The trip from the dwarven fortress was a slow one. The sick were loaded on stretchers, and carried by those dwarves who had previously contracted consumption and survived it. The Badger was left securely in a stone vault, unable to pass through the unfinished highway to Fildegarne. Sypher and Rebort lead the column, with the remaining dwarves and King Thadrumir guarding the flanks. The blow dealt to the rust monsters earlier in the day had crippled their numbers in the area, as only a scant few came charging up to the column, and were quickly dispatched at range with arrows and bolts. Rebort's messenger had sent word to move forward and that Oro was on his way, but none had seen the tiefling by the time the departure was ready.

As the procession arrived at the draconic ruins, they were met by more than just an anxious Thakous.

--------

A squad of 20 Fildegarian soldiers awaits ahead, with Thakous detained, his arms bound behind him. Each soldier carries a rifle and holds it at the ready, but doesn't shoulder it. An officer steps forward, a stern look on his face.

"I am Major Prein. I have been instructed to detain you, and escort you to the capitol. I am aware of your rank and unit designation, but I have my orders and I'd like to do this peacefully. Do I have your co-operation?".

R.E.B.O.R.T. looks over to Sypher. "Detained? Have we done something wrong?"

"Rebort, please.  Allow me."  Sypher holds out a staying hand at the warforged.

Sypher steps out, hands spread wide.  "Of course, Major.  I am Lieutenant Sypher Whiteraven of the Eisenwolf unit.  We completely understand the situation and will offer you no resistance.  These are troubled times and we are here to both ask for help, but offer it as well.  We will cooperate fully."  Every bit of Sypher exudes calm and friendliness.  His posture is relaxed and friendly.  He offers a bit of a smile as he speaks, but not in a way that would be interpreted as fake or intentionally misleading.  "Do you need our weapons, Major?"

A visible wave of relief washes over the Major's face. "I'm afraid so, lieutenant".

Sypher sets the example for the rest by turning over his sword, then Shiaran's sword, then his shuriken, shortbow with quiver of arrows, his Buelter-Janes K-33, his two RG-1422 Pistols, Shiaran's short bow and arrows, Shiaran's shuriken and 4 daggers, 2 sais, 6 RG-1422 Pistols, and her SMP-12.  "To be clear, Major, not all of those are mine."  Sypher stands back and waits for others to disarm themselves.

One by one everyone steps forward, some more reluctant than others, and a pile of weaponry grows to near waist high. Prein can't help but raise an eyebrow at the arsenal. "I see that you have sick and wounded. We will take over carrying them and ensure they are cared for". He looks back at his men an whistles. 14 of the 20 sling their rifles on their backs and steps forward, relieving the stretcher bearers of their loads. He instructs two more to stand watch over the weapon cache until transport is arranged, while the remaining 4 break off in groups of two, one group in the front and one in the rear of the column.

"My men will move the weapons inside the ruins here for safe keeping in the mean time. It's to my understanding rust eaters are about, so we will take the proper precautions to ensure things are well kept". He leans in, speaking quietly to Sypher and Rebort. "From officer to officer, I can't honestly say why I was told to detain you, because I wasn't informed. But something wasn't quite right. I was also warned you would be heavily armed and potentially combative. Any idea on that? Because you've shown me otherwise, at least on the grounds of combativeness".

R.E.B.O.R.T. follows suit, after Sypher, disarming himself as best he can. He lays down his Buelter-Janes K-33, a rather large sniper rifle, the Gerard M-92 Breech, as well as the gear he was holding for Beloc. After placing the elf's pistol, trench gun, and rather large silver falchion, the warforged follows up by saying "These are all the arms I am able to remove."

Sypher considers the major's words.  "No, Major, though several hypotheses come to mind.  None of them good.  Please understand, at the moment, I view us as on the same side against the PCA.  However, I have a duty to protect my team and accomplish our mission.  I also have a duty to protect these dwarves who are under my care and have suffered greatly because of the war.  If it comes to light that the PCA have infiltrated the higher-ups in this city, I will defend my people."

He sighs heavily.  "I know you have your training and your orders, but I also hope you will remember that soldiers are not mindless golems that follow orders blindly.  The best soldiers are those who can adapt to the changing battlefield.  If the time comes, Major, I pray to Iehovah that you will do what is right."

Commander Prein looks as if he's about to speak several times through Sypher's response, but he holds his tongue until Sypher is finished. "I'm well aware of how to mind my men, lieutenant". He doesn't sound angry, but there was a definite and intentional emphasis on the word lieutenant. "Orders to detain persons of interest aren't exactly orders to set up a firing squad. The notion that we've been possibly infiltrated by the enemy isn't one I take lightly either. Do you offer any proof outside of your hunches? Because I've been stationed at the capitol since this entire thing began and have seen no evidence of this. With the way our nobles lobby and petition the top brass, we wouldn't need enemies on the inside. We're already at the beck and call of a group of paranoid men who see themselves getting richer when we win".
This message was last updated by the player at 23:34, Wed 09 May 2018.

Sypher allows a few seconds of relative silence, then bows slightly.  "Yes, sir."  His tone and posture only convey respect for the officer, his bow slight enough not to be mocking, but deep enough to be more than perfunctory.  The tone of his voice is quiet and contemplative, anything but confrontational.

R.E.B.O.R.T. extends his arms, wrists facing upwards, as if waiting to be shackled. "We are now detained. Now what, Major?"

Two soldiers step forward with irons, ready to shackle Sypher and Rebort. Prein holds up a hand, stopping the pair. "That won't be necessary, for the time. They've lain down their weapons and have agreed to come peacefully. They are detainees, not prisoners". He looks back to Sypher and Rebort. "We need to go now. There's an abandoned road that will lead us to the keep a few miles ahead. From there, Count Elm has requested we turn the two of you over to him. The dwarves will be cared for and treated as refugees".

Sypher nods and does as commanded.

R.E.B.O.R.T. lowers his arms and follows behind Sypher.

For the dwarven group, the trip is a short on. The old highway that runs around the edge of the ruins took the group directly into a courtyard, much the same as described by the Fyreworm clan's own keep. Just inside of the entryway, a heavily fortified position with machine gun nests on sandbags points down the winding and sloping road; a precaution in the event the PCA ever discover the tunnel. Explosive charges meant to collapse the tunnel sit idle along the underground walls; an even more extreme precaution should the enemy discover the route.

As the group emerges, a half elf who is identified as Sylvis greets Major Prein. Those of the party who are non-dwarf are escorted by Sylvis and four guards, while a fair sized medical staff ushers the dwarves along in a different direction. Mixed looks of both relief as well as confusion wash over their faces as they watch their saviors from the mountain vanish behind closed door. In the holding room, you barely have time to take a seat before the door opens again, with a hooded man escorting Beloc, Apache, and Shiaran in.

-----

As Shiaran and Beloc are escorted to the keep, they're brought through a series of cut throughs and tunnels that pass beneath the public eye in District Two, where the civilian population is holed up and guarded. The way shortens the trip drastically, making what would be nearly an hour trip a more direct half hour. Even the way Wyck leads them into the keep is via unseen passage. The pair and their guard emerge into a tucked away antechamber from behind a sliding book case. From there, four guards remain with Wyck as he continues escorting Beloc and Shiaran to what looks to be a sort of holding area. The room is relatively plain. The walls are painted bleach white, and the crystal sconces on the wall give off a clean white glow as well. As they are brought in, they find Sypher, Rebort, Krem, Sigurd, and Gazra already sitting on the uncomfortable chairs provided. Irja, Oro, Kallium, and Darius are conspicuously absent.

"Have a seat, and await questioning" commands Wyck. As he glances around the room at everyone, his eyes fall on Gazra. His face screws up into a scowl and he leaves the room. The heavy iron door shuts loudly behind him, and a thick locking mechanism clicks in place. A blue sigil begins to glow on the door.

R.E.B.O.R.T. spies the glowing sigils and glances around the room. "Impressive. With wards like this, it would seem they could contain just about any manner of beast."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 03:37, Fri 11 May 2018.

Sigurd looks to Shiaran and Beloc. "Where is Irja?".

"We got separated. She said she was going for a swim, headed towards the castle. She wanted to let them know we were coming with the dwarves. My guess is that's how they knew we were coming, but it wouldn't explain the hostility."

Gazra sighs. "They probably wanna know where Oro is. Same crap, different day".

"But how would they've known, mate?" asks Krem.

"It's obvious. Irja. I don't know why, or what she told them, but my bet is on her".

Sigurd shoots daggers with his glance at Gazra. "And why do you say she would do a thing like that?".

Gazra shrugs. "Dunno. Money? Political power? Maybe she's got her eyes on your old man's throne. We both know she's never liked the isolationist approach Crasmar takes".

Sigurd stands up suddenly, pointing a hand at Gazra. "She is loyal to her people, Uncle. What does that say about you? Hmm?".

Gazra rolls his eyes. "It says you should shut up and sit down, because this is way out of your scope of view kid".

Sigurd spits on the floor, and starts pacing on the other side of the room.


Krem purses his lips, trying not to make eye contact with the pair. "So... anyone know any word games t' pass th' time?".

"Shut up, Krem" says both Gazra and Sigurd in unison.

Shiaran makes her way over to Sypher.  The two talk in whispers no one else can hear.

"Bickering in this cage isn't going to help anything. In fact, it puts the very reason we're here in jeopardy even further. The sooner we can get to the fault, the better."

A sigil on the wall begins to glow brightly with a white hue. It had been hiding in plain sight, the same color as the walls. The muffled voice of an older man emanates throughout the room. The voice sounds cold, and is very business like and matter of fact. The man behind it doesn't sound menacing, but everyone gets the distinct impression he isn't one for games.

"My name is Count Elm. I will be issuing you a series of questions. Anyone will be free to answer, unless I address you directly. I am able to see and hear into this room, so there is no need to announce who you are or face a certain direction when speaking. With that, let us begin. What is the last known whereabouts of the one known as Orodoth Garamune? I am told he was a member of your party".

Shiaran looks to Sypher who nods slightly.  "He was with us in the city briefly but returned to the underground highway to help the dwarves travel here and report to Sypher.  No one has seen him since he left the city. "

While Beloc listens to Shiaran’s statement, nodding periodically in agreement, R.E.B.O.R.T. walks around the room examining the various sigils adorning the walls. He doesn’t seem to be too engaged with what the rest of the group is focused on.

"I see. And what is your purpose here?"

"Our purpose here is two-fold, Count Elm.  First, we are doing what we can to help the dwarves.  Their able-bodies protectors have been depleted by the war and illness such that they could not even keep clear an infestation of the rust monsters.  By Iehovah's will, their disease is gone.  We brought them here to find shelter and safety behind your walls since they are allies of yours."  Sypher spreads his hands wide.  "Second, my unit is a special operations unit called Eisenwolf out of Langdon.  We specialize in stealth and guerilla tactics doing jobs larger units can't.  In short, we're here to help."  He gives a slight bow and lowers his hands.

Shiaran wanders about seeming at random.  Her path takes her close to Rebort whom she pats on the shoulder.  "Hey big guy.  How was the trip?"  She keeps her voice low so as not to overpower Sypher's voice in Elm's magical listening glass.  "I know things are a bit odd.  Just remember, Sypher is a good commander.  Let him do the talking and we'll be okay.  He's as honest as they come, eh?  If you have any questions, I'll answer them in a more comfortable setting, okay?"

R.E.B.O.R.T. looks at Shiaran's hand upon his shoulder, then looks at her. "This line of questioning does not concern me. Our presence here harbors no ill intent. Should the Count's loyalty lie with the crown, we will be free soon enough. The trip, however, was quite eventful. All sorts of new lichen and subterranean life to catalog."

"I see.. and who commissioned this Eisenwolf unit at Langdon without so much as sending a memo to the Crown".

"Grand Admiral Driggs was the primary officer in charge of the commission, sir.  Also present at our inception were Lieutenant Commander Haskell, Captain Amithra, and Commander Brask among a lot of others.  It was at a dinner at Langdon just before the PCA attack that wiped out the base and the surrounding city.  I have the commission papers in my pack."  Sypher's voice is matter of fact, calm and composed with no hint of subterfuge.  Considering Glenn's undercover actions and the lack of communication admitted by the count, Sypher did not consider himself at liberty to discuss the Admiral with him and so left him out.

"And I take it then you are this expositions leader, Mr..?".

"Lieutenant Sypherion Whiteraven, sir.  Yes sir, I am the commander of the unit."

There is a long and uncomfortable pause. "Of.. house, Whiteraven then?".

"Yes, sir."  Sypher is instantly on edge from the tone of the Count, though he does not understand much of why the Count would act the way he is toward the name.  Though aware of the history of his family, the significance of his family was not conveyed to him by the monks.  This was probably done to protect him and Shiaran...or more likely to protect others from them.

Sypher never learned who ordered the genocide that reduced House Whiteraven to only himself and Shiaran.  As far as he had been concerned, it no longer mattered.  Now, it seems, it might.

There is another long and uncomfortable pause. A different voice emanates in the room this time. Shiaran and Beloc will recognize it as Wilson Wyck, the man who detained them and brought them to the questioning room. His tone is peculiar, as if he was put on the spot.

"The Count has some business to attend, so I will continue this interrogation. Did one Orodoth Garamune ever mention a certain artifact, known as a phylactery? If so, did he divulge any location to you?".

With monolithic patience, Sypher takes the switch up in stride.  "I'm sorry sir, he did not.  Oro was the quiet type when he was with us which has not been long or often. "

"So no one here recalls him saying anything about then?".

Gazra pipes up with "You're wasting your time Wyck. Oro would never tell anyone where he hid it, especially not a dirt bag like you".

"You hold your tongue, traitor!" says Wilson in a loud and commanding voice. A bright and near blinding light fills the room as a wall sigil comes to life. A bolt of electricity arcs out, striking Gazra in the arm. The jolt spins him around and sends him toppling to the floor. He lays there groaning and breathing heavily through the pain, not willing to get up. As everyone watches Gazra fall, several seem to move towards him for aid, but hesitate as Wilson cuts them off. "No one touches the oaf. No one".

Wyck resumes his questioning in his normal, smooth voice. He sounds extremely calm, as if hurting someone soothed his nerves. "Now then... as I was saying. No one recalls hearing anything about a phylactery, ever?".

"With all due respect," Beloc pauses a moment as he looks at Sypher. "that question has been asked, and it has been answered. Do you have any other questions that have not yet been addressed?"

"Mind your words, elf, or you'll find yourself laying next to the idiot on the floor. I don't entertain insolence. Especially not the thinly veiled and backhanded type. Now.. moving forward, I think we all see eye to eye here. To what business do members of our military have in mingling with enemies of the state? Surely you must have reasoned their cloak and dagger mannerisms were unbecoming of the company of officers? That there was something not quite right about them? And surely you must have found it peculiar they were on the run? What lies did they feed you to make you take pity on their cause.. the cause of upsetting the state and creating anarchy?".

Beloc grits through his teeth. "Your kindness has been noted."

He looks over at Sypher, awaiting a response.

Sypher looks at Shiaran and shakes his head subtly.  Then he slowly lowers himself to his knees and sits back on his heels.  He folds his hands in front of him and closes his eyes.  To all, it looks like he is either meditating or praying silently.

Shiaran sees Sypher's warning and rolls her eyes at the heavens.  "Skubalon!"  She starts to pace the room like a caged, angry puma.

"No answers then. Very well". The slight hum of the scrying sigil fades as it blends back in with the white of the walls. Green runes begin to glow all around the room. A pale blue light filters in. Everyone save for Rebort is overcome with immediate drowsiness. Krem slumps over first, and Gazra has never bothered getting up. Sigurd grits his teeth, fighting to keep his eyes open. Those who maintain consciousness are entirely too fatigued and sleepy to do anything. The door to the room opens, and several armed men entire. They begin placing manacles on everyone's hands first, before noticing Rebort is unaffected.

"Wot in the bloody 'ells is tha?" one asks.
"No idear. I thot e' was in a suit a' armor"
"I think e' is armor"
"You there. Armor man. You stay put, you 'ear? Jonesy, clap en' in irons"
"I'm not goin' anywhere near tha' thing. Make Percival do it"
"Me? Why me?"
"Cause you're the junior man"
""Ah shite"
"Quit belly achin' an' do it".

The man referred to as Percival moves towards Rebort, manacles in hand.
"Alright you. Come quietly, we's jist doin' our jobs".

For the most part, R.E.B.O.R.T. has remained relatively motionless during the questioning. As the little man moves toward warforged, without moving his feet, he leans forward and lowers himself to eye level. He narrows his eyes, as if challenging him in a nonaggressive manner to go ahead and try it.

Before the man can move, he positions himself between the men and Sypher.

Through the spell-enduced haze, Sypher breathes deep.  When Rebort steps in between, he wills himself to speak through the haze.  "Rebort...It's o...kay.  Stand...down."

Shiaran snores softly in a rather cute way over against one of the walls.  Even asleep, her hair seems to have fallen perfectly over her shoulders, framing her face in an alluring fashion.  Her arms are placed so that she appears a damsel in distress rather than a lethal blade waiting to strike.

R.E.B.O.R.T. raises his arms, fist closed and wrists pointed downward. One at Jonesy, and the other at Percival, the man charged with shackling him. Sypher and the others are well aware of the gestures meaning, but as Sypher speaks, he brings his arms inward, opens his palms, and rotates his wrists upward.

"Jist doin' my job", he says in a voice almost identical to Percival. It's hard to tell if he is mocking the soldier or just echoing his sentiments.

Percival hesitantly locks the irons on Rebort. A bead of sweat forms on his forehead as he secures the clasps. "Aw'right then, come along".

Several more guards enter the room. They are armed and armored in gear meant to protect their faces and groins. Everyone is pulled to their feet, save for Rebort. The guards use enough strength to lift everyone for transport, but they don't outright manhandle the party.

Everyone is brought out and down a short hallway, where a large spiral staircase waits. Rebort notes that they were all brought to a room on the fourth floor, and the trip down carries them six floors. A series of heavy iron gates are passed through, before another long hallway. Dim slivers of slanted light filter into the space from one side as the sun sits low on a dreary sky. Thick wooden cell doors line either side of the hallway, with small iron grates located head level for viewing. The group is split up into smaller groups from here and placed in cells all lining the same side of the hallway. Shiaran and Sypher, Beloc and Rebort, Gazra and Sigurd are how everyone is arranged, with Krem being placed in an empty cell by himself. Each cell has two uncomfortable looking cots fixed to the wall, and a single chamber pot with a grate in the floor to empty them. The grate itself is barely 4 inches wide, with the piping underneath not discernible. The only source of light on this side is through the window, with torchlight glowing through the viewing port in the door. The entire jail area looks like it has been frozen in time for several hundred years.

It is several hours before anyone comes to and shakes the effects of the interrogation room. Iron barred windows sit at the back wall of each cell. A peek through them gives an idea of the general location in the keep. Only around a foot above the moat, to the point that minnows are easily spotted picking at the slime and algae growing on the outer wall. Outside of each cell sits a lightly humming orb held fast to the wall in a fixture. No other sounds come from outside the doors, leaving it to anyone's guess how close guards are.

A familiar voice whispers into the window of Shiaran and Sypher's cell. "Bit of a pickle to be in, eh?". An almost completely transparent Kallium allows his face to show behind the bars.

"What can you tell us?"  Sypher sits up and enters a meditative technique to clear out the last vestiges of...whatever that was.

R.E.B.O.R.T. begins to hear the others stir within their cells. When someone finally speaks, he is relieved to hear Sypher's voice.

"They used a sigil in the room to induce fatigue and subdue everyone. A surprisingly pacifist approach for an individual expressing so much hostility. However, they did not take into account my internal defense mechanisms and their effort did not affect me. It seems we traveled quite some distance from the interrogation room and now reside on sub-level two of whatever building we are in. Our escorts did not speak, so there were no clues to be offered there."

"Nothing out here has changed. The battle still rages on in pockets and skirmishes. The main force still isn't surging forward without a solid opening". Kallium floats closer to the bars and tries to pass through. His face smooshes up as if he's pressed against an invisible wall. "Well that compounds our troubles. The entire level is warded. Magic, extra-planar travel.. They might not have their heads on right with the troubles they're giving you, but they at least know how to build a solid jai- someone's coming". Kallium's face winks out and he is nowhere to be seen.

Outside the door, quiet footsteps can be heard.

Wilson's smug face peers into the barred viewing port on the door. "Nice and comfy? I do hope so, because you won't be here long. Sypherion and Shiaran Whiteraven, you are hereby being charged with the following crimes. Conduct unbecoming of an officer. Failing to report your post. Absence without authorized leave. Desertion. Willfully aiding an enemy of the state. Willfully withholding information. Espionage. And my personal favorite.. treason. You have been found guilty, and are both sentenced to hang by the neck until you are dead, in three days times. Being enemies of the state yourself now, any rights you have to a trial are forfeit. Now then, enjoy your stay at Cheatoue Fildegarne". He calmly turns and steps to the next cell with Rebort and Beloc, ignoring anything the Whiteravens have to say.

"Beloc S'viscous and the one known as Rebort. The two of you are charged with identical crimes. The elf will hang with the others, and the mechanical one will be sent to the College of Magics for study and eventual deconstruction". Again he casually continues down the row.

"You, barbarian. I suppose you're the lucky one. Your friend has plea bargained for your life. You will be deported back to your tribal lands under the condition you neve-". Wilson stops his monologue as the telltale sound of spit can be heard.

"You belong in here with the filth, you rat" says Sigurd defiantly. The sudden crack of a pistol shot rings out through the hall. Sigurd yells in pain and a heavy thud is heard on the floor. "Let that be a lesson to you, savage. You may be getting out of here, but I'm under no obligation to let you out unbroken". The menacing tone from early surges through Wilson's voice. "As for you, oaf, you are to be beheaded publicly and flayed, to demonstrate to the masses what happens when you stand against our great nation".

A slight shuffle can be heard. "Go..go to hell" says Sigurd, weakly. Another shot rings out and Sigurd roars in pain.

Wilson starts to stomp off, still mocking. "Three days. Enjoy them as they pass".

Shiaran wakes groggily at the sound of the shots ringing out.  The second shot brings her fully awake.  When she realizes where she is and remembers the situation, she gets to her feet and begins examining the cage with the full might of her expertise brought to bear.  As she paces, she looks for arcane symbols etched in the surfaces of the cell.  Several less than appropriate words escape her mouth as she finds each one, especially the anti-magic runes.  No wonder they left her her components.  They won't do her any good.

Her next evaluation is to look at the structure of the cell, the locks in particular.  She checks to see if there are any magical traps first, but she realizes that the anti-magic orbs outside would negate such anyway.  "The orbs are anti-magic fields.  I cannot use any spells while they function, but that also means no other magic will work in here either.  They can't scry or use magical means to eavesdrop on our conversations.  That does not rule out mundane forms.  YOU HEAR ME, WYCK, YOU-"

"Shiaran."

Sypher's calm voice brings her back down from unthinking anger and Shiaran continues to examine the cell.  She looks for mechanical traps, and how to go about opening the door.

“Stand back from the door and take cover, please. Activating your armor is advised.”

]

An unseen force clearly shakes the surrounding cells, but the organic nature of the doors seem to take the full brunt of it. The door in front of R.E.B.O.R.T. is blown completely off its hinges outward as the shockwave radiates from the room. One by one, the doors from the other cells begin to shake violently and are removed from their hinges as they are blown inward.


“Status report, please. Is everyone alright?”


R.E.B.O.R.T. activates Melt Down from his docent.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:06, Wed 16 May 2018.

Beloc slowly picks himself up off the ground. “Alright?! Nearly half killed me, damn fool!”

R.E.B.O.R.T. simply states. “It was a calculated risk based on previous encounters. The path forward is clear.”

The battered elf roughly pushes his way past R.E.B.O.R.T. and out into the hall.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:05, Wed 16 May 2018.

Shiaran, who was stooping over to try and pick her lock, remains stooped over, her picks broken and still in her hand.  She blinks a couple of times and stands up.  "Well then.  Guess yours is bigger than mine."

"Well done, Rebort.  Prepare to engage."  Sypher rises to his feet in a single motion without his hands.  A moment later he is out in the hallway.  As soon as he sees one of the globes, he   checks to see if it can be turned off or removed from its pedestal.

Beloc retracts his armor and massages the shoulder he landed on. "Yeah, well done, Rebort."

"Yeah, no worries, we're fine.." calls out Gazra in a slightly annoyed tone.

Down the long hallways and around the bend, a clattering of armor can be heard. Shouts from the prison guards echo on the stone walls, making them incomprehensible. The main guards from earlier come around the corner in padded suits, again with armored segments that cover their faces and groins. Each brandishes a night stick and tower shields. Two form up shoulder to shoulder, while the third pulls out a trench gun. The muzzle pokes out past the two shields in front, creating a sort of centurion shield wall.

"You don't wanna do this folks" calls out Percival. "Wyck said you might cause us trouble.  We ain't got nothin' personal against you lot. Get back in your cells".

Sypher holds his hands out slowly and approaches the men with shields only a few steps before he stops.  "I don't want to do this, but you need to understand something.  Our mission would save all of Fildegarne and put an end to the PCA's ability to generate more troops from the dead.  By holding us here, the Count is ensuring the end of Fildegarne and the victory for the PCA."  Sypher gets down on his knees with his hands still spread wide.  "I'm implore you to speak with me for but a moment.  My people will not do anything during that time."

[Sypher uses Combat Expertise -5 Attack/+5 AC.
Sypher uses Diplomacy = 21.]

The guards remain silent, contemplating. The leader keeps the trench gun trained on Sypher's chest as he finally speaks. "Look fella, we got kids to feed. Ain't nuffin you're gonna say bout some doomsday this and that we ain't all heard before. And ain't nuffin gonna change th' fact that if we don't get you all back in them cells, it's gonna be us three swinging at the gallows"

Percival pipes up. "Wot if e's tellin' the truth though? They don't look like no criminal types I ever seen".

"Pipe down, Percy. You ain't got no say in this. An' it's highly unprofessional in front'a the prisoner".

"I think we may be a bit beyond that point lads. We's already losin' a weeks wage since they got out".

"Elm 'sa real bastard ain't 'e. Weeks wage indeed. I know where 'e can stuff all tha' money e's gonna save wot with not payin' us".

Jonesy sighs. "Percy, again.. Not in front'a the prisoner".

"Say your piece and ge' on with it".
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 02:46, Thu 17 May 2018.

Slowly, Sypher folds his hands in front of him.  "My name is Sypherion Whiteraven, the First Blade of House Whiteraven.  I am a paladin of Iehovah and I do not lie."  He pauses for a second to let that information sink in and to see if his name has a similar effect on them as it obviously did on Count Elm.

"You men are honorable.  You want to do what is right.  I can see that.  You are also intelligent or they would not have put you in charge of someone who is obviously more than common criminals.  You must know of the division in the nobility.  There are those who side with Count Elm and Wyck and those who side against them in political matters."  He pauses again, waiting for any trace of confirmation of his assertion on the faces or in the movements of those to whom he speaks.

[Perception 2x @ 18 each.]

"So wot you suggestin' then? Some sort a' coup on Wyck an Elm?".
"I fink that's exactly wot e's suggestin Jonesey"

Sypher shakes his head slowly.  "No, sir.  I am not suggesting that at all.  What I'm suggesting is that perhaps not everyone who needs to know about us being down here, who needs to know about our mission, doesn't.  I would like to make an offer.  We will return peacefully to our cells and give you no trouble if you will take a message directly to anyone you know within the nobility who seems to actively oppose Elm politically or who has friction with Wyck.  Someone who would honestly sort out this mess rather than execute us for their own political gain.  Then take a message to the King.  Give them my name as that may explain why the Count has made this move."

Beloc watches Sypher as he masterfully engages in his diplomatic tactics. He casually walks over to the maladin once he's finished and converses with him privately.

"i dunno wot you an' the elf is plottin', but first things first then. Show me ya mean what ya say about not bein criminal, and head back in them cells. Not th' ones ya came from either. Them ones across the hallway wha' ain't blown off they hinges. Do it peaceful and quiet like, an maybe we can arrange for Percy to get you a message out. Otherwise ya leave me no choice but to employ Betsy here. She might not have lethal rounds shucked in er', but they's more 'n enuff to knock someone on 'is arse and get me point across".

"Boyle.. you're talking too much. And tellin' too much too".

"Look if we could all just cooperate a bit here-"

"Stuff if Percy".

"Our apologies, gentlemen.  Beloc was only suggesting that we give you some form of collateral or assurance to let you know that we intend to keep our word.  His point was that you are now aware that we can walk out of here any time despite the orbs."  He looks back at the others and nods.

"However, we will now enter the new cells willingly as you have asked and we will remain until such time that we hear back from you that the message was successfully delivered and get your news about how it was received, or until someone else comes down here intended us harm.  You have my word as commander of this unit and as a paladin of Almighty Iehovah that this is all and only what we will do."  True to his word, Sypher enters a cell inviting Shiaran back in with him.  He closes the door allowing it to lock behind him.

Sypher sits down, legs crossed, and closes his eyes in meditation.

[Diplomacy skill remains a constant 21.]
This message was last edited by the player at 13:35, Thu 17 May 2018.

Shiaran winks at the soldiers, waves coyly at the youngest, and follows Sypher in before he closes the door.  Inside she sighs heavily and leans against the wall taking inventory of her components.

Beloc silently walks over to the next cell and stands in front of the door. "Rebort, over here." He gestures for the warforged to get in first.

R.E.B.O.R.T. looks over to Sypher's cell, then over to the empty one beside it before slowly walking inside.

"No funny business this time", Beloc says. Several dark circles have started to form on his left side where he slammed into the wall of the previous cell.

"Very well. I was unaware of my actions comedic value. I will apply less humor next time."

Beloc just rolls his eyes as he follows R.E.B.O.R.T. into the cell.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:04, Thu 17 May 2018.

The trio of guards starts locking down doors. They also manage to get Gazra and Sigurd moved over. Sigurd limps out, but doesn't appear to have any actual bullet holes. Krem is left in his original cell as the door to his was unaffected by Rebort's blast.

"Aw'right then. Your cooperation is noted, and more importantly appreciated. Tell me exactly wot you want to be passed along, and t' whom we's gonna send Percy to"

"I say Baron Helgen. Ain't no one more loyal to the Crown than 'e is"

"Nobody asked you Percy".

"I do not know who to send the message to.  You would know better than I who opposes Elm and who to view as truly 'good' in an objective sense.  The message I would send is that the last scions of House Whiteraven are being held as political prisoners most likely without knowledge of the Crown on false charges.  They and their friends are to be executed, though they serve the Crown as a special unit tasked to undercut the power of the PCA.  If this Baron Helgen is a good man, take it to him.  If there are others like him, inform them also as telling only one person might be a mistake or abused in the political game."

Sypher looks up from his meditation.  "And you have my personal thanks, gentlemen, for your honor and your service to the Crown.  We will keep our word and remain here as I have said."

Boyle nods to Sypher. Percy pipes up with "Yeah, ol' Helgen is the man for the job on this one 'e is. We don't hold much love for most a' the nobles round here. Sept' for Helgen and a'course King Grendrake and the queen an' princess".

"We wouldn't be seeing this kind of mess if they di'n have the royal family sequestered away for "protection" purposes".

"Nevermind all that right now. Percy, get th' lead out and track down Helgen. Be quick, an' for gods' sake man, don't be seen, else Elm'll have all our heads on pikes".

""No worries all. Detective Percival is on the case".

Jonesy and Boyle sigh as Percy trots off, humming to himself. At the last moment before he rounds the corner Boyle calls out "Remember to swap to your plain clothes you bafoon!". Percy gives a thumbs up and disappears on his mission.

"I reckon in the mean time, sit tight. Ya got three days, an' Percy is quick with whatever duties we give 'em. Might not be easy, but try an' get some rest. I got a feelin' we's all gonna need it if what you say is true an this dilemma comes to a head".

"Thank you."  Sypher does as suggested and continues his meditation and prayers, eventually falling into a light sleep.

Shiaran pulled out her spell matrix and begins to fiddle with it.  Only a mage of significant caliber would understand what it was.  They had not only left her her components, but her spellbook as well.  She hoped Leukos was okay.

After spending what light remained memorizing useful spells, Shiaran took one of the cots and fought the current of her raging mind until she wrested sleep from it's turbulent waters.  Her last conscious thought was for her familiar who remained free somewhere above the castle.

Beloc spends most of the waking hours communicating with and further training Apache. They practice various commands and exercises to reinforce their bond.

Once inside their new cell, a small winged creature flies in from the window of their previous cell and squeezes its way through the bars to rest gently on R.E.B.O.R.T's shoulder. The large construct looks over to EM-01 and nods. "Sypher, do you need to get a message out to anyone else? Perhaps King Thadrumir? Em'Owon can be of some assistance, I believe."

"How much can he record?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:38, Fri 18 May 2018.

R.E.B.O.R.T. is silent for a moment before finally answering. "Answer is unknown. Em'Owon can carry a message of undetermined length to its target. After that, I am able to open an indefinite two-way conversation with the target using it the proxy."

"Send him to Thadrumir.  Aprise him of the situation and keep a channel ready in case this heads into the Abyss. "

R.E.B.O.R.T. whispers to the tiny construct a short message to the dwarven king prefaced with the fact that it’s from Sypher. He instructs EM-01 to fly straight to the king and stay with until further notice.

Thadrumir's reply is brief, suggesting he wasn't in a position to converse much. He also mentions how Em'Owon was almost seen, which would have surely brought forth suspicions.

For the better part of the rest of the day, nothing of note happens on into the night. Those who can sleep are able, but find themselves restless in the dank conditions and uncomfortable bedding. The night ticks by agonizingly slow for Beloc and Rebort, though Apache seems to have no problems curling up in the corner and lightly snoring on the cool stone floor.

When daylight finally arrives the next morning, most everyone is sore and stiff. Boyle brings by a loaf of bread and pitcher of water for each cell. It isn't much, but it's better than nothing. The morning passes just as slowly as the day prior. Just before lunch, the light sound of boots on the stone floor are heard.

The lock to the door of Sypher and Shiaran's cell clicks open and carefully swings outward. A hooded man of medium build stands before you, unarmed. His cloak obscures most of his features, save for strands of long dark hair poking out of the hood, and a well trimmed beard.

"Sypher and Shiaran? Is it truly you?".

Both Sypher and Shiaran can't place the voice, but there is something very familiar about the dialect and kind tone.

Shiaran stands from her cot and moves around to its front to lean against the wall.  The move puts her opposite the cloaked man from Sypher.  She speaks as she moves to draw attention to herself at the same time she distracts from what she is doing.  "I kmow, right?  It's hard to believe.  I use a special plant extract to maintain my youthful appearance. "

Sypher takes her cue and stands as well.  "The voice is familiar, but I cannot place it.  You know us.  Care to put us even footing?"  As he speaks, he leans casually against the wall opposite Shiaran so the man has a hard time seeing both of them simultaneously.

The man removes his hood. "It's me, Kylis. The two of you look young as ever, as if time stops for you. And yet, all these years, I've thought you both gone" he says, looking both puzzled and marveling at the two. While the name Helgen didn't ring any bells, the name Kylis causes both Shiaran and Sypher to instantly be flooded with memories of summers during their childhood when a boy - who would have been in his early teens at the time - would come to stay with them. Too young in those days to have any care for the ranks of nobility, the two only knew they adored the older boy. Sypher would often "spar" with him using wooden swords, and Kylis may have very well been Shiaran's first real crush. His looks have done nothing but improve over the past decade, though now with the gap in time he appears to be in his mid 30s rather than only a few years the sibling's senior.

"Your man got word to me, about you being here. I cannot stay long, but I would trust no one to verify it was really you. The less who know of this, the better and easier it will be to make a move to get you out. I'm told there is still a day and half's time, and that you've been framed for war crimes you didn't commit".

When the hood goes down, Shiaran's heart skips a beat and her hand slips off the wall.  "Wow, Kylis, you got old."  Her eyes go wide as she realizes how that sounded.  "Older!  I mean, you got older.  You did a good job," she finishes lamely.

Sypher stands up straight from the wall and moves to Kylis.  He takes his hand in a firm hand shake.  "It is good to see you again, Kylis."  Glancing at Shiaran and her sudden awkwardness, he grins.  "Better I think than even knowing we have a true and honorable ally within the court."

He looks through the door and the devastation on the other side of the hall.  When his eyes return to the Baron, there is a grim sincerity in them, a determination that is unmistakable. "As you can see, we can get out if we need to.  We did not want to harm your soldiers, who seem to be good men.  But we have the means to severely wound the PCA war machine.  Whatever inconsequential politics that involve our friends Oro and Gazra need to be set aside.  As such, we do not need the crown working at odds with our mission.  We need the King to back us, or at least stay out of our way.  That's why we sent word instead of broke out."

He steps back and takes a deep breath.  "Baron...Kylis, is the King a good man?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:58, Sat 19 May 2018.

"Julius Ghendrake has a heart of gold, my friend, as does his family. Elm takes his kindness and tenderness for his people as weakness. He managed to rally most of the court into agreement that the royal family had to be put away for safe keeping once the seige began. While the king wields supreme executive power, he doesn't go it alone.. Hence why it was easy for Elm to make his first move, and get them out of the way. Most of the top military brass is at his beck and call now, and the man appears to either know nothing or care little about ensuring our fair city goes without bruises and black eyes. You two showing up threw a series wrench in his plans, given your status and social ranking".

It is Sypher's turn to stumble a bit.  Instead of speaking, though, he pauses to collect his thoughts.  When he does, he ignores the part about his own standing.  "Are there any in the military command here that are good?  Men we can count on to do what is right?"

R.E.B.O.R.T. notes the conspicuous nature of the messenger and instructs EM-01 to remain out of sight, but as close to visual contact with King Thadrumir as possible.

Beloc shares his bread with Apache and attempts to create a makeshift bowl for him to drink out of. Failing horribly, however, he makes a bit of a mess on the floor.

Given the fact R.E.B.O.R.T. doesn't need to eat, offers up his bread to his cellmates. "Let me show you a trick of the trade." Being a master craft, the warforged steps over his unused cot and begins to break it down. With the spares parts in hand, he puts together something for Apache to drink from.

For possibly the first time, Beloc walks over to R.E.B.O.R.T. and truly thanks him for his efforts. "Thank you. Truly. Through all of this, you have shown nothing but loyalty and kindness. For what little time we may have left, I am honored to spend it with you."

R.E.B.O.R.T. nods in appreciation. "It is my secondary function to ensure my charges survive long enough to complete their mission"

The red gem in his chest glows as Ewes voice comes from it. "Come now boy, out with it. You can do better than that." R.E.B.O.R.T. stands for a moment trying to reprocess, but after a fairly awkward amount of time, Ewes chimes back in. "My dear elf, what I believe he is trying to say is. You're welcome and that your, as well as the others, companionship is invaluable to him."

"I wouldn't consider them bad per se. You have to consider that in their world, doing the right thing is following the orders given to you. But we can change that, now that we have not one, but both Marquis and Marchioness Whiteraven still alive and well after all these years. That is why the Count wants you dead. You stand in his way to the throne and absolute power".

Shiaran gets a fierce look on her face.  "You bet your sweet be- uh beared we do!  That kommáti apó vromiá needs to-"  Sypher gives her a look and Shiaran backs down.  "He needs to be put on trial is all I'm saying your Baron-ness."  It completely escapes Shiaran that Baron-ness sounds exactly like Baroness.

Not much for small talk and still uncomfortable with all this talk of succession, Sypher gets to the point.  "What do we need to do, Kylis?  Other than break out of here and kill a lot of men who are not evil and who are needed on the front lines against the PCA, we need to be out there, not in here.  The sooner the better.  If we accomplish our mission, the PCA will likely flee the city to regroup."

"No, you're right. You can't just sit in here for much longer. Elm plans this evening to pay you a visit, probably as a final taunt before tomorrow. That is why we're going to get you out, but it can't be done with force. We have to match, if not exceed Elm's cunning. Any misstep you make will add fuel to the bonfire he's building. I'm sure it's probably not your forté, Sypher, but you fight a shadow war by being the hardest to see shadow. I have a plan that with your permission I'll commence this evening. As the sun sets, you'll be replaced in these cells by doppelgangers, and have your own appearances altered. I have a rather talented mage who can help with that. These anti-magic orbs out here will be replaced during a "maintenance" period with duds. Though your replacements will look like you, Elm will catch on quickly... But, the ruse will buy enough time to skirt you away to safety. You mentioned a mission though, and I don't want to impede that. Where do you need me to get you to, beyond the obvious of out of this cell?".

Before Sypher can speak, Shiaran pipes up.  "Do you know anything about ley lines?"

Kylis thinks for a moment. "I can't say that I do. I assume this deal with mystical forces?".

"Right now they are acting as a gateway for the PCA to draw souls from to power their army.  They have unrestricted access to the dead.  If we close the ley lines, they cannot renew their troops with such ease and we can begin whittling them down. " Her words come out in a gush, so many emotions all aligned into spewing out all the details of their secret mission: relief at having someone on their side, her need to accomplish the mission, her natural persistent need to show off her intellect coupled with her attraction and awkwardness toward this man, and many others.

Sypher gives her a look, but she ignores it.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:33, Sat 19 May 2018.

A mixture of anger and shock flashes across Kylis' face. "That is how they operate? It's not enough that they desecrate our dead, but they draw the souls of long departed from their eternal rest to do it. By the One... Have you managed to find one of these things already? And also, are you suggesting there is one here?".

Sypher nods.  "We have already closed one.  Turned it back into a one way filter so the dead can depaet, but not return. "

"We need to understand what caused them to open like that so it can't happen again.  The seal we place on them is strong and Fildegarne's won't open again anytime soon after we seal them, but we need to get word to other kingdoms on the mainland so they can address theirs.  Right now, it takes all four of us to seal it right. "

Kylis looks like he's just been punched in the gut. "Where was this opening that you sealed? And how recent?"

"In the Argonette Forest south of the Fyreworm lands five days ago.  Why?"  Now Shiaran's curiosity is piqued.  She wonders if there was some kind of noticeable event that took place when it happened.

Realization washes over Kylis now, as if puzzle pieces suddenly sunk together to paint a picture in his mind. "It all makes sense. Five days ago, East of the city, an armor column was attacked by a company sized element of the enemy. Halfway through their assault, witnesses say the entirety of their force burst into green flames, shrieking horribly, as if souls were exiting the bodies and leaving burnt husks. That force came from the direction of Argonette's south western end. When you closed that whatever it was, you not only stopped the PCA from creating new soldiers.. you destroyed what ones they had already created with that particular site. How many more of these are there?!".

"And that explains the bodies lying on the ground outside the wall."  Shiaran taps her chin, her go to tell that she is thinking furiously.  "There are around likely twelve of those ley lines left to close.  Every one we shut down destroys a significant portion of their fighting power.  Kylis, we need to get out of here.  Now."  Gone is her awkwardness as she focuses on the mission and the urgency grips her.  Shiaran is in her element under stress.

Most kinds of stress, anyway.

A voice chimes in from an adjacent cell. "I had hypothesized as much, but without evidence, the claim would have been unsubstantiated. It is a shame we will not be able to examine the effects"


"Don't interrupt, boy, they're having a moment."

Kylis looks at Sypher and Shiaran intensely, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. "I would have done my part in getting you out of here based on principle alone, but this new information... This is something I cannot idly stand by and let pass". Kylis stoops down, taking a knee and bowing. "As Baron of my small lands, as a man who considers himself lawful, and as a friend, I swear fealty to the two of you as I have the Crown. Your bidding is my command. My resources are at your disposal. We will triumph over Elm and over the enemy, in the name of what is good and righteous".

"Wait.  What?"  All Shiaran has known is the monastery, adventuring with Sypher and a couple of weeks in the military.  In other words, she's most often been junior when it comes to command.  This dreamboat kneeling before her swearing his life to her totally put her brain in neutral, spinning in high rev, but with nothing happening.

Sypher, still uncomfortable, maintained his composure.  "Thank you, Baron.  I will repeat my question.  What do we do?"  His voice is kind and gentle and he lifts Kylis to his feet.

"First, I need to know where you need to get to. Second, I need your patience. Give me a few hours to get my men in place. From there,you'll waltz right out of here, low effort

"The ley line is under the keep, below where we are now.  We would need to go down.  Way down."

Kylis winces. "So in the catacombs then.. wonderful place for that sort of thing".  He draws his cloak back up around him and pulls the hood over his head. "I'll see you again in a few short hours. I have to get back to my duties before eyebrows begin to raise".

Sypher gives the Baron a slight bow.  "Thank you, my friend.  It is good to see you again."

Shiaran waves with her fingers.  "Bye, Kylis."  The attempt at sultry looks silly and overdone such that when Kylis is gone, Shiaran smacks herself on the forehead.  "What is wrong with me?!"

Sypher grins.  "I have to say, it is rather amusing to see you so off your game like this.  Stop trying so hard.  Focus on the mission or you are going to push him away rather than draw him in.  The faltering speech around him is cute to a point, but if you throw yourself at him, how is that different than every other girl out there he's ever encountered.  Plus, you don't know that he isn't married.  Plus plus, your higher rank complicates things.  You head down this path, you are going to make yourself miserable, and him as well if you end up together."

"Wow.  You thought about that waaaaay too much, Syph.  Besides, what do you know about girls.  You've never even been on a date."  When Sypher chuckles, shakes his head, and finds a place to sit near the door, Shiaran stomps her foot in frustration.  Mostly because his words sounded right.  She knew he was right, but she couldn't help herself, and that he saw it irked her.

Sypher lets Shiaran stew in her frustration and attempts to get Beloc and Rebort's attention.  "Beloc.  Rebort.  Did you hear all that?  We need to be ready to move when the Baron's plan comes to fruition."

"Loud and clear." He can't help but chuckle a little. "I'm sure it was much less awkward than it sounded, but nonetheless, I'll be ready. A little more detail on the plan might help in preparation once the anti-magic orbs get swapped out."

"Confirmed. EM-01 could be of use if we are concerned that our alternate selves are not convincing enough. The obvious problem is that it will be very conspicuous. Perhaps, we could alter its appearance or render it invisible"

R.E.B.O.R.T. turns to Beloc, and in a lowered yet still audible voice, asks. "Is this sort of mating ritual commonplace among humans?"

Several more hours pass by with no visitors. The sun has finally broken through the clouds and hangs low, relatively speaking given how low the outer windows to be adjacent prison cells sit. Finally, someone down the the long hallway comes along whistling a cheerful tune. There is a scraping of metal, followed by a glassy tink, and a barely audible splashing sound. When the figure comes in to view, he's a lanky man in his early 20's. Unkempt blonde hair tops his head, and a has the look of someone without a care in the world. He reaches up with a small pry bar, and pops an anti-magic orb out of its socket, while replacing it with a fake from a satchel. He then take the real orb and enters each empty cell that is moatside, and casually drops it out of the window into the water a few feet below. He pauses for a brief moment to peer into the siblings cell first, then Beloc and Reborts. Each time he give a wink, and the only time he stops his whistling is to give a sly grin. He continues down the line until his work is through for the cell block that everyone resides in. On his way back through he feigns a stumble, and looks back at a high cobble stone that isn't there. Twice. On both occasions, a low profile packet wrapped in sack cloth slides under the door of the core party members. He give another wink, and says "Your Marqueeses. Marqueeships? Marquees? Nevermind. My respects" he whispers, and starts off on his way.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:13, Thu 24 May 2018.

Beloc quietly walks over to the door and picks up the sackcloth that was slid into their cell. He carefully opens it and looks to see what's inside the packet.

Inside each is a hand written note that simply says "One Hour", and two slenderly crafted daggers.

"Marquises," Shiaran whispers back before he leaves.  She leans down and opens up the package, handing the note to Sypher and putting the blades in sheaths at her waist.

She spends the next hour poring over her spell matrix one last time to ensure all the proper spells are memorized.

Sypher reads the note then gets into a meditative position, praying silently.

Knowing what R.E.B.O.R.T. has hidden away in his forearms, Beloc pockets the daggers and reads the note. He whispers it out loud for his cellmates benefit.

He takes a seat on the makeshift cot and prepares his spells for what lies ahead..

R.E.B.O.R.T. takes the time to go over his infusion components, trying his best to anticipate the needs of his team.

Precisely one hour later, the messy haired man from earlier pops his face into the viewing window. "So, who's ready for a jail break?". He goes to each cell and makes sure it's unlocked. Outside, a small cadre of men and a woman stand in waiting. "Now then, no time for fuss, everyone come out and pair up so I can get this right on the first shot - ah, shortest with the goblin please".

The woman pipes up. "So you promise? We do this and we all get a pardon?".

"Yes, yes. Just as we discussed. Full pardons all around".
This message was last edited by the player at 02:16, Thu 24 May 2018.

Shiaran steps out of her cell and finds someone who generally matches her height and mass.  She studies the man conducting this charade while he works.  As she is able, she also studies and attempts to memorize the looks of each of those who will be taking their place, knowing that these people are courting death by what they do.  With a glance at Sypher, she stands next to her choice and remains silent.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:05, Thu 24 May 2018.

Sypher follows Shiaran out.  When he sees the people and hears that they will be pardoned for crimes for their assistance, he nods.  It is a just recompense given what they face by taking the place of his unit.  The mission will save the lives of thousands upon thousands of innocents.  Risk born by a few to achieve that goal is good.  His own unit faces death every day in pursuit of this worthy goal.

When he finds a man to match his build close enough, he holds out a hand to shake with the other.  "Thank you for volunteering for this.  Please understand that this is far more than a political maneuver.  By helping us, you are saving the lives of thousands of your fellow citizens and possibly driving back the undead forever.  I will remember what you have done here."

R.E.B.O.R.T. is the first to step out of his cell. Being one of the largest in the group, he sizes up the candidates and walks over to the largest one he can find and stands next to him (or her).

"This one should do. Your sacrifice is noted."

Beloc steps out last with questions regarding Apache. "You there, " he points to Lyle, "I didn't quite catch your name. Do you have any suggestions for my companion, Apache? I realize to you, he's just a dog, but he's part of the team as well."

While awaiting a response, he looks over the remaining body doubles. He walks over to a couple of the men and sizes them up. One matched his body type better but was way too tall. The other matched his height better but was a bit too bulky. As he starts to frown at his options, the woman standing next to the shorter, bulky man, catches his attention. Slender, like an elf, but also not too tall. He stands next to her to get a better comparison. His expression is far from flattering, but at least tries to make up for it with a few words. "I mean no offense. It's not beyond my observations that elven physiques often take on a feminine quality. I would be honored if you stood in my place."

He glances over at Shiaran, who is trying to stifle a giggle. "Not a word, if you please."

The man spoken to by Sypher nods. As soon as Sypher looks away, he hears the man whisper to the next, "Who is he?", with the response "No idea. Don't matter, were goin' free".

The woman spoken to by Beloc also stifles her amusement, before taking a jab. "But I'd kill for hips like that".

Lyle walks over to Beloc.

He stands in front of Beloc, but addresses everyone. "My name is Lyle Pense. Personal mage of Baron Helgen. Now then, we need to make this quick".

He goes down the line, reciting an incantation and tapping each pair on the shoulder. Upon the last touch, there is a slight spark of energy. Whomever stands on the left, now stands on the right, having traded appearances. The heights remain the same, but everything else to include the sound of voices has been changed.

"Excellent" says Lyle with satisfaction. "Oh, one last thing" he says, pulling a metallic rod out of his pack. He scrawls a small eye shaped circle on the front of one of the dud orbs, then rotates it facing away. He reaches in his pack again and produces a small mirror. Lightly touching the mirror with the wand, there is a again a slight spark of energy. He hands the mirror to the real Shiaran, who looks like a muscular man with a beard and eye patch. "If you wanna keep an eye on things in here, use this. It should hold a charge for a few hours and holy cow I forgot the dog". He reaches back into his pack and produces yet another dud orb, and then looks down at Apache. "Sorry pooch" he says, before saying a different incantation this time. Suddenly Apache goes rigid, stiff as a board. Lyle hands the orb in his hand to Belinda S'viscous.

"Thanks."  She takes the mirror and tucks it away in a pocket.  Then she strokes the beard trying to mimic a man.  "Hmm, very interesting."  Then she adjusts herself a little lower down.  "Whew.  Just an illusion.  I would not want to walk around with one of those all the time!"

At the last, she looks up at her other self and winks.  "Enjoy looking irresistible for a while, sweety.  Sometimes it's a curse, but you can always use it to your advantage if you know how."

The prisoner looks down at himself and back at Shiaran, giving a dazed grin.

Beloc examines his 'predicament' and just gives Lyle a sour look. When the young mage hands Beloc his, now orb shaped, companion, he holds it up to eye level to examine it.

"Apache is fine, right?" His tone suggests that of a mother protecting its young.

The orb lets out a muffled bark, which sounds like it echoes softly within. "Yup, he's all set. Might be a bit stiff here in an hour or so when the spell wears off, but he'll be no worse for the wear. Now then, are we all set? Is everyone ready?".
This message was last edited by the player at 23:07, Thu 24 May 2018.

"When is Elm scheduled to pay a visit?"

"As early as half an hour from now unless he's full of surprises. Which, in case you were wondering, he usually is. Creep of a man, but keeps one on his toes at least".

"Let's move. "

"Outstanding. Doppelgangers, I need you and you in here, the two of you in the next cell, you two cozy up there, annnnd the pseudo goblin sits alone there. Sorry friend. Now then, my damsels in distress. If you will, follow me and I'll have you off to the guards. They'll shackle you - no worries, they won't actually be locked - and from there you'll be passed along to two fellows sympathetic to our cause that are stationed at the crypt. Actual convicts, you didn't hear that, got it? Excellent. Away we go". Lyle speaks rapidly and matter of fact as he directs traffic, making it apparent why Kylis sent the mage to conduct the operation.

Down the hall the procession goes, with Boyle and company waiting. Shackles are placed on wrists and true to his word, none are actually locked. Lyle pats Sypher on the shoulder. "Best of luck, Marquis Whiteraven" says Lyle as he passes off the party to the guard. A short 5 minute trek later through dark hallways with little more than torch light, the group enters an antichamber with several entrances. A pair of burly guards stand outside the door to the crypt. Their uniforms are immaculate and any metal on their rifles shines like chrome. They wordlessly break from their duty guarding the entrance and hurriedly get the door open. They each nod and usher everyone inside. Boyle also gives everyone a "good luck" before the massive stone doors slide closed behind the group. Ahead, a set of stairs descends down. At the top of the stairs, a lone figure stands shrouded in shadows.

Sypher removes his shackles and drops them to the ground.  He heads toward the cloaked figure.  "We are going to need our gear.  I hope he has it or at least knows where it is."

Shiaran drops her own manacles and kicks them to the side of the hallway.  She follows Sypher.  "Kylis?" she calls out to the cloaked figure.

"These daggers will do in a pinch, but they're nothing compared to my shield and falchion."

R.E.B.O.R.T. glances over at Beloc and concentrates for a second or two. "They do give off a magical aura. Perhaps there is something more to them."

The cloaked figure wordlessly holds out a hand, which grips a sack barely large enough to stuff over someones head, beckoning whomever will come closer to take it.

So of course Shiaran steps up and examines the bag for a second for tricks before taking it.

"Curious, standing in front of the rest, and first to grab at the goods. That beard isn't hiding anything Shiaran". Oro draws back his hood with his free hand, a devious twinkle in his crimson eyes.

Shiaran winks.  "You bet!  First gets dibs. "  She opens the bag to see what's inside.  "Bout time you showed up. "  Her tone is playful indicating she is actually glad to have him back.

Sypher steps up.  "Sypher."  He says by way of identification as he holds out a hand to shake in greeting.  "Good to see you, my friend.  What do you have to report?"

Shiaran quickly discovers the bag to deceptively deep. "I took the liberty of gathering the essentials. All of them, really. I heard a trio of prison guards talking about you, and managed to pull a few strings with people I still know within the Keep".

Shiaran more so feels before she see's the familiar grip of her trade mark katana. "That's a bag of holding, so guard it well. Everything taken from the lot of you should be in there. The royal guard were nice enough to have it all categorized and laid neatly in one room, and I thought it would be a shame for all these trinkets and blades to just sit there collecting dust".

As Sypher steps up and reveals himself, Oro reports. "Interesting news indeed. Apparently the two of you are Whiteravens, which means you are next in line to the throne should the royal family die - Not sure how that one slipped by me. Thankfully, only a small handful of people know that you live, so your list of political enemies should remain slim for now. Elm and that rat Wyck that follows him around seem to be making power plays left and right these days. He managed to "democratically" have everyone who's anyone in this city agree to sequester the royal family away to keep them safe. I can't imagine the King taking kindly to that, so I think it's safe to say it was a sort of soft coup against him. And that puts Elm in charge. At least, he was, until the two of you came along and inconsiderately weren't as dead as he would have hoped. The dwarves are safe, and being kept in the dark on everything. I assume Darius is fine, the fortress is locked tight and he can hold his own. Also.. why are we here in the crypt? I gleaned that you would be coming here, but the why..That's the only real mystery to me at the moment."

Shiaran 'oooh's' at the bag of holding and starts passing around everyone's gear.  While they get strapped in, she rummages around to see what else is in there.  When Oro gets to the part about the politics, Shiaran frowns.  "What, so if the king dies, Sypher gets to be king?  Oh man, we're so-" she stops short when Sypher gives her a look, shrugs and grins.  "Sounds like we need to just take Elm and Wyck out."

Sypher sighs heavily, a mannerism that has become a staple with him.  It is unclear however if it comes from Shiaran's vocabulary choices, the burden of leadership hovering so near, or something more.  "We don't need this kind of distraction.  There are too many rifts to close yet.  Can we end these illusions and get to work?"  He straps his gear into place, adjusts as he needs to, then waits for anyone else still working.  If they need help, he offers.

A slender, almost attractive, woman walks up and rifles through the bag. It isn't exactly clear which of the group it is until she pulls a large, silvered falchion and the darkwood shield from the bag.

A pair of piercing green eyes, quite possibly the only trait to survive the transformation, dart up at Oro. The expression on her face suggests that she is awaiting some sort of off-hand comment, yet the eyes suggest against it.

"Nice to see you again, friend."

A tall and rather burly looking man fetches his things from the bag as well, adding to Sypher's comment. "Yes. I still feel like myself, yet my appearance is a bit disorienting."

Addressing Sypher, Oro responds "That does complicate things quite a bit, doesn't it? Good news though, he has a daughter". The blank expression Sypher gives him tells Oro his point wasn't taken as intended. "Not for you, friend. I just mean that if the King is gone, there is still the Princess to rule in his stead and for her to take a husband. The entire Ghendrake line would have to die for any sort of burden to fall on your head, and I'm sure they have a retainer or two sitting in waiting. Quite frankly, I've never cared for the politics either, but such is the world we live in". Oro pulls his cloak back into a cape, with his hood lowered. "But never mind that for the time. Elm wont make a direct attack on the King's life, because if he was going to, he'd have already done it. I'm more eager to see one of these faults in person. Though I should caution you.. I came in through a side entrance to meet you here, and the door was ajar. Someone might be here ahead of us. Could be nothing, could be something".



DM Notes: The illusions altering your forms can be dispelled by you at will. Apache's will wear off in half an hour. Apache is the orb, not in the orb.

The contents of the Bag of Holding are everything taken from you when you were captured, so if it was on your person, you have it back now.

The Crypt has multiple entrances as Oro mentioned, which suggest it is large.

In 15 minutes time, Elm should be visiting the prison cells. The mirror given to Shiaran will act as a scrying lense to view and hear the scene should you so choose.

"Are the illusions bound to each other? Meaning, if we were to dispel ours, will the others be dispelled along with it?"

Shiaran looks to Beloc. "You think it's Glut?  The open door that Oro mentioned?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 01:57, Mon 28 May 2018.

"Commander Glut?", says the woman strapping an unusually large blade to her back. "It's possible, but that would imply he knew his way around, which might also imply he's working with someone inside."

The female facade begins to melt away as he willing dismisses the illusion. His features become more and more masculine with every gesture as he equips his gear. "Oro, aside from knowing what we know, why else would someone come down here?"

Oro shrugs. "Beats me. Could be a care taker, could be a trap. I'd hope if someone was setting a trap that they weren't being that sloppy though, otherwise it just ends up an annoyance".

"Either way, be on your guard.  Let's go."  Sypher moves further into the crypt extending his sense of evil as best he can.  He and Shiaran both leave their disguises in place.  Any advantage they have to confuse an enemy is worth holding on to for as long as possible.  "The spectral fault is this way."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:09, Mon 28 May 2018.

As you descend the stairs deeper, you're met with a long and straight corridor with several doors to the left as you go down.

"Do watch for traps" says Oro. "There's somewhere around three hundred plus years of royalty, nobility, war heroes and more buried down here, as well as their valuables. Suffice to say, I'm sure there are certain doors and floor tiles the caretakers avoid".

Shiaran moves ahead of Sypher to lead the way, keeping her eye out for trouble as she goes.  Her movements are precise, efficient, and she remains silent the entire time.  "Afíste to fos chorévoun doreán."  Her whispered spell creates four small white orbs that rise up to the ceiling and stay just behind her head, thus illuminating her path without shining in her eyes.  The lights travel in a row, one each over Shiaran, Sypher, and the next two in line.

"There is little doubt that this near the fault with all these dead people, we are going to have to desecrate some royal dead dudes.  Nobody hesitate."

[Shiaran casts dancing lights.
Shiaran searches for traps taking 10 + 12 = 22 Perception.
Shiaran moves toward the door leading to Room 15.]

Shiaran finds nothing harmful, but the stone door is locked tight and sturdy.

"All the doors lead west as far as I can see, and that's the way that the fault lies.  This one is as good a guess as any.  Do you agree?  Can you pick it?"  Sypher focuses his paladin sense on the room beyond the door while his eyes and ears continue to scan the hall.

Shiaran fiddles with the lock for a bit, then growls in frustration.  "This may take a bit.  It's complicated."  She sets to the lock with care and precision.  It is not done quickly.

[Shiaran takes 10 + 10 = 20 Disable Device on Lock to 15 - FAIL
Shiaran takes 10 minutes to take 20 + 10 = 30 Disable Device on Lock to 15.]

As Shiaran works, R.E.B.O.R.T. vigilantly scans the halls and surrounding areas. There is a slight glow to his eyes.

R.E.B.O.R.T. will maintain concentration on Detect Undead.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:49, Thu 31 May 2018.

Rebort can indeed detect some sort of undead presence, but the signatures are faint, many weak and small, and none feel close.

The lock Shiaran works on finally clicks open, and the door swings inward. Inside looks to be some sort of embalming room. Several stone slabs sit elevated from the floor with grooves cut into them for collecting fluids into drains below. In stark contrast to the medieval tables, the walls are lined with shelves and cabinets. Several bottles are attached with leather straps and hang from metal poles that look something like a coat rack, with slender hoses running along and draped on the sides of the table. Long and thick needles are affixed to the ends of the tubes. On one table, a white cloth is draped over what appears to be a body, with the tubes running underneath the sheet to the corpse. It is unclear who lies under the sheet.

There is some form of wooden countertop also installed in the room with several drawers, and a leather bound book with a fountain pen sitting next to it on the desk area of the countertops. A row of at least 15 hardback books sits next to the open book.

Recognizing that this room is likely less to have traps since an embalmer would frequent it and store nothing of great value in it, Shiaran only gives a cursory inspection of the floor and objects for anything nefarious.  Her eyes wander over the books and their titles, but she has no interest in dead things, especially ones that don't stay that way.  Only those titles not related to the dead would halt her for a more than passing glance.

Instead, she heads to the door on her left [south].  Given the door she entered was equally spaced between both doors, one is as good as the other since no door leads west - the direction they need to go.

At the door, she looks first, inspecting for trouble before touching or attempting to test if it is locked.

[Shiaran uses Trapsense (Perception) take 10 + 12 for a total of 22.]

As Shiaran makes her way gently through the room, Sypher goes to the table and lifts the blanket.  Why a body would be left here unfinished and unattended makes him wary.  He is also the best suited if the body decides to welcome them in a more energetic fashion than it now displays.  Sypher admits to himself a mild curiosity as to the identity of the dead person, hoping it is not anyone they know as such would spell trap in large burning letters across the metaphorical wall.

"This area is surrounded by necromantic signatures, albeit faint and not in the immediate vicinity."

The volumes are various medical journals and general practice guides, suggesting the the embalmer is a licensed medical professional. Everything from diseases, fractured bones, wound care and more could be found within their pages. One in particular - at a glance - appears to detail the use of magic during complicated surgeries. The open book on the table is a ledger, with names and scant information about the deceased, followed by the dates of their deaths. The most recent is Baronet Hanzin Krauss. The cause of death is listed as "shrapnel".

As Sypher takes a peek at the man on the stone slab he see's various tubes inserted via long needles into veins, and the bottles appear to be embalming fluid. There are additional tubes inserted in the ankles, and thick blood slowly drips from them and drains into the small grates below. The process looks painfully slow, which could explain the lack of an embalmer presently. There is a large entry wound with jagged edges in the center of the man's chest. Whatever hit him would have instantly destroyed his heart. He most likely felt little to nothing before passing. Next to the entry would sits a small stone, with some kind of arcane writing minutely carved into it. Remarkably, there isn't any real smell to the ordeal, save for a faint mix of something sickly-sweet and something sulfurous.

The door to the South, upon inspection, is clear and free of traps. When tried, it isn't locked either.

The mirror in Shiaran's possession begins to vibrate.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:07, Sat 02 June 2018.

Shiaran is about to open the door when she feels the mirror indicate something is happening in the cells.  She pulls out the mirror and is about to activate it when Sypher shakes his head, warning against the idea.

"It is a hard thing, Shi, but if we watch that, we will want to backtrack and help them.  Then this will all be for naught.  We cannot save those few, but by completing our mission, we can save thousands."  He looks grieved by the choice and his words are filled with the ache he must feel in his heart for not only thinking them, but having to say them out loud for all to hear.

Shiaran shrugs.  "I understand that, Sy, but bad guys are ego maniacs.  I'm hoping to catch Elm or Wych monologuing so we can use that information against him.  If you can't watch, I understand.  I will do the hard thing and gather what information I can.  It's what I do.  I will not be tempted to turn back.  Vengeance will come later."

"Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says Iehovah."  Sypher sounds as if he is quoting something and there is more than a hint of admonishment in his tone.

"Yes, and His vengeance is worked through tools like us.  It's not personal, Sy.  It's right."  She holds up a hand to forestall any more argument.  Sypher takes a deep breath and nods.

Ignoring him anyway, Shiaran holds up the mirror and speaks the activation word.

As the scene unfolds, Sypher's eyes narrow, the only sign of anger he shows.  At the end, he is grateful that the stand-ins were left alive.  He held out hope that they would somehow survive this, but considering what hunted them, it was not a large hope.

Shiaran watched the mirror growing more angry by the second.  This vile thing was responsible for the end of her entire family save her and Sypher.  She watched, storing every word in memory to savor later in order to glean every last drop of advantage over that piece of skubalon.

When the monologue ended she let the mirror image fade as she looked up at Sypher.  "Now it's personal."

Sypher said nothing, but he did give a slight nod.  His acceptance of this empowered her in a way she had not realized possible.  There would be no holding back, making sure she towed some line in Sypher's mind about what was right and wrong.  Shiaran was the last blade of house Whiteraven and she would drive her sword right through his heart...just before Sypher removed his head.  The vision in her head of that death was so clear, she was almost sure it was prophetic, a vision from Iehovah.

Then the cold reality of logic and knowledge crept back in as the study of the undead she had done back in Langdon.  "He's a vampire.  Gotta be.  That's not going to be easy to take down."  It surprised her that they could see him through the mirror after realizing what he was.  Perhaps the no reflection rule didn't apply to scrying spells.  Or perhaps half of what was written in that book was myth.  She would keep the mirror anyway, but cursed inwardly at the potential for him to be resitant to her sword.

When Sypher frowned at the mention of vampire, Shiaran looked at the others.  Only Beloc seemed to not be completely at a loss.  "I read up on a lot of the undead before we left Langdon.  It was a technical manual in the military library so I hope it wasn't too far off.  As we move through the catacombs, I'll fill you in on their strengths - which are a lot - and their weaknesses - which are odd."

The look of disgust on Beloc's face speaks volumes as the scene unfolds before them. Once it was finally over, he just stood there a moment staring at his fists and shaking his head. "Sypher. Shiaran..." He can't quite finish his sentence.

Finally after a brief moment to collect his thoughts, he continues. "He will answer for his actions, that is a promise. We close the fault, then we put Elm in the ground. Permanently."

R.E.B.O.R.T. processes for a moment. "Your assessment has merit. The aversion to light, the preternatural sense of smell, and the various clues in his speech point to something... off. There certainly seems to be something inhuman about him, unfortunately, I was not scanning for anything out of the ordinary when we were last in his presence."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 04:48, Sun 03 June 2018.

"That does indeed explain much. I'm terribly sorry for the losses the fiend has caused you. I can't imagine..". Oro places a hand gently on Sypher's shoulder.

"Thank you."  Sypher seems to grow a bit more distant, thoughtful and removed from the emotions the revelation should have evoked.  The emotions Shiaran is openly displaying.  "Shiaran?  The door?"

Shiaran clenches and unclenches her fist, visibly calming herself.  "It's open."  She moves back to it after securing the mirror and opens it cautiously.

The door opens to reveal a workshop. Stone slabs and piles of wooden planks line the walls, with multiple work benches in the center. Here, caskets both stone and wood are created. A large assortment of wood and stone working tools can be found. Thick layers of saw dust and bits of rock and sand crunch under foot. Over in the corner, a rack with various linens and stuffing can be found. Padding and lining for the insides of final resting places.

Over in the wood working area, a saw hang precariously in the air over a cut board.

In the masonry area a hammer and chisel gleam with a brilliant reflection.

Seeing nothing of interest in the room, Shiaran sends her dancing lights ahead of her to the western door looking for issues along the way.  Her silence before was professionalism as she did her job.  Now, however, there is a thunderstorm about her aura that precludes any joshing with the team.

[Shiaran searches for traps taking 10 + 12 = 22 Perception.
Shiaran moves toward the door leading to hallway to the west of Room 20.]

Sypher follows Shiaran into the room, holding at the door until the next person is ready to enter, ensuring the door does not close behind himself.  Once in the room, he moves in the same path that Shiaran takes.  His focus is on the mission no matter what thoughts of Elm and his family attempt to intrude.  He can deal with that later.

His main concern was for Shiaran.  Sypher had taken to the training at the monastery because of his ability to compartmentalize his feelings, his thoughts, and his actions.  Shiaran was a powder keg waiting to explode.  He hoped she would keep her head and not charge in against a foe too much for her, but he also realized she could well focus that anger and take on tougher foes if she needed to right now.  They would not be left standing.

Sypher saw nothing of interest in the room, at least not to him.  He looked back at his companions, those becoming his friends, and felt grateful that they did not intrude upon the wound freshly opened by the vision in the mirror.  No doubt they would have to converse about the turn of events when time permitted - if it ever did.

The implications of his status, one he didn't truly understand until today, had thrown him off balance inside.  House Whiteraven's genocide was the past, something dealt with as a boy.  House Whiteraven's potential for the throne, the responsibility of it, felt like an enormous burden had suddenly been set on his shoulders and threatened to bring him to his knees.  No longer did he have the freedom that he and Shiaran had enjoyed adventuring after her 18th birthday.  Now...now his duty to Fildegarne was more than just these faults and fighting the PCA.  It extended to the rest of his life.

Sypher frowned.

R.E.B.O.R.T. walks into the room shortly after Sypher. Immediately, his attention is drawn to masonry workbench. He takes a moment to study the implements around the area. "Whoever worked here much have taken great pride in their trade. The tools are of fine craftsmanship and even carry an enchantment or two."

Clearly having no right to their claim, he leaves them where they are.

Beloc enters the room after a few others have filed in, not last, but next to last. His mood is somber, if not brooding. "What, do you suppose, they used this room for?"

"It looks like coffins and such... Hey, everyone. I was thinking. If we're followed, some of us should hang back to hold off any pursuers. At the very least slow them down. We're kind of a big group to be shuffling around down here".

Oro pipes up. "You have a valid point my friend. The Crypts are a maze of twists and turns. Easy to get lost in, and easy to end up in a dog pile. What do you say Sypher? A few of us "non-essentials" hang back and hold down your rear flanks while you four do the heavy lifting? Or perhaps bring one of us along?"

DM Note: At any given time, feel free to direct the NPCs. Leave them all behind to hold down the fort, leave a few and bring one, press on, etc. The choice if yours. Currently you travel with Oro, Gazra, Krem, and Sigurd. Each has their own strengths and merits. Think of them as extensions of the party at your beck and call. Of these four, you have to your knowledge completely earned their loyalty and respect.

Party's choice entirely.

Sypher contemplates the offer for a moment.  "Shiaran told me about this Glut character you faced in the warehouse.  On top of that, if Elm or even Wyrich comes against us, we are going to need all of us together.  Plus, they know this place far better than we do.  It would be easy enough for them to slip around you and come at the four of us before we could close the fault."

He nods and smiles at Oro and the others.  "I appreciate the offer, but I believe that splitting our forces will only lead to lessening our strength."

Gazra shrugs. "You're the boss".

At the door to the hallway, Shiaran doesn't find a trap, but does discover a device attached to the door. It appears to be some sort of pulley system, narrow and tucked away. The pulley cable disappears into the stonework, and it isn't apparent exactly what it does, but any investigation of the surrounding area tells her no immediate threats or traps are activated in the vicinity of the door. It definitely goes somewhere and pulls something, but figuring that out from the current location is impossible.

Anger cooling in the face of an immediate logic problem, Shiaran taps her chin in thought.  She looks around the room and sees the other door to the south.  Without a word, she moves cautiously over to it, still keeping an eye on the floor and surroundings in case someone got creative.  Once at the southern door, she gives it the same treatment as the one before it.

[Shiaran searches for traps taking 10 + 12 = 22 Perception.
Shiaran moves toward the door leading to Room 26.]

Shiaran finds the door to also be locked, but not trapped. Her skill at picking locks makes quick work of the door. Behind it looks to be some sort of storage room. Half is scraps of material from wood to stone to ornate this and thats, while the other is bins of rubbish that haven't been removed in quite some time. There is a foul smell in the air of decay, likely coming from the bins.

Location: Room 26

"I agree with Sypher here, if we split up now then we might not make it back together before we find the fault. If there's ever a time to have someone cover our flank, it'll be when we're taking care of the ritual."

Shiaran scrunches up her nose, but endures the smell.  "Sypher, you sense anything in there we should know about?  Rebort?"

Sypher moves to the doorway as Shiaran steps aside.  He looks within and directs his sixth sense across the interior. "I sense nothing.  Rebort?"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:08, Sun 10 June 2018.

"The same faint signatures of undeath as before. I do not detect any further movement from them. They seem distant."

Still attempting to move west, Shiaran cautiously makes her way to the door on the west wall and checks it out.

[Check door for traps and lock to room 25.
Perception 22]
This message was last edited by the player at 01:04, Mon 11 June 2018.

Shiaran finds the door to be unlocked, but as she cautiously opens it, she hears a faint tink as if something tiny and metal has pulled free and dropped to the ground.

"GRENADE!" Shiaran dives away from the door back toward Sypher.

Sypher averts his eyes partially but also does what he can to assist Shiaran.  Healing ready as needed.

Beloc, armor raised, turns to place himself between the potential blast and R.E.B.O.R.T. in an attempt to shield him.

As everyone scrambles for cover, the heavy wooden door bursts in a spray of splinters and fire. The grenade trap doesn't do any real harm since the bulk of the blast stayed on the other side, on account of Shiaran catching it just in the nick of time. A second blast sends a gout of flame through the open doorway next, filling the room with smoke and fire.

Shiaran, Sypher - Reflex save (pass takes half damage from intense heat and flame)
Rebort - Reflex save (pass takes no damage from heat/flame due to being further back)
Beloc - You do whatever you feel like in your op armor..

With that much noise, Sypher clears off the dust as best he can then steps to the doorway to see what may be on the other side.  He looks for creatures or other moving, active problems, but does not move into the room itself.

Shiaran picks herself up and dusts off as well.  She checks for damage, but finds not even a scratch.  Satisfied, she turns to Sypher.  "Anything?"

Beloc appears to be unscathed as well, even though he was trying to absorb as much of the impact as he could from R.E.B.O.R.T. Despite that effort, the warforged appears to be somewhat seared around the edges of his mithril frame.

From one of his many compartments, R.E.B.O.R.T. pulls out a small container with a semi-transparent substance that resembles the sort of grease one might use on machines. He applies the substance to the various burns and they seem to magically vanish, leaving behind nothing but his normal shiny frame.

R.E.B.O.R.T. uses his Repair Light Damage infusion to repair the trap damage.

The room where the grenade and secondary explosion came from is covered in flames. Multiple jars and bottles are broken, their contents burning. The fumes in the air and positively noxious and give anyone who breaths them an instantaneous sick feeling in the pit of their stomach, save for Rebort. At the center of the room is the mangled and charred remains of a person, still smoldering from the blast and flames. Given the nature of the stonework, the fires will likely burn themselves out as there is little the fire can use to spread. Still the temperature of the room is high. Not enough to further ignite clothing or anything, but enough to provide extreme discomfort and fatigue to organic beings... automatons and ironwood clad elves maybe not so much.

Sypher steps back away from the fumes and shakes his head.  "No enemies.  Not much would have survived that blast.  An archway directly across from us looks like it leads the way we need to go.  We'll gave the flames a few to die down unless anyone has a way to douse them or dampen them now."  He knows Shiaran's spells well enough not to ask her, knowing hers are geared in a different direction.

He finds a spot in the room and leans up against a table until the fumes burn up and the flames die down.

Shiaran realizes she doesn't have a spell that would fit their needs.  Another one to chalk up to study.  She makes a mental note and jots one down in a small book at her waist.  For a moment, she considers her sword, but realizes it has limitations.  With nothing to attack but the floor, she doubts its power would be sufficient to do anything but make the floor dangerous to walk on in a few minutes when they can cross safely through the wreckage of the room.

Like her brother, she steps back and finds a place to rest.  Looking around, she shrugs, empty of other ideas.

"Let me take a look, Sypher. I may be able to quench the fires a bit."

Beloc walks over to the room, almost enters, but stops short when the fumes start to creep in and give him the impression that'd they would easily overpower him should he venture much farther. He scans the room for a moment before turning his attention to the ceiling. As he begins casting, moisture starts to form and slowly drip down. The fire below hisses in protest but quickly succumbs to the force of over a dozen gallons of water spread out over the entire room.

The immediate danger of the fire may be gone, but the addition of the water turns the room into a sweltery sauna.

Beloc casts Create Water with the "downpour" effect.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:30, Sat 16 June 2018.

"Great job, Beloc.  Allow me?" Shiaran draws her sword and ignites the coldfire.  At the edge of the sweltering room she lays the flat of the blade against the moisture collected on the floor from Beloc's spell.  Ice begins to spread.

With the sword cooling things down, Shiaran takes her own look around the room.

A rime of ice creeps along the floor of the room with a crackling sound, flowing up the walls and across the ceiling. The temperature drops dramatically and before long, Shiaran can see small puffs of her own breath in the air.

As soon as she sees her own breath she withdraws the sword and dismisses the coldfire.

The ice ceases its creep. It will persist for a time, though it isn't thick enough to obscure writing or details, and hardly thick enough to cause slips and falls. It rather, will crunch and melt underfoot.

The room - or what's left of it really - looks like it was an alchemal storage room. Shattered clear jugs marked with what looks like the silhouette of a mummified body next to a skull and cross bones, and even more tell-tale, a symbol of a flame on them. Linen spools lay charred and crisp (and now damp), while other chemical used in the embalming process have also had their content shattered in the blast. The grenade would have shattered most of the contents of the room, with the subsequent head and explosion igniting all the contents that could burn.

The burnt corpse in the middle of the room stays put, laying on its side with its face down on the floor. What details you can glean from him at a glance show that he was most likely a craftsman. A crispy leather tool pouch is still fastened to his waist, and much of his apron underneath is nothing more than char-cloth now.

Shiaran leaves the body for Sypher to check as she moves across the remains of the room toward the arch.  The fire may have taken out some traps, but there was no doubt someone down here was counting on them coming through.  Several questions passed through Shiaran's mind as she inspected the ground.  Who was it?  How long have they been down here?  How many were there?  Were they only trapping the most likely path or was the whole place rigged?  The answer to the latter would answer some of the earlier questions.

The other consideration she had was that they were in a portion of the catacombs where workers frequently worked.  That meant that there either there were no old traps, or they were in low traffic, high-value areas.  The traps they would face in the high traffic areas would be newer and easily set.  It would allow her to focus better and make their time slightly more efficient.  She also kept in the back of her mind the question of who.  If they found any ancient, more structural traps sprung, then that would indicate whoever was down here was not native to the castle and those attached to it.  If those kinds of traps existed, and none were sprung, either they were better than her at her job, or they were associated with the castle somehow.  Elm and Wyck were out because of the vision in the scrying globe, so that meant another player.

The gears of her mind turned rapidly as she calculated, but at the moment there were still too many variables to arrive at a definitive answer.  She arrived at the portcullis barring the way forward through the arch and peeked around the corner through the bars as best she can, expecting something to come flashing at her through the dark...

[Perception = 22
Stealth = 24]
This message was last edited by the player at 00:34, Mon 18 June 2018.

Sypher follows in Shiaran's footsteps as she moves silently through the room.  He stops at the body, though it is obvious whoever it was is dead.  He prayed they were that way before the fire went off.  He said a prayer for the person's family, for comfort at their loss.  Once done, he stood and returned to seeking out with his senses whatever evil might be near.  There was no point dwelling on the deceased.  They had died either before the fire or in it, and the mission took precedence.  Even the fact of a raised body was not a concern considering how badly the body was torched by the flame.

Sypher looked back to the others, motioning for Oro to check to door on the north side of the room with a nod of his head.  With the arch open like that, keeping sound to a minimum was key to not alerting any interested parties that someone survived the blast.  He moved as quietly as possible to the wall near Shiaran, ready to support her if she needed it.

[23:43, Today: Sypher Whiteraven rolled 20 using 1d20+8 ((12)).
23:44, Today: Sypher Whiteraven rolled 16 using 1d20+9 ((7)).]

Once the signal for all clear is given, Beloc and R.E.B.O.R.T. follow in behind. Beloc comes in last to secure the rear just in case the commotion brings about investigators. Both move as stealthfully as possible.

08:58, Today: R.E.B.O.R.T. rolled 15 using 1d20+5.  Stealth check.
08:58, Today: Beloc S'Viscus rolled 8 using 1d20+4.  Stealth check.

There is something troubling about the craftsman's body, and is plain to see. Someone, or some thing, had slashed his throat open. It's impossible to tell at this point how long ago it was, at least without getting hands dirty and having medical knowledge.

"Locked. Give me a moment". Oro fishes in a pouch and produces golden colored lock picks, setting to work and popping the lock open in a few seconds time. The door swings open of its own accord, slowly. Likely from being set a bit crooked. A hallway north lies ahead.

The portcullis ahead of Shiaran is lowered, preventing further passage. There is no visible switch or lever to activate it immediately in view.

"I can't really see anything down this way," she stage whispers back into the room.  "Anyone see a switch for this portcullis?  If not, we are going through Oro's door."  Shiaran moves back away from the portcullis and begins to look for a switch.

R.E.B.O.R.T. peers down the hallway past the portcullis. "There is not enough light for me to discern anything useful."

Beloc walks up beside R.E.B.O.R.T. "I can see well enough, but it doesn't look like there is much to be seen. At least not from this vantage point. Maybe they've hidden a lever or button some where."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:48, Mon 18 June 2018.

The hallway to the north where Oro opened the door splits off into a T. To the east, the locked door rigged to a pulley cable that Shiaran chose not to open. To the west, a northbound turn and open archway.

Shiaran moves over to inspect the pulley system while Sypher keeps an eye on the other direction.  He moves down the hall a ways to allow the rest of the party to follow out of the room full of heat and the smell of charred human flesh.

Shiaran follows the rig and tries to understand it, find a way to disarm it if possible.

The cable is in plain view from this side. It runs up into the ceiling and disappears into piping, headed south and slightly west.

Shiaran mouths a silent curse, but files the information away for later.  Then she moves back to Oro.  "You seem like you wouldn't get us killed.  Wanna take point for a bit? Sypher will give you direction.  I want to pay attention to things not in our direct path for a bit."

"But of course. Sypher? At your command".

Sypher nods.  "Yes, please."  He moves out of the way to let the tiefling pass.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:48, Sat 23 June 2018.

R.E.B.O.R.T. walks over door leading to room 20. He notices the cable next to the door leading to the room they were in just a few moments before and stops himself before attempting to open it. He follows the lead back to where Shiaran just headed. "Shiaran, do you see where this cable connects?"

Oro moves up to the T junction where Shiaran is poking about, and heads west a few feet to the room facing north. There is an open archway instead of a door. "It's rather dim in here, but I believe we've found one of the actual crypt rooms where the departed are at rest".

Meanwhile, Shiaran can't make out anything further on the cable beyond it pointing to something southward. She can tell that opening the door, which would swing towards her in the hallway based on the hinges, would allow slack in the cable rather than pull it. There is no other discernible way to figure out the cable system without opening up said door that leads back into the workshop and hoping for the best

"Do you need more light or can you lead us into the room?"

[How close do we feel now to the rift?  What are the PCs feeling with regard to that and our various senses?]

"It is lit enough to not stumble on anything. It looks well kept too. Completely undisturbed".

Upon inspection of the room, Sypher will notice the tell-tale stream of blue green energy leading to the fault. It travels across the room from right to left (bearing southwest), entering on the far side of the crypt room and passing through the wall closer to where Oro is checking the room from.

Sypher shakes his head.  "This is not the right way.  We need to head west and a bit to the south, not north.  I hate to do so, but we need to try a different way or we are going to waste more time and more soldier's lives."  He turns back toward the room of fire [Room 25], then through that to the room before it [Room 26].  "To the south, Oro...Shiaran, what do you see? Can we move through either of those doorways?"

Shiaran takes the open archway and inspects for trouble silently.

While Oro and Shiaran investigate the southern options, R.E.B.O.R.T. circles back up north to the room with the smithing tools [room 20] to fetch them. He uses the door that was previously searched and used by the group beforehand.

"More of the dead laid to rest in here. A lot of them. The entombments form a horse shoe. We'll have to head down to the far side of the room and loop around.. unless you feel like crawling over. The other door to the eastern side of the room is locked tight, and is extremely heavy looking".
This message was last edited by the player at 02:52, Tue 03 July 2018.

Rebort retrieves the tools without incident. The saw has a command word engraved into the handle, which simply says "cut" in an arcane script. The hammer and chisel also has a command word engraved into the hammer handle. It says "break". Rebort can surmise that the tools will magically animate and carry out their function until instructed to stop.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:53, Tue 03 July 2018.

R.E.B.O.R.T. returns, placing the collected items in a side compartment. "Sypher, I have an idea that might prove useless, depending on a few of our previous assumptions. A particular scroll comes to mind. However, doing so will take my passive scanning over the area offline. Shall I proceed?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:49, Sat 07 July 2018.

Sypher chuckles.  "I appreciate the caveat.  We all do things that may end up being useless, though they seemed a good idea going into them.  Never know until we try, eh?  Give it a go.  See what you come up with."

He turns to Oro and Shiaran.  "Thank you, Oro.  Any luck with that door, Shiaran?"

"This place is creeping me out. It is unnatural for the dead to not go in the ground" says Sigurd.

Shiaran couldn't help it.  Knowledge was her wheelhouse and ignorance was one of those things that irritated like a burr under a saddle.  Sigurd's statements were not only culturally ignorant, which she did not have a problem with, but also technically ignorant.  "What do you mean, unnatural?"

She could almost feel Sypher roll his eyes and groan inwardly.

"Keeping them in stone boxes rather than returning their ashes to the earth, is what I mean. I suppose it's a barbaric practice to some, but it's the only way I've ever been around. The Old Mother used to say we became one with the ground, and the plants we ate would then use us to grow. Kind of gross sounding, but not literal. No one even spread their grandpa's ashes in their back garden.. at least not that I know of".

The lock Shiaran is working on clicks as the tumblers finally fall into place.
This message was last updated by the player at 03:27, Sat 14 July 2018.

Sypher forestalls Shiaran's response by looking through her door to see a hallway that fades into darkness before it ends.  "Good work.  Let's take a look down Oro's way first.  I would think that a room of the dead will be relatively safe if Rebort senses nothing.  Few would trap such a room.  If that doesn't pan out, Shiaran has the look open and we can try that hallway.  Oro, you take point.  Shiaran, you and Rebort take rear guard.

While the rest fiddle with the various exits of the room and chat about a game plan, R.E.B.O.R.T. spends his time focusing parchment, runes, and words of power as he tries to hastily create a scroll. It even takes a moment to the artificer to realize Sypher addressed him toward the end of their conversation.

He looks up to find most of the grouping staring at him. "Yes, of course. I will scan the area." His eyes light up for a moment and docent pulses three or four times. "No unlife forms detected nearby."

Oro nods and cautiously creeps into the next room of the crypt. The room is dimly lit, far less than the other have been. He pulls a torch from a sconce and carefully steps across the cobblestone floor. Nothing stirs, save for the fire on his torch flickering but for a moment, as if brushed by a puff of wind.

"Oro, wait."  Sypher steps in front of the tiefling and looks about.

The air is silent and still. Without ventilation, there is a musty staleness to the room. Nothing smells "fresh" or "ripe", but that doesn't alleviate the funk hanging in the air.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:05, Wed 25 July 2018.

"Something has come this way.  It is likely in the next room.  Rebort what do you sense?"

R.E.B.O.R.T. breaks from his concentration again to look up at Sypher. He casts a glance back down at his parchment before committing his attention to the young paladin.

For a moment, he stares blankly at nothing in particular. His head swivels to the west. "Something is moving away from us. Not large, but it has a notably stronger aura than the presence I picked up when we first entered. At its current pace, it will be out of my detection range very quickly."

Beloc readies his falchion and shield then looks over at Sypher. "Shall we?"

Sypher ignites his own sword and nods, then starts around the U of the burial chamber.

Beloc releases his shield into the air and grips his weapon with both hands. The armored elf follows closely behind Sypher.

The trip around the room is without hazard. Sypher follows the fleeting aura like a bloodhound to a scent. At the next room, the group are greeted with bare, smooth walls and nothing else. The room is empty.

R.E.B.O.R.T., quill and parchment still in hand, follow in behind Beloc. As they enter the next room he updates the group with another status report. "The entity has moved beyond my range or cloaked itself from my perception. Proceed with caution."

Curiosity piqued, Beloc retracts his helm and walks over to the western wall. "You said it was traveling west?", he asks as he looks over at R.E.B.O.R.T.

The warforged simply nods.

"Then perhaps there's a passage here unless whatever it was can pass through walls."

As the elf approaches the wall, a small wisp of hair catches a draft and gently waves to the south end of the room.

Beloc places his right hand on the western wall. "There is a passage here", he casts a slight glance over his shoulder to the left, towards the southern wall. "And..."

His left hand traces patterns in the air that lead him to the southwest corner of the room. "Here as well."

Beloc stoops down and examines the floor in front of each passage. "The scapes here appear to be more recent", he says standing in front of the western wall.


Beloc detects hidden passages to both room 30 and 36.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:39, Fri 27 July 2018.

Shiaran moves up to inspect the doors for traps and to find away to open them now that she knows they are there.

Following the flows of the ley line, the way going forward is slow and meticulous. Shiaran and Oro sweep every inch of the way checking for traps. The strong arms of the group edge along, muscles tense and ready to spring into action.

It isn't long before both Rebort and Sypher can sense multiple signatures, and between the two of them, count six enemies total. Each of the 6 are strong, evil undead. Their range of strength feels comparable to the current group, even with outnumbering the 6 with 8, not including animals.

The group passes by a portcullis, but it's completely barricaded off with the scraps of old caskets and the like.

A short trip north into a hallway, Sypher catches sight of the ley line heading due west into the next room [RM 23]

Without warning, the door separating the two group slowly creeps open by a few inches and stops.  A feminine voice with a thick accent distantly calls out from the other side.

"Don't botha knockin' sugga.. We already know ya hear. Come on in.. and keep ya weapons lowered".

Beloc looks over to R.E.B.O.R.T. and then to Sypher. He speaks in a low voice. "With you confirming them as evil, and Rebort saying they're undead, my gut is telling me there is only one solution to this. Sypher, how do you want to play this? With the numbers we're facing, it could get really messy."

The implication sounds grim, but it's clear the elf is seeking alternatives.

"The Master used to tell us that information was the key to winning any conflict.  We know what we are facing generally and I think we are prepared for it to that extent, but I also think we should gather more specifics."  He turns to Shiaran.  "You are more tactically minded than me.  Can you coordinate us in the next room?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:05, Sun 12 Aug 2018.

Shiaran has taken out a pouch of powder and is creating a circle round herself with it as Beloc and Sypher speak.  Once the circle is complete, she draws an arcane symbol within it with her finger after it is dipped in the powder.

"Yes.  We go in, let them talk for about a minute, then whichever one I indicate, everyone attack that target at the same time.  Don't hesitate.  We will only get one chance at surprise.  I will be support.  Rebort, make your way slowly to the side so that others are not in your line of sight.  Krem, you do the same in the other direction.  Go second and third into the room and making it look like you are just spreading out to let the others have room to enter.  I'll be last.

Sigurd, you have first line with Gazra and Beloc to switch off with.  Oro, you and Sypher get in as fast as you can.  Rebort will soften up with a shot at my signal followed by the three of you.  If the first target goes down, move on to a second together.  Sypher, support and heal as needed, but you are going to be one of the most effective against these types of enemies so I want you hitting them hard and not playing it too safe.  Keep your voices to a minimum to avoid confusion and so you can hear my voice and commands.  They won't be able to touch me for a few minutes.

Sypher will do the speaking inside while we are still in diplomacy/stall mode.  When I yell the target, it's go time."

Once she finishes giving instructions, she encants, "prostatépste me apó to kakó."  There is a shimmer in the air around her, which fades as does the powder.

R.E.B.O.R.T. lowers his volume in accordance with the others. "Who will go in ahead of Krem and myself? Also, should we assume any other personal preparations before entering?"

"I will.  I need to draw their attention and hold it through the conversation."  He looks to Shiaran for confirmation.

She nods.

While the others continue their conversation, Beloc draws a couple druidic runes on his breastplate followed by a few words of power.

His wooden armor, which typically has a rather high polish to it, takes on a much more earthy appearance as a thick layer bark envelops it. Next, he takes a pinch of a rather dark and pungent substance. If one didn't know better, they'd say it smelled of old dung.

"The smell can be a bit repulsive, but it's quite effective." He rubs the reagent on his arms and immediately a mighty rush of strength surges through him.

The pistols hidden within R.E.B.O.R.T's forearms both pop out. With a certain robotic grace, he traces runes on each one with a fine black oil. The runes glow for a moment before he asks for Sypher's assistance. "Would you mind saying a few words?"

The paladin nods, and as he offers his blessing, the runes glow with a holy brilliance and fade away. He retracts the weapons back into his forearms and nods, ready for action.

Leukos circles the city far above, watching.  Waiting.

Battle plan set, Sigurd leads the way inside. The room is a broad 45'x55' expanse, with 6 shady characters hanging around the southern edge. The room looks as if it is used for holding viewings of the deceased. Several green velvet, wing-backed chairs adorn the southern portion where the figures seems to lounge. Where the party enters, four evenly spaced rows of church pews run east to west; a sitting area for an audience. There is a five foot space running through the center, as well on either side next to the east and west walls. The entire get up resembles that of a chapel that wouldn't normally hold weekly services.

The floor is carpeted in burgundy, and looks well worn from years of foot traffic: an unfortunate side effect of war being regularly scheduled funerals.

None of the figures move or seems to care that Eisenwulf enters, save for the female voice from earlier. Shiaran and Beloc immediately recognize the clothing style, though it's doubtful the rest of the group will. She's clad is tight fitting leather armor, mottled in dark greys and shades of black. An assortment of weaponry hangs from straps and slings on the group, mostly automatic small arms.

The woman stands and walks slowly a few steps forward, both hands visibly away from her weapons. Two dead black eyes peer out at you. Her hair is a scraggly mess, pulled back tightly on her scalp into a bun. The woman, like the rest of the male figures in the room, is most definitely not human anymore. She grins a toothy smile. Whether she is attempting politeness or mocking you is unapparent. The smiles of ghouls always looks hungry.

"There ya all are now. Oh and lookit' that boys, they even listened an' everything. I don't have a single gun barrel pointed at my head. I like these folks already. Glut said they were a fun bunch. And is that one there a real paladin? He looks cute enough to eat".

"Have your say then be gone from this place.  I do not have the longsuffering my Lord Iehovah has."  Sypher crosses his arms and approaches the ghoul to within forty feet or whenever she gets antsy.

Shiaran uses the time after entering to find a place with cover such as a pillar or something more solid than wooden pews.  She will do all she can to discern type of undead and potential combat roles of the opposition group.

"Oh come on now. I just got done sayin' you was a fun bunch, and you greet us all cold like. Boys, introduce ya'selves. An' be polite this time. You didn't say a word that carpenter and mortician".

The most heavily armed of the group grunts. "Bullet. I like guns"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:04, Sun 12 Aug 2018.

A hulking figure raises a hand, wiggling his fingers as if waving daintily. "Jocko. I break things. Mostly people"

A ghoul that looks like he took the turn to undead "life" better than others continues to lounge with a leg draped over the arm of his chair. He sighs, obviously pained by the forced formalities. "Pretty Boy... No, I didn't pick the name myself"
This message was last updated by the player at 04:48, Sun 12 Aug 2018.

A gangly ghoul who sits, playing with a short knife, jams the blade through his own hand. He is completely unfazed by the stick. "Shiv. Take a wild guess what I like"

The most reclusive looking, and last of the six, politely nods. "They refer to me as "Spook". You undoubtedly felt my presence earlier".

"And I'm Francine. Second in command of tha Black Fangs... There, see now? We's all halfway cozy with ya. So what brings ya to these parts, huh? I don't suppose you's lookin' to pick up a pretty ghoul for yourself down here".

"And where could he find one of those?" asks Jocko, an edge of ice in his voice.

Francine doesn't answer, but there is a large and uncomfortable surge of unseen energy that envelops her briefly.

Jocko doesn't say another word either.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:28, Sun 12 Aug 2018.

As soon as Francine's attention shifts momentarily to anger at Jocko, Shiaran points at the reclusive one and says, "Spook!"  With her other hand, she holds shavings of licorice root in her hand, enough for everyone in the group.  Suddenly, everyone in the group feels...faster.

[Shiaran casts Haste on the party.

]

The break in silence causes all eyes to turn to Shiaran. Spook cocks his head slightly to the side. "Yes?", he says, sounding mildly confused.

Upon hearing Shiaran's cue, Beloc takes a step back (E5) to get a solid running start, plants his right foot firmly, and makes a charge towards the back right corner of the room. He races past the coffin the in middle of the room, brandishing his silvered falchion in stride. As he passes the column resting at H7, he leaves his feet with a mighty leap (initiated from G8). In a near gravity-defying act, he sails through the air over the chair at H10. He raises his blade high over his head for a cross slash. The movement of the blade is lightning fast as it connects with Spook as Beloc lands squarely in the space beside him (H11).

Beloc glances over at his victim, but there doesn't appear to be a mark on him. Spook starts to chuckle incredulously at the apparent feeble attempt on his life until the movement of his growing laughter begins to separate the upper part of his left leg from the lower part. A look of shock freezes upon his face as the leg plops to the ground.

Beloc: Charging + power attack (8) + leap attack
This message was last edited by the player at 19:29, Wed 15 Aug 2018.

Sypher draws his sword which ignites as he darts forward.  He is not quite as theatrical as Beloc, but the effect is equally devastating.  He plunges his sword into the ghoul's chest through the right lung, then draws it out and slashes at the opposite arm, though only manages a glancing blow.  The blade and flame have a devastating effect on the undead's body.

[Sypher, Hasted, uses one action to draw his weapon and ignite.
Move to Spook.
2 normal attacks take 10.  +14/+9 = 24/19.  Damage = 16*2 = 32 for first.  Damage = 8*2 = 16 for second attack.  Total damage 48.]
This message was last edited by the player at 03:07, Thu 16 Aug 2018.

Spook doesn't make a sound, but instead convulses once and shudders, before un-lifelessly slumping over. He never even had the chance to stand up from his chair.

Sickly black flames wreathed in purple erupt from his wounds and begin to spread across his body. It isn't clear immediately if he's being consumed or just covered by them.

Francine bellows out at the party, her voice shrieking like a banshee and carrying an unnaturally loud, multilayered tone. "SO THAT'S HOW YOU WANNA PLAY THIS THEN?! LOUD AND FAST?? FINE, PLEASANT TALK IS OVER".
This message was last updated by the player at 03:14, Thu 16 Aug 2018.

"Pretty Boy." Shiaran says clearly.

R.E.B.O.R.T. takes a quick 5-foot step to the left to prevent the column from blocking his line of sight to Pretty Boy. As he shifts into position, he calls outs to the team, but not in his own voice. The pithy British voice of Dr. Ewes speaks as the gem in his chest pulses. "Oh, would you look at that. The aura around that coffin seems rather familiar, wouldn't you say my boy?"

R.E.B.O.R.T. says nothing as the mechanical clicks and whirring gears present the two pistols embedded in his forearms. "Well, if you ask me, I'd say it has a smashing resemblance to that muck we found that poor chap in at the Midway garrison!"

Any further commentary from Ewes is promptly cut off by the sound of multiple gunshots. Seven to be exact. Given that Pretty Boy is still sitting in the chair, the majority of the bullets pelt his upper torso leaving is his relatively "pretty" visage a bit less so.


[Damage for each shot: 2d4 with an additional 2d6 holy damage from the enchantment. 7 times. 15,11,17,10,11,9,16

Total damage: 89]

Gazra, Oro, Krem, and Sigurd all line up their respective targets, dashing forward.

Krem fires shots at Francine, hitting her in the abdomen, while the trio of men rush to Bullet, who is rising from his chair and drawing weapons. A flurry of cuts from the 3 leave him in ribbons and seeping black flames like Pretty Boy and Spook.

Surprise Round Over
Turn order:
Shiaran
Beloc
Sypher
Rebort
NPCs
Francine
Jocko
Shiv

Out:
Spook
Pretty Boy
Bullet

"Shiv," Shiaran says calmly as she draws a single RG pistol.  She lines up a shot at the named target and pulls the trigger twice in succession.  The first hits center mass and finds a way through the ghoul's armor.  However, the friction of the leather slows the bullet so it does little damage.  The second shot has better success, penetrating through the left arm and blowing gore out the back to a small degree.

[Shiaran uses quick draw on her RG-1422 pistol.
Shiaran uses full attack to fire two shots.
She takes 10 on the first for a total of 22.
14:08, Today: Shiaran Whiteraven rolled 2 using 2d4.  Damage vs Shiv.
14:11, Today: Shiaran Whiteraven rolled 19 using 1d20+7.  2nd Attack vs Shiv.
14:12, Today: Shiaran Whiteraven rolled 6 using 2d4.  2nd Damage vs Shiv.
Total damage vs. Shiv = 8.]

Hearing the new name called out, Beloc pivots on his back foot and hefts the blade over his head in a 270-degree overhead strike. The blade catches Shiv in the shoulder and sheers down his arm, taking it clean off. Beloc pulls back for another assault. Fueled by Shiaran's haste, the next two attacks come in as a strong forehand slash, followed by a quick backhand.

[Takes 20 for the attacks. Power attack (8). Totals for the hits are 27, 22, and 27.
17:54, Today: Beloc S'Viscus rolled 30 using 2d4+9+16.  Damage3 on Shiv.
17:54, Today: Beloc S'Viscus rolled 28 using 2d4+9+16.  Damage2 on Shiv.
17:54, Today: Beloc S'Viscus rolled 28 using 2d4+9+16.  Damage1 on Shiv.
Total damage vs. Shiv = 86]
This message was last edited by the player at 23:07, Fri 17 Aug 2018.

Sypher darts over to Shiv and thrusts forward with his blade.  It plunges into the ghoul's gut and out the side, but it wasn't far enough in to do the kind of damage Sypher hoped for.  The tenacious undead remains standing.  Sypher continues his momentum with a full three-sixty rotation that ends with the removal of Shiv's head and black flame from the neck stump warring futiley with the golden white fire of the First Blade just before the body slumps to the ground.

[Sypher takes 10 + 13 = 23 to hit Shiv.
21:44, Today: Sypher Whiteraven rolled 7 using 1d10+1d6.  Damage vs Shiv.
Vs. undead x2 = 14 damage.
21:48, Today: Sypher Whiteraven rolled 10 using 1d10+1d6.  Hasted attack.
Vs. undead x2 = 20 damage.
Total damage = 34.]
This message was last edited by the player at 01:52, Sat 18 Aug 2018.

"Jocko."  Shiaran knows Jocko is likely able to take more of a beating than Francine, at least from appearances, but Francine is the leader and this fight right now is about leverage.

With the remaining rounds in his pistols, R.E.B.O.R.T. unloads on Jocko. After the echoes of gunfire cease, metallic clicks of an empty gun can be heard. The sound of his automatic reloader kicks in, but it drowned out by what he says next. "Warning: necromantic aura regenerating the fallen. Reanimation imminent."

[Taking 20 for attacks
Damage for each shot: 2d4 with an additional 2d6 holy damage from the enchantment. 7 times. 8,7,9,15,12,11,12

Total damage: 74]

Following suit with the onslaught, the rest of the party moves in for the kill on Jocko. He crumples in a heap, slashed to burning pieces from Oro, Gazra, and Sigurd. Krem aims his trench gun at Francine.

"Aw'roight love, parties over. Les get them hands in th' air".

Francine smiles, looking sinister. "Sure thing, puddin'". She slowly raises her hands, palms open and free of weaponry.

Not taking his eyes off of the ghoul, he calls back to Shiaran. "All yours, cap'n".

Shiaran ignores Francine for the moment.  "Stand back!  Krem, keep her covered."

When everyone has complied, she moves her hands and fingers in a complex set of gestures with rapid precision ending with a wave over the area where the bad guys are wreathed in dark flames.  "Katastrépste ti mageía se aftón ton toméa."

[Shiaran casts Dispel Magic on the area surrounding the bad guys.]
This message was last edited by the player at 00:07, Sun 19 Aug 2018.

As Shiaran's spell takes hold, the flames continue to burn. Francine giggles.

Sypher heads over to the body of Spook and starts knocking weapons away with his sword, cutting through his belt and even parts of his clothing in order to hamper his movement if he reanimates.  His movements are quick and precise, though he feels the heat of the fire.  "Check the coffin!  It might be what's animating them!"

Given what they learned from their previous engagement with the necromantic muck, R.E.B.O.R.T. steps over to the coffin and examines it briefly for any obvious signs of booby traps. Satisfied in his search, he moves in a little closer. "No heat signatures detected. Permission to remove the lid?"

"Granted."

On command, R.E.B.O.R.T. removes the lid.

Under the lid lays the figure a human, wrapped in black cloth strips. An instant recollection of Corporal Padraig Vims from Midway hits anyone who can see.

Francine grumbles. "Well now you done it. May as well and kill the poor guy now and put em' out of his misery".

Sypher rushes over to the body and slices open the bandages along the top of the head.  Then he slides his blade underneath and cuts away enough to peel back the bandages and see the face.

Underneath is a middle-aged man, his skin pale white and his eyes sunk into their sockets. You can faintly make out extremely shallow breaths being inhaled slowly. He doesn't move otherwise.

Sypher hauls the man out of the sarcophagus and lays him on the floor.  He trusts his companions to keep the others at bay long enough for him to work.  "Stay back!  No one but Rebort can touch him!"  He places both hands on either side of the man's face.  "Father, you know our situation and our need.  In the name of your Son, please remove this man's disease as far as it is your will.  Stabilize him until I can get him to safety."

[Sypher uses Remove Disease on the man.]

Immediately some of the color returns to the mans face, and he looks much less clammy and sickly.

Francine let's out a guffaw. "Now that's somethin'. Never knew that could actually be reversed. Glut wasn't kiddin' about you. You're the real deal".

Shiaran narrows her eyes and puts her gun away.  "You obviously want to talk.  So talk."

Francine rolls her eyes at Shiaran. "Meh.. maybe. Just not to you".

Shiaran does not reply to Francine.

Sypher says a silent thanks in prayer then turns to Rebort.  "He's cured by Iehovah's power.  Would you take him to the room we just left to keep him from fallout if this turns into a battle again?  Return immediately, guns ready."

The paladin turns to Francine.  "If you will not talk to her, then who?"

R.E.B.O.R.T. observes as the man appears to be getting better and looks over to Shiaran. "Your ancestors must hold a great power."

He turns back to Sypher to take hold of the man and makes for the door they entered through.

R.E.B.O.R.T. returns within a few short moments after securing the man in the other room. When he enters, both his weapons are locked and loaded.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:16, Sun 02 Sept 2018.

Francine keeps her hands raised, looking at Sypher. "You, of course. We was sent here to have a little chat with ya, and instead ya come in like grade-a assault troopas and mow everybody down. Nevamind that though, for now. The boys'll be pretty testy when they come to here in a minute, so I'll be brief. We wanted to strike up a deal. A uh.. mutual interest kinda deal".

Sypher holds Francine's gaze, though he hears Shiaran's snort of incredulity and the twinge of being miffed in it as well.  "Shiaran, I believe we should listen, but this room is yours to command."  His words mollify her enough that she acquiesces.  No doubt she is using the time to prepare even nastier spells should this go south.

Sypher ignores her once he has the go ahead.  "Speak then.  I will listen.  Tell me first on whose behalf do you offer this...deal?"

"On behalf a' tha Black Fangs. We don't hold no allegiances to nobody but ourselves an' the highest bidda, and our bidda seems to think we suddenly work for free. We kinda have a problem with that, an' feel we own him services to reflect his input.. well.. lack there of I suppose is the best way ta put it".

At the implication that he, or the group, were to work for or with these Black Fangs, Beloc furrows his brow in anger and looks over to Sypher. Whether he was curious or not as to who their highest bidder was seemed unclear.

Seeing Beloc's face, Francine smirks. "How's that sayin' go again? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? Yeah, that's the one. The deals real simple. It don't even really require nothin' out of ya, honestly".

Sypher sheathes his sword and waits for her to continue speaking.  Without a question and given her most recent statement, he is uncertain as to her reason for even being here.  However, if her team is this difficult to kill, listening might keep his team alive and allow him to accomplish his mission.

In response to Sypher's action of good faith, R.E.B.O.R.T. weapons quickly disassemble and retract into their compartments. He stands there with his arms waiting patiently at his side.

"Hey, there we go. That's what I'm talkin' about. Ok, the meat and potata's a' this. We been spyin' on ya for the last couple a' weeks or so. Well, Glut was. He scry'd ya at Midway, and tailed ya too for a bit here and there. Even went as far as fightin' two of ya to test ya strengths, and boy was he impressed. He figured between you fellas and us, a "truce" if ya will would be mutually beneficial. We got our agenda, you got yours. An' right now, both a' them agendas line up. You want Elm dead, and we want a certain somethin' in his possession. When ya finally square up to him, we wanna help ya, in exchange for riflin' through his pockets. See? Simple. When we cross paths, we agree to not go for each otha's throats. It ain't that we could or couldn't take ya, it's just a big waste a' time expendin' all that effort against ya when not fightin' can just as easily get to the goal. Now I'm sure you got ya questions lined up. Let's hear em'".

Sypher eyes the reforming undead.  Then he look back at Francine.  "A moment to confer with my team?"

"Sure thing".

Once the rest of the group gathers around, Shiaran is the first to speak - and that in a low voice.  "It's likely they will hear everything we say, especially if Glut is haunting us.  I have no way to shield from prying spells."

Sypher nods.  "Alright, folks.  Let's have it.  Thoughts?"  He is careful to keep his voice neutral.

Beloc crosses his arms over his plated chest. "They can hear me all they like. I see no benefit to allying with their ilk and their faulty assumption about why we're here only proves that. We just need to do what we came here for and move on. If they decide to get in the way of that, I'll take off a few more limbs."

R.E.B.O.R.T. leans in and looks over at Sypher. "The mission is paramount. If this group can somehow prove they can assist in that, then it may be worth considering."

"Our opponent as currently at a disadvantage, and could tell you anything. I would advise caution with exercising your trust. However.. if they wanted to assassinate us, this would be the most unorthodox of setups in the history of cloak and dagger deeds"

"I'm with Beloc. I don't trust no undead. I don't care how good a deal they offer. But that's just me. I don't run this show".

Sigurd addresses Francine. "Tell me then, she-wolf. If you stand against Elm, who truly sold us out? You speak as if this Glut person followed us for his own amusement, not under orders".

Francine cracks a smile. "This one here, he asks all the right questions. Yeah, Glut followed ya of his own accord. Elm didn't have a clue you all even existed until his special guest arrived".

"Irja." says Sigurd, sounded defeated as if he's realized something.

"Ah, sweetie, don't look so glum. We all know what Elm really is. He can sway a lady to do and say whateva he wants 'er to. Getting her to spill the beans on you all woulda been as easy as squashin' a bug to him. I'm sure ya lady friend proly don't even realize she's said anything still. Prolly still under his charms".

Sigurd's face goes from one of grief to a flash of determination.

"Sypher. You already know my vote then. I can't let Irja stay in enemy hands while we both draw breath. I say we agree to the terms, and be on our guard".