can see where here parents stand silhouetted against the dying embers of the fireplace. Her mother sets her jaw, but doesn't say anything further. A long moment passes before her father speaks again. "I am assured that the Tyrant is arranging for the bodies of the fallen to be returned for a proper burial. It seems he is allowing us that much."

Lady Vesper makes a sound in her throat like a strangled cough. Then, Tolliver...why must he remain dead? If we're getting the body, surely the priestesses will restore him life? It hasn't been that long, there's still time! We've served faithfully, surely they won't deny our request! Surely! Her mother's voice becomes hurried, desperate, and she clings onto this last hope with an intensity that frightened Lyriel.

Her father looked as if somebody was twisting a knife in his gut. "Regina...that's not how it works. Even if they could restore the spirit to his body - and it's an iffy proposition at best - there are...other considerations. It's not an option," he concludes dully.

No! I refuse to believe that! I won't! Lady Vesper hisses. I know damn well that the magic isn't flawless. By all the hells, you're a constant reminder of that! she says, pointing sharply at his leg. But to not even try?! If you're too much of a coward to demand his resurrection, then I'll do it myself. If there is even the slightest possiblity, I WILL have my son back!

"NO." Lord Vesper punctuates his flat imperative with the crack of his cane on the floor. "You will do no such thing. I absolutely forbid it. You know not what you ask, woman." Lord Tolliver Vesper stands upright, shoulders unbowed, icy blue eyes glinting with determination in the flickering firelight. For the first time, Lyriel saw her father as the mighty warrior she was told he once was. And for the first time, she believed it.

Lord stares at his Lady for a long moment, and then he continues in a softer voice. "Regina, do you really think I want him back any less than you? And if that there was any way we could have him restored to us, that I would not do anything in my power to do so?" Though he remains unbowed and unbroken, tears now stream freely down her father's face. "Please, my dear, for once in our marriage, trust me on this. You can't make a scene. There's much more going on than you realize. Our family's blood debt.."

Lady Vesper takes an involuntary step back, shocked by her husband's sudden stand. Her lower lip quivers, and then her mask breaks entirely. She rushes to her husband and buries her head in his shoulder sobbing. I'm...su...sorry. she chokes in between sobs. I shouldn't have...I just...he was to be everything for this  family. He could have been Grand Marshall, given time. My sweet, dear boy. Now we'll never know. He'll never get married, never have children of his own. Never has a brighter future been extinguished so prematurely. But most of all, I never... A fresh sob chokes out of her mother's throat. I never truly told him how proud I was of him. Of all that he was. And now...I never can. With those words, her mother loses her composure entirely, and dissolves into tears on her husband's shoulder.

Tolliver, for his part, seems just as shocked by his wife's sudden affection as she was by his determination. He lets his cane fall clattering to the floor as he wraps his wife in his arms. He says nothing, but tenderly strokes her back as she cries herself out onto him, tears continuing to stream down his own cheeks.

After a while, Lady Vesper regains her composure somewhat. Her husband wipes away a tear from her cheek. "Either Alara or Lyriel will have to take Eldric's place, you know. On that there can be no compromise. One must always serve the Church."

After a moment, her mother responds Lyriel. Have Lyriel do it. She is already out of the house, and with you at Tris, Alara is all I have left. Please...don't take her away from me too. I couldn't...bear it. Lyriel can serve.

Lord Vesper considers a moment, and nods. "Yes, I suppose that makes the most sense. She isn't too far along in her studies at the Academy yet, it shouldn't be too painful for her to transition to her duties. Though, she was so excited to enroll, I hate to take that from her." He heaves a sigh. "We all serve as we must."

Regina Vesper folds herself in closer to her husband. "That transition might not be all bad for her, you know. As a Priestess she'll be a much more suitable match for marriage. And that becomes even more important now, with...now we have no male heir."

Tolliver Vesper simply nods. "That's a mess that will need to be sorted later. I believe our family name passes to our first male grandchild, but I'll have to consult with the solicitor to be sure. It will matter, for future generations of the blood oath...that's one inheritance that cannot be neglected."

He falls silent, and for a long while the two simply hold each other as the embers fade. "You know...this isn't what I wanted for you, Regina," Tolliver says wearily. "You deserved so much more. More than a crippled old diplomat." He lets out a quiet self-deprecating chuckle. "I know you always blamed me for that," he says, holding up a finger before she can interrupt. "Sssh. I'm not saying this to chastise. I just wanted you to know that I would have done anything to be the man you wanted. So blame me and my failings if you must, but just know that I wished better for you."

This elicits a fresh wave of tears from the Lady Vesper. "Come, let us go to bed," her father says softly. Her mother nods mutely, and together the two leave the sitting room, walking right by Lyriel without noticing her presence. Lord Tolliver's cane remained on the floor before the dying fire, forgotten. He leans instead on his wife as they retire to their chambers.

Lyriel stands there for a while yet, stunned. Too many emotions whirled through her, and the intensity of the moment makes her wish she was somewhere, anywhere else. She fades back into the darkness of the house and returns to her room, where sleep claims her. For once, it is blessedly free of dreams.

The next day, when her father came to tell her that she would be expected to serve Tassada in Eldric's place following his funeral, she didn't argue.

She simply nods. We all serve as we must, she whispers hoarsely.

***

Eight days after receiving word of her Eldric's death came the day of his funeral.

Lyriel stands in cemetery, dressed in black. She shivers in the cold air. A blanket of freshly fallen snow covered the grounds. Snowflakes continue to fall lightly from the leaden skies, stirred by the chill wind into playful flurries. Winter, it seemed, was quite unwilling to relinquish its grasp on the land. Under different circumstances, she would have called the scene beautiful. In the moment, the beauty was entirely lost to Lyriel and her grief.

She stood with her family, likewise arrayed in mourning clothes, all facing the coffin. A older priestess of the faith read the usual rites. Her sonorous voice was the only sound breaking the crisp, snow-muffled silence. The words washed over Lyriel, entirely devoid of meaning. How could mere words express the loss she felt?

Lyriel looked around at the assembled. In the forefront stood the honor guard of six Knights of the Flame, arrayed in their finest dress armor. Comrades of Eldric, she supposed. At least, comrades who hadn't accompanied him on his final mission. Those comrades were to a man all being buried in other plots around Hae'driel.

The rest of the guests were comprised of the usual mix of family friends, and then family acquaintances. People who Lyriel didn't count as close, but who would have felt slighted had they not received invitations to attend the services. A good portion of the aristocracy was in attendance. Eldric was well-liked, and it served many to be seen at his funeral. There were a few faces she did not recognize in the very back of the service. Tall men with cowled robes watching the proceedings with blank faces. Idly she wondered who they were. Some other church officials, she supposed.

Lyriel was jarred back to reality as the monotonous rites drew to what Lyriel knew to be near the end, but before they came to the traditional conclusion, the priestess began a section of the rites she did not recognize. These, it seemed, were reserved for those soldiers of the faith who had fallen in righteous combat. The virtue of the fallen was praised, his heroism held as an example to all the true faithful to emulate. "A life laid down in service of the Goddess is never laid down in vain, and is the most glorious end to which a believer can aspire," the priestess intones.

Those in attendance nod almost as one, and there were many whispers of "En Taro Tassada" in response.

Lyriel felt sick. She didn't want a hero, she wanted her brother. And she didn't want his death cheapened to be some recruitment drive for the Church. Lyriel grits her teeth as the bile rises in her throat as she looks  at the happily nodding congregation. For a brief moment, she hated them all.

The honor guard in particular look particularly smug, and if possible they hold their chins even higher, basking in the knowledge that they were the closest to such grace as described by the priestess. Or rather, all except one.

One of the six knights stands at perfect attention like the rest, but tears stream openly and unashamedly down his face. Lyriel studies him, wondering who he was, but in their dress armor it was nearly impossible to tell them apart. His eyes, though, are a curious shade of amber, and for a brief moment, they meet Lyriel's. A distant shock of memory runs through her, hauntingly familiar, though she could not place it. They look at each other for but a few seconds, acknowledgment flickering through their gaze of their shared grief. Whoever he was, he also felt the loss of Eldric keenly.

The moment was broken as the priestess comes to the true conclusion of the rites. As one, the honor guard steps forward, three on each side of the grave. They salute the coffin, and the one bearing the rank Lieutenant-Commander produces a flame from his palm, which he uses to light the ceremonial wreath placed on the coffin. Though the Vesper family had chosen burial over cremation, all of Tassada's funeral rites featured fire to some extent.

Then, as the wreath caught, the six knights grasp the ropes that lowered the coffin into the earth's waiting embrace. With a dull thud, her brother came to his final rest. The grave was dug into the rich red dirt of the Hae'driellian countryside. It gaped like an open wound - a black pit marring the otherwise pristine white landscape. Then, each attendee in turn steps forward to pitch a handful of dirt into the grave. One by one they come, slowly sealing her brother in his rest. The last four handfuls were reserved for the immediate family. Lyriel places hers last, completing the mound of red dirt.

The wound has become a scar.

The funeral party slowly filters away, back towards the light and warmth of the city, but Lyriel remains. At last, it is just her and her father. He squeezes her shoulder comfortingly before he too turns and heads for the city, limping through the snow with his cane.

How long she stands there, she doesn't know. The wind tugs at the hem of her dress and at her veil, bringing a swirl of snowflakes eddying around her, but she hardly notices. Her tears have long since frozen tracks down her cheeks. As the day's last light fades, she says her final farewell. Goodbye, brother. May you find some peace and comfort in the hereafter. If any I knew deserved paradise...it was you. A low sob escapes her. It was you.

At long last she turns her numb feet towards the lights of Hae'driel, glowing warmly in the distance, and towards whatever new future was in store for her as a servant of the Church.

She begins the long walk home.

We all serve as we must.]

The morning dawns, cold and dreary, with darkening clouds making good on their promise of additional snow.

Lyriel awakens with a start and a gasp. For a long while she stares out into the gray expanse, looking through past the snow, gaze six hundred miles away.

She shakes herself back to reality when Maeve begins to bustle about getting the kettle on. Rather than its usual soothing effect, however, Lyriel is deeply unsettled by watching the eastern woman prepare the tea, and the priestess busies herself at the other end of camp. Pouring out water into a cooking pot, she incants a few words, and the surface of the water ices over in hoary haze, and then goes clear as glass.

[Casting Scry > Baldwin]

The image of the bard resolves on the mirror-like water, and Lyriel gently rouses Keef.

Get a good look, we need you to take us there as soon as you can. I will conjure us breakfast when we're all together.

Lyriel shivers once again. I hope wherever he is, it's someplace warm...
This message was last edited by the player at 18:01, Mon 13 Oct 2014.

Boreas rouses himself and sets to helping Maeve make tea.  He glances over as Lyriel prepares her makeshift scrying pool, Keef walking over to have a look.  Realizing that this means he and his companions will soon be meeting Baldwin, he sets to breaking camp and ensuring that everything is properly packed and ready.

Maeve notices that Lyriel turns slightly green as she prepares her morning tea and wonders why before suddenly recalling.

Oh.  Oops.

She continues preparing some hot beverages, albeit a bit more subtly, in as much as that can be accomplished.

Lyriel's breakfast better have a vast assortment of delicious warm beverages.  A trip into the deep deserts is beginning to sound more and more appealing.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 13):

Keef takes a moment to study the image etched into the frozen water, then cracks his knuckles with a flourish.

"All aboard the Cabin Boy Express," he says, tracing a series of arcane symbols into the air with careless-looking flicks of his finger. These runes burn into the stillness of the sky itself, hovering around the boy like lost souls until he completes the spectral circle with another exaggerated swish.

With the entire P.A.R.T.Y. -- complete with horses and equipment -- safely nestled within the circle, he raises both hands toward the heavens and jerks his arms downward, hands balling into fists as he does so.

The air flashes with a blast of red energy, and everything beyond the floating barrier of runes encircling the P.A.R.T.Y. blurs into a haze of nothingness.

"Next stop, Baldwin!"

Keef flicks his wrist, and the circle of magical runes begins to spin in the air like a top. The blurred scenery twists in time with the circle, until both slow to a graduate stop. The journey completed, the runes flare up and explode in a glittery burst of fireworks, which color the hazy surroundings and snap them back into full focus.

The P.A.R.T.Y. finds itself standing in the snowy courtyard of a small, thatched-roof inn -- surrounded by a half-dozen peasants staring unabashedly at your entrance.

"Hello!" Maeve says with a disarming grin and a wave.  "Terrible day to be out traveling, wouldn't you say?"

The peasants make no move to say anything.

"We're meeting a friend of ours here.  Bard, carries a lyre, bit elven-looking with long blond hair, enjoys. . . partaking, if you know what I mean."

Maeve makes a drinking-from-bottle gesture.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 15):

The townsfolk shake their heads mutely at Maeve's description, then eventually disperse to continue about their business.

The P.A.R.T.Y. enters the inn to find it toasty warm and packed with townsfolk. Evidently the snow has put an end to most of the town's daily tasks.

A large woman wipes down the bar on one side of the room, laughing loudly along with her patrons. Three serving maids whirl about the common room, collecting dirty dishes and setting down piping hot bowls of what appears to be a leek, watercress, and potato soup. Two young boys scurry about the room, as well, lugging logs to toss onto the fire and sweeping crums off the floor.

A fair number of travelers can be spotted as well, set apart from the townsfolk by their style of dress and, in some cases, signs of wealth. A trio of sellswords sit holed up in one corner, throwing dice, while a merchant debates the qualities of Gaelian silks with a seamstress and a haberdasher near the fire.

The trenchers are populated by farmers, for the most part, along with the town's blacksmith, tanner, carpenter, herbalist, sheriff, and mayor. Everyone seems to know everyone, minus the travelers.

Such is the scene the P.A.R.T.Y. stumbles upon as they enter the building, standing wet, cold, and dripping in the foyer to take in the scenery. Eventually, one of the serving maids finds time to slip over to them.

"G'morning, travelers," she says with a slight curtsy. "Welcome to the Singing Nettle. As you can see we're full up, but I'd be happy to help you today if I can. What can I do you for?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:30, Mon 13 Oct 2014.

"Some hot drinks to fight the chill, and some breakfast, if you would please miss," Zuriel says with a kind smile.

To the PARTY, he says in an undertone. "They may be traveling under glamor. Let's write to Baldwin and have our breakfast. Lyriel can always prepare a magical luncheon, once we're all reunited."

Zuriel scans the crowd keenly, looking for anything out of place. "See any magical auras?" he whispers to Boreas.

Ah, hot drinks.  They really get me going.

Waiting for the beverages, Boreas does a scan of the room.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 18):

The room contains a variety of magical auras, most of which emanate from the sellswords, the merchant, the haberdasher, and the sheriff. None of them are consistent with a glamor, however.

"How many of you are there? Five?" the maid says, counting the P.A.R.T.Y. "I'm afraid all we have left is the bar. Will that do?"

Assuming the P.A.R.T.Y. remains agreeable, she leads them to five barstools and leaves them to the care of the barkeeper.

"Welcome, huns," the large woman behind the bar says, wiping down the counter in front of your new seats. "Here you go."

Five mugs of mulled cider and five plates of lumpy, doughy biscuits covered in thick white gravy are quickly laid out before the P.A.R.T.Y.

After waiting long enough to allow them to eat, the woman returns her attention to the group.

"Beastly weather, ain't it? You trying to pass through, or wanna wait out the storm here? I've got a few empty rooms left -- most of these folks live in town, y'see, so there's plenty of space."
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:59, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

Zuriel looks around to the rest of the PARTY. "We will be here at least one night. We're hoping the snow will be light enough that we can continue tomorrow, but..." he shrugs. "In any case, three rooms please, if you have them."

He finishes eating his plate of biscuits, looking to his comrades for seconds.

It's...simple. Simple but delicious.

"Cheers to that," Maeve says, nodding in agreement with Zuriel's plan.

Now where in the hells is Baldwin?

She scans the common room of the inn, wondering where the bard and their young friends could be.  Maeve decides to mingle after the meal, debating whether the sellswords or the merchant would be a better source of information for what's going on in the world.

"Leave the sellswords to me," she decides, murmuring to Zuriel.  "I doubt they'll warm up and be talkative with someone as. . . .clean as you," she says.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 20):

The woman nods, piling a few more biscuits onto Zuriel's plate with a smile.

"Room's $3 per night," she says. "Stay as long as you like. Meals change at midday, sunup and sundown. Enjoy."

Counting out the gold for the night's stay, Zuriel passes them over to the barkeep before returning to his breakfast. In between bites, he speaks in low tones to the PARTY. "Have we heard anything from the journal yet?" he asks anxiously.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 23):

Keef, after wolfing down his meal with usual gusto, wanders over toward the fireplace to warm up.

There he enters into an animated conversation with the haberdasher concerning the relationship between haberdashery, lion taming and cabin boy-ing.

In reply to Keef (msg # 24):

Keef nods excitedly and gestures wildly.  Whatever is being discussed, the haberdasher appears to be just as interested.

From his pouch, Keef withdraws the Lion Bag and shows it to his new friend.

[OOC: Preparing a Contingency this morning.  If Keef is ever falling from a dangerous height, he will polymorph into a young blue dragon]

Maeve watches warily as Keef produces the lion bag, undoubtedly recalling what happened the last time that it made an appearance in an inn.  Trusting the lad to do the proper thing this time, she makes her way to the table where the sellswords are occupying themselves.

"Gentlemen," she says (assuming they are all, in fact, men.) "May I?" Maeve inclines her head toward an empty seat at their table.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 26):

The Bar

Zuriel, Lyriel, and Boreas consult with the journal to see if there has been any new correspondence from the bard. Sadly, there is none.

The Sellswords

"Sure, sure," one of the men says, motioning to the chair across from him in a welcoming manner. "The more the merrier -- long as you're playing."

The men make for a curious sight up close: to Maeve's left sits a fellow who appears to be more of a dandy than a mercenary, though his clothing has seen better days. To her right sits a man with salt and pepper hair and close-cropped beard who might have once served in someone's army before he developed his impressive beer gut.

In Maeve's estimation, the speaker seated across from her seems to be the biggest threat, if it were to come to blows. Though his musculature is certainly not what one might call "chiseled," he seems athletic enough, and his movements are fluid and precise. Most notably, however, is the countenance that accompanies his solid stature -- a brash, confident demeanor coupled with a pencil-thin mustache that does little to mitigate the calculating look dancing behind his flint-gray eyes.

"We're playing Thirsty 28," the speaker says, explaining the game to Maeve. "There are three dice with six sides each. Two are normal, but this third one's different: it's got three sides that show a coin, two sides that show two coins, and one side that shows three coins. See for yourself."

He allows Maeve to take a look at the dice, then continues.

"We take turns rolling. Each roll, we total the two normal dice and add them to the game's score, which starts at 0. After you roll, you gotta add $5 to the pot for every coin showing on the third die. If you're the roller when the score hits exactly 28, you win the pot. If your roll would make the game's score go over 28, we subtract your roll from the game's score instead, and the game continues. Do you understand?"

When Maeve nods, the man smiles and all three sellswords slide some coins to the center of the table.

"Ante's $5, sweatheart. Let's begin."

OOC: Remember, Zuriel has a set of loaded dice in his pack... in case anyone's interested...

The Fireplace

Keef and the merchants continues to cheerfully discuss what sounds like lions and magical containers and garments... though you do think you hear the haberdasher ask Keef if he could show him how the sack works.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:23, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

After frowning at the blank pages for longer than he would like, Zuriel leans over to Lyriel. "Do you think you could cast a quick Sending to Baldwin? His silence is concerning. He could still be sleeping off last night's icewine, but..."

Suddenly, Zuriel gets a tingle along his spine, sensing impending catastrophy. He politely excuses himself from the bar and ambles over to where Keef is in conversation with the haberdasher.

"My," he says by way of introduction, "It sure is crowded in here." He looks  at Keef meaningfully.

[OOC Zuriel has not told anybody about the loaded dice, and does not intend to.]
This message was last edited by the player at 14:22, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

"Very well," Maeve says, counting out the appropriate coinage.  "I'm in for a game.  But just one.  Can't have you fellows cleaning me out entirely."

As they play, Maeve takes the opportunity to ask about the latest news, which was her intention for joining the sellswords in the first place.

"What news of the war?  The last time we passed through here it looked as though it was brewing, but now it appears to have well and truly arrived."

Lyriel, returns from their block of rooms upstairs and rejoins the PARTY in the common room. Baldwin is camping outside of town, she informs everybody quietly. He's been avoiding taverns, shockingly enough. We ought to join him.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:49, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 29):

The Hearth

"The snow'll do that to a place," the haberdasher says, giving Zuriel a slight bow in greeting. "Your... squire, is it?... was just telling me some most fascinating tales about an ordinary sack that can summon animals from thin air. What a treat!"

The merchant and the seamstress nod as well.

"I'm always amazed at what they can make magical items do," the merchant says. "And at the priorities of mages! I dare say we have enough singing teapots and lion-summoning bags. What we need are animated logging saws, self-emptying chamberpots, and the like. I'd make a fortune."

The Bar

Boreas watches Zuriel head over to prevent a lion-related accident, then watches Lyriel excuse herself to head to the P.A.R.T.Y.'s rooms (and Send to Baldwin). Once he's alone, the barkeep returns and speaks softly to him while polishing the countertop with a damp towel.

"You look like nice folks... lookin' for work?"

OOC: Lyriel's return will not occur for another 9 minutes.

The Dice Game

Maeve continues to slide coins on the table as the dice get passed around, with no one seeming able to hit the target number with any consistency.

"War?" the man with the pencil-thin mustache asks. "There's no news of any official war. Not yet, anyway. Though I hear the Empire has sent a few legions this way. The highborn prats have done the same. Haven't heard a peep from Lo'driel, so it's anyone's guess what happens next."

"They're taking their sweet time with recruitment notices, that's for sure," the dandy sniffs distastefully. "Came here expecting work, and so far? Nothing."

"The biscuits are good though," the soldier with a beer gut points out. "Mighta been worth the trip just for that."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:55, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

Zuriel latches onto the change in conversation, hoping to steer the discussion further away from the topic of demonstrating the lion bag.

"A self-emptying chamber pot would be a godsend. I think you might actually have something there sir. Or how about a magical way to keep drinks cool, even in the summer? Or a magically automated town well?"

"Odd.  I'd have thought mercenaries would be in demand now. Smoke on the horizon and what not--literally and figuratively.  Lo'driel can't remain neutral in this for long."

Figuring that she's exhausted this particular fount of knowledge, Maeve decides to finish up the game and rejoin the others.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 33):

Emptying chamber-pot... well that's a simple one really.  The influx just needs to match the proper confines of the pot itself, and you can repeat it... I mean... it will be RELIABLE enough, the bigger problem is to set the egress properly...

Keef is lost in thought for a moment.  Then an expression of 'deep understanding' crosses his face.  He winks at Zuriel in a terribly non-seruptitious manner.

Oh.. I mean, I can show you the lion bag, but um... lions prefer the outdoors maybe?  We should go outside.

Keef begins to lead the Haberdasher and seamstress outside.

In reply to Keef (msg # 34):

It is at this moment that Lyriel reappears at the bottom of the staircase and heads over to where Boreas is chatting with the barkeep.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:52, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

Boreas breaks off his conversation as tactfully as possible and joins the others to head outside and meet Baldwin.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 36):

Ignoring both the barkeep's side quest and the bitter weather, the P.A.R.T.Y. makes its way to the outskirts of the village and toward the logging camp Baldwin mentioned.

Tarps and hides have been pulled over the piles of wood that lay scattered around, keeping them as dry as possible, and the four sheds filled with tools and supplies are boarded up tightly. Despite the weather, now is not the season for logging -- the work's long been finished, with cords of wood sold and set aside for the hard winter ahead.

Trudging past all of this, the P.A.R.T.Y. heads to the treeline, beyond which they see a faint illumination. Following this, they soon find themselves in a sheltered clearing in which a large tent has been set up. Several tarps have been set upon stakes to create additional snow-free space, beneath which tables, chairs, and other such amenities have been set up. A humble fire crackles in the center of the clearing,over which hangs a small iron cauldron filled with rapidly melting snow.

Two humanoid figures stand with their backs toward you, tending the pot and chatting idly among themselves. At the clanking of Zuriel's armor, however, they whirl around to reveal a drawn sword and a loaded crossbow.

The tension reigns for less than a second as the weapons are sheathed and hoods are thrown back to reveal the smiling faces of Rachel and Oliver.

In short order, Baldwin himself steps out of the tent, leaning heavily on a tall staff and dressed in furs from head to foot. Karl -- the driver of the cart at the start of your adventure -- stands at his side, supporting him. Sadly, Filbert is nowhere to be seen.

In reply to DM (msg # 37):

To the faint sounds of a lion growling in the distance, Keef splashes and slips through the snow to catch up with the rest of his companions.

Sorry I... I mean... well I'm here now.

In reply to DM (msg # 37):

"Ah, my friends," Baldwin says, spreading his arms in welcome. "It's no tavern, but I trust you'll find our camp tolerable all the same. Let's get down t-"

He pauses, pulling out a handkerchief and wheezing into it for a few seconds. After the coughing fit has passed, he tucks the handkerchief away and clears his throat.

"-to business," he finishes weakly. "I want to hear all about your adventures in Fey'driel.... and to discuss my latest findings, of course."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:26, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

Maeve shakes her head.  "First lunch, then we can talk business.  Lyriel can magic us up something nourishing and I'll make something warm to drink.  No offense Baldwin, but you don't sound so good."

"Indeed, you sound under the weather, as it were. Let me see if I can do something about that."

Zuriel walks up to Baldwin and places a hand on his forehead. White light swirls around his hand before seeping into the bard.

[Casting: Remove Disease]

"There we go. Feel any better?" he asks. I wonder if it will do anything for his rampant alcoholism...

He turns to Lyriel. "Do you think you might be able to conjure a hot breakfast?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:05, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 41):

"Somewhat," Baldwin says after a moment. He looks no less weak, but sounds a bit less sniffly. "Thank you. Shall we go inside?"

The group enters the tent, where Baldwin removes his fur-lined gloves and pulls back his hood before sitting by a small, well-contained fire within the canvas walls.

The healers among you notice a spiderweb of pale red veins on his cheeks, a yellowish, jaundiced hue in the whites of his eyes, and a raw redness in his palms. All told, he does not look well.

"Just soup for me, I fear. I doubt I can tolerate much else," the bard continues, spreading the holy symbols out on a blanket rolled nearby with considerable effort. "Come, sit. We can eat and work at the same time. Were you able to procure the missing symbol?"

[Private to Keef: These symptoms remind you slightly of your father -- particularly the jaundiced eyes -- as they are the symptoms of cirrhosis of the liver.]
This message was last edited by the player at 20:32, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

Zuriel nods, and holds out the holy symbol of Le'lothriel. "We did indeed. And knocked down the Fey'driel tower in the process."

Lyriel looks Baldwin over with concern, and nods. Of course.

The priestess extends her hand towards a sheltered portion of the clearing, and with an emerald flash of light, the banquet table appears. The conjured wooden table creaks under the weight of steaming hot cider, oatmeal, cinnamon porridge, and a mound of syrup-slathered pancakes. Before Baldwin's setting is an enormous terrine of piping hot chicken soup, with carrots and fluffy dumplings bobbing in the broth.

The PARTY, having grown quite used to this, seems about as impressed as Chubbs. Lyriel suppresses a smile, eager to see Rachel's reaction.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 44):

"That explains a great deal," Baldwin murmurs, nodding thoughtfully at the tale as it is told and fumbling to put the symbol of Le'lothriel into its appropriate analyzer. The numbers whirl and spin, then lock onto a figure that Baldwin jots down on a notebook. "And now to tabulate the results."

Rachel, Karl, and Oliver whistle appreciatively at the summoned feast, and dig in with gusto along with the others.

"We've had adventures of our own," Rachel says around a mouthful of porridge. "Dodging Wardens, sticking to the back roads, tearing down wanted posters depicting our brave, handsome bard... there's been plenty to do."

"Rotten, lousy mercs," Oliver nods, tucking into a tower of pancakes with vigor. "A couple groups have been tailing us ever since we left Ikuabai. There's two trios in particular we've yet to shake entirely, though I haven't seen 'em yet around here. Hopefully the snow's done 'em in or tossed them off the trail for good."

Maeve helps herself to a large cup of cider and some of the porridge, still rather full from the biscuits from the inn.

"I don't suppose that one of those trios consisted of some fellows that looked like. . . ."  Here she proceeds to describe the dice players from the inn.

In reply to DM (msg # 45):

"That's one of the sets," Oliver nods, scowling. "I knew it was too much to hope for. The other group looks a lot different."

He then proceeds to describe Bill, Derek, and Flint -- the group who once attempted to return Lyriel to her family at swordpoint (back in Chapter 9).

"That settles it," Baldwin interrupts, looking up from his notebook. "Just look at these numbers..."

He slides the parchment to the P.A.R.T.Y. for perusal.



"As you can see, there are some notable outliers, particularly when it comes to Kazul and Tassada," he says wearily. "Any ideas about what these mean? I'll share my hypothesis after everyone weighs in, so as not to taint the value of having fresh eyes on my work."

[Crossroads]
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:06, Tue 14 Oct 2014.

Boreas scratches his beard, scribbling numbers on a piece of paper.

Looks like Tyblin, Le'lothriel, and Darilen have it worst.  What kind of common thread connects those three?  Also, there's no positive gain anywhere, which makes me think it's all being diverted to some outside source.

"It's hard to tell what with the varying numbers, but that seems correct.  Why just the one for Kazul?"

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 49):

The Gods are fading... I mean,,,, maybe... moving out of alignment... the part of the wheel that doesn't touch ground...

Keef, who has been more intent on studying Baldwin himself than the holy symbols or measurements, mutters something along the lines of an excuse to leave and ducks out of the tent.

Lyriel likewise takes the opportunity to study Baldwin more closely, and what she sees concerns her deeply.

[Heal: 29]

Liver failure. I'm sure of it. No wonder Zuriel's magic didn't work...this is bad. He doesn't have much time left. We need to get him to Lo'driel immediately. I don't have the magic to cure something like this.

Setting that subject aside, she considers the revelation that Derek and Bill were on Baldwin's tail. Sent by my mother, I'd wager. Though how she managed to convince House Mason to chase criminals I have no idea. Derek and Bill aren't bounty hunters...

Lyriel's face darkens as she considers her would-be abductors, and their family. She had quite a few questions she would just love to ask the Masons...

That too was a problem for another time, however. She could only focus on so much at once.

That's true Boreas, Tyblin does have the fastest decrease. But there's more too it than that...You have to also look at the decrease as a ratio to the starting amount...

Lyriel grabs a piece of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell, and begins furiously scribbling. Anybody looking over her shoulder would see a disconcerting amount of mathematics. She references Baldwin's numbers, making several lists and columns as she does to, dividing, sorting, and ranking the Churches by various criteria.

At one point she looks up at Baldwin, blowing a stray strand of hair from her face, not wanting to smear her forehead with her ink-smudged fingers. Do we have any idea what these units even mean? Are these worshipers? Overall strength of the faith? What?

Over the course of the breakfast, Lyriel creates several lists of rankings. She clears her throat, drawing the PARTY's attention to her findings.

I've added two more columns to Baldwin's list. The first is the weekly decline, expressed as a percentage of each faith's current total number. Keep in mind that these rates may not be fixed, and we don't know what the base numbers were initially. Kazul I've left out entirely. I don't know what to make of it.

The second column is how many weeks it will take for the numbers to reach zero, if the rate of decline stays constant.

Church           Number Decrease         % decrease      Weeks to null
Tassada           50,874 50            0.10%           1017
Hort           37,197 55            0.15%           676
Rachelle          19,564 33            0.17%           593
Tyblin           21,998 67            0.30%           328
Cenadora          19,231 24            0.12%           801
Ignati           23,355 29            0.12%           805
Le'lothriel       16,933 41            0.24%           413
Darilen           17,229 37            0.21%           466
Vora           13,983 12            0.09%           1165
Bevenglode        11,632 14            0.12%           831

As you can see, the decline is quite alarming, especially for Tyblin and Le'lothriel. Tyblin is across the board the worst off. At the current rate, his numbers will hit zero in just over six years.

Lyriel points to a different sheaf of parchment. I've also compiled some rankings, to make things easier to read.

Church by number:

Tassada
Hort
Ignati
Tyblin
Rachelle
Cenadora
Darilen
Le'lothriel
Vora
Bevenglode

Church by decrease (highest decrease to lowest)

Tyblin
Hort
Tassada
Le'lothriel
Darilen
Rachelle
Ignati
Cenadora
Bevenglode
Vora

Church by % decrease / soonest to zero

Tyblin
Le'lothriel
Darilen
Rachelle
Hort
Cenadora
Ignati
Bevenglode
Tassada
Vora

Lyriel points to each ranking in turn. As you can see, the evil churches appear to be affected less significantly. Also, take a look at Tassada. She is an interesting example, as her church boasts the third highest decrease by number, but second lowest by percentage.

She sits back in her chair, wiping her ink-stained hands on a napkin.

The bottom line is, I don't know what's going on, but it doesn't look good. I don't know what happens if a faith zeros out, but I can't imagine it would be good for planar stability...
This message was last edited by the player at 03:26, Wed 15 Oct 2014.

"That's...quite comprehensive, Lyriel," Zuriel says appreciatively, mulling over the priestess' findings.

Zuriel glances over to Baldwin. "What of Cedrick's symbol. Has it been fluctuating at all? Have the rates of change been stable lately?"

"I can't make much rhyme or reason of it, except that it seems that in general, the good deities are worse off and the evil deities better off. Not sure why Tyblin is suffering so much. I also have no idea what to think of Kazul's symbol. Could the numbers possibly be skewed because the symbol was blessed by High Priest Balaur himself?"

Zuriel frowns, deep in thought. "I wonder..." He takes his symbol of Tassada from around his neck, and hands it to Baldwin, and beckons Lyriel to do the same with hers. "I wonder if there are differences between symbols of the same faith. Baldwin, could you compare ours with that third symbol of Tassada you had already?"

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 52):

Baldwin scans Zuriel's holy symbol, but does not get a different result. Cedrick's symbol, however, does provide numbers that get added into the mix:

Cedrick | 48 | no change
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:06, Wed 15 Oct 2014.

In reply to DM (msg # 53):

"I had been working on the assumption that these values were associated either with the total number of empowered followers or the total number of spells each immortal's followers could cast, as a reflection of the church's overall power level," Baldwin says, heaving a sigh and setting the quill aside.

"But Kazul's numbers just don't make sense in any capacity. And neither do Cedrick's. It is worth noting that those rates of change are not absolute -- they are an average of how much it has changed on a daily basis."

Seeing that some of the P.A.R.T.Y. members are still confused, Baldwin tries to explain it again.


"For every church, what we're seeing is a large number that ticks down throughout the day at seemingly random intervals, then resets at dawn or dusk to a large number once again. The rate of change I've noted represents how much lower the large number is compared to the previous day's, on average. Does that make sense?"

"That's why I thought it was related to empowered spell capacity... clerics would cast spells throughout the day, and then be restored at dusk or dawn. But if that's the case, why would the total number of available spells be steadily dwindling? And how do we mesh that with our observations of Kazul and Cedrick?"
This message was last edited by the player at 13:08, Wed 15 Oct 2014.

"I'm going to go and find Keef," Maeve says.  "He should be here to hear this also.  He has a mind for this sort of thing."

With that, she too ducks out of the tent and scans the snowy surroundings for the young mage.

"I suppose we could ask the Book of Answers tonight," we'll have to spend at least one night here. "In the morning, I think the plan is to teleport to the lake tower and take the portal to Lo'driel."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 56):

Outside

Maeve exits the tent to find Keef staring into the fire, upon which the cauldron of melting snow has transformed into a cauldron of boiling water. The boy looks distracted and self-conscious.

Inside

"I'd hate to be followed to the tower," Baldwin says. "It would leave a gaping hole in Choso's defenses."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:40, Wed 15 Oct 2014.

Maeve joins Keef next to the cauldron.

"It's cold out here.  Come back inside and we can have some coffee."

When not even the mention of Keef's beloved "koffee" fails to perk him up, Maeve sighs and decides to stop beating around the bush.

"What's wrong, Keef?"

"It would, if we were followed. Do you have a reason to think that you're being tracked magically? Otherwise, nobody should be able to follow us vanishing into thin air and teleporting."

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 58):

Keef doesn't break eye contact with the cauldron.

Baldwin he... I've seen that look before.  And now HE knows what I'm doing so... I mean I always assumed he knew where I went, that's why I had to keep moving... good thing Baldwin found all of YOU because it means I can keep moving so...

Keef turns to Maeve.

What if HE's coming... I mean he never liked to leave home if he could help it but... now he can find me again... the Gods turning out of alignment like that is a bad sign too... and without Baldwin how can we face what's to come?  HE'd tell me it's my fault, but a tower was destroyed and it's still happening... we don't even know if the towers are helping us or hurting us.

Keef sighs.

It used to be so much easier... we knew who we were and who we were up against.  Now we're a... group of soldiers, avengers, saviors and messiahs... what does that mean for what we stand for?

Keef's eyes suddenly sparkle.

Maybe that's it!  Maybe what we have to do is save HIM!  I mean... and Baldwin... maybe we need to save him and everything will be... I mean from there we'll have a path and we'll be able to keep moving forward, not going back.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 59):

Inside

"I'm not sure I'm willing to take the chance," Baldwin says, more forcefully than before. "We have been quite unable to evade even the stupider of the groups following us for long. And you forget that the Masons, at least, have a hired mage from the Order with them."

He sighs.

"It might be best for me to remain here while you go on ahead. They will not be tracking you, after all."

"" "He?"  Keef, who are you talking about?  Is it your father?"


I suppose it only makes sense.  From the little I know of Keef's father, it sounds as though he enjoyed the bottle a little too much also.  And he wasn't a jovial drunk.

"Keef, you know he can't hurt you or even tell you what to do anymore. Not only do you have powers that I sometimes can't even believe, but, well, you've grown up.  You can make your own decisions and protect yourself too if need be."

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 62):

I... well, HE doesn't know that and... now he DOES know where we are.

Keef waves that away with a flick of his wrist, either forgetting or burying the concern totally.

But Baldwin, we should find some way to help him... maybe Lyriel knows who can help us?

Keef bounces back toward the tent and throws open the flap.

WE ARE GOING TO RESCUE YOU! he proclaims loudly and points both pointer fingers squarely at Baldwin.

In reply to Keef (msg # 63):

"Er, yes. What a charming sentiment," Baldwin says, after recovering from the shock of the situation. "What will we be saving me from, Keef?"

"Keef, if your father wishes to harm you he is going to have to get past one angry paladin, the Fairtheora, Lyriel's death cookies, and also me.  That's not going to happen," Maeve says.

Or would have said.

What she actually manages to say is "Keef--" before the boy races back into the tent.

Maeve stands in the snow momentarily, wondering what the hell just happened. With a resigned sigh, she sets to making use of the cauldron to prepare tea.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:27, Wed 15 Oct 2014.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 65):

From the sickness... it's not too late, it hasn't taken over yet!

He turns to Lyriel.

You... well you must know!  What do we need to help restore Baldwin?

Well, your failing liver would be a good start, Lyriel says primly. The magic you need is well beyond my abilities, and Lo'driel is the closest place likely to have a healer of sufficient skill to fix what's wrong with you. I'm sorry Baldwin, leaving you behind is absolutely not an option. Even if you weren't  critical to this whole question of the failing planes, the truth is we've all grown quite fond of you.

She shakes her head. I will contact Choso and ask him if the portal to the tower can be sealed if we were followed, and ask what he wants us to do. If he wants us to walk, so be it. My magic can help us walk over the snow easily. We should make good time to the gates of the city. More importantly, we ought to be able to leave anybody following us struggling through snowdrifts miles behind our passing.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 67):

"It's a three-day walk to the gates," Oliver says. "Maybe less with your magic, but we can only move so fast with all this gear."

Rachel nods.

"Are we leaving immediately? We should start packing up!"

Well, let me speak first with Choso. I'll let you know what he says.

Lyriel takes several minutes to cast her Sending spell, at which point she returns to the PARTY. He would prefer we didn't use the gate, if Baldwin can make it. Let's start on foot. If it ends up being too strenuous, we can always re-evaluate. As for when to leave...I don't have any of the magic prepared today. It would be slow, strenuous going, and we'd leave a trail a blind idiot ogre could follow. And if we don't return to the inn, our dice playing friends might get suspicious. I think I'd recommend waiting to leave on the morrow. Then we can leave quickly and discreetly.

She turns to Maeve. Maeve, could you cozy up to the bounty hunters and keep them occupied with dice? We can front you the money if you're losing. It might be better if you lose, in fact. Keep them focused on the gold.

She takes Keef aside. In an emergency, it will be extremely important to be able to get Baldwin to safety. Do you think that you can prepare at least enough teleportation magic to get him to the tower? From there you can go right into Lo'driel and get him help.

"Are we leaving Baldwin here?  Not that I think bringing him to the inn where the bounty hunters are is a remarkable idea, but leaving him out here in the cold in a makeshift shelter seems equally bad, in his condition."

Maeve pulls a face at Lyriel's suggestion that she "cozy up" to the trio of bounty hunters but reluctantly agrees to keep them occupied if need be. "It's for Baldwin, after all."

As she walks away though, you can swear that you hear in a muttered undertone something about "pushy priestesses being much more suited for cozying up-type wiles."

"I don't like it either," Zuriel says. "But if we left now, he'd be out in the cold anyway, *and* exhausted. If we can't smuggle him into the inn, then maybe we can bring him blankets or some such to make the wait easier. If we do have to walk, waiting until tomorrow will allow us time to prepare magic that will make the journey much easier on him."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 71):

Keef salutes Lyriel.

Consider it done!

Boreas listens to the plans laid out.  I have to agree with Zuriel.  We'll do our best to keep Baldwin comfortable here, since taking him through the snow would be riskier anyway.  Maeve and I can talk to the mercenaries once we get back, possibly getting a little information in the process.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 73):

Information, Keef agrees gravely, about helping Baldwin.

"Those are the bounty hunters helping Baldwin, Keef. Let's be careful not to mention anything about him where they can hear."

Having decided that it would draw attention if they were gone from the inn much longer, Zuriel bids a temporary farewell to Rachel, Oliver, and Baldwin before heading back to the tavern. Before he goes, he leaves his chalice with Rachel. "You'll need this more than I do, but for the love of all the gods and goddesses, keep Baldwin out of the wine."

Upon returning to the tavern, Zuriel retakes his seat at the bar and orders mulled wine. "My comrade mentioned that you had some trouble of some sort," he says to the barkeep. "I can't promise we can help, but I'd be happy to hear you out."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 75):

"I'm afraid you're too late," the barkeep says with a shrug. "Your friend didn't seem to want the work, so I offered it to the trio of gentlemen who were gambling here this morning. They were only too happy to accept a paying gig while they were stuck in town anyway."

She wipes down the countertop absently.

"Anyway, kind of you to ask in about it after the fact."

Maeve is already sitting at a nearby bar stool, and shrugs at Zuriel as if to say that the gamblers were already gone when she arrived.

The merchants, however, are still there, as are the sheriff and the mayor. These last two seem to be engaged in a rather serious conversation on the far side of the room, and they fall silent when Zuriel enters and stare at him -- or, more appropriately, his tabbard -- for an uncomfortable length of time before returning to their hushed conversation.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:47, Wed 15 Oct 2014.

"I see. No worries. I'm sorry for my friend, he can be brusque. He doesn't mean to be rude, but..." Zuriel shrugs apologetically. "If you don't mind me asking, what was the job? I'm not looking to poach their work, obviously," he says, gesturing at his tabard. I learned that lesson...

"I was just wondering what the trouble was."

 "This is excellent mulled wine, by the way." The paladin takes another sip appreciatively. He shoots a glance over to the mayor and the merchants. "What's that all about, do you think?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:55, Wed 15 Oct 2014.

Boreas leans over to Maeve and whispers, I'll go see what they're up to.  Probably get better information if they think they're talking privately.

He heads out to the privy.  Once inside, he fades from view.

[Casting Walk Unseen]

Boreas leaves the privy and makes his way over near the group of merchants, listening quietly to everything they say.

Maeve shrugs, nods at Boreas, and then proceeds to pay no attention to the merchants once he leaves.  It's not as if invisible woodsmen are lurking near their table.

She just hopes they don't notice the smell.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 79):

At the Bar
"Oh, just a minor task," the innkeeper shrugs. "Some of the boys on the western edge of town thought they saw some weird tracks in the new-fallen snow. More likely than not it was just some deer or rabbits, though. I'm sure they'll be back in short order and have a laugh at us for worrying about it in the least."

Overheard at the Merchant's Table

"I'm telling you, there's more of a market for lion-spawning sacks than there is for self-draining chamber pots," the haberdasher is saying. "Sure, it would be nice to have one, but you can't rely on a chamber pot for self-defense. Which would you rather have on the road?"

"A self-draining chamber pot," the merchant says defiantly, crossing his arms. "I'd never have to crouch in the woods and hope against hope to find some decently soft leaves again."

"You'd still need the leaves," the seamstress sniffs. "Unless your chamber pot also spritzed cleansing water from its lid and came with self-laundering towels."

The men stare at her for a moment, the haberdasher in disbelief and the merchant in wonderment.

"Preposterous!"
"Brilliant!"

Overheard at the Sheriff/Mayor's Table

Though nobody was staking it out directly, it's impossible not to notice when the Sheriff slams his half-finished mug of ale upon the table, stands up so forcefully that he knocks over his chair, and strides out of the tavern in a huff.

The Mayor simply watches him go, drinking slowly from his own mug.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:42, Thu 16 Oct 2014.

Zuriel dispatches his alarm at the bounty hunters very likely being dispatched to investigate the very area their quarry was hiding. He exchanges a quick look with Maeve, but as it would be far too suspicious to immediately give chase to follow, he nods politely to the bartender and then wanders over to the Mayor's table.

[Private to Maeve Hassan: "That's a problem. We need to do something about it. Where did Boreas go?"]

Zuriel sits himself down in the chair vacated by the sheriff, after asking permission from the Mayor. "Frustrated law enforcement is rarely a good sign. Mind if I inquire what the trouble seems to be?"

I don't like this at all...would that we could leave today.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 18:56, Thu 16 Oct 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 81):

"The day I worry is the day the Sheriff's wearing a smile," the Mayor shrugs, snapping his fingers to summon a serving girl with drink for Zuriel. He looks at Zuriel's tabbard for a moment, bringing his drink to his lips for another slow sip.

"He wants me to pardon his daughter," the mayor says at last. "He caught her stealing, poor guy, and did the decent thing by locking her up. But I'm the judge in this town, and when I said six months, I meant it. It's only been two. I'm sure as a paragon of justice you understand the importance of sticking to the laws on the books."

With the fellows off gathering information, Maeve remains parked at the bar, sipping thoughtfully at her beverage.

[Private to Zuriel Silendril: "He's turned himself invisible to try and listen in to the merchants' conversation.  Try not to step on him if you're planning on joining them."]

"That put's you in a tough spot for sure," Zuriel says sympathetically. "What were the circumstances if she that she was caught?"

[Private to Maeve Hassan: "Well try to get his attention. Somebody needs to warn Baldwin, and Boreas is best suited for the job if we don't want to cause everything to go to hell."]
This message was last edited by the player at 19:09, Thu 16 Oct 2014.

Maeve says, in a rather louder than usual tone, to Lyriel:

"Boreas has been out at the privy for a while.  I hope it wasn't something he ate.  I'm going to go see if he's ok."

She leaves to go wait by the privy, hoping the woodsman can take a hint.

Lyriel sighs, rubbing her temples as she looks down into what is not nearly enough mulled wine. She exchanges a brief look with Zuriel, but upon seeing him take a seat and Maeve leave, decides that it's best to avoid panicking.

Of all the rotten luck...

The priestess takes a long sip of her wine.

Boreas makes a mental note: Craft self-draining chamber pot...

Then, he heads outside to meet Maeve.

Maeve is pleased when Boreas joins her outside the privy in short order.  It is, after all, quite chilly outside.

"It seems that our dicing friends were sent out to investigate some tracks in the snow.  Zuriel 's worried that they are on to Baldwin and frankly so am I.  He also seems to think that you're the best-equipped to be able to do something about it."

Boreas nods to Maeve, dismissing his spell so she can see him do it.

I'll follow them and see what they're up to.

He fades from view once again, heading off to the location of Baldwin's camp.

[Casting Walk Unseen]

If he arrives without incident, he starts off in the direction of any tracks that he sees.  They should be fairly obvious.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 89):

The Fairtheora

Boreas trudges off toward Baldwin's camp under the cover of his illusory cloak of magic, which bends light around him to create the appearance of... well... disappearance.

He carefully notes the tracks he finds along the way, identifying the heavy footfalls of Zuriel, Lyriel, Maeve, and the horses alongside the lighter imprints left by himself and Keef.

He soon finds a new set of prints, indicating the heavy footfalls of two humanoids. Strange, wide-spaced indentations almost too hard to see accompany these tracks, which do indeed lead toward Baldwin's encampment.

Boreas hurries along, and is relieved to find that all three sets of tracks veer off to the south before they reach the logging camp. He continues to follow them, but they show no sign of stopping.

After reaching a point about two miles southwest of Baldwin's hiding place, the tracks become scuffed and muddled in a wide field that seems to contain quite a few other footprints. It's impossible for a tracker of Boreas's skill to tell one from the other in the damaged snow, but the rusty flecks spattered around make it obvious that combat of some sort has occurred.

A pair of humanoid tracks continues east from here, while the strange, flat impressions that are difficult to see head northward. Three more sets of humanoid tracks also head northward, though one is consistent with someone who is being dragged.

Boreas is forced to consider whether he wants to continue or double back. There's plenty of daylight left for him to continue for another few miles -- should the tracks continue for that long -- before being forced to double back to reach the inn by sundown.

The Tavern

Lyriel, Keef, and Maeve are left to their own devices in the tavern while Zuriel chats up the Mayor.

"Circumstances? Nothing that would worry the Flame, I assure you. The girl was stealing all manner of hard-to-get goods, most notably a supply of jet-black writing ink, a lacquered hunting bow with matching quiver, and a bundle of fine vellum. The latter was destroyed during the apprehension, which is why it's six months instead of four."

He takes another measured sip, sizing Zuriel up for a moment.

"I know things are different in Hae'driel, but around these parts, we don't go around showing favoritism to the law's kin. Sends the wrong message."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:00, Fri 17 Oct 2014.

Zuriel listens attentively to the Mayor as he describes the situation. This doesn't make sense. What would a child want with any of those things? And why would the Sheriff be protesting the judgement now, after arresting his daughter himself? There must be more to this.

"Aye. I'd like to see the law more equitably applied in Hae'driel too. Seems more often than not those without connections are the ones who faces the stiffest penalties." He frowns and takes a sip of his drink. "It seems like you have a good, law-abiding man in your sheriff, if he was willing to arrest his own daughter. But he's unhappy with your judgement now? Why is that? That does put you in a uncomfortable position."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 91):

The Tavern

"Oh, he's been flighty about it from the start. Babbles about love against duty or some such. The man's got a good head on his shoulders for the most part, but he's gonna have a tough time remaining Sheriff if he can't teach himself to stop quibbling over the details. The law's the law. No ifs, ands, or buts."

The Mayor shrugs, finishes his drink, and sets it aside.

"But enough about local matters. You and your allies aren't from around here, but I can tell you aren't just passers-by, either. You've got a dangerous look to you, if you don't mind me saying so. What brings you here? Has the war already reached our non-existent walls?"

He points a finger at Zuriel accusingly, though there is warmth in his tone.

"I warn you, I'll not have what able-bodied men remain conscripted. I'll fight you over it."

The mayor pauses to collect another drink from the passing maid and grins across the table.

"In court, of course."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:17, Fri 17 Oct 2014.

The paladin smiles back reassuringly. "No, nothing of the sort. We have no intention of conscripting anybody, and if there is to be a war, it is my hope that it will be fought far from this place. No, we're just passing through. Today we're stuck here by the snow, same as everybody else."

Zuriel finishes his drink. "On that note, I've really nothing pressing to do with my time today. With your blessing Mayor, I'd like to talk with the Sheriff, perhaps settle him down. It's not good for the law enforcement and the judge to be at odds. Especially in times like these."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 93):

The Tavern

"I can't stop you," the mayor shrugs. "You can talk to whomever you like."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:37, Fri 17 Oct 2014.

Maeve snags Zuriel as he passes by.

"It's entirely possible that we're going to have to leave--maybe fighting--at a moment's notice.  Do you really want to get involved in some local politics at a time like this?"

"I'll do what I can to calm him down. It was a pleasure, Mayor." With that, Zuriel excuses himself politely from the table.

As Zuriel passes Maeve, he gestures to the window, from which Shahara can be seen appearing in a flash of light. "The Sheriff seemed to react strongly to our presence here. If there's a problem, I want to know. I think there's more to this. Shahara will stay here. If something happens, I'll know instantly through her."

After inquiring with the barkeep where the Sheriff lives, Zuriel heads out the front door.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 14:37, Fri 17 Oct 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 96):

The Tavern

Keef, Lyriel, and Maeve are left to tool around the bar, behaving themselves and not sticking their nose into the business of others.

Local Matters

Zuriel trudges through the snow in search of the Sheriff's house, but finds nobody home once he gets there. The door is locked, as are the windows, and no smoke comes from the chimney.

Zuriel will knock on the door nonetheless, and if there is no response, he will shrug and head off to the courthouse/jail/government building.

Boreas continues to follow the tracks for as long as he can, keeping his eyes and ears open to determine if he's getting close to his quarry.

Maeve heads outside to see if the [organic] horses will accept some pieces of withered apple and to keep an eye out for Boreas' return if he decides not to investigate further.

"You're a good horse, Shahara," Maeve says, idly stroking the horse's mane and knowing that the mare can't understand her anyway.  "It's not your fault that your master insists on sticking his nose in local business wherever we go."

Shahara nuzzles Maeve's palm as she gratefully accepts the apple. Maeve can't be entirely sure that the charger actually understood her, but in response to her statement the charger tosses her main in the direction Zuriel departed and heaves a snort that could be quite easily mistaken for a wearily resigned sigh.

When the mare rolls her eyes and gives the easterner a plainly commiserating look, Maeve is reasonably sure that she understood the sentiment, if not the specifics.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 101):

Keef wanders the bar asking everyone there (often repeatedly) where the best healers in the world can be found, how to get there, etc.

Chubbs squats on the bar snoozing and glaring condescendingly at everyone.

In reply to Keef (msg # 102):

The Tavern

"Healer? What do you need a healer for?" the merchant says in response to Keef's antics. He fishes around his bags and pulls out an assortment of brightly colored bottles. "I guarantee that I've got the ointment, tonic, or other remedy to soothe whatever ails you. At a very good price, I might add."

"Now wait a minute," the haberdasher says. "You don't need those potions and tonics -- one sip and it's like you poured your gold down the drain. I'm confident my Turban of Rejuvenation will do the trick. Sure, it's a little expensive, but I don't apologize for pricing a permanent solution to your troubles at a premium."

The seamstress sniffs disdainfully at her colleagues and produces a spool and thread.

"Nonsense and hogwash," she says. "What you need is some runic embroidery, not glorified lemonade or  ridiculous headwear. Simply give me an article of clothing you like, and I'll emboss it with imbued, magical thread. Whoever wears it is sure to feel better... for a price, of course."

Team OCD

Zuriel satisfies himself that the Sheriff's house is empty, and instead heads down to the jail. The door is slightly open, and there is a flickering light inside consistent with a fire in the hearth. Low voices can be heard speaking within, but it's impossible to make out the words.

Team Fairtheora

Boreas ignores the eastern tracks in favor of the northern ones, and follows them for another two miles, at which point he finds a temporary campsite. One large tent has be set up in the center, into which all the tracks lead. A campfire burns weakly nearby, next to which a large metal stake has been impaled into the ground.

Tied securely to this stake is the dandy from the gambling table, bound and gagged. The bindings and the gag seem like overkill, as the man's been beaten half to death and does not appear to be conscious.

Louder voices can be heard from the tent.

"I'm telling you, enough's enough. There's a bounty on him, plain and simple, and we've already got him, so let's go. We've been after the bard for far too bloody long with nothing to show for it."

"He ain't worth the cost of keeping him alive and under guard all the way to Tris," another voice interjects. "The bard, however, is."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" a more familiar voice says, though you can't quite put a face to it from where you're standing. "If you can't find that, appeal to your sense of profit. Linus is a welcome bonus, but we're not leaving until we've got what we came for. And that's the end of it."

The voices fade to muttering, and the sounds of eating and the scraping of plates dominates the tent.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:01, Fri 17 Oct 2014.

Zuriel, entirely unable to sneak anywhere, announced himself before entering the jail proper.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 104):

Keef, very excited, finds Lyriel and drags her over to the three peddlers, hopeful glint in his eye.

What do you think? 

Lyriel allows herself to be dragged over to the peddlers. What's this you wanted to show me, Keef? she asks.

In reply to Keef (msg # 105):

Team OCD

Zuriel enters to find the Sheriff talking to a young man who appears to be one of his deputies, but the conversation ends abruptly when the paladin arrives.

"Well, you heard me," the Sheriff says, standing up and smoothing his leather jacket self-consciously. "Get to it."

"Yessir," the other man says, fumbling for his hat. "Right away."

He gives Zuriel a side-long glance, then squeezes past and heads out into the snow.

"Not much crime these days, on account of the weather," the Sheriff says stiffly, after the other man has departed. He gestures to one of the wooden chairs placed near the fire, heaves himself into one, and rubs his temples with an exhausted sigh. "Or that's what I keep telling myself. How can I help you, sir?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:19, Fri 17 Oct 2014.

Already outside and with not much better to do, Maeve sets to currying the horses even though Shahara, having just been summoned from the realm she vanishes to and Stony, being made of stone, don't really need their manes brushed.  Regardless, they seem to enjoy the attention.

Zuriel takes a (slightly clanking) seat. "Actually, I was wondering if I might be able to help you," Zuriel replies gently. "I couldn't help but overhear in the inn. I understand that it's not, strictly speaking, either my jurisdiction or my business, but I wanted to hear your side of the story of your daughter."

The paladin looks at the Sheriff intently. "I personally believe that prison is no place for children. There is almost always a better alternative," he says kindly.

Boreas sneaks over near the entrance of the tent, staying out of the line of sight and using the loud talking to cover his footfalls.  He leans over, still invisible, and peers inside.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 110):

The Fairtheora

Boreas peeks into the tent and, predictably, sees Derek, Bill, and Flint dining on jerky, carrots, and boiled potatoes.

Team OCD

The Sheriff looks at Zuriel for a long moment, unsure of what to do.

"I, er, that is," he stammers. "She's a thief, sir. She was caught stealing, and has been punished to the fullest extent of the law."

His eyes never leave Zuriel's tabbard.

"Perfect justice, sir. Nothing to concern yourself with. The Flame would be proud, sir."

The Tavern

The merchants repeat their sales pitch to Lyriel.

The Stable

Maeve continues to kill time with the horses.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:34, Fri 17 Oct 2014.

"You misunderstand me, sir. This isn't a test of your loyalty. You're a father, and your daughter is in prison. Justice must be tempered with mercy, and informed by a clear understanding of motivation. A thief who steals to feed his family, by the letter of the law, has committed the same crime as one who steals to enrich himself. Yet the former is a much lesser threat to society than the latter."

Zuriel sighs. "What I'm saying is that it sounds like there is another side to this story, and I would hear it in confidence, if you would tell it. As I said before, jail is no place for children."

I'd be happy to take a look, Keef, but even if these are truly magical, the energies needed for the kind of healing we need in this case are both immense and require extreme finesse. I don't want you to get your hopes up.

Lyriel sits down with the merchants, and her eyes flash amethyst. [Casting: Detect Magic]

Well then, let's have a look.

[Want to see which of these items, if any, is actually magical. And if they are, Spellcraft checks to determine the nature of the magic.]

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 112):

Team "Justice Is Variable"

"That's not... it's just... what I mean to say," the Sheriff continues to stammer, before clenches his hand into a nervous fist and coughing into it. "I must be misunderstanding you, sir. Forgive my ignorance, but it has not been my understanding that either Tassada or her anointed knights endorsed the idea of extenuating circumstances beyond those found in the annals of the law itself. There are no plea bargains in Hae'driel, I'm told -- only executions, imprisonment, banishment, or pardons."

He sighs again.

"Well, the Flame always gets the truth eventually, and I've no appetite for the more painful methods of extracting it. I'll tell you my tale, sir, but note my cooperation for your superiors when you turn me in."

"My daughter, Willow, is 16 years old, and has been obsessed with an older boy from a nearby village for years. Idolizes him, I'm certain, in part just to make my life difficult. The boy's a troublemaker, mark me, and don't be fooled into thinking that's Willow's father speaker instead of the town's Sheriff. It's not. He's a scoundrel and a horsethief and a murderer, though I can't prove it. But ask around town. Everyone knows it."

"Willow kept running away to spend time with him, my warnings falling on deaf ears, and so I decided to put a stop to it once and for all. I learned that they were to meet on a certain night, forbade my daughter from going, locked her in the house, and made sure to tell her I'd be indisposed for the evening. She, of course, passed that news along to that ruffian, and they arranged to have him break into my home in order to spend some time together."

"I, of course, was there the entire time, watching with my deputies. We arrested the boy without much of a struggle for breaking and entering, trespassing, taking advantage of a minor, and similar offenses. My daughter was distraught -- she doesn't realize it's for the best -- and hasn't spoken to me since."

He narrows his eyes slightly at this point.

"What she did do, however, was steal the cell's keys from the peg in this very office, slip into the jailhouse, and set the boy free not a week later. The penalty for such a crime is severe, no matter the age of the perpetrator, so I reported that the boy had broken himself out of jail himself instead."

The Sheriff sighs.

"I was repaid for this humiliating kindness by catching Willow red-handed stealing ink, parchment, and hunting equipment from the Mayor's shed perhaps two weeks afterward... she was either planning to run off with the fool of the boy or help him remain on the lamb in the wilderness, and she's never told me which."

He sits up in his chair a bit straighter.

"It was then that I realized I'd been coddling her, and that it had been a mistake to cover up the jailbreak. I vowed to do nothing further to help mitigate her crimes, and the Mayor was quick to throw the book at her for... obvious reasons, I'm sure."

"That's why I'm upset, really. It's personal. The mayor should have recused himself, but I have no room to talk, what with my own secret."

He raises his head and locks eyes with Zuriel.

"That's why you're here, isn't it? To arrest me for the coverup, and ensure my daughter is brought to proper justice?"

The Sheriff puts a hand on the pommel of his sword, draws the blade, and tosses it aside.

"It's all I deserve, I suppose. I'll go peaceably, sir, but please... take pity on the girl. She's young and foolish and blinded by what she thinks is love. Let my crime absolve hers. That's all I ask."

Boreas slinks back from the tent and over to the bound captive.  He dismisses his spell about five feet away from the prisoner, shimmering back into view.  Holding up one finger in a "shh" gesture, he approaches and loosens the gag.

Leaning in, he whispers, Who are you, and why is there a bounty on your head?

Zuriel listens to the sheriff's tale without interrupting, sitting in silence for a moment upon the conclusion of his story.

This situation spun way out of hand.

Finally, he speaks up. "The Mayor should not have sitten in judgement on a crime involving him personally. This was, in my opinion, the grossest mishandling of the case. While what you did is indeed a crime..." Zuriel heaves a sigh. "If I were a father I can't say I'd have been able to do otherwise." He runs a hand through his hair idly while he thinks. "Sheriff," he begins slowly, "if I were to sit in arbitration of the case as a truly impartial agent of the law, would you accept my judgement, and not hold it against the Mayor? I think I could convince him to allow a retrial. He would save face, and the ruling would have greater standing. And be markedly less colored by the circumstances," he adds meaningfully.

At the Tavern

Shahara's molten eyes whirl happily at the attention, and she emits a half-whinny half purr of bliss.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:35, Fri 17 Oct 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 116):

The Fairtheora

The man's been beaten bloody, and it takes a bit of prodding from Boreas before he regains consciousness. To his credit, however, he doesn't scream out in surprise.

"L-linus, sir," the says quietly. "And I d-don't know about any b-bounty. Please, help me escape!"

Team "Justice"

"A... second trial?" the Sheriff says slowly. "Isn't that illegal?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:47, Fri 17 Oct 2014.

Boreas whispers, All right, I'm going to get you out, we're going to get away from here, and then you're going to tell me everything that happened and everything you know about these guys.  Deal?

Assuming Linus agrees, Boreas places a hand on him.  We're going to be teleporting a few times.  You won't be harmed, but be silent.  The two of them disappear, bindings falling to the ground next to an afterimage of Boreas.

[Casting Fey Step]

They reappear in the branches of a nearby tree.  He repeats this process, going from tree to tree, a few times until he and Linus are out of sight of the camp.  Then, he teleports to the ground and they begin to head back to town.

Maeve lets out a surprisingly light-hearted giggle as the horses gently butt her with their heads, enjoying a brief moment free of mortal peril.

"Not if the first has been invalidated as a mistrial," Zuriel replies. "Which it really ought to be. The problem is the process normally takes quite some time in appealing to a higher court. With weather like it is, but the time it was conducted it's likely your daughter would have already served out her full sentance."

"I suppose I could declare Flame jurisdiction and retry the case on that authority, but unless there was malevolent magic involved that would cause its own set of problems if the Mayor took exception to it."

Zuriel looks over at the Sheriff. "There wasn't, was there?" he asks hopefully. "That would make things easier."

"If not, then the only real route is to declare Flame jurisdiction, but with the Mayor's blessing. I would have to convince him that it was in his best interests to allow me to retry the case. I would have to persuade him that it would be bad for his long-term authority as a judge if he were seen sitting on cases where he should have recused himself. If *he* were to 'invite' me to retry, then he couldn't be accused of favoritism, or improper administration of justice. It all gets wrapped up tidily. I can assure you that Willow's punishment would be certainly no worse than what she has currently."

"Your actions would need to addressed, however," Zuriel says softly. "You would be discharged of your position. What is your name and trade, Sheriff? Would this be justice to you?"

After a pause, Zuriel continues. "And before this goes any further, I think I ought to speak with Willow. The whole purpose of this is to save her, after all. From a life down the wrong path."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 120):

Team Clear Objectives

Keef waits patiently with his hands clenched together while Lyrial indulges him and inspects the 'magical' 'healing' wares.

Chubbs watches the process intently.  The unspoken understanding being that he would like to know which object is the most magical and the most valuable so that he can focus his disinterest appropriately.

In reply to Keef (msg # 121):

The Fairtheora

Linus (as has been mentioned and ignored several times) was severely beaten by his captors. He is unable to walk without support, making the journey back to town difficult unless Boreas plans on Fey Stepping most of the way.

Provided that's what Boreas chooses to do, the pair returns to town just shy of sundown without further incident.

The Tavern

The items all look magical, yes, though none have the remarkably powerful aura you'd expect in terms of substantiating their claim.

The Jail

"You're... not going to arrest me?"

The Sheriff blinks several times, trying to absorb what Zuriel is saying.

"I don't know, sir. There's no justice in stringing me on the line but lettin' the mayor off the hook," he says after a moment, a mixture of relief and anger washing over him. "He should have recused himself and he didn't, but your solution lets him enjoy 'long-term authority' while asking me to dismiss myself for a similar dereliction of duty? At least mine wasn't motivated by selfishness."

The man shakes his head.

"Since you've been kind enough to ask my opinion on those terms, then no, sir, I don't think that'd seem like justice to me. Willow'll be out of jail in a few months anyway, and I do want her freed, but not at the cost of our livelihood. What does it matter what my trade and profession might be? A dismissed Sheriff is not seen as an honest merchant, sir."

He clenches a fist slightly.

"Besides, as Sheriff I have more leeway to protect her from the bad sorts she seems to attract. And can keep a closer eye on the mayor's self-serving ways."

The Sheriff clears his throat.

"Y'know, what this town really needs is a new civil position. If you could convince the mayor to appoint or elect a judge -- separating that power from the mayorship -- that might go a long way toward making things right."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:38, Mon 20 Oct 2014.

Zuriel shakes his head. "Again you misunderstand me. It would not be right for you to be allowed to hold office, but that doesn't mean we have to crucify you publicly. This solution would be contingent upon you being allowed to retire from your post honorably. As for the mayor, you must understand, his actions were at worst unethical. Your actions, strictly speaking, were criminal."

The paladin holds up a hand to forestall protest. "That being said, from a moral standpoint what you did is much more forgivable, but the legal standing is worse. You do make an excellent point about the separation of the powers in the town, however."

Zuriel fusses idly with a smudged armor plate while he thinks. "This is what I might propose. The Mayor allow me to retry the case. He then moves to spin off his judicial responsibilities to a new office, which be decided by town referendum, so that all future legal issues are isolated from his mayorly responsibilities. At the same time, you will willingly resign your post as Sheriff. The real reason need not be divulged. Perhaps tell the town that you want to spend more time focusing on being a father. That post will likewise be filled by town referendum."

The paladin frowns. "All of those changes would I think help the civil situation here in town. But it's ignoring the original source of the issues. May I speak with Willow?"

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 123):

The Jail

The Sheriff seems more pleased with this explanation, though still a bit nervous about the whole thing.

"You'd have a devil of a time convincing the mayor to do anything, I think. Well, you might not. I always did, though."

He fumbles with his keys.

"You can speak to Willow if you'd like, sir, but I can't promise she'll speak back. She hasn't said a word to me since we locked her up."

He leads the paladin to her cell and heads back to the lobby, giving him some privacy.

Willow turns out to be a relatively scrawny 16-year-own girl with tangled black hair that falls down to her shoulders. She is dressed in the plain, clean clothing that probably serves as the jail's normal attire, and is in a modest cell with brick floors and walls and a single barred window.

She sits on a wooden bench, which is affixed to the stone wall with two chains, and looks at Zuriel with a mixture of suspicion and fear.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:41, Mon 20 Oct 2014.

Boreas is stealthy enough to have passed unnoticed, but Maeve is drawn from the stables by the sound of Linus' pained groans.  Shahara follows her, no doubt wishing to report these new proceedings to Zuriel.

Maeve's eyes widen, but only slightly, at the state of her one-time dicing companion.

"Better get him in to see Lyriel," she says.  "Then we can talk."

Zuriel regards the child wordlessly for a moment, scrutinizing her with his intense gaze. His amber eyes flicker briefly to glowing white as he reads her aura, frowning slightly.

Evil, but very faint. Not what I had hoped, but it could be worse, all things considered.

"Hello Willow," he says aloud. "My name is Zuriel Silendril, and I'm a Knight of the Flame. If it's all the same to you though, I'd prefer we skip the titles and formalities."

He pulls over a chair and sits by the bars, facing the girl. "I've heard about your case from both your father and the mayor. For what they claim you did, your sentence seems much to harsh to me. I'd like to help you, if I can. I'd like to hear your side of the story, if you'd tell it," he says kindly.

The paladin notes the girl's suspicious expression. "I'm not sure how much you know about my order, but you can be assured that this is not a trick or some such to extract a confession. If you are guilty of the crimes they claim you are, I think there are more constructive ways for you to repent than to sit in here for six months."

Boreas nods, himself panting and dizzy from repeated fey steps.  Help him get there.  I'll catch up with you.

He takes a moment to steady himself, then goes to join Maeve and Linus.

Maeve easily shoulders Linus' weight and helps him into the inn, calling for Lyriel as she does so.

Lyriel looks up in alarm as Maeve enters with a limp body. After a brief shock she notes that the body does not belong to any of the PARTY.

She excuses herself from the table of merchants. I'm afraid this will have to wait. She makes her way over to Maeve, gauging the extent of the man's injuries.

Doesn't look too serious. Let's get him upstairs. I can have him back on his feet in a moment.

She does, however, examine Linus' face suspciciously. Just what were you tracking, I wonder?
This message was last edited by the player at 16:22, Mon 20 Oct 2014.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 129):

The Jail

The girl stares at Zuriel for a few minutes, fidgeting slightly but saying nothing.

"It doesn't matter," she finally says, letting out a pent-out sigh. "Michael says the world'll end before my sentence does, so what's the use?"

The Inn

Lyriel leaves the merchants with their various healing items and heads upstairs with Maeve to tend to Linus with her own magics. As she turns to leave, the merchants can clearly be seen arguing over the waste of a perfectly good opportunity to test their various wares in a real-time demonstration.

In reply to DM (msg # 130):

Sorry about all that, we're very busy helping lots of people, Keef explains.

If a lion would help in any way...

You do make a good point, sirs and madam, Lyriel says, fighting back a sly smile. Why not give a first-hand exposition. Which of your remedies works best, I wonder?

Lyriel spares a quick glance for Linus. He isn't critically wounded. There's no harm in letting these merchants play healer. Besides, if something goes wrong I'll be right here...

She shoots Keef a knowing wink. But no lions, she whispers. This time.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:11, Tue 21 Oct 2014.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 132):

Keef nods and stares first at the bag and then at the healers.

I wonder if there's a HEALING lion...

Maeve idly wonders if there is an ethical code among clerics which prohibits the withholding of healing so as to allow for medical experimentation.

Zuriel manages to keep his dread surprise from showing, but only barely.

"Why would Michael say something like that?" he asks curiously.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 135):

The Tavern

"Well... which would you like to see demonstrated first?"

The Jail

"Because Michael knows things," Willow says with a smile, her eyes losing focus as thinks about the boy. "He found a place -- a hidden place -- where he sees things, hears things."

She looks at the paladin for a moment, then settles back on her bunk with a satisfied smile.

"We can show you, if you want. Just let me out and help me reach him."

The paladin blinks, and decides to ignore  the fact that this girl just attempted to request a Knight of the Flame to let a criminal out of jail.

No wonder her father is concerned about her lack of judgement. Teenagers...

"Tell me more about Michael," Zuriel asks, "You seem to care for him a great deal. How did you two meet?"

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 137):

The Inn

A combination of the tonics, the turban, and the embroidery seems to do the trick, restoring the man named Linus to full health. Each merchant claims that the others' wares were ineffective and that the man had solely them to thank for his recovery.

The Jail

Zuriel and Willow chat for a while.

In reply to DM (msg # 138):

Keef gives the merchants a small pile of coin, not discriminating terribly how much or how they divide it.

Lyriel does her best to determine the nature of each item as it is applied, paying attention to the strengths of the auras, and more importantly, their effects on the patients.

She does attempt to organize it such that each remedy is applied one at a time.

Once her observations are complete, the nods to the merchants. I appreciate your time. Give us a moment to evaluate the results, dismissing them politely but firmly. She also smiles in approval of Keef providing the merchants compensation for the demonstration.

As soon as they leave, she turns to Linus and Boreas. Alright, what in Tassada's name happened out there? she asks.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:51, Tue 21 Oct 2014.

Boreas watches, confused as Lyriel lets Linus writhe in pain while applying various cures that may or may not work.

When she poses her question, he shakes out of his thoughts, Ran into your friends out there.  You remember the ones - they tried to kidnap you that time.  Looks like they tried to do the same to Linus.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 141):

The Tavern

"That feels much better, thank you," Linus says, rubbing his head wearily. "My friends and I were just walking through the snow, looking for a wolf or bear or whatever it was that spooked the townsfolk, when we ran into three... three... hooligans!"

He flushes.

"Pardon my Dwarven," he says hastily. "But they really were unsavory fellows. Asked all kinds of pointed questions, and I guess they didn't like our answers, because before I knew it we had steel on steel! Clayton and Leland must've gotten away, because when I came to, I didn't see them anywhere."

The dandy looks at those around him.

"I don't suppose you've seen them, have you? I'm worried sick!"

After a long chat with Willow, Zuriel excuses himself and returns to the Sheriff.

"Well, that went about as well as I expected," he said, heaving a sigh. "But not as well as I had hoped. Your daughter is infatuated with Michael, who seems emotionally abusive and manipulative, criminal acts aside. To her credit, she was very open with me. The only thing she refused to tell was where I could find Michael. That we can determine easily enough, especially if you have a possession of his. Well...she also wouldn't talk about her mother," he says, looking meaningfully at the Sheriff.

"At any rate, I've uncovered something rather concerning. Willow is convinced that the world is ending imminently, because Michael is convinced the world is ending imminently. Normally I'd just dismiss it as teenagers being dramatic, or controlling, but..." He gives the Sheriff a grave look. "Her words and phrasing are similar to the teachings of the Church of Vora. If you aren't familiar - and I certainly won't blame you if you're not - the cult of Vora believes in bringing about the end of the world. We've been tracking increased activity from their members across the world. It's possible that Michael is being influenced by them, officially or unofficially."

"What this means is, while I don't want to have to resort to such measures, this now could absolutely become a Flame matter. I think it's time we go back to the Mayor."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 143):

The Jail

"I knew there was something wrong with that boy," the sheriff says, making a fist and smacking it into his palm. "You'll be hauling him off to Hae'driel, then?"

He grabs his coat and makes for the door.

"Let's go tell the mayor what you told me."

He pauses, one foot out of the door, then turns to Zuriel.

"Her mother's gone, sir. Dead and buried. She never knew her."

He turns and trudges out into the snow.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:07, Tue 21 Oct 2014.

That's rough all over...

"Let's talk with the Mayor first, Sheriff. I likely won't be here long enough to be able to oversee an investigation, but there is a certain amount of support I can render. This may be a good time to call a Warden."

And if calling the Wardens and putting them on Michael's case gets them off Baldwin's...so much the better.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 145):

The Jail

"Fair enough," the sheriff says. "Betcha he's still at the bar. Like always."

The Tavern

Zuriel and the Sheriff enter to find the mayor where they left him, and the three merchants still arguing about healing garments. Keef, Lyriel, Boreas, and Maeve are nowhere to be seen, having headed upstairs to chat with Linus.

"Mayor, might I have a word with you in private?" Zuriel asks quietly. He spares a glance around the tavern, wondering where the rest of the PARTY went before Shahara helpfully informs him that the smelly one had returned with an injured human and that then they all went inside.

I hope they can tend to them quickly. The warrior-mare was brushing my hair, and it was very nice. And then she left. She whinnies mournfully.

The "warrior-mare" in question shakes her head from where she sits perched on the edge of the bed.

"Haven't seen either of your friends since this morning.  I suppose it's possible that they got away. What did those fellows want with you lot anyway?  What exactly where they questioning you about?"

Lyriel narrows her eyes dangerously at the mention of Derek and Bill. Those three are known to us. Have you met them before?

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 149):

Upstairs

"We, ah, we haven't met them as such, no," Linus says, furrowing his brow in concentration. "Seen 'em a few times here and there as we made our way south this winter, though, and that's a fact. Figured they were soldiers of fortune, so to speak, looking for work during the lean winter months. I never suspected the work'd involve me!"

Downstairs

The mayor looks from the Sheriff to the paladin, and gestures to the seats in front of him.

"I don't do business in the backroom," he says simply. "Have a seat and we'll talk."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:31, Wed 22 Oct 2014.

"You said they were asking pointed questions.  What sort of questions?" If Linus appears hesitant to answer, Maeve says "Don't worry.  We're not going to hurt you.  The fellows you who did this to you are no friends of ours and as they say, the enemy of my enemy. . . "

While she waits for Linus to gather his thoughts, she peeks downstairs and frowns deeply to see Zuriel engrossed in conversation with the town officials.

"He *does* know that we are leaving tomorrow morning come hell or high water, doesn't he?" Maeve grouses to Lyriel.  "This is no time for him to become embroiled in local politics."

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 151):

Upstairs

"They wanted... hmm... what did they want?" Linus says, rubbing his head absently. "They were very keen to know what we were doing so far from town. I think we stumbled upon them by accident while tracking whatever beast the villagers tipped us of to."

He gives a pained smile.

"My colleagues think themselves a gifted warrior and a gifted negotiator, respectively. When the latter proved unsuccessful, the former asserted himself. That's when things got... violent."

"Very well then." Zuriel takes a seat.

"Long story short, there has been a new development in Willow's case. It would appear that Michael is involved with the Cult of Vora."

Zuriel proceeds to explain the gist of the conversation with the Mayor. "While this technically makes it a Flame matter, I would rather not force my jurisdiction on it. For one thing, I won't have time to stay here and investigate properly. However, I do think the Wardens need to be involved. This is something beyond local law enforcement."

The paladin fixes the Mayor with a penetrating gaze. "Here's where things get tricky. The Willow case has not been handled well, and will not withstand judicial scrutiny from the Wardens or any of the higher Imperial courts. The fact that you were both the victim and the judge will weaken your position, and may cause you issues, Mayor," he states, though not unkindly.

"At the same time, the Sheriff admits that his handling of the case has not been exemplary. Here is what I recommend. You ought to step down as judge. Hold a town referendum, and spin off a side office. Likewise, the Sheriff will retire voluntarily, and a new Sheriff elected. The new Sheriff and new judge ought to be responsible for a retrial of the Willow case. You can quietly call a mistrial without loss of face, in light of the new facts."

"I recommend you send for the Wardens immediately. Michael needs to be tracked down. If he is a criminal, he needs to be brought to justice. Either way, it must be determined how he is linked to the Vorites. Having such a dangerous group so close to your town is not good for public safety, your Mayorship."

He lets out a breath. "I regret that I cannot oversee the investigation myself, but duty compels me to leave first thing tomorrow. I can support the Wardens magically from afar, however, especially if you have an item of Michael's."

Zuriel gazes intently at both the Mayor and Sheriff. "Does this seem acceptable?"

[Diplomacy (Divine Insight): 46]

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 153):

Downstairs
The mayor and the sheriff argue and bicker with each other and the paladin for quite some time, but in the end, cooler heads prevail. The mayor agrees to have a new judge elected and a new sheriff appointed by the time the Wardens arrive -- likely within two or three weeks, given the weather and distances involved.

The sheriff doesn't have anything of Michael's on hand, but suggests that Willow probably does. When the Wardens arrive, they can use whatever means they like -- probably traditional hounds -- to ferret out the location of Michael and resolve this whole Vora business. At least, locally.

Zuriel says his farewells and good lucks to the Mayor and the Sheriff, and then heads upstairs to join the PARTY.

"Well," he says, letting out a breath as he rubs his temples. "That was a thing. I think it's been resolved. As best as can be expected, anyhow." He raises an eyebrow at Linus. "Looks like you all have been busy."

After getting filled in on the story from Linus, he asks "So, where are your companions now?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:43, Wed 22 Oct 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 155):

"Who's to say? We were all together before I lost consciousness."

In reply to DM (msg # 156):

Linus looks around, then stands up.

"Thank you for saving me," he says to Boreas. "And for restoring my vigor," he says to the others. "If you don't mind, it's been a long day, and should like to retire to my own quarters. I'm sure you have other things to do than worry about my problems."

If no one stops him, the dandy will depart.

"A capital idea," Maeve says, and retires to whichever of the three rooms is the furthest from Zuriel and Lyriel's, as is her custom.

Boreas nods, also retiring to a room well separated from Zuriel and Lyriel's.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 159):

Keef stays up late in the inn, talking with anyone around and reading up on healing magics, healers, quests and heroes.

At some point he passes out in a chair before the fire.

Chubbs retires early, the day being altogether too pedestrian for his taste.  He claims both beds in Lyriel and Zuriel's room by alternating between them throughout the night though he strongly disapproves of whichever bed he's on at any given time and always leaves them slightly moist and slimy.

In reply to Keef (msg # 160):

The evening passes uneventfully, and soon it is morning. The P.A.R.T.Y. gathers its things and prepares for the long journey ahead.

Lyriel arises at dawn, and begins her morning rituals. Her prayers are slightly different than usual, as she asks for specific boons for the journey ahead.

She encourages the PARTY to forgo breakfast at the Inn. The sooner we get back to Baldwin, the better. I will conjure breakfast there. Lyriel notes Zuriel gazing longingly at the biscuits and gravy at  the bar. Oh come now, I can just make some for you. You'll be fine.

And *I* could use some coffee...

[Private to DM: Spell substitutions - 1st level (1 Summon Monster I > Endure elements). 3rd level (all but 1 Dispel Magic > Water Walk). Heroes' Feast  cures disease, sickness, nauseated, and poison, so should Baldwin help manage his symptoms.]

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 162):

Keef is roused from his sleep on the chair and limps around in a haze while everyone else gets ready.

"Are you alright, Keef?" Zuriel asks with concern when he sees the boy stumbling and limping. "Did you not sleep well?"

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 164):

Sleep?  Keef mumbles.  Sleep... SLEEP... sLEEp.... slEEP... From the look on his face, he's genuinely confused about what the word means.

He thinks a little more then responds.  "No... I don't think I did.  Too much read."

Zuriel pats the boy's shoulder sympathetically. "Maybe we can rig up a way for you to doze a bit in the saddle. It's going to be a long ride, but hopefully uneventful."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 166):

The P.A.R.T.Y. hurries over to the logging camp, where they find the remnants of Baldwin's camp. Karl, Baldwin, Oliver, and Rachel are packed and ready when you arrive, though there is still a single tarp still set up for breakfast.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:25, Mon 27 Oct 2014.

Lyriel sets about preparing the now-customary incredible breakfast spread. As Oliver helps Baldwin to the table, she casts an additional spell on the ailing bard.

[Casting: Endure Elements]

A faint aura of emerald settles over him before fading, and you can see snow on his skin and extremities melt as the warming magics take effect.

There we are. That should make the journey a bit more bearable, Baldwin. She gestures to a bowl of porridge conjured at Baldwin's place setting. Please eat. The magics in the food will help manage your symptoms until we can get you some better restorative magic.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:37, Sun 26 Oct 2014.

When everyone has had a chance to eat breakfast, Maeve helps Baldwin up onto Shahara's back, figuring that the charger's smooth gait and non-stony back will provide the bard with the easiest ride.

Boreas prepares to ride alongside the others, eyes scanning the trail for any sign of trouble.

As Zuriel eats breakfast, he glances through the Book of Answers. "Hmm. Interesting. I asked the book last night what the numbers meant."

He shows the response for the PARTY to read.

He furrows his brow, considering the implications. "That still doesn't explain Kazul, though. A follow-up question might be in order there. He glances around the clearing."

"I'm looking forward to leaving this place. The House Mason bounty hunters are in the area  too. The sooner we're gone, the better. Lyriel, when we're  ready here, I think some water walking wouldn't go amiss. If we intentionally stick to snowbanks, it should help us cover our tracks, too."

Definitely curious what these numbers could mean, especially regarding Kazul.  Is something else giving them their spells?  Or have they simply lost their magic?  And what is that one, single slot?

"That seems unlikely. I mean, Saul himself blessed you with a throwaway spell. There must be something else going on affecting the numbers. Even if Kazul isn't causing the disturbance, he seems to be affected differently by it. And in my mind, that alone is enough for concern."

A dark part of Zuriel pointed out that in a matter of days they should be finding out whether or not Kazul's clergy were empowered.

Either way, we'll have our answer soon, I'll wager.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 174):

"Their high priest is capable of casting a great many spells," Baldwin interjects with a withering expression. "I've watched him cast them, after all. I believe his Serpentmen can, as well, but I can't claim I've seen them do so."

Lyriel furrows a delicate brow at the parchment, shivering in her riding coat and wishing that she had more spell slots to dedicate to traveling in comfort.

Well, if what the book says is true, and the numbers for Kazul are reliable, then...wouldn't that mean that Kazul would have to have some method to empower his clerics other than using divine mirrors?

[Knowledge: Religion: 26]

You have to understand, scholars and theologians have been debating whether or not divine mirrors exist in the first place. The alternative is that each and every empowered petitioner receives individual attention from their deity. The book seems to indicate that they do exist, so I'm willing to accept that. But that doesn't mean that there aren't other methods for empowering one's believers. Kazul is using *something* to that effect, after all.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:39, Mon 27 Oct 2014.

"I know of at least one divine mirror," Zuriel adds softly, almost to himself.

He shakes his head to clear it, then  rises. "This conversation might be better had while we are putting miles between this place and us. Let's be underway before Derek and Bill decide to examine this neck of the woods."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 177):

The P.A.R.T.Y. spends exactly one hour at their feast, which is required to gain any magical benefit from it, then quickly packs the remaining tarp and begins along the long and winding road toward Lo'driel.

Lyriel's magic makes traveling across the dunes of snow much quicker than was previously possible, and only the faintest of traces are left behind (bits of hair, sloshed water from carelessly consumed canteens, etc.).  It would take a very skilled tracker indeed to follow you by mundane means.

The weather has not done you any favors in terms of comfort, alternately sleeting and snowing the entire time. It has, however, likely deterred anyone who might be following you.

The day passes without further incident, as does the next. By midmorning on the third day, Lo'driel's great walls can be seen in the distance -- still a good half day's travel away.

[Crossroads]

"Look, there's Lo'driel.  Looks to be about a good half day's travel away."

"I take comfort in knowing it would have taken a very skilled tracker indeed to have followed up by any mundane means."

Yes, and though the weather has not done us any favors in terms of comfort, it has likely deterred anybody from following us.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 181):

~~ End Crossroads ~~

The P.A.R.T.Y., having spent the journey being sassy instead of discussing tactics, Sending ahead to Choso with a more accurate prediction of their arrival, or even bothering with the Book of Answers for the last several days, reaches Lo'driel's gates without incident.

They are, of course, locked and under heavy guard from Lo'driel's soldiers. They gesture with their weapons that the P.A.R.T.Y. is in no way permitted to advance once they get within about 50 feet, at which point a knot of three guards -- all mounted -- ride out to approach them.

"What do you want, Flamebringers?" the lead guardsman says, venomously jabbing a finger at Zuriel's tabbard. "Be quick about your business, and quicker about departing. And no funny business -- there are hundreds of crossbows pointed at you."

"No funny business," Zuriel says evenly. "The Lord Tyrant is expecting us. If you would please inform him we've arrived?"

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 183):

"Oh, the Lord Tyrant is absolutely expecting the Flame," the guard sneers. "But he's not likely to invite them inside, is he? Look, I'll even humor you. Give us your names, we'll run 'em by the list."

Zuriel shrugs, nonplussed. "As you wish." He relays the names of the PARTY as they introduced themselves to Choso at the lake.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:41, Tue 28 Oct 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 185):

The guard heads back to the gate and disappears. Minutes pass, leaving the P.A.R.T.Y. in the shadow of the walls, until the guard returns at a rapid trot.

"It would seem you're expceted," he says through clenched teeth. "Lords. Ladies. Right this way."

The P.A.R.T.Y. is escorted directly to Lo'driel's central fortress without further delay. En route, they cannot help but notice that the entire city appears girded for war. Men and women alike line the streets clad in chain and plate, while the unarmored civilians seem uniformly hard at work in various shops -- many of which seem to have been converted into bakeries, blacksmiths, tanners, and fletchers.

It's hard not to admire the efficiency of at all, but then you remember that for these, it is a matter of survival.

The banner of Lo'driel has changed since last time, as well, with the iron Dominion Fist serving as the fulcrum point upon which the Scales of Justice rested nowhere to be seen. Instead, there is a new banner: a bronze Dominion Fist encircled by what you've come to understand is the symbol of Cedrick, half of which is white and half of which is black, with a dot of the opposite color etched into each.

A few of the children stop and stare at your procession, and there are noticeable moments of hushed whispers and pointing, but the guard escorting you dutifully dismisses any interruptions.

The guard leaves you in the care of a steward once you enter the fortress proper, who quickly arranges for Baldwin to be taken to the infirmary. Rachel, Oliver, and Karl elect to go with him, while the rest of the P.A.R.T.Y. is led to another chamber.

And so it came to pass that the P.A.R.T.Y. found itself ushered in the inner sanctum of Lo'driel, standing in a war room occupied by Lord Choso, Sir Culley, and the Marquise de Pellinore. Lo'driel's other generals and dignitaries who until recently also occupied the room have been ushered to another chamber for refreshments, leaving you largely alone.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:46, Tue 28 Oct 2014.

In reply to DM (msg # 186):

"You have returned," the tyrant begins, clasping his hands behind his back without expression. His face appears more haggard than when last you met, and his demeanor less energetic. "And not a moment too soon. The invasion is imminent. What have you learned?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:49, Tue 28 Oct 2014.

"Lord Choso," Zuriel says, bowing respectfully. "Sir Culley. Lady de Pellinore."

He glances around the war room, taking it all in. "Baldwin has completed the bulk of his research. The implications are still elusive, however." Zuriel extracts the PARTY's notes from his pouch and lays them on the table. "In summary, each faith is losing empowerment daily, measured in the number of spells boreas is smelly available to the empowered faithful per day. Whether this is through death, loss of faith, or difficulty in the divine mirrors channeling influence is unclear. The notable exception is Kazul. According to the numbers, Kazul utlizes but one divine mirror, which empowers somebody with but one spell per day."

Zuriel fixes Choso with an intense gaze. "This confuses me, as clearly Kazul's faithful are capable of working magic. Would you have any insight into this, Lord Tyrant?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:56, Tue 28 Oct 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 188):

"That's not... strictly true," Morachiga says tapping his fingers against the table thoughtfully. "And it's an interesting point I can't believe I haven't considered prior to now. I just... assumed..."

He stops himself and shrugs.

"You must understand, the Church of Kazul has long held that only the worthy would be granted divine power. The various shrines and temples accept offerings and issue penances, but are not known for bestowing benedictions of any kind. Money, on occasion, is issued in return for certain favors, or perhaps a collection of potions, herbs, and poultices, but that's about it. The sick, the weak, the poor, the needy -- these will find no help from the dragon's church. And those who are none of those things do not require its aid."

"It is true that Lord Saul wields divine power, of course. But I always assumed that the lack of traditional clerics and blackguards was merely aesthetics, with the arrogance of the church being responsible for some equivalent faction known as the Serpentmen. But now that you mention it, I cannot recall having seen them cast even the simplest cantrip."

The tyrant purses his lips.

"That's not to say they cannot, of course. That would be a dangerous claim to have floating around, unless we're certain. I will say that healing in the Dominion's army has traditionally been carried out by wands, staves, potions, and clerics of Bevenglode -- the latter providing such services in the expectation of the recipient either incurring or doling out sufficient future pain to offset the difference. Or from neutral sources, of course."

He looks at Zuriel for a moment.

"To my knowledge, it is entirely possible that the Church of Kazul has but a single divine spellcaster: Lord Saul himself."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:16, Tue 28 Oct 2014.

Zuriel idly scratches his neck as he considers Choso's revelation. "That could change a great deal. Would that we knew more; there could be a way we could use this to our advantage. It does seem to indicate, though, that Saul is the sole recipient of Kazul's entire might. Which is a frightening prospect, to say the least."

"In terms of the greater imbalance, this could indicate that Kazul's might remains constant, even as all the other faiths wane. Something to look into further. In other news, the OSA pillar in Fey'driel has been destroyed. It is unclear what effect this will have, if any, but the deed is done. Darris and his ilk are devotees of Vora. One would hope that if the OSA want something done, thwarting them is likely in all our best interests."

He gestures to the charts and maps of troop dispositions. "Still, it would seem that we are out of time. Such matters will have to wait. According to the Book of Answers, the invasion has begun in earnest. Tell me, Lord Tyrant. Is war truly upon us?"

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 190):

Keef stands off to one side, doing his best to stand up straight, not fidget, not fall asleep, and overall look competent, imposing, older and more impressive.

He casts worried glances at the Marquis from time to time.

In reply to Keef (msg # 191):

"The Dominion has landed," Choso confirms. "My spies are certain of it. They have established a beachhead south of here, and are in the process of bringing their war machine ashore. Word is spreading that a Kordican assault has already begun on Telsid'Fas, as predicted."

He levels his gaze at Zuriel.

"Both the Imperial Army and the Flame are hurtling toward Lo'driel with all speed; it is the obvious foothold for Saul's invasion force. They will not want it captured... and there are many who believe I would merely welcome the Drynnian forces with open arms."

"A portion of the Imperial Army has, of course, been dispatched to assist Telsid'Fas, and missives have been sent to Gaelia pleading aid, but we do not expect much from the East. Not yet, at least."

He points at the map.

"So it would seem we are to be besieged by three armies. You would be wise to be elsewhere when the combat begins. What is the status of the token force trapped in the Hells? What is your current plan?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:59, Tue 28 Oct 2014.

"My father has contracted with Order mages. They can relocate to where they are needed, when they are needed, with minimal warning."

How that must have irked him, to resort to such measures...could he be growing into open-mindedness in his dotage?!

"Which then leaves us with deciding where. Now, I see two valid options for possibly ending this conflict. The first is to teleport the army to Hae'driel, where the Knight-Captain can use the Emerald Table to hopefully talk some sense into the Flame. I take it the Empire is at last aware that they are being invaded?"

He pauses before continuing. "The other options is to go for a single, decisive blow." Zuriel narrows his eyes and brings his finger down on the capital of Drynn. "And confront Kazul at the source. Though if we aren't certain that Saul has emptied his forces, it would be suicide, and little more than a distraction. Furthermore, it would do nothing to prevent the conflict between the Flame, and the Empire, which likely bodes poorly for Lo'driel. A victory it might be, but at terrible cost."

He looks around the room. "I myself lean towards the first option. We need to be united in confronting Saul's forces. There will be time to discuss a counterattack later, if we survive. I would, however, hear your counsel."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 193):

"I have no clear knowledge concerning the whereabouts of Saul himself. Traveling directly to Drynn is a gambit, but not necessarily a bad one."

He looks at the map again.

"Supposing you did capture Hae'driel and sent off your message, what then? What would change? There would still be three armies around Lo'driel, at least two of which would be tugging at their leash."

"What of your other allies, Sir Silendril? Surely they have assets worth calling upon, as they have traveled here with you."

In reply to Morachiga Choso (msg # 194):

The Marquise clears her throat at this point.

"We have offered to transport the Knight-Captain's army to a location to be determined shortly, yes, but we cannot move him around haphazardly. Once he's been moved, he's on his own."

"For our part, the Order is neutral. This must be seen as a personal favor from myself, if it becomes known at all. Which I hope it won't."

She smiles encouragingly at Keef.

"The Order's Academy is, of course, going to remain open despite these turbulent times. Anyone of ample arcane ability is welcome to wait the conflict out within its walls."

Zuriel turns to look at Keef. "Keef, Baldwin will need somebody to protect him while we find healing. While he is here, perhaps you might want to attend lessons at the Academy? That way you'll be close at hand to help him recover, protect him, and if necessary, help him escape the conflict."

The paladin regards the young mage carefully. There's no doubt he would be a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. And he's proven his courage time and time again. But I would do anything to spare him the horrors of true war... Zuriel thinks to the terrible battle  on the mountaintop. He hadn't slept through the night since, waking up at least once a night with nightmares. I'd do anything to spare him that.

He glances back to the Marquise. "I assumed as much. Once we commit, we need to be sure. I still think that Hae'driel is the best bet, for avoiding senseless conflict within the Empire."

"The point of going to Hae'driel would be to prevent the Flame from going to war with the might of the Empire, as currently seems likely. And we do indeed have other assets. Thanks to the efforts of Boreas, we have allies from the Fey. And it might be possible to convince the wildkin to come to the defense of the land, if not the Empire."

He gestures to Drynn. "In Drynn itself, we have King Prak. Should Saul falter, and should the opportunity present itself, he would rather ally himself with you. Though he puts the welfare of his people above all else."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:42, Tue 28 Oct 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 196):

"Don't sound too excited by that prospect," Choso warns. "Should Saul succeed in branding me an Imperial puppet and subsequently fall, Drynn will implode upon itself in the bloodiest civil war in recent memory."

"But if we can prevent the masses from swallowing his lies, you could restore stability and peace to an entire continent, and restabilize political relations for the entire world."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 198):

"How do you propose we discredit or silence the propaganda in Drynn? That's beyond the scope of our military planning thus far."

Zuriel shrugs. "Would not the high priest of the god of power and ambition be thoroughly discredited by a horrific military rout, and subsequent dismantling of his military power base?"

"If such a thing were to come to pass, I doubt many would be taking Saul very seriously at all." He shakes his head. "But that's not just putting the cart before the horse, but putting the cart a few miles down the road from the horse. Let's focus on avoiding annhiliation here first."

He gestures towards Harlindon's forces. "Redirecting him will be key. Without his destabilizing influence, the Imperial army should be able to easily confront Saul's southern forces."

"But it's his main army that is our greatest concern. Everything else is ultimately just noise if we cannot keep Tris from being captured by Drynn."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:23, Tue 28 Oct 2014.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 200):

The conversation continues at some length, during which the following courses of action are decided upon:

1) Keef will remain in Lo'driel with Baldwin et al., and will study with the Marquise de Pellinore instead of being directly involved in the war. Unless Lo'driel is successfully besieged, in which case he will either be actively involved in its defense or flee to the Order's Citadel in Astria.

2) Zuriel will use his locket to planeshift his way back to Hae'driel, where he hopes to meet up with the Knight-Captain, capture the city, and force the Grand Marshall to recall the Flame to deal with this domestic issue.

3) Lyriel will voluntarily surrender herself to Derek, Bill, and Flint, the bounty hunters hired by House Mason to drag her back to Tris. Once in Tris, she hopes to seek out her father, a diplomat of some influence, in an attempt to sort things out on the Imperial side of the table (and aid in the defense of Tris, if it comes to that).

4) Boreas and Maeve will seek magical transport to rejoin the Sylvan Remnant in the forests outside of Hae'driel, at which point they will lead this army to either obstruct the Grand Marshall's return to Hae'driel, assist in the defense of Tris, assist in the defense of Telsid'Fas, or assist in the defense of Lo'driel.

OOC: Please reply to confirm that this is correct, or to issue a counter-proposal for what you wish to do instead. I am not forcing anyone to do this; this is what I understand folks want to do. Could be wrong. Let me know!

[Crossroads]
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:09, Tue 28 Oct 2014.

Boreas is fine with this plan.  He will confer with the others and determine where to best deploy his troops.

Lyriel will not voluntarily surrender.

She will agree to accompany Bill and Derek back amiably with the understanding that if they try to tie her up or pull any shit somebody will be forcefed fire cookies.

Sounds good.

Her one caveat is that she'd like to Send to her dad to let him know that she's getting involved in the war over in the west--perhaps her involvement will spur Gaelia's troops to sit up and take some notice.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:11, Tue 28 Oct 2014.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 204):

That works as long as 'stay here' can involve researching/seeking/searching for healers for Balwdin.

Sounds good to me

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 206):

"Then we're all agreed," Choso nods, as the conversation reaches its conclusion. "Gods willing, we'll speak again once the war is at an end."

Boreas and Maeve will take the Sylvan Remnant north to Tris to defend the capital.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 208):

The P.A.R.T.Y. divides as indicated in the war room, with the promise to meet again someday. After all, the brewing conflict has nothing to do with the Vorites...

Choose Your Own War: Aeryis Edition

Lo'driel, Month 1

Keef remains in Lo'driel, along with Baldwin, Oliver, Rachel, and Karl. The bard seems to be recovering, but very slowly, and Choso spends a few hours with him each day to talk about the past together and confer about the future. The Marquise de Pellinore leaves several large tomes for Keef to pour over when he has the time, but then departs to assist with the transit of the Knight-Captain's forces from Hell to Hae'driel.

All too soon, the first outriders return to the city with sightings of a large army approaching from the south, from the northeast, and from the northwest. These are later identified as the Drynnian army, the Imperial army, and the Flamebringers.

Morachiga decides against sending his army into the field, fearing it will be routed in a three-way pincer, and instead fortifies Lo'driel in preparation for a lengthy siege.

By the end of the week, it becomes clear that the Drynnian army plans to march right past Lo'driel's western walls, placing the Imperial army between itself and the Flamebringers.

Morachiga and his generals hotly debate what to do about this situation, weighing the merits of remaining safely walled in with the merits of potentially crushing an enemy force in a pincer of their own. Eventually, he decides to send a portion of his forces to the northwest, intending to assist the Empire in engaging Saul's troops -- and hoping the Flame doesn't decide to attack them indiscriminately.



Hae'driel, Month 1

The Marquise de Pellinore transports Zuriel, Knight-Captain Edrahil, and the Knight-Captain's embattled army from its foothold in the Hells to the large mustering area south of Hae'driel.

Seeing as most of the town's defenders have traveled south with the Grand Marshall's army, and since those that remain don't view the Knight-Captain's forces as "opposing forces," they have no trouble gaining entrance to the city.

By the end of the month -- and with as little bloodshed as possible -- Knight-Captain Edrahil's forces (which have rebranded themselves as The Heartseekers) manage to usurp control of the bureaucracy. All Houses loyal to the Grand Marshall are cordoned off, with their occupants placed under house arrest.

Hae'driel is, essentially, placed under martial law, but there is one stronghold that has yet to be penetrated: the Grand Abbey, seat of the Emerald Table. The High Priestess of Tassada has locked herself inside with several dozen of her strongest clerics and paladins -- though her honor guard is weakened by the numbers who opted to go to war with the Grand Marshall -- and all attempts to enter have thus far been rebuffed.

"We can't keep the populace under our thumb forever," Lt. Faye says for the tenth time of the day. "We need access to the Table so you can sort out whatever it is that needs sorting out, and summon the Grand Marshall home in the process. What's the plan?"



The Sylvan Remnant, Month 1

Maeve and Boreas arrange for magical transportation to the forests near Mi'driel, where they reconvene with Cassie and the Sylvan Remnant. This group begins its slow and steady march toward Tris, several weeks away.

While on the road toward Tris, they encounter a dwarven outrider heading the same way. His eyes widen at the sight of the army, but he relaxes when it becomes clear that they are Imperial allies.

"Telsid'Fas is under siege!" he pants imploringly. "Y'know the Imperials have Tris locked up tighter than a lump of diamond wedged in a bed of obsidian. Bound ta be safe. We could sure use a hand further north, before the blasted minos manage to demolish the bridge that connects our mountain fortress to the mainland and cut off all hope of support."





Tris, Month 1

Lyriel allows Derek, Bill, and Flint to transport her to voluntarily to Tris, promising them that they'd be paid as if they'd captured her for their trouble.

Upon arrival, the group makes a beeline to House Mason, where Lyriel's father is waiting. Yelling, hugging, forgiving, and other emotions run wild, after which Lyriel quickly explains her true purpose in coming to the capital.

"There are many threats to the Empire," her father says gravely. "What makes you so sure an invasion here in imminent? Not that I don't believe you, darling, but at court you need concrete proof... the more, the better."



[Crossroads]
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:57, Wed 29 Oct 2014.

Decision Point 1 for Zuriel:

1) Attempt to negotiate with the High Priestess and gain access to the Emerald Table diplomatically and non-violently.

Decision Point 2 for Zuriel:

2) Ease martial law restrictions. Encourage father to make the Heartseekers a very visible presence in helping citizens. Attempt to hold discussions with hostile houses on a 1:1 basis.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 210):

3) Keef remains with Baldwin to protect and serve him.

Keef does certainly read the tome left by the Marquis, studying it thoroughly as time allows between his duties of tending to Baldwin, making sure he is getting the healing he needs, etc.

Maeve, Decision 1.3:

Seeing no reason to involve Gaelia in the simmering conflict, Maeve does indeed have a brief chat with her dad but makes no request for aid from the East.  She does however apprise the General of the situation that's unfolding.

Maeve, Decision 2.2:

Maeve occupies herself on the journey to Tris by training the Sylvan officers--particularly Gwen-something-or-other (totally forgot her name) on large-scale battle tactics, her reasoning being that the officers can then instruct their own units and, should death or destruction befall Maeve herself, the Sylvan will have trained leaders.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:33, Wed 29 Oct 2014.

Lyriel's adventures in Tris

Decision 1.1:

1) Prepare her father to go to court

Decision 1.2:

1) Investigate Eldric's death herself

Decision 1.3:

1) Contact her mother, imploring her not to do anything silly and letting her know that, if worst came to worst, she could trust Zuriel to protect her and Alanna.

Boreas and his troops will attempt to appropriate some magical beasts from the Krall lands, negotiating with Kat if she's still there.  Otherwise, he'll just take them, assuming an overwhelming opposing force isn't present.

He will head to Telsid'Fas as the dwarf requested, in an attempt to stop the dwarves from getting bottled up and break the siege.

[OOC]I'm under the impression that the magical beasts thing happens before meeting the dwarf?  If so, I'll do that.  If it would be well out of the way, I'll just skip the Krall lands instead.[/OOC]

Assuming that Boreas decides to collect some magical beasts from his familial land, Maeve will have a "the fuck" moment upon learning that he comes from the much-detested Krall family (unless he opts to continue to feign that he's not related.)  She'll be sore for a day or so but ultimately shrug it off because hey, who *doesn't* come from a horrible family?

She also bemoans the loss of Lyriel's daily breakfast smorgasbord.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:39, Wed 29 Oct 2014.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 215):

Choose Your Own War: Aeryis Edition

Lo'driel, Month 2

The Tyrant ultimately dispatches nearly 75% of the city's defenses to the west, with the stated goal of assisting the Empire in annihilating the Drynnian forces there. Morachiga and Sir Culley both remain in the city, coordinating the actions from the war room.

The Marquise returns from time to time to discuss the contents of the tome with Keef, but does not remain in the city for long, preferring instead her chambers in Astria.

The first reports from the war zone were anything but positive: Flamebringers attacking Drynnian and Lo'driel forces with equal vigor, while the Imperials attempted to direct their main strength toward Drynn.

The losses were staggering, until a strange thing happened toward the end of the month: the Flame's forces disengaged and withdrew from the front. They split into two halves, with one returning northeast, to Hae'driel, with all speed, while the second began the task of placing Lo'driel under siege.

The departure of the Flame swung momentum in the battlefield, and soon the Drynnian forces were retreating toward the southern coastline with all speed. The Empire chased them there, but were ultimately rebuffed by a wave of reinforcements from the beachhead.

Drynnian forces, with their back against the sea and supported by their naval cannons, entrenched themselves where they stood, and so began their standoff with the Empire, who set up camp nearby. The two are poised there still, with ground neither being lost nor gained.

Lo'driel's forces did not chase Drynn's army south, and instead attempted to return to Lo'driel. These ran smack into the Flame's barricade. A terrible battle ensued, and Lo'driel's army was forced to withdraw.

The bulk of Lo'driel's army now sits in a temporary camp within sight of the walls of Lo'driel -- not far from the ring of besieging Flamebringers.



Hae'driel, Month 2

Zuriel, Knight-Captain Edrahil, and others attempt to breach the Grand Abbey through flowery words and diplomacy, but find their efforts matched verb for verb and adjective for adjective by the extraordinarily honey-tongued High Priestess. You are accused of heresy, treason, and all manner of nastiness in the process, until finally the High Priestess deigns to share a useful tidbit of information.

"There's really no point to all this," she says after about a week of constant effort. "I've already sent word of your treachery to Tris and to the Grand Marshall. By the terms of our alliance, the Empire will be forced to send military aid to liberate us... that, plus the returning paladins is sure to be sufficient to snuff out your misguided insurrection."

This attitude is largely shared by those you have placed under house arrest. Though certain restrictions are eased and the Heartseekers are instructed to be as friendly as possible, given the circumstances, a series of disruptions (or riots, if you're being blunt) forces the Knight-Captain to make several high-profile arrests and impose a second curfew even more stringent than the last.

"We must maintain law and order," becomes the common refrain, and a certain restlessness falls over the troops. They are uneasy being thought off as the villains by the general populace of their hometown, and it's beginning to make them doubt their actions.

By the end of the month, the heads of many prominent opposition Houses are no longer under house arrest -- they are in actual prison for inciting riots and stirring dissent, and Lady Vesper is among them.

"This is untenable," Lt. Faye (ever the outspoken one) says for the hundredth time. "We need to reach the Table before the Flame and the Empire come crashing down on us."



The Sylvan Remnant, Month 2

Maeve and Boreas take their army to Telsid'Fas, making a brief detour in the Krall lands in the process. Boreas's sister manages to deliver two-score griffons and three-score manticores, along with 50 saddles sufficient to carry the weight of one man and a moderate amount of equipment.

Now armed with a cavalry and an air force, the army proceeds to Telsid'Fas.

Maeve has a nice chat with her father along the way, and manages to teach some Gaelian principles of leadership to the Sylvan commanders, who take to it more readily than Maeve would have expected.

The only access point to Telsid'Fas by land is a large, ancient bridge the spans the Gullet River, a wide and horribly dangerous stretch of water a good three miles wide in that area.

Aerial reconnaissance shows that there is considerable minotaur presence on the bridge, particularly on the side nearest to Telsid'Fas. The minotaur also seem to have drawn a large runic symbol onto the center of the bridge itself. It pulses with Evocation auras, but doesn't seem to be doing much else.

Dozens of minotaur longships bob up and down in the waters that surround the bridge and the mountain fortress, with siege weapons raining down on all sides. The minotaur camps on the bridge are the most concerning, however; if the dwarves had the capacity to drive them out, they would have certainly done so already.

 



Tris, Month 2

Lyriel prepares her father as best she can to address the court on the issues at hand, spending her spare time scouring the records rooms for any mention of her brother or the mission that claimed his life.

She has little success, unfortunately, though he father fares better in court than might be expected. Unfortunately, any and all progress made is completely nullified when word reaches the capital that Hae'driel has been captured... by a rival faction of paladins split from the Flame called the Heartseekers.

"We must honor the High Priestess's call for military aid," the council decides, overriding Lord Vesper's objections about the need for Tris's armies here at home. "That is the defining aspect of the Empire: mutual protection. This is not negotiable. But never fear, we will not send so many soldiers so as to render ourselves indefensible."

Lyriel and her father quickly learn who the Heartseekers are from a series of angry Sending messages from Lady Vesper... though these messages stop abruptly about three weeks into the second month, and further attempts to reach her are unsuccessful.

By the month's end, Tris has dispatched roughly a third of its remaining troops to march on Hae'driel, as stipulated by the law of the land. As no formal request has reached Tris from Telsid'Fas, no troops are sent to its aid.



[Crossroads]

Maeve, Decision #1.1

Maeve will attempt to parley with the minotaurs on the bridge, given that they pose the more immediate problem. Also, it's unlikely that they will have somehow failed to notice a massive Sylvan ground force advancing on them. She will speak with them in their own tongue, naturally--but will tactfully refrain from mentioning the griffons and manticores.  Keeping a trump card under wraps for the time being seems wise.

She is, of course, absolutely thrilled to interact with the creatures, and will spend considerable amounts of what free time she has trying to figure out how to ride a griffon through the air.

Maeve, Decision #2.1

Why would Maeve *not* lead the charge? :)

Zuriel rubs his temples and nods wearily at Lt. Faye. "Aye. That foolish woman is forcing the Empire to redirect forces from where they're needed most. This must end. Now." He then lays out a plan to his father and his strategic council.

Decision: Gain access to the Emerald Table through diplomatic violence

For what feels like the hundredth time in the past week, Zuriel marches up the causeway leading to the Grand Abbey. Shahara's heavy hoofbeats thud solidly on the stone masonry. To his right rides his father, resplendent astride his gray-dapple stallion Pennance. At his left rides Lieutenant Faye, on a celestial red roan mare. Zuriel shields his eyes against the glare of the morning's light reflecting off the freshly fallen snow. He nods to himself in satisfaction at the small assembly already gathered at the gates of the abbey. A large retinue of Heartseekers stand guard over several influential nobles, many of them dissidents.

Good. We need as many of them to see for themselves as possible.

All but the most dangerous were in attendance, though some were fettered to various extent. Zuriel locks eyes with Lady Vesper from across the crowd, and he fixes her with a penetrating stare, until at last she looks away.

The crowd is shepherded back from the causway as the trio approaches. Faye and Edrahil hold back as Zuriel closes the distance to the gates and dismounts smartly, sabatons thudding against the ground as he lands in the archway.

With gauntleted fist he hammers on the doors. The booms echo from nearby rooftops before fading.

"High Priestess Gwendis! Knight-Errant Zuriel Silendril of the Emerald Flame stands before the gates. I hearby challenge you to a Trial by Combat to break this impasse. Send forth a champion of your choice, and let Tassada herself decide the outcome. We ask only the opportunity to commune with the Emerald Table. If your cause is in the right, why should you fear? Surely Tassada would strike us down for our gall, for our heresy."

Zuriel swallows, taking a breath to calm himself before continuing. "Accept my challenge, or cower in indecision before the surety of our purpose. But decide quickly, because it's actually rather cold out here, as I'm sure the citizens gathered here today would agree."

The Knight-Captain scowls slightly at Zuriel's improvised cheekiness, but refrains from speaking.

Zuriel takes a step back, reaching out a hand to pet Shahara's mane, and awaits the High Priestess' response. His cloak billows gallantly in the frigid morning breeze.



Secondary Decision: A day or so after Lady Vesper is imprisoned, she finds herself with a rather unexpected visitor. The door to her cell quarters opens, and in strides her very favorite bastard paladin.

"Good day, Lady Vesper" Zuriel says politely. [Private to DM: Things I don't say - "Hi! I have licked your daughter's nipples!"] Whether or not Zuriel decides to allow her to return home depends entirely upon how the Mistress Vesper conducts herself.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:30, Fri 31 Oct 2014.

Boreas dispatches a small air contingent over the bridge with the purpose of identifying and stopping anyone trying to activate the rune that is clearly designed to destroy the bridge if necessary.  Think of it as a bunch of griffin riders with readied actions.

While Maeve makes diplomatic overtures to the minotaurs, Boreas sends a small contingent of Sylvans to inform the Dwarves of the plan and request their aid in an assault.

Should diplomatic methods fail, the plan is thus: land assault on the bridge with small-scale aerial support, with the rest of the air force dedicated to driving the ships back beyond a safe perimeter.  Not going all-out on the ships, though.  At least not yet.

As Boreas bathed this morning, he will stroke his beard.

Lyriel will accompany the army to Hae'driel. No way is she allowing her mother and Alanna to be caught in a warzone.

She will continue to investigate her brother's death herself, even if that means pausing her efforts while she is on the march.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 220):

Though antsy, Keef stays the course of guarding Baldwin.  1

In reply to Keef (msg # 221):

Choose Your Own War: Aeryis Edition

Lo'driel, Month 3

Imperial and Drynnian forces continue their standoff by the coastline, with the Drynnian army in no hurry to leave and the Imperial army unable to risk a full assault against the naval cannons.

Stranded outside of Lo'driel by the sea of Flamebringers, the bulk of Lo'driel's army begins a series of skirmishes designed to break the siege. These do not go as well as one might hope, and result in the further decimation of Lo'driel's forces.

Eventually, the Tyrant stops by Baldwin's chambers to talk not to the bard, but to the boy.

"Keef, you are no doubt aware that the Order cannot actively participate in wars like this," he says with a sigh. "But you are not the Order, and loathe though I am to endanger someone so young, you've proven yourself by the company you keep. Baldwin trusts you, and that's enough for me."

He looks at the fidgeting mage for a moment, then continues.

"I have a plan that will help bring our soldiers home, but it requires more powerful magics than my mages can provide. Are you willing to help? I know we aren't your countrymen, but it would mean a great deal to me. At the same time, there will be no hard feelings if you do not wish to assume that risk. It would be understandable. What do you say?"



Hae'driel, Month 3

Zuriel's challenge for single combat is met with silence, then the High Priestess leaves to confer with the Emerald Table. When she returns, she accepts the offer on the following terms:



Zuriel, of course, objects to this final stipulation, but it's the only way the High Priestess will agree to the duel.

The duel commences with as much fanfare as one might expect, with the High Priestess selecting a promising knight-errant named Sir Michael Kingsly in the absence of her most powerful defenders, who have all been deployed to the war. Knight-Captain Edrahil allows Zuriel to take up the challenge, confident for reasons he doesn't fully disclose.

The Sir Kingsly steps into the cold winter sunlight with surprising grace and confidence, draws his sword ceremoniously, and holds it vertically in front of him -- the typical preparatory greeting for a duel of this nature.

The crowd lets out a gasp as he does so, for the sword is instantly recognizable as the Edge of Glory, a legendary weapon once wielded by Sir Gabriel Perigren, First of Tassada. Apparently this was deemed an appropriate use for the blade, which had spent the last 2,000 years or so tightly gripped in the stone hands of Sir Perigren's sarcophagus.

Zuriel draws his own sword and mirrors the ceremonial pose, and then the duel begins in earnest. The two feint, cut, and parry, doling out experimental lunges and counters to get a feel for their opponent before fully committing to the fray.

Zuriel attempts to disarm the knight, but his foe was expecting this -- a savage counterblow connects with Zuriel's neck, just below the gorget. The strike was clearly meant to be decapitating, but when contact is made, a flash of pure white light showers both combatants.

Zuriel gropes at his neck and finds it entirely unscathed, even as the pendant around his neck glows with a comforting warmth. The song from his childhood loops through his mind, as it often does, only this time he can hear the breathy whisper of audible words hanging from the notes.

Take heart, my champion. The Edge of Glory is elsewhere; Sir Kingsley unknowingly wields Dawn, and she cannot harm you.

Zuriel, startled, lowers his guard in wonder, allowing Sir Kingsly to land a series of four blows to his critical areas in the process. Each time, a shower of white sparks follows the attack, and each time Zuriel is left unscathed.

Sir Kingsly's eyes widen with fear and indecision as he realizes his sword cannot hurt the paladin, and he turns toward the High Priestess questioningly.

At this very moment, Zuriel lands a well-placed kick that sends his opponent sprawling, and Dawn clatters to the ground at his feet. "Goddess, save me," Sir Kingsley murmurs, raising a wrist to protect his head, even as Zuriel raises his sword for the final blow.

"STOP," the High Priestess commands, her voice quavering. "The... the will of the Goddess is... is abundantly clear. We move to dismiss the fourth edict and to... to declare the Heartseekers... victorious. You, champion, may approach the Emerald Table. It is clear that the Goddess wishes to speak with you."




The Sylvan Remnant, Month 3

Boreas dispatches a small air contingent to keep watch over the bridge, their attention entirely devoted to keeping the bridge intact, while Maeve makes diplomatic overtures to the minotaurs.

These go surprisingly well, and word quickly spreads throughout the Kordican forces that the битва теленок is here at the head of an unknown army that is fighting for -- but not allied with -- the Empire.

"Stay away," the Tribal Commandant snorts. "It is no cowardice to march off, битва теленок. We do not wish to harm you or your forces, and we respect your father greatly. But we must take this city, and if you mean to stop us, I fear we must lock horns."

Boreas sends a small contingent of Sylvans to inform the Dwarves that battle is imminent and request their aid in an assault, but the results are not encouraging. The dwarves were apparently routed in their first attempt to clear the minotaur from their side of the bridge, and are afraid that a second charge will leave the city indefensible.

There is a fighting spirit left among the Order of Hort, however; these are dwarven paladins aligned with the God of Strength, and they promise to charge when the signal is given. It is better than nothing.

Maeve reports that diplomatic methods have failed to resolve the situation, leaving Boreas with no choice but to begin the assault on the bridge, using small-scale aerial support to assist his ground forces while spending the rest of his air power driving the ships back beyond the range at which they can assist the conflict.

Maeve spearheads the charge, which barrels across the three-mile bridge under the constant support of griffon riders. They only make it two miles across before they are met by a minotaur countercharge, and there combat lines are drawn.

Boreas gives the signal to the dwarves, and the Order of Hort faithfully responds by crashing against the Kordican flank. In response to this, the Kordican longships attempt to pull closer to the bridge, peppering the air force with arrows, stones, and lightning bolts in the process. The air force commanders report back that they are suffering horrible losses in terms of riders, but the beasts themselves seem to be weathering the beating rather well.

 



Tris, Month 3

As the P.A.R.T.Y. is no longer present in Tris, no further reports are available from the Empire's capital. No further research into Eldric is possible while Lyriel is on the road.

Lyriel takes her leave, accompanied by Derek and Bill -- Flint's contract being fulfilled, the mage opted to return to Astria rather than risk the Order being affiliated with this conflict.

The march is entirely uneventful, and by the end of the month they still aren't close enough to Hae'driel to make a difference. Lyriel spends most of her time conjuring food and water for the troops and treating fatigue symptoms. Next month, however, they expect to make it to their destination.



[Crossroads]
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:19, Fri 31 Oct 2014.

In reply to DM (msg # 222):

Keef will certainly listen to the plan, and will provide any help he can that does not involve abandoning his quest to save Baldwin for more than a day or so.

After some consideration, Maeve decides to divide her forces into tactical units to try and take out the leaders of the Kordican forces, hoping against hope that the army will break and scatter without the guidance of the chieftains.

"I suppose locking horns was inevitable," she mutters to herself.

Naturally, she decides to ride a griffon into battle despite the fact that it's the more dangerous option. She is a talented rider, and her hope is that her bravery will inspire her troops to fight more valiantly.

Father always said that your soldiers will never respect you if you don't face the same danger that they must. I need to lead byexample.

Not to mention that flying on a griffon is TOTALLY AMAZING.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:14, Fri 31 Oct 2014.

In reply to DM (msg # 222):

As Maeve has taken to the skies, Boreas will join the fight on the ground.  He orders the air force to reinforce the charge and get his men off the bridge and over to the other side.  Once a foothold is established, they're to return to harrying the ships and driving them back.

The anti-caster detachment keeping the rune from being activated is to remain on its task.

If the charge is successful, Boreas will leave Maeve in command while he sneaks invisibly into Telsid'Fas.  Once inside, he will attempt to speak with the leadership there to pull together a sortie that will be timed with a charge from the Order of Hort and the Sylvan Remnant.  He will arrange a signal in advance with the other two forces to coordinate this.

Zuriel pauses a moment, pulse hammering in his head. The eyes of all in attendance are upon him, and in the utter silence of the courtyard, his heart echoes like thunder. With grim inevitability, Zuriel brings his sword down with both hands in a mighty blow, leaving the sword buried in the stone, quivering just inches from Sir Kingsley's neck.

"Let it be done," he says loudly, and reaches down to help the defeated paladin to his feet. "You fought well, Sir Kingsley," Zuriel says quietly. "The Goddess clearly recognizes your skill. The Empire needs men like you defending her."

Zuriel's knees almost buckle with the overwhelming relief of not having to kill his opponent. One wonders, however, if the High Priestess would have extended the same courtesy to me, were our roles reversed...

He reaches down to pick Dawn from where it lies fallen on the cobblestones. He does not return it to Sir Kingsley, however, instead buckling it onto his own tasset. Adrenaline still surges through his system, exhileration from the fight, the music, the pendant, and his Mother's voice leaving him almost dazed.

Still, he manages to keep his composure. He extracts his uncle's sword with a firm tug, and returns it to his father for safekeeping. Then, he ascends the steps to the Grand Abbey, pausing at the top before the High Priestess. "Come, Lady Gwendis," he says softly, offering the High Priestess his arm in the polite gesture of younger male escorting a higher-ranking woman. "Let us see what the Goddess wills."

Before vanishing inside,  Zuriel nods gravely to his father. For the briefest of moments, his eyes flick over to Lady Vesper's. It takes all of the young paladin's willpower to suppress his smile.

Lyriel will take the opportunity to attempt to get to know Bill and Derek - and House Mason - better. She will explain the nature the PARTY's quest, and the threat to the planes, and most relevantly, that they strongly believe that the fighting to the south and the north are just distractions to draw the Empire's defenders away from Tris. Which, so far, seems to be exactly what is happening.

If Derek and Bill are sympathetic to that cause, she may propose that they take subtle efforts to slow the army, delaying their arrival at Hae'driel and keeping them closer at hand to Tris, should they need to turn around.

If Derek and Bill are not sympathetic, Lyriel will not propose such, but will do it herself, if possible.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 227):

Choose Your Own War: Aeryis Edition

Lo'driel, Month 4

The weather is slowly turning warmer and wetter as March comes to a close and April begins, though the dawn of spring is blunted by the lingering chill in the air.

Imperial and Drynnian forces continue their standoff by the coastline, with the Drynnian army in no hurry to leave and the Imperial army unable to risk a full assault against the naval siege weapons.

The Tyrant's plan involves Keef being called upon to provide a vibrant distraction for the besieging forces to focus upon, utilizing a series of fire walls, ice walls, and copious amounts of lions to cover the army's piecemeal approach until it can reach the gates in the confusion.

This plan is executed with near perfection, with several dozen troops sneaking home each day, until finally the Flame catches wind of the plan and turns to crush what remains of the now-drastically weakened encampment.

"We cannot risk a countercharge from the city," the Tyrant decrees. "That was off the table from the start, and it hasn't changed. We saved all we could; I won't have it be in vain."

He sends word to the remaining forces to rush south to join the Imperial forces at the coastline, but the grim lines upon his features reveal what everyone already knows -- they will not be fast enough to reach it before being outrun by Flamebringer chargers.



Hae'driel, Months 3 & 4

The Emerald Table is a curious thing, a slab of pure gemstone carved into a surprisingly small table that stands at about waist height and looks as though it might support a single pint of ale.

Under the High Priestess's instructions, Zuriel kneels and presses his forehead to the table, closing his eyes .and stretching out with his consciousness. He is soon met with a curious tingling sensation, and a voice blazes through his thoughts like wildfire.

Six weeks later, Zuriel leaves the Grand Abbey as though in a daze, and seeks an audience with his father immediately afterward.

The next morning, a startling change can be seek among the occupants of Hae'driel: two distinct groups of paladins seem to have emerged overnight. One wears the traditional livery of the flame, while the other wears a new uniform: pure white upon which a pastel heart has been emblazoned.

The traditional Flamebringers are outnumbered 3 to 1 by these new Heartseekers. Lacking leadership (both the Knight-Captain and Lt. Faye are among the new Heartseekers, as is Zuriel), they turn to the High Priestess for guidance. She, in turn, asks the Table.

By the end of the month, the High Priestess is still communing with the Table, and the banners of both the Empire and the Flame can be seen approaching the city's gates.

Harlingdon and the Imperial reinforcements have arrived.




The Sylvan Remnant, Month 4

After much difficulty, Boreas and Maeve are able to capture the bridge, but in doing so the Kordican ground forces pull back into Telsid'Fas itself. The fighting that ensues is brutal and bloody, but in the end the minotaur are driven from the twisted tunnels and passages entirely.

Though the ground forces are utterly routed, their fleet is another matter. Hounded and harried by strategic air strikes, the longships take their leave, sailing south with a sizable presence still aboard.

As the fighting inside Telsid'Fas comes to an end, the Tribal Commandant finds himself backed into a corner with the last of his troops and abandoned by his reinforcements. He locks eyes with the nearby Maeve.

"Fancy a duel, battle calf?" he snorts. "If I'm to die, I'd rather go properly."

 



Tris, Month 4

As the P.A.R.T.Y. i s no longer present in Tris, no further reports are available from the Empire's capital. No further research into Eldric is possible while Lyriel is on the road.

Lyriel discusses her situation with Derek and Bill, but the pair don't seem to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation.

"Highborn have always been like this," Bill shrugs. "Present company included, I'm afraid. Though the bit about the world ending seems even less plausible than the death cults of a century ago."

The two agree to help you look into the end of the world thing, but aren't interested in delaying the march to Hae'driel. That, they say, would be treasonous. They either don't notice or don't care about the little things Lyriel does to slow things down herself, including the hour-long heroic feasts at every stop and her insistence the each and every horse enjoy a 15-minute "breather" for every hour they spend carrying or pulling a heavy load.

All told, it takes quite the rest of the month to reach the gate of Hae'driel... just about the same amount of time it takes the Grand Marshall's forces to arrive. The armies form a ring around Hae'driel proper, and the siege begins in earnest.



[Crossroads]
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:03, Mon 03 Nov 2014.

Decision #1:

"Very well," Maeve says. " But we duel on my terms. If I lose, you're free to go.  As far as I am concerned, you'll have won your freedom and your life fair and square.  But if *you* lose, then you and your men join with us.  The city's already lost, but you fought well.  No sense in your going to your deaths, and I would be honored to have you at our side."

"What say you?"

Decision #2

KEEP THE GRIFFON KEEP THE GRIFFON OH MY GOD IS IT A BOY OR A GIRL I NEED TO COME UP WITH A NAME!!!!!!!!!

As the fighting dies down, Boreas meets with the Dwarven leadership to return control of the city to them.  He asks them to Send to the military command in Tris, informing them of the movements of the enemy fleet, and requesting reports of the situation.  The army will stay for a few days, except for a rotating detachment of griffon riders who will keep tabs on the fleet.  A team of Dwarven mages will be sent to dispel the glyph on the bridge.

Boreas will send Maeve and the rest of the army south after that, heading toward the most likely Kordican target, a shipyard at the mouth of the river leading to Tris.  Their destination may change, however, depending on the reports from the recon team.

Boreas will plane shift to Fey'driel, taking a small group of Sylvan with him.  They will travel south through that realm, awakening more Sylvan as they pass.

Decision 4.1:

Though it pained him to see several of his former comrades elect to remain with the Flame, Zuriel nonetheless respected their decision, and told them so. In the weeks after declaring faith for Ma'or, Zuriel took efforts to ensure that patrols were integrated with Flamebringers, and that as far as it was possible, relations were cordial. The vast majority were, after all, former comrades-in-arms who bravest the Hells to join his father. Of all the ranks of the Emerald Flame, it was these he wanted least to come to blows with.

The gesture of inclusion was also extended to the High Priestess' honor guard. In particular, Zuriel took efforts to befriend, or at least to get to know, Sir Kingsley, the knight whose life Zuriel spared in the duel.

Decision 4.2:

Only a few days after the High Priestess entered her own trance to commune with the Table, Zuriel called a general gathering in the market square. In a (surprisingly short and concise) speech, Zuriel explained the nature of the Heartseekers, and of Ma'or. Any who had questions or were interested in learning more were encouraged to speak with any member of the Heartseekers.

The headquarters for the Heartseekers was transitioned into a makeshift church, and while boreas needs to bathe more often, any who were interested were welcome. Zuriel strongly supported acts of charity, especially amongst the poorer parts of the city. Every day, each Heartseeker was expected to enact at least one act of kindness to somebody to whom they had not shown kindness to before.

Zuriel hoped that they could win back some of the Flamebringers from Edrahil's original contingent who had elected to remain with Tassada.

Decision 4.3:

In the interest of explaining the exceedingly complicated situation to the Imperial contingent, a representative of each sect was sent.

Decision 4.4:

Zuriel, Edrahil, and Faye were all reasonably sure that any representative sent to Harlindon would be considered a deserter, traitor, and oathbreaker, and summarily executed. It was decided that a Flamebringer would be asked to request a parlay, with the full protections of such. Ideally, the representative would be one of the High Priestess' honor guards, if there was one willing to, who was reasonably non-biased. Perhaps Sir Kingsley, if he is on good terms with Zuriel.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:41, Mon 03 Nov 2014.

Knowing Grand Marshal mostly by reputation, Lyriel thinks it unlikely that she could change his mind. Finwë, however, might be more open to at least listening to reason.

Therefore, as distasteful as it was, Lyriel performed a Sending, asking the Grand Marshal's son for the opportunity to speak.


As far as Bill and Derek go, the priestess was irritated, but not surprised, by their nonchalance. Believe me or not about the planar instability, it doesn't change our current situation much. I think you'll agree that a civil war is in nobody's best interests, regardless of whether or not there is another army threatening Tris.

Lyriel fixes Bill with her green eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. You want to focus on the real, tangible problems? I can respect that outlook. Well, we've got a big one right here. Care to help me solve it?

[She will keep them with her, as long as they care to accompany.]

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 232):

Keef chooses to remain with Baldwin.

Decision 1.

DISPOSITION UPDATE -- The Empire

- 50% of the Imperial Army is camped on the southern edge of the continent, locked in combat with the Drynnian advance force, which has entrenched itself along the shoreline backed by allied ships

- 20% of the Imperial Army is camped before Hae'driel, in response to a summon for aid in freeing an occupied city

- 20% of the Imperial Army is in or around Tris, protecting the capital

- 10% of the Imperial army is in or around Telsid'Fas (the dwarven forces)

DISPOSITION UPDATE -- The Flame

- 33% of all Flamebringers are camped before Lo'driel, besieging it

- 33% of all Flamebringers are camped before Hae'driel

- 33% of all Flamebringers are within Hae'driel under Knight-Captain Edrahil's command

- 60% of those under Edrahil's command are now Heartseekers

DISPOSITION UPDATE - Lo'driel

- Lo'driel lost 25% of its total troops in the pincer movement. The remaining 75% are safely within the city's walls, besieged

***

Lo'driel, Month 5

The weather is slowly turning warmer and wetter as April comes to a close and May begins, though the spring continues to feel unseasonably chilly.

Imperial and Drynnian forces continue their standoff by the coastline, with the Drynnian army in no hurry to leave and the Imperial army unable to risk a full assault against the naval siege weapons.

Lod'riel had initially sent out a large portion of its army in the first month of the war. It got about two-thirds of that force back under Keef's brilliant distractions, but the remaining third was mercilessly run down by the besieging Flamebringers and routed to a man.

The Flame remains outside Lo'driel's walls, and resources within are starting to become scarce.

Baldwin is doing much better, though he complains about a persistent headache, and he passes the time between Keef's study sessions by telling stories and conferring with the Tyrant about the best course of action.

For now, the siege is not doing any real harm... but if it were to last into this new year's winter, a robust supply chain would be needed to keep the denizens of Lo'driel fed, clothed, and content.



Hae'driel, Month 5

With the High Priestess indisposed, Sir Kingsley is selected to be the speaker for the Flamebringers within the city. He delegates a paladin to travel with the Heartseeker paladin to chat with the Imperial forces, and goes himself to speak with the Grand Marshall's forces. No Heartseeker goes with him, as all agree it would likely end poorly for that individual.

Relations remain uncomfortable, but cordial, among the Knight-Captain's newly divided forces, and tension reigns throughout the city. Civilians have no idea what to make of the new "temple" that Zuriel has constructed in the city, and by and large seem to be keeping their heads down until this whole thing blows over one way or the other.

The delegates return with news from the armies camped outside the gates of Hae'driel:



Rejection of these terms, it is suggested, will lead to the classification of the rejecting party as an enemy of the state. The parties involved are given two weeks to formulate their decision, as the various armies involved could use a bit of a rest after the long march.



The Sylvan Remnant, Month 5

Maeve and the Tribal Commandant engage in a traditional duel, which ends (rather predictably) with the minotaur up to his snout in the stone floor. He yields and is spared, as promised, ending the war in Telsid'Fas entirely. His are the last Kordican forces in the area, and their numbers are now hovering at exactly 8.

Boreas meets with the dwarven leadership, which pushes to have the prisoners of war executed, arguing fiercely that minotaurs are savage brutes that annihilated the gnomes and cannot be kept alive. Maeve slakes their bloodthirst by offering to take them with her on the next leg of their journey.

The Sylvan Remnant is then sent south with Maeve, with an air force being deployed separately to keep tabs on the ships. Early warning it sent to Tris, such that Imperial forces will be expecting aggression from the north as well as the south.

The journey goes well for the first three weeks, but during the fourth week, the aerial riders report that a series of skirmishes have been recorded near the shipyard. The longships have engaged the Imperial vessels defending it, and they are not alone: an enormous armada of vessels flying the Dominion banner is with them, forcing their way through like a battering ram.

As of yet, the shipyard's defenses are holding, but they expect to be forced to fall back any day now.

Meanwhile, Boreas takes an elite team of Sylvan troops -- numbering less than a dozen -- into Feydriel itself, marching swiftly southward while recruiting more souls to his army.

By the end of the month, he has amassed another 500 troops and encountered no meaningful resistance.

 



Tris, Month 5

As the P.A.R.T.Y. i s no longer present in Tris, no further reports are available from the Empire's capital. No further research into Eldric is possible while Lyriel is on the road.

Lyriel, Derek, and Bill meet with Finwe, the Grand Marshall's son, under the cover of darkness on a particular morning, and have a lengthy conversation about Flamebringing, justice, and the true threats to the world.

By the time the conversation is at an end, Lyriel is fairly certain the brash young man will advocate for shifting the focus of their efforts where it belongs -- the high priest of an evil god, and not some politician in the middle of a ruined city.

They all hear about the diplomatic envoys at about the same time, with mixed opinions. Finwe sneaks over to the Imperial encampment one day to speak with Lyriel: apparently, the Grand Marshall is outraged at his treatment and is considering accepting the terms, entering the city, then abruptly closing the gates and purging these Heartseekers once and for all.

He looks pained by this, and suggests that Lyriel might be able to have some kind of an affect on the Grand Marshall's thought processes.

"House Vesper has always been well-respected by our family," he implores. "Will you come?"



[Crossroads]
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:45, Mon 03 Nov 2014.

After considering the terms of the Empress' will, Zuriel strongly advises his father to accept them as is. "We have to begin our relationship with the Empress on good faith, Father," Zuriel says with conviction. "The Imperial forces will be more than enough to ensure that Harlindon doesn't do anything foolish. This is what we had hoped for: a diplomatic solution."

"With access to Sending magic, I'm certain that I could convince Choso to come to the negotiations table. He wouldn't need an escort of the Flame, the Marquise de Pellinore could teleport him directly. But such details can be ironed out in Tris."

Though Zuriel is loathe to leave the fledgling Church, he resigns himself to the fact that his skills will be needed in Tris and Lo'driel. He spends much of his time with his fellow Heartseekers, and after gathering suggestions, oversees the appointment of a council of Heartseekers to grow and run the church in his absence, when the time comes.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:11, Mon 03 Nov 2014.

After bidding farewell to Boreas (who may have grunted a cursory "goodbye" in response; it's hard to tell really), Maeve turns toward Tris accompanied by the vast majority of the Sylvan Remnant, as well as the Tribal Commandment--whose name happens to be Damek-- and the last of the Kordican forces.

It is a surprisingly pleasant trip, and the minos proves to be surprisingly good company.  As Maeve rides Wes, she swaps stories and battle strategies with Damek.

Although ground travel proves more practical, Maeve occasionally takes to the sky. Her griffon, a sleek bronze female whom Maeve names Sekhmet, has accompanied her, although she spends much of the day riding the thermals and hunting.  When Sekhmet returns from hunting, she will occasionally bring Maeve a token of affection such as a mauled deer carcass.  Needless to say, Maeve's two animals have an uneasy relationship at the beginning, although Wes calms down considerably once Sekhmet learns that the stallion is off limits.

Upon hearing the news, Maeve considers her options.

"I don't know about you," she says to Damek and Gwen (unless the latter is with Boreas),"but I don't much care for the idea of sitting around in a city under siege. Let's send those ships back where they came from."

[Decision (in case it wasn't clear): shore up the shipyards]
This message was last edited by the player at 21:05, Mon 03 Nov 2014.

Lyriel nods, pleasantly surprised that Finwe, for all his faults, seemed to be listening to reason. Yes, of course I will speak with the Grand Marshal.

Before departing, she takes her leave of Bill and Derek. I think it's best I handle this one myself. The Grand Marshal in proud, and may not be receptive to non-highborn in attendance, she says ruefully. I don't expect to be gone long, though. Stay safe, you two.

Having assembled more Sylvan willing to fight for his cause, Boreas returns to Aeriys Prime and makes his way to join Maeve's army.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 238):

Keef does his best to remain stalwart by Baldwin's side and avoid complicating himself in the war.

However... he is always open to suggestions from the Marquis and could be convinced by her to help in some manner.

Keef will absolutely consult her with respect to his research, though he will also loop in Longshank.