CHAPTER 05
The Feyic Vault, Astraena
Late September

The tunnel extends quite a distance beyond the menagerie, until it eventually opens into a wider cavern perhaps 20 meters across and 15 meters wide.  An iron door stands against the far wall, and strange runes extend horizontally around the wall at about waist level.

The runes are in an ancient tongue that is both similar and dissimilar to Elven, and they pulse with a soft light that seems to choose its color at random. [Private to Boreas Highwind: Sylvan, which reads: Only the strong, the swift, the wise, and the brave will survive these trials.  Enter, if you dare.]

Shaw raises a hand at the edge of the cavern and stops.

"Once you open the door, the trials begin.  Each trial is different, and the trials themselves rearrange themselves at random, making it difficult to predict which you will get.  The network of tunnels beyond grow increasingly difficult to navigate, until eventually you must turn back or be destroyed."

Quinn and Charles nod gravely.

"We've seen a little bit of both in our time here, but perhaps you'll have better luck.  Any ideas?"

[Private to Keef: Are you going to leave the Everstaff in the menagerie, or take it with you?]

[Crossroads]
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:59, Mon 11 Dec 2017.

Boreas' eye glows as he looks, confused, at the lettering.  He scans it over and over, as if it makes a little more sense each time.  After a few moments, he shakes his head and arises from his reverie.

It says that only the strong, the swift, the wise, and the brave will survive the trials.  Have any of you undertaken them? he asks the Bluebands.  Can you even attempt them more than once?  Zuriel, this might be a good occasion to use your book.

I think it would be best if I did not lead the way. Strong, swift, wise, and brave are all well and good, but if there are any magical traps or enchantments barring our way, I would simply end up leading all of you directly into them. 

As I recall, we have a supply of those mushrooms.  Would it be worth it to use one of them?

Zuriel considers the dilemma before them. "The book would certainly help, though we'd have to wait here until dawn for its answer. The mushrooms might indeed be useful. Lyriel, are you still under the effects of the one you took earlier? I suppose it all comes down to whether or not we want to wait until tomorrow to catch our breath, or press onwards."

He frowns, as if something occurs to him. "Boreas, what language is that, by the way? And how is it you're familiar with it? I've never seen it before."

I'm... not entirely sure.  I imagine it's the language of the fey, considering where we are.  Somehow it just... makes sense to me.

Zuriel looks at Boreas oddly. "Actually, I think I know exactly what you mean. You know it, but you don't know how you know it?"

יש לנו משהו במשותף

[Private to DM: We have something in common.]

Boreas nods.

In any case, I believe we can overcome these trials.  We have...

He looks at Maeve, ...the Strong...

nods, indicating himself, ...the Swift...

looks to Keef, ...the Brave...

to Lyriel, ... and the Wise.

After a brief pause, Boreas chuckles and turns to Zuriel,

And the long-winded, for good measure.

Zuriel laughs good-naturedly at Boreas' jab. "Well, somebody needs to carry on that part of Giles' legacy, after all."

Lyriel laughs along with Boreas and Zuriel. Now be nice Boreas, words did ultimately bring the fighting to an end.

She looks around, vision still tinged by the mushroom's effects. And yes, my sight does seem to still be influenced by the mushrooms. Shaw, do you know what exactly they are?
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:25, Mon 09 Dec 2013.

Careful, Boreas.  That was dangerously close to us having a P.A.R.T.Y handshake or mantra.  Though it is reassuring to know that if we run into danger, Zuriel can talk it to death, buying us time to escape.

Well, clearly trials await.  Is this door one of them?  Or do we just go in?

In reply to Maeve (msg # 10):

"We have not personally made it beyond this door," Shaw admits.  "It is difficult to even open.  Voices enter your mind and threaten to drive you mad."

He glances at Boreas.

"Since you can read these runes, perhaps you will be able to understand their words.  It's all just so much sing-songy gobbledygook to us."

Perhaps, indeed.  When we are all ready to commence, I will try and open the door.

Boreas passes his magical detection gaze over the door in hopes of determining its nature.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 12):

There is little else to learn about the door itself; even the uninitiated among you might easily guess that it is magical, though the exact auras are an indiscernible jumble.

Quinn and Charles are having a difficult time suppressing their eager smiles, and Shaw glares at each in turn.

"You'll have to forgive them; we're all rather curious."

In reply to DM (msg # 13):

Having retrieved Chubbs at last (an effort requiring no little amount of coaxing, bribing, begging and words of deference), Keef takes out his lockpicks once more, unlocks the chains holding the Everstaff and runs down the hallway after the P.A.R.T.Y. with it.

He reaches the group just as the word 'brave' is used to refer to him.  He smiles for the first time since entering the cave.

Chubbs, now securely on Keef's pack, rolls his eyes.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:21, Mon 09 Dec 2013.

As Keef approaches the staff, lockpicks in hand, Boreas places a hand on his shoulder.

Keef, can we leave the staff here for now?  I think the vault might react poorly to it, being a tool of the Master and all.

Zuriel regards Keef, but doesn't say anything, holding his breath.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 16):

Keef looks confused.

Until the curse is lifted it's.... bound to me.  I could leave it behind but then it can't help us... and I'll be cursed anyway.

Zuriel nods, though he looks pained.

I suppose there's nothing to be done about it now. Lifting the curse...according to the book, we have two options. A standard curse lifting spell, or finding the ironwood band...
This message was last edited by the player at 05:35, Tue 10 Dec 2013.

Boreas steps back.

Well enough, then.  Once we've finished with the vault, we can figure out what to do with it.

He seems to be sincere.  I hate to see the toll it's taking on him, though.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 19):

Keef nods.

I still think it wants to help... and its voice... well it just speaks so...plain and consistent...

Keef looks around at his companions, at their newest 'companion' and at the mark on his leggings.

There's been so much confusion about what to do... but one thing I know, I don't want to be cursed.

Well, that's good to hear.  As it happens, I don't want you to be cursed, either. Boreas adds, So, to the vault then.

***

At the entrance to the vault, Boreas steels himself.

I suppose we can't just delay forever.  Let's do this.

He steps to the door and reaches to open it.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:53, Tue 10 Dec 2013.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 21):

The door does not open, nor does Boreas turn the knob, but simply remains frozen in place.  Though his emerald eye flicks back and forth, no other sign of conscious thought can be detected.

[Private to Boreas Highwind:Words enter your mind the moment you touch the doorknob, speaking in the strange new tongue you somehow understand:

 Walk ye quickly, never stop / 'til the passage ends in rock
Move the boulder, saunter on / thrice repeat the jester's song
Face your fears, beat each in turn / to advance, make water burn
A final spectre then shall loom / an ancient spirit, and your doom]
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:12, Tue 10 Dec 2013.

As Boreas focuses his attention on the door to the vault, Maeve finds a way to position herself next to Zuriel.

It's getting stronger she says, her eyes meaningfully turning in the direction of Keef.  It's starting to make its presence known.

She briefly explains how she heard the staff prior to the fight with the werewolves. When Boreas does not appear to be making any progress on the door, or, indeed, moving at all, she turns her attention back this interesting development.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:22, Tue 10 Dec 2013.

"I think," he replies quietly, "that we should make resolving this...issue a priority as soon as we are through the vault. If we break the curse though, I want Keef to come to that decision on his own. I don't want to force it on him, though I'm worried that the staff has begun to influence him unduly. The book says there are two ways to go about it: using a break curse spell, which the staff said could cause harm, or finding the Ironwood Band. Which, incidentally, is at the bottom of the ocean."

Zuriel notes Maeve's skeptical face. "I asked. I think the best thing we can do for now is just be there for Keef when he needs us. He's strong of heart. I think the staff may find bending him to its will more difficult than it anticipates."

In reply to Maeve (msg # 23):

Keef cocks his head slowly does a half-circle around Boreas.

[Private to GM: Spellcraft 11]

Chubbs croaks loudly from the top of Keef's head.

Yes, I KNOW you've already solved it, but if you don't tell me what good is it?

Boreas shakes his head for a moment, then turns to the others, hand still holding the doorknob.  He intones softly, translating as he goes:

Walk ye quickly, never stop / 'til the passage ends in rock
Move the boulder, saunter on / thrice repeat the jester's song
Face your fears, beat each in turn / to advance, make water burn
A final spectre then shall loom / an ancient spirit, and your doom

Seems to be a hint to solve the puzzles.  Let's go, shall we?

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 26):

Let's.  If your riddle is to be believed, we should go with haste.

Zuriel exchanges looks with Lyriel, then makes ready to advance.

Boreas looks back to the others.

Like the voice said, swiftly now.

He opens it and steps through with the others.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 29):

The scene that awaits you beyond the door seems impossible, but every sense registers it as a startling reality.

The door opens to reveal a steep chasm that falls straight down into a black abyss.  A natural bridge that seems to be an extension of the cavern itself extends straight across the pit, exactly as wide as the doorway and perhaps half as thick.

Though they are difficult to make out in the gloom, dead leaves flutter across the bridge at random intervals -- indicating the presence of somewhat turbulent winds.  The leathery flapping of wings echoes above, below, and all around you, though neither walls, ceiling, nor ground can be seen.

The bridge extends directly across, supported by nothing that you can see, until it vanishes from your field of vision.

[Crossroads]

If you're sprinting across, I need a Reflex check.  If you are not sprinting across, let me know and I'll handle that separately.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:30, Tue 10 Dec 2013.

Zuriel eyes the bridge, and decides to play it safe and take the voice's advice literally. He walks quickly across the bridge, not stopping, and not looking back, but short of a full-out run.

It said walk, not run...

Boreas, following Zuriel's lead, sets off across the bridge at a brisk walking pace, not stopping or looking back.

Her companions setting the pace, Maeve follows at a brisk walk.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 33):

Keef follows, keeping up the pace the the much larger warriors as well as he can.

Lyriel follows the others, trying not to look down.

ihateheightsihateheightsihateheightsihateheights

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 35):

Chubbs croaks sarcastically.

exactly... it's the sudden stop at the end

Boreas snickers at Chubbs' joke.

Not...helping...Chubbs, she says with a strained voice.

Can everyone talk to the toad now except for me?

"If it makes you feel any better," Zuriel calls behind him, "I can't either. As I'm sure is a relief to you all..." he adds, self deprecatingly.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 40):

The bridge on which you are walking grows increasingly narrow, until it is barely wide enough to walk on without putting on foot in front of the other like a balance beam.

The darkness continues unabated, but the gusts of wind intensify.  Leathery flapping continues to echo from the cavernous abyss around you, but nothing can be seen beyond the gloom to explain the sound.

The ledge reaches its most narrow point after what seems like an eternity, at which point a gap appears in the bridge.  Looking forward, you can see several more gaps at haphazard intervals, none greater than two or three feet wide. The path physically ends at each gap, the bottomless void beckoning any foolish enough to enter it.

These gaps create the sense of a series of floating platforms interspersed within the bridge itself, and you feel confident that to mis-time your jump from one to the next would spell certain doom.

[Crossroads]

Boreas shouts over the din, '... 'til the passage ends in rock.'  This doesn't look like rock.  Do you see anything, Lyriel?

[OOC]Boreas says this while walking.[/OOC]
This message was last edited by the player at 15:25, Wed 11 Dec 2013.

...Other than the back of your head? she asks?

donotlookdowndonotlookdowndonotlookdown

Well, we can't stop moving for long, if at all.  Is it possible that these platforms enchanted to appear as gaps?

Or are we going to have to jump?

Boreas takes a tentative step, probing the gap to see if our theory about invisible platforms is true.  He tenses his muscles, ready to kick his foot back and jump if it proves false.

The wind never blows between the gaps, only on solid ground...

[Perception 29]

His foot stops in the air as if it hit the ground.

The strangest feeling, like walking on air...

Boreas continues walking across the bridge.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:34, Wed 11 Dec 2013.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 45):

Chubbs gurgles.

No... more like dedication and confidence than faith and blind obedience...

Keef keeps his pace.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:45, Wed 11 Dec 2013.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 45):

(OOC: I will be treating these as Crossroads Lite™ moments; when everyone is clearly going to follow suit with what one character has managed to do, I'll move us along)

The P.A.R.T.Y. continues to walk swiftly down the path, trying very hard not to look down or even think much about their current situation.

The narrow path transitions to a series of gaps, over which you are able to walk unimpeded.  Eventually, the path widens once more to the width of a doorway and ends, abruptly, at a stone facade that looks for all the world like a dead end.

An alcove has been carved into the wall here, in which a pair of statues have been chiseled from the stone itself.  The figures have been crafted in the likeness of a squat humanoid figure, each of which has its hands raised as if to carry a heavy burden.

Set between the two figures is a tall pedestal, upon which rests an orb of polished stone.  Upon the wall, three runes have been carved in an ancient language.

[Private to Boreas Highwind: Above the left-hand statue: Wisdom
Above the right-hand statue: Bravery
Above the Pedestal: Strength]

The figures are identical, each standing about three feet tall, and the pedestal is about seven feet fall -- placing the orb quite out of comfortable reach.  The orb itself is twice the size of a healthy pumpkin, though its weight is impossible to fathom from its current position.

The orb does, in fact, look as though it would fit nicely into the hands of either statue -- provided it can be moved.

[Crossroads]

Boreas regards the odd tableau.

The left statue says 'wisdom;' the right, 'bravery.'  The rune for 'strength' is on the pedestal.  What do you suggest?

"Any suggestions?" Zuriel asks the illusionists, but turns around to find them not present.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 49):

Shaw, Quinn, and Charles are, indeed, no longer with you.  Reaching back in your mind to recap the events of the last few minutes, none of you seem to recall seeing them enter the doorway -- though, since you've been traveling single-file, it is difficult to determine whether they lined up with you at all, or did and have failed to make it this far.

Cowards. Maeve sniffs.  Well, there's no turning back for them now.

"Move the boulder". . . .that was the next line of the riddle.  I think that I could manage to do that.

Regardless,  I'll need your help.  I think that Zuriel and I together could shift it provided that we can get to it and provided that it hasn't been enchanted to remain immobile.  She looks expectantly at the more magical members of the P.A.R.T.Y as she says the last bit.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 51):

A closer inspection of the area reveals a variety of things to the P.A.R.T.Y.

[Private to Maeve: Polished orbs like this one are popular among the Gaelian elite in works of art.  You've moved an orb that looks a little bit like this one before, and it was much heavier than it looked.]

[Private to Boreas Highwind; Keef; Lyriel Vesper: The statues and pedestal look magical, but the orb does not.  The schools of magic involved are a mishmash, including enchantment, conjuration, transmutation, and abjuration.  Necromancy, however, is conspicuously absent.]

[Private to Zuriel Silendril: There is nothing evil about this place, from what you can tell.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:03, Wed 11 Dec 2013.

The statues and pedestal are magical.  The orb isn't.  I think the question is which statue or pedestal to move it onto.

Zurich frowns, deep in thought. "Based on the order of the rhyme, I believe this solution calls for wisdom. I think our bravery is to be tested later."

He moves to the orb, ready to aid in lifting if the party agree.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:11, Wed 11 Dec 2013.

Hmm.  Wisdom or Bravery.  Either sounds promising.  It's not as though we have "Wisdom" and "Boy are you fucked." 

I was actually thinking that bravery would be more fitting, given that the riddle insinuates that we will be facing our fears?

"Yes but the riddle doesn't say we'll face our fears until after we move past the boulder. And honestly, when has any hero ever been punished for choosing to seek wisdom?"

Maeve nods in acknowledgement of Zuriel's point.

Fair enough.  Wisdom it is.  Assuming we can get the thing.

She circles the pedestal a few times, assessing it.  She is able to hoist herself up next to the orb with little difficulty but despite her shoving and prodding at it, it remains stubbornly in place.  Maeve glares at it as if it has done her a personal affront.

Any other ideas?

"Here, let me try."

Zuriel moves to the pedestal and sets his strength against the orb, muscles straining as he lifts.

[Strength check: 19]

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 58):

The orb shudders under Zuriel's effort, and he is able to heft it to about his knees before the strain proves too much.  Though the orb does not crash back to the pedestal, neither does the paladin appear able to lift it any higher -- nor hold it for much longer.

As Zuriel pushes the orb, Boreas takes careful aim with the Ring of the Ram.

The image of a ram springs from the ring, made of pure light blue energy.  It lowers its head and charges, crashing into the orb with tremendous force.  Splashing into a burst of energy like a wave.

[Strength Check 25]

[Ring of the Ram: 1 Charge Expended]
This message was last edited by the player at 16:34, Wed 11 Dec 2013.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 60):

Zuriel's knees wobble as he hovers above the orb, straining with all his might, when Boreas "helps" by providing a blast of force from his ring.

The impact causes the orb to lurch over the side, taking the struggling paladin with it.  The polished sphere bounces against the outer rim of the statue marked "Wisdom", at which point Zuriel loses his grip and lands in a graceless heap between the statue and the pedestal.

The orb rocks back and forth in the statue's hands for a moment before the momentum sends it creaking out of place -- threatening to fall upon the thoroughly confused defender of the Flame as he scrambles to his feet.

Maeve, being the only person close enough to assist immediately, reaches out to steady the orb, but is a fraction too slow.

[Reflex (Maeve): 9]

Zuriel looks up to find his vision rapidly becoming filled with unforgiving stone, and manages to reposition himself into a crouch intended for bracing gates from battering rams.

[Reflex (Zuriel): 19]

The orb lands heavily upon Zuriel's shoulders, the sheer weight threatening to bring him to his knees.  As the paladin sags under the burden, his expression remains one of utter confusion -- it's been a busy 30 seconds for him.

From behind the P.A.R.T.Y., a familiar croak reminds everyone that Chubbs remains unimpressed.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:56, Wed 11 Dec 2013.

Whoops.

Maeve hurries over to help Zuriel steady the orb.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 64):

Keef too tries to help push the orb back up onto the statue's hands... though he doesn't offer all that much in the way of raw strength.

[Private to GM: STR check 13]
This message was last edited by the player at 18:24, Wed 11 Dec 2013.

Zuriel helps Maeve with the weight, straining against the orb, mostly because it seems like the thing to do.

[Strength Check: (aid Maeve?) 13]

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 66):

With great effort, the orb slides into the figures hands and clicks into place.  A grinding sound can be heard, and the pedestal slides into the wall -- revealing a hole beneath the place it once occupied.

An iron ladder extends downward, into the expansive darkness.

Maeve lights the Coldfire Torch and passes it to Boreas, then the heroes descend the ladder.

Zuriel descends first, his vision unaffected by the dark.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 68):

The P.A.R.T.Y. heads down the ladder, carefully climbing downward toward gods-know-what.  After five minutes or so, the light from the torch begins to grow fainter -- as though the illumination is having trouble piercing the darkness.

Ten minutes after that, your vision is reduced to a five-foot radius, and the ladder ends.  Solid rock appears beneath your feet, though you cannot discern any walls or a ceiling.  Voices call out from the darkness, speaking a variety of languages -- one from each cardinal direction:

From the north:
ללכת אחורה. אל תפסיק.  [Private to Zuriel Silendril: Celestial: Walk backward. Do not stop.]

From the south:
χρεώσει τα εμπρός όσο πιο γρήγορα μπορείτε. [Private to Zuriel Silendril: Infernal: Charge forward as fast as you can.]

From the east:
Gall dawns fel nad oes neb yn gweld chi. [Private to Boreas Highwind: Sylvan: Dance like no one can see you.]

From the west:
The jester lies entombed in stone / Just one, I summon.  Come alone.

Well, I got that one Maeve says, cocking her head toward the west.  Anyone able to understand the others?

"The voice of the north is calling out in Celestial to walk backwards without stopping. The voice of the south is calling out to charge forward in Infernal."

Zuriel pauses a moment, and calls out into the dark. "HEI'IR!"

[Casting: Daylight]

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 72):

The paladin's spell does little to improve your vision, perhaps extending the radius of sight by three or four feet.  Sadly, this reveals nothing except more flat, featureless stone terrain.

The staff's voice enters your mind once more:

[Private to Keef: "You have been strangely silent after the traumatic experiences we faced earlier today, Master.  Is all well?  You'll be pleased to know I had no interest in working with that buffoon of an illusionist... though I think you realized that already."]
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:20, Wed 11 Dec 2013.

Seems to me like those two voices cancel each other out.  What about the one from the east?

The one from the east calls out the beginning of an old proverb.  I've heard the ancient fey used to decorate their homes with it and other proverbs like 'cariad chwerthin byw.'  They tended to display them in a variety of different writing styles.  No one is sure why.

But the voice tells us to 'dance like no one is watching.'

Maeve stares blankly at the woodsman.

That is. . . .incredibly stupid and unhelpful.  But, given that it was in Fey and we *are* in a Feyic vault, I'm almost inclined to listen to it.

But then, it sounds like there's a jester that way--she points west--and the riddle *did* say that we need a jester's song.

But only one of us can go.

"I am inclined to listen to the Celestial voice. I'll see what is back here."

Zuriel begins to walk backwards, not stopping.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 77):

The Linguistic Crossroads
The paladin disappears from sight as he walks backward.  A minute passes, after which his echoing footsteps begin to grow faint.  A minute after that, there is no sign whatsoever of your companion.

Somewhere Else
Zuriel walks for several minutes before slamming into a wall, which spins with the impact to reverse his direction and orientation.  The paladin's vision fills with purple spots as light pours forth, and he winces at the sudden change of intensity.

Zuriel finds himself in a well-lit foyer about 10x10x8 in size.  The floor and ceiling are made of sandstone bricks, and a single door of iron stands in the center of one of the walls.  A grate has been welded in a two-inch strip set at about eye level, interspersed with iron bars like you might find in a prison.

Two torches bracket either side of the door, their flickering tongues of flame casting light throughout the chamber.

A moment after his arrival, a light-blue wisp materializes nearby.

"Tell me the truth," it warbles, bobbing up and down.  "What is justice?"

Zuriel takes a long moment to think about his response before he speaks.

"I believe justice...true justice...is when a society creates rules for its people to live by that are fairly structured and equitably applied, and do not favor one group over any other. Rules that promote community and harmony. But I also believe that true justice is obeying the spirit of the law, and what is Right, and that sometimes blindly following the letter of the law alone can lead to injustice. And that if a law no longer serves the best interests of its community, then the community has a right and responsibility to change it."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:03, Wed 11 Dec 2013.

Lyriel looks around at the remaining party members. Well, I suppose one of us has to dance...

The cleric promptly puts her arms up in a classic waltzing frame, though without a partner she completes only half the picture. Lyriel then begins dancing, waltzing to a tune only she seems to be able to hear. Her feet move gracefully across the rough stone, and as she twirls her robes flares out around her. She sinks deeper and deeper into the dance, a shy but radiant smile on her face and a far-off look in her eyes. For anybody watching, her robes and armor seem to blur and blend together, and if look from the corner of your eye you catch glimpses of her wearing instead a dazzling emerald green evening gown.

The orchestra, I can hear the music! I feel like I'm there again, after all these years...I wonder if he would remember...

Though she still smiles distantly, you see a sheen of tears in her eyes.

We never finished that waltz...

[Private to DM: If he were still present, Zuriel would recognize the dance from a Midwinter Flame celebration many years ago...]
This message was last edited by the player at 23:23, Wed 11 Dec 2013.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 80):

Chubbs bobs his warty head and rocks side to side in time with Lyriel.

Maybe the voices... are ALL right

Keef takes a step backward, then a step forward, then one to the side, then does his best clumsy impression of Lyriel's dance, then sings the first few lines of The Bear and the Maiden Fair.

Gods help us all.  I am never telling anyone that we danced as part of a heroic quest.

Maeve's dance is not so much a dance as artistic sparring.  She artfully spins the guisarme about, whirling and stabbing at unseen foes.  Faster and faster she moves until she is naught but a tawny blur accompanied by a another slender metallic blur which is her weapon.  At one point she briefly slows to see Boreas watching the three of them as if they have all quite lost their minds.

What's the matter?  Surely you can dance.  Show us your moves!

Boreas ponders the options for a moment.

The riddle said something about a jester.  Someone has to go.

'Thrice repeat the jester's song...'

I suppose it may as well be me, though I never was much of a singer.

Boreas sets off toward the jester's voice.

Maeve ends her sparring with a graceful flourish.

Which leaves the voice of the south. . . . . .I suppose  I'll investigate there.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 84):

Keef stops his performance.

Forward for me then?

Keef charges forward.

In reply to Keef (msg # 85):

The Linguistic Crossroads
Maeve, Chubbs, and Lyriel, each of whom made real efforts to dance, find themselves surrounded by a pale green light.  This aura intensifies slowly, building up over time to a blinding sheen that abruptly vanishes.

When it does, Maeve, Chubbs, and Lyriel are gone.

The Northern Voice
The blue wisp says nothing for a moment, absorbing the paladin's response carefully.

"You find justice in absolute order, then -- everything in its place, and every place at the same level.  Some would say that this path leads toward stagnation and, ultimately, toward oblivion.  How would you respond to such people?"

It pauses again, humming softly as it bobs up and down in the air.

"And, if all things are equal, who decides what is in the best interests of the community, and how does one equitably handle dissent from the consensus?"

The Southern Voice
Keef charges headlong toward a voice he does not understand, and manages to travel exactly 20 feet before the floor ends abruptly -- sending him tumbling into the gaping maw of a seemingly endless chasm.

As he falls, a voice questions him roughly.

"Πες μου, το παιδί: Τι είναι η αδικία;"

[Private to Keef: "It's asking about injustice, Master." the Everstaff translates.  "It wants you to define it."]

The Eastern Voice
The world fades back into focus for Maeve, Lyriel, and Chubbs almost as quickly as it blurred into nothingness, and the three find themselves in what appears to be a cozy lounge that would not be out of place in a mountain lodge.

The room is small and has no exits, but there is room enough for three comfortable chairs, a coffee table, and a fireplace, which crackles heartily and radiates welcome warmth.

A curious humanoid stands before the fire, his back toward his guests. He is dressed in strange garments sewn from threads of a hundred different colors, and his slim figure and silver hair suggest that age weighs heavily upon him.

Without turning around, he speaks in an ancient tongue you cannot understand.

"Dim wedi ei wneud erioed fel y gwnaethoch, yn fy holl flynyddoedd o warchod gladdgell hwn. Pwy wyt ti, a pham yr ydych yn ceisio ein trysorau hynafol?"

He pokes at the fire absently, but you can tell from his rigid demeanor that he is quite nervous.

The Western Voice
Boreas walks carefully toward the west, appraising the looming darkness with the caution and respect it deserves.  Before long, he comes to a stone wall -- the first wall he's seen since descending the ladder.

A door frame has been carved into the wall, though no door sits within it.  Beyond the frame is a small room which contains a single stone sarcophagus, oriented vertically such that the eternally open eyes stand at about the same height as Boreas's own.

The sarcophagus's hands clasp an iron cylinder that can immediately be recognized as a scroll tube, though the place where one would open it sports an obvious keyhole.

As Boreas approaches the tomb, the sarcophagus's eyes glitter with a soft white light, and the same voice from before speaks again:

"Force and strength could get you through,
But that's something you'd be loathe to do
And many in the streets would stand,
Were I not held in their hand.
What am I?"

[Crossroads]
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:36, Thu 12 Dec 2013.

To say that Maeve is taken aback by the sudden transition is an understatement.  She blinks puzzled for a moment, taking in the change of scenery.  Chubbs, of course, is completely unfazed.

Noticing that the stranger appears nervous, she takes a seat in one of the comfy chairs, relaxing her hold on her large, scary weapon. Chubbs makes himself at home in one of the other two.

I'm sorry grandfather, but we do not speak the Fey tongue.

She repeats the sentiment in Elvish.

In reply to DM (msg # 86):

Southern Voice

Keef begins his descent, naturally, by screaming.

However, he manages to calm himself after the strange voice sets in, though he is unable to stop himself from tumbling dizzily as he descends.

Well that's easy, Keef responds, trying his best to stay upright and to find the source of the voice. It's doing TO people rather than WITH.  It's forcing a person against their own will... but I mean the courts do that... but for good reasons... sometimes for taxes, but those are SUPPOSED to be good, right?  It's forcing good people to do things against their will for no good reason.

Keef seems to totally understand what he's saying, but he lacks the oratory to pull it off with grace.

Eastern Voice

Chubbs looks around, totally un-surprised to have been transported magically from a child's head to a lounge.  Chubbs is also supremely un-impressed by the person in the colorful garments.  It's clear that he's been transported to far more interesting places and been spoken to by far more colorful mysterious figures than these.

Chubbs hops across the room and up onto the coffee table where he squats defiantly.  He makes a small motion with his head toward Lyriel and Maeve as if to say 'Don't mind them, they're not all that.'  He then ribbits softly to everyone.

[Private to GM: "Toad is the only worthwhile language"]
This message was last edited by the player at 14:53, Thu 12 Dec 2013.

This time, the paladin is forced to consider the words of the wisp for a longer period of time before he is able to articulate a response.

"The perfect code of laws would not be a set of inflexible rules so much as a living document designed to grow with and adapt to the needs of the society it serves. This is why never losing sight of the spirit and meaning underlying the written regulations is so important. If implemented properly, the law of the land would not stifle culture and innovation, but provide the security and structure for innovation and culture to grow and flourish. In turn, the law must be constantly evaluated and updated to make sure that it remains relevant and applicable."

As part of the training to become a Paladin of the Emerald Flame, all cadets of course underwent extensive training in the legal frameworks of the Empire, all but memorizing the labyrinthine codices of regulations. Instruction on legal and social theory, however, amounted to little more than a cursory explanation of the legal systems in other lands, and why they were faulty implementations of Justice.

The wisp's questions took the paladin entirely off-guard, forcing him to consider implications of justice and order that would have brought him shame to speak of openly in Hae'driel.

Zuriel found himself enjoying the company of the wisp immensely.

"Your second question is harder, spirit. I'm not sure I have a good answer for you. Under any system, at all points in history, no matter the culture, society, or legal system, the weak have been exploited by those in power. A truly just system of laws would have protections in place to help prevent such exploitation and to guarantee legal recourse to those adversely effected. But in the end, the responsibility lies with every citizen to look out for their neighbors. And it is the duty of the good and wise to defend the weak and the downtrodden from those who would abuse their power to do them harm."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:27, Thu 12 Dec 2013.

Boreas considers the riddle for a moment, lost in its mystery.  Then, a glance at the locked sarcophagus grants him a flash of inspiration.

A key.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 90):

Lyriel takes a look around at her cozy surroundings, enjoying at least for the moment a brief respite from the cold darkness of the vault.

She looks towards Maeve, comforted by the fact that he warrior is there. Do you think he knows Draconic? That's the only other language I know. Perhaps I should give it a try.

She gives Chubbs an offended look when he makes his sentiments about herself and Maeve known. Honestly Chubbs, I thought we were coming to understand each other. You wound me sir.

She then addresses the grandfatherly personage in Draconic, offering him a bright smile as she waits to see if he understands.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 91):

It's worth a try, I suppose.  I sincerely doubt he speaks Minotaur. . . .

In reply to Maeve (msg # 92):

Chubbs effects a shrug toward Lyriel (though he has no protruding shoulders) as if to say "Hey, you're the one with the long forearms, defined neck, short tongue and lack of warts."

In reply to Maeve (msg # 92):

The Northern Voice
"Ah, the defense of the innocent against those who wield power," the wisp warbles.  "A time-honored interpretation of justice.  Shall we put it to the test?"

Two blurry images of humans appear in the room, one to Zuriel's left, and another to Zuriel's right. Both are bound in chains.

The leftmost human looks to be a male of about 40 summers, with rough stubble and scarred features.  The rightmost human is a female of about 20 summers, beautiful despite her ragged attire.

"Behold, two prisoners of the Empire.  The man on your left is a farmer named Benedict, who runs a dairy farm not far from Harding Meadow.  He ran away from home as a young boy, and worked odd jobs until he could afford a pair of cows.  These he nurtured and, though luck and effort, transformed into a thriving business."

"Benedict had a rival in the local dairy business -- a man by the name of Wesson -- and their two families aired petty grievances on a weekly basis.  Fences would be broken, milking stools would be stolen, prized cows lamed, that sort of thing. One day, Benedict awoke to find his wife dead at the kitchen table.  The local healers attributed the deal to the consumption of poisoned milk, tainted by pesticides that had been laced into the cows' feed."

"Benedict went to the Wardens, but no evidence of wrong-doing could be found, and thus, no charges could be filed.  Still, he knew in his heart who had done the deed.  Blind with rage and grief, he snuck into Wesson's home one night and slit his throat."

"When the Wardens came to investigate, Benedict denied any wrongdoing -- claimed he had done it in the name of justice.  He was arrested, imprisoned, and now awaits his day in court."

The wisp pauses for a moment, then continues.

"The law is clear on this point: murder is a capital offense.  Tell me: Were you the judge, and this man stood before you, what would your sentence be?"

The Southern Voice
The voice continues its audio assault:

"Ποιος αποφασίζει τι κάνει ένα αρκετά καλό λόγο;"

[Private to Keef: "It wonders, Master, who decides what makes a reason good enough to bind someone to your will?"]

The Eastern Voice
The elderly figure turns to regard those in the room, a curious look in his eyes.

"Sut oeddech chi'n gwybod i ddawnsio?"

He blinks, then clears his throat.

"How," he says in thickly accented Elven, "Did you know you should dance?"

The Western Voice
Boreas's response is rewarded with a glittering key, which materializes in his hand.

"Well done, wayfarer.  But answer me this: The more of them you take, the more you leave behind. What are they?"

In reply to DM (msg # 94):

Well grandfather, we have a companion who could understand the words, Lyriel furrows her brows, though how he understands I know not.

Shaking her head she smiles again, Then I suppose I felt called to dance, once I understood. She looks towards the easterner and the dignified Chubbs,what about you two?

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 95):

Well. . . .to be quite frank, I found the suggestion rather silly at first.  I told Boreas as much.  But you appeared so transported that I could not help but join in.

It was your brother, wasn't it?
This message was last edited by the player at 16:53, Thu 12 Dec 2013.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 96):

Lyriel blushes, actually I was dancing with Zuriel, a far off look crosses the cleric's pale features, It was a long time ago.

Boreas strokes his beard in contemplation, turning over the key in his other hand.  As he thinks, he falls into his time-worn habit of scanning his surroundings - surrounding, in this case.

[OOC]Search Sarcophagus and anything else visible for traps and other hidden things.[/OOC]

[Perception 30]

After thinking for a while, he replies, Steps.  The more steps you take, the more you leave behind.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 98):

Eastern

Chubbs glowers.  Without question, he danced because HE wanted to, not because 'he knew he should' as the rainbow-man suggests.


Southern

Well... that's a tough one...

Keef thinks back to his childhood... as much as he can anyway... and about the other children growing up around him.  Then he thinks over the events of the past few days and struggles to reconcile all of these.

It's... difficult to say... but it's only when it does more good for more people than it binds, when it protects good people, and when it protects your own.

Keef nods, then adds but more to himself than to the disembodied voice, People know best about themselves and their own I guess...

Maeve looks as if she would be quite keen to know more about this interesting piece of gossip in the Lyriel/Zuriel saga, but wisely decides to save the girl talk for later.

Time and a place.  Time and a place.

Lyriel speaks the truth, grandfather. We heeded the words and, well, here we are.  Except that neither of us knows where "here" is.

Zuriel frowns, looking at the man before him.

He seems so real...where am I?

For a long time he considers what the spirit has said. "The anguish in this man is plain to see. If it is as you say, and the Wardens conducted a conscientious search yet could find no evidence, then how could Benedict be so sure Wesson was behind his wife's death? Does he have evidence the Wardens did not? Does Benedict feel the Wardens neglected their duty to investigate his wife's death? I can think of many explanations for her death, not all of them murder, and certainly many that do not involve Wesson. What am I missing from this story?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:22, Thu 12 Dec 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 101):

The Northern Voice

"What you're missing is the fact that you have a full caseload today, your honor," the wisp responds flatly.  "Each as pressing as this one. A decision must be made, so that justice can be carried out.  The facts I've laid before you represent the entirety of what came to light during trial. The Wardens claim they could not find sufficient evidence to press charges against Wesson, and the defendant refuses to consider any other explanation as rational -- claims the man admitted to the deed before he died. And so I ask once more for you to render a just verdict."


The Southern Voice

The grating voice continues unabated:

"Ενδιαφέρουσες. Τότε θα σας πω ότι η τυραννία είναι δικαιολογημένη, εάν κρατά τις μάζες από καιροφυλακτούν πάνω στο άλλο;"

[Private to Keef: "It now asks if tyranny is justified, Master, if it keeps the masses from in-fighting."]

The Eastern Voice

The elderly figure nods quietly, then turns back to the crackling hearth.

"A pity your friend did not heed the call," he says.  "I would very much have liked to meet him."

The man pokes at the fire absently, then spins to face Maeve, Lyriel, and Chubbs once more.

"You ladies seem nice enough -- noble, strong, and proud.  Not the usual petty thieves or treasure seekers.  So why are you here?  What brings you to the Feyic Vault, and why do you hope to open it?"

The Western Voice

The stone-faced sarcophagus shifts into an ever-so-perceptible grin, and the white light in its eyes flickers slightly.

"Correct.  Take the scroll case, but do not open it until the time is right."

The figure's grip on the iron cylinder eases, making it simple to detach if desired.

"This final riddle's more severe -- sing with me, for all to hear!"

Courtly music springs up out of nowhere, and the white light glows a bit brighter than before as it plays a song you could swear you've heard somewhere before...

"Chwe Daeth ceisio Feyic Vault.
Os ydynt yn marw, mae'n eu bai eu hunain.
Wraig y Dwyrain, syllu o ddur.
Duwiol Fflam gyda brwdfrydedd brwd.
Coediwr creithio, llygad emrallt.
Clerig yn yr dduwies, swil.
Mae bachgen gyda phŵer yn ei ddwylo.
Mae llyffant sy'n ei helpu i ddeall."

[Private to Boreas Highwind: You hear it translated thusly:

Six came seeking Feyic Vault.
If they die, it's their own fault.
Eastern lady, gaze of steel.
Pious Flame with ardent zeal.
Woodsman scarred, an emerald eye.
Cleric of the goddess, shy.
A boy with power in his hands.
A toad who helps him understand.]

[Private to GM: Wyneb eich ofnau, trechu pob un
Yna bydd y doom hynafol yn dod
Defnyddiwch y sgrôl a sefyll eich tir
Dinistrio y arswyd yr ydych wedi dod o hyd
Dim ond wedyn y gall gladdgell eu torri
A bydd eich gwobr yn cyrraedd

Face your fears, defeat each one
Then the ancient doom shall come
Use the scroll and stand your ground
Destroy the horror you have found
Only then can vault be breached
And your reward shall be in reach]
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:50, Fri 13 Dec 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 102):

Southern

Keef thinks for only a second before answering.

Yes, I suppose it can be.  There have been good kings and queens... Sir Greenheart visited many... they always helped him and he was overthrowing the evil kings and queens and wizzards and trolls and monsters and such... a good ruler takes care of his people, and that's good too.

Eastern

Chubbs shifts on the table so that he's not really facing anyone in particular, thus demonstrating both his boredom with the conversation and his total lack of interest in the Vault in general.

Boreas reaches out and takes the scroll case.  While he does, he begins to sing along with the song as best he can.  He pronounces the sylvan perfectly, though he hasn't the most beautiful singing voice, raspy, but with an underlying earnestness.

[OOC]Does the music repeat after the first time it plays?[/OOC]

No less than he would have liked to have met you.  Boreas has a number of questions regarding his abilities--perhaps you could have helped.

As for why we are here, we have come seeking an item known as a "Godstone." We have reason to believe that it lies within the vault. And as to why we seek this item. . . .it would seem that a crisis is coming, may already be upon us.  A wise bard has reason to suspect that the influence of the gods is fading from the world. Indeed, they may even be dying.

I confess that the ways of the gods are beyond me.  But know that we only seek to help.

Maeve glares a bit at Chubbs for demonstrating such rudeness to a fellow whom she is not entirely convinced will not kill them if their reason isn't good enough.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:51, Fri 13 Dec 2013.

Zuriel considers the man on trial.

Full of pain and rage, but most of all...sorrow. I could have been that man...

"In murdering Wesson, Benedict himself broke the law. If the Wardens could not find evidence of wrongdoing, then there was insufficient cause to justify Wesson's death. Moreover, it is not Benedict's place to administer judgement, even if Wesson had confessed."

The paladin takes a deep breath. "Based on the facts before me, I find Benedict guilty of impassioned murder. The sentence for such is normally death...however..." Zuriel pauses.

"Executing Benedict will bring neither his wife nor Wesson back from the grave. If such a sentence is carried out, Benedict's farm will fall to ruin, depriving the community of a source of food. Unless Benedict would prefer execution, my sentence is that Benedict be bound magically to his farm, and shall serve out his life in penance, providing his wares at cost to the State, which shall make them available to those citizens who would otherwise be unable to afford the food. Thus, the community shall benefit from the services of an experienced farmer, Wesson's family will no longer be in competition with Benedict's farm, thereby removing ongoing tension, and Benedict's life and life's work need not be forfeit. It is my hope that in serving the community, Benedict may eventually find a measure of peace and healing."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:53, Fri 13 Dec 2013.

It is as Maeve says, Grandfather. We fear the gods may be in danger, and the Godstone can tell us more.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 107):

The Northern Voice

The man in the image looks up, and a Warden enters his cell.  The two exchange words, and tears fill Benedict's eyes as the Warden leads him away, after which the scene fades into nothingness.

"Given the choice between the gallows or a lifetime of indentured servitude to the Empire, Benedict elected to be returned to his farm.  Though the loss of his wife pains him, he carries on his work and finds what joy and comfort he can.  Bound to his farm and notorious among his neighbors as a murderer, few come to visit him -- the widower spends most of what remains of his miserable life utterly alone.

"Though the Wessons no longer have to compete with him on the dairy market, neither do they have the manpower to continue without their patriarch.  They ultimately sell their land and business and move to another town, so as to get away from the man they claim got away with murder.  And, in Harding Meadow, at least, whispers and rumors mount that only the unsuccessful and the poor need fear the hangman's noose."

The orb pauses, bobbing up and down for a moment.

"Was this the expected outcome?  Has justice been served?"

The Southern Voice

The sensation of falling slows a bit, though the weightlessness remains.  The voice takes this opportunity to make another inquiry:

"Εάν ένας τύραννος ήξερε ότι θα μπορούσε να βάλει τάξη σε περισσότερους ανθρώπους μέσα από την κατάκτηση, θα ήταν αυτό ακριβώς;"

[Private to Keef: The Everstaff translates: If a tyrant knew he could bring order to more people through conquest , would that be just?]

The Eastern Voice
The figure stiffens ever so slightly, then turns to face those gathered again.

"If you were to find that the gods were indeed dying," he says slowly.  "What, exactly, would you do about it?"

The Western Voice
The white light flashes red in response to Boreas's humble song, and the music plays on, unabated.

Boreas continues to sing despite the more aggressive ambiance, his notes lingering after the third repetition before falling silent.  The music fades as well, and the light flickers white once more.

"I did not expect you to be able to pronounce the lyrics so faithfully," the voice continues.  "To you, I offer the following as a parting blessing:

Wyneb eich ofnau, trechu pob un
Yna bydd y doom hynafol yn dod
Defnyddiwch y sgrôl a sefyll eich tir
Dinistrio y arswyd yr ydych wedi dod o hyd
Dim ond wedyn y gall gladdgell eu torri
A bydd eich gwobr yn cyrraedd

[Private to Boreas Highwind:
Face your fears, defeat each one
Then the ancient doom shall come
Use the scroll and stand your ground
Destroy the horror you have found
Only then can vault be breached
And your reward shall be in reach]

The white light intensifies until the room is lost in brightness.  When his vision finally clears, Boreas finds himself standing at the top of the ladder upon the platform from earlier.  The stone figures are gone, and an iron door rests against the wall -- the rune for Bravery has been inscribed upon it.

That's not how it was supposed to go...

"I...I don't know, spirit. Maybe justice has to be evenly applied, no matter the circumstances...with no exceptions. But tell me this, what of the poor and desperate who were given succor by the food Benedict provided? Was their suffering not eased? Did nobody think to tell Benedict of the difference his labor was making in the lives of others? And what good is inflexible justice if it results in a society incapable or mercy or forgiveness?"

Zuriel looks down. "I can't change everything, but is it not my duty to make things better where I can?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:00, Fri 13 Dec 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 109):

Southern

Keef falls silent for quite a while, spinning this way and that.

No...  At first he can only offer that much, but quickly he finds more.

Conquest would hurt people... innocent people, no matter what!

Well. . .

Maeve chooses her next words carefully.  The old fellow looks as though a strong gust of wind would send him flying, but she suspects that there is more to him than meets the eye.  She also suspects that a great deal hinges on their answering his question in a satisfactory manner.

I don't know that I am the best person to be answering that question, sir.  I have lived my life independently of the gods.  They keep to their sphere of influence, I keep to mine.  I am unschooled in their ways.  Much of their very existence is a mystery to me.

But that does not answer your question.  I suppose that my answer would be: it depends.  If the gods were indeed fading, I would first want to know why.  It could well be that this is the natural order of things.  And who am I to meddle with nature?

Maeve shrugs.

If if this is in fact the case, then my greater suspicions is that malicious forces are at work. In which case, my answer is a simple one: I would stop them.

Though I doubt that I would be very effective, you understand.  As I said: I have little knowledge of the gods.  I have no magic of my own, nor am I especially gifted with words.  A weapon of steel would have no impact on something so powerful and sinister that the deities themselves face elimination.

But I would try.

Unused to such speeches, Maeve sits quietly and waits for the old man to do as he will.

Boreas shuffles his feet a bit, waiting for his companions to show up.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 112):

Looking over at the warrior then looking towards the elderly figure Lyriel feels a tightness building up in her chest...oh Goddess, should I tell them? Sighing she steels herself and gives an almost imperceptible nod.

Opening her mouth she is barely able to control what comes out next, I feel like you both deserve some honesty here, when I set out on this quest it was not by choice. She looks away for a moment then focus back on the conversation.

You see I was sent on this quest by Zuriel's father, Edrahil, to...hmm, how do I put this delicately, make sure that he doesn't do anything too foolish, and to bring him back in one piece. While I am also a servant of Tassada it was not always so; in fact my interests tend to lie more in the nature of magic than service to the Goddess, but don't get me wrong, I try to do right by my Goddess and my family, it is just I have always done my duty and nothing more.

She pauses for a moment a bit flustered, with a look of deep concern on her face. However, I am starting to believe that I may be needed for this quest and in a larger capacity than just watching over Zuriel. She blushes, and at any rate I am not sure that his father was correct in worrying, I am beginning to believe that while Zuriel is perhaps a bit too eager sometimes that his heart is in the right place. She shakes her head, but that is neither here nor there. My point is I think I am finally coming to understand that I want to be here, and I want to help. If the gods are dying, then that means that their divine power is waning too, and from my studies that could mean much bigger problems. So ideally it is as Maeve says, if indeed the forces of evil are somehow involved in the gods dying then we need to do something to stop it or at least balance the power if we can.

She draws in a deep breath and smiles shyly. I do apologize for the rant, I Just had to get that off my chest. She then shoots Maeve and Chubbs a look full of concern, oh and please don’t tell Zuriel why I came to begin with, I am afraid it might hurt him, and I do believe I am starting to rather like him, and I can't bear the thought of hurting him, especially now that I think I understand why he wanted to do this in the first place.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:14, Fri 13 Dec 2013.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 113):

The Northern Voice

"We're not talking about your duty," the wisp responds.  "We talking about justice.  The masses, by and large, view the legal system in terms of crime and punishment, nothing more.  You may have done some good for some people in this instance, but the lesson that gets spread through the bars and marketplaces is that you can reduce competition simply by goading your peers into lawlessness."

"Let's move on to the next case, which is more cut-and-dry.  This is Brittany, a prostitute who works the streets on one of Tris's darker quarters.  While harlotry is not illegal, it is unseemly.  One night, a rather affluent client refused to pay her -- resulting in Brittany publicizing their sordid affair to the world at large."

"The client, however, mounted an aggressive defense campaign that denied any wrongdoing. He painted her as a slandering gold-digger he'd never met before, a woman who was fabricating the entire story to make a profit for herself.  The judge -- a long-time friend of the affluent man -- agreed, and offered to have the case dismissed if the affluent man would agree to drop his charges against the woman in return.  This they did, and the case was resolved without penalty to either party."

"Brittany left the courthouse quietly, shocked that she had not received restitution for her unpaid debt or the libelous campaign waged against her.  Two nights later, both the affluent man and the judge were dead, and Brittany back behind bars under assertions that she had hired an assassin to handle her grievances.  The assassin, of course, is still at large."

The wisp pauses once more before continuing.

"The penalty for this crime, on the books, is death.  How would you rule?"

The Southern Voice
The voice grows softer now, and becomes almost pleasant.

"Μια σιδερένια γροθιά διατηρεί την τάξη, ακόμη και στη μέση του χάους. Μην ξεχνάτε ότι ακόμα και οι δαίμονες που αποτελείται δικαίου - μια μικρή σπίθα της τάξης που συνδέει το σώμα τους μαζί έτσι ώστε να ακολουθούν τις προβλέψιμες νόμους της φυσικής. Ακόμα και ακόμα, είστε σοφοί, τους νέους ένα. Η καρδιά σας είναι στη σωστή θέση. Να είστε καλά."

[Private to Keef: The Everstaff translates: An iron fist maintains order even in the midst of chaos. Do not forget that even demons are composed of law -- a tiny spark of order that binds their bodies together such that they follow the predictable laws of physics.  Even still, you are wise, young one.  Your heart is in the right place. Be well.]

Keef's feet touch the ground as gently as if he has taking a single step on a flat, even road, and the darkness fades entirely to reveal himself standing on the platform with Boreas, before the closed door marked with the rune for Bravery.

The Eastern Voice
The figure smiles slightly in response to Maeve's answer.

"A worthy response," he says to Maeve slowly.  "The gods are not eternal, though to mortal eyes they might as well be.  But though they cannot rule forever, neither do they die.  Power waxes and wanes based on a variety of factors we've never been able to explain."

He takes a seat on the warm stone bricks of the fireplace.

"Your concern, cleric, is justified.  Even the most powerful gods can grow dim in time.  I've always thought it was somehow related to the number of people worshiping them, somehow, but our research has suggested things aren't quite as simple as that."

The man adjusts his chromatic clothing slightly, then continues.

"The Godstones, as you call them, were created to help track the fluctuations -- to predict which gods were waxing, which were waning, and which were remaining steady.  We correlated this to the activities we saw in the world around us, but we never found a universal explanation for anything.  No law.  No constant."

He sighs.

"The mystery of the divine, I suppose.  But you say you were sent by a bard with knowledge of such things.  What did he tell you?  Does he intend to continue our research, or has he found something more... concrete?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:17, Sat 14 Dec 2013.

It's difficult to say.  Certainly he wishes to learn more, but I don't know if his findings to date have any real significance.  Mostly he seems to have corroborated what you've just explained: waning influence, but the cause is still a mystery.

Maeve briefly outlines what Baldwin has told them.

Our manners are horrendous.  We ought to have introduced ourselves sooner.

Maeve introduces her, Lyriel, and Chubbs to the old man.

And you, grandfather.  Who might you be?

Zuriel studies the woman's face carefully.

"You said assertion...the Wardens..." he says slowly, "did they have sufficient evidence to obtain a conviction for Brittany beyond a reasonable doubt? Or is she simply being held for an obvious motive? Where does her case stand?"

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 116):

The Northern Voice

"She's admitted to it," the wisp responds.  "Says she had to do it because the judge had been bought, and that it was justified because -- since she wasn't paid -- the affluent man had taken sexual and economic advantage of her, and the courts refused to help.  There is, of course, no evidence of this."

The Eastern Voice

"I have gone by many names in the course of many lifetimes," the man smiles.  "You may call me Nikos."

"The bard is right to suspect something is amiss.  Though gods rise and fall, they do not do so en mass, as he suspects is happening.  Nor is it common to see a church swiftly dwindle to a scant few faithful -- short of a genocide."

He reaches into a pocket and retrieves a small signet ring, the symbol upon which you have never seen before. He hands it to Maeve and smiles.

"This will help you access the vault.  I'm also quite sure your bardic ally will find it quite... intriguing.  I regret to send you on your way so swiftly, but time is short.  Good luck on your quest.  I sincerely hope we meet again."

The fire crackles steadily, and smoke slowly fills the room -- though it does not seem to impede your breathing.

When the smoke clears, you find yourself outside near Boreas and Keef, before the door marked "Bravery".
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:46, Sat 14 Dec 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 117):

Keef spins around in place, not noticing Boreas at first.

That...was.... AWESOME!

Keef is vibrating with excitement.

Did you fall down a hole too Boreas?  Did you get to answer questions?  They were really hard... but I think I was right.  All I saw was darkness though, must have been magic, but I didn't get to attack it... where are the others?  Maybe they're falling too?  Is that hole still open?  Can we do it again!?

Zuriel nods sadly. "So be it. I hereby sentence Brittany to death for two counts of solicitation to commit murder, and one count of inflicting bodily harm upon a legal official. However, from the deceased client's estate I require the full amount of payment in question to be rendered immediately to Brittany's estate, and any dependents she may have. Furthermore, from the judge's estate I levy an additional punishment fine for criminal obstruction of justice, again payable to Brittany's dependents."

The paladin gazes into Brittany's eyes. "However, should Brittany cooperate with authorities and provide information leading to the capture of the at-large hired assassin, I would be willing to commute her sentence to a lifetime of imprisonment. I want him found. I want to send a message loud and clear to all echelons of society: Nobody is above the law. Corruption in courts will not be tolerated. Vigilantism is unsustainable for a community, and will be punished. And if you are a career criminal who takes the money of others to commit their crimes for them, eventually, you will be found, and you will be brought to justice."
This message was last updated by the player at 16:50, Sat 14 Dec 2013.

Glad to see you made it out alright, Keef.  A hole, you say?  I had riddles to answer on my end.  They took some thinking, but I came out with this.

Boreas holds up the scroll tube.

Though I was told not to open it until the right time.  I believe it will help us in our next challenge.  I suppose we wait for the others now.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 120):

The Northern Voice
"An interesting sentence, informed perhaps by the last.  You wish to please everyone, paladin, but that is not the point of justice."

The wisp bobs up and down absently.

"Can you explain the thought process a bit?  I'm puzzled as to why the judge's family and the affluent man's family should have to pay for their relatives' offenses."

"I'm not seeking to please everybody, I'm seeking to deliver impartiality. It is clear by the prostitute's actions that she truly was taken advantage of, though why a simple Zone of Truth wasn't implemented at the beginning of the civil proceedings I have no clue. We have the means to determine absolute truth, which would have resolved this mess equitably long before Brittany felt the need to take the law into her own hands.  That oversight aside, the judge in this instance acted reprehensibly; he should have recused himself as soon as it became known that the case involved an acquaintance, much less a friend. As for the client, men who take advantage of women driven to the desperation of prostitution are truly despicable creatures. She should have won her suit against him. And to clarify, the monies paid from the estates of the deceased are not to be paid by their families, but rather the body of wealth that is to be passed to their families. It is no different than settling debts with other debtors before the remainder of an estate is taxed and then passed onto heirs."

Zuriel sighs wearily. "The verdicts I rendered are intended to redress the misapplication of justice in the civil suit, while at the same time ensuring proper punishment in the much more serious criminal suit. And if my stipulations for a modicum of leniency lead to the capture of another, much more dangerous criminal, so much the better. Either way, the message sent to society should be clear: affluence and influence does not put one above the law, corruption of public offices cannot be tolerated, vigilantism shall be punished, and that there can be no place for career criminals in society."

The paladin balls his fists in frustration. This should never have been a matter of his word against hers. We can *prevent* the speaking of falsehoods in court. What a gods-damned shame...
This message was last edited by the player at 19:24, Sat 14 Dec 2013.

Maeve finds herself transported once again to the chamber where the group initially parted ways.  Keef appears to have been questioning Boreas excitedly about his adventures in the vault.  When she, Lyriel, and Chubbs teleport into the room, the lad bounds over to them and begins his verbal assault anew.

How's that, Keef?  No, we didn't fall down a hole, it was more of a cozy den actually.

Maeve describes their encounter with the sylvan guardian and concludes by showing Boreas and Keef the ring with which they were gifted.  Boreas seems predictably very interested in both the old man and the ring.

It's awful quiet in here. . . .where's Zuriel?

I got here first, then Keef showed up shortly after.  We're still waiting for Zuriel to arrive.

Boreas scans the ring with his eye.

[Invoking Detect Magic]

Interesting about the old man, indeed.  Seems each of us was presented with our own test.  And Chubbs, my friend, how are you doing with all of this?

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 124):

Chubbs gives a shrug.  If anything interesting happened, he apparently wasn't around for it.

In reply to Keef (msg # 125):

The Northern Voice

"So be it," the wisp says.

The woman in the image is dragged away, and the vision fades entirely.

"Brittany spends the rest of her days in prison, after helping the Wardens locate the assassin.  Based on her testimony, the man is executed for his crimes -- though there is no real evidence against him other than the woman's words."

"The various estates are debited and credited as indicated, leaving the judge's family and the affluent man's family worse off and Brittany's family better off.  You could say that, though she was imprisoned for it, the prostitute's actions improved the lives of her family more than her freedom would have."

The wisp bobs up and down again, floating quite close to Zuriel.

"You do not seem eager to punish the wicked, paladin.  You view it as an unfortunate burden that the world would be better without.  These are not bad answers, but they are different than expected."

A blue haze begins to fill Zuriel's vision, and the room becomes increasingly less distinct.

"Justice means equity, as you rightly stated.  Ponder well: Why was there a rivalry between Benedict and Wesson, and not an alliance?  Why was Brittany a career prostitute?  Why can the Empire not afford to equip its courtrooms with Zones of Truth? The answers you seek lie within."

The wisp has vanished from sight long before the final words are spoken, and when he falls silent, the world snaps back into focus -- leaving the paladin once more in the company of his allies, standing before the door marked with the sign of Bravery.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:42, Sun 15 Dec 2013.

Zuriel, nice of you to join us, Boreas says with a smirk as the paladin appears.

So what was it for you?  Bottomless pits?  Riddles?  Strange old men?

Well met, Zuriel.  Glad to have you back.  It seems that we have each passed the test given to us.

Maeve turns her attention to the door marked with the rune for bravery.

"Face your fears, beat each in turn". . . .that was the next line of the riddle.  I wonder if that means that we're supposed to try this room one at a time, or just that we'll be collectively facing something that we each fear.

Face your fears. . . .I wonder what mine will be?

Well, since fortune never favored the timid. . . .

Maeve opens the door and leads the way into the next room.

Eager to punish...what an awful thing to say. Anybody eager to deliver punishment has no place deciding people's fates.

Zuriel blinks as he snaps back to reality, mouth open as if he were about to offer retort before realizing he was back with the party.

"Oh, we're all here? Good, sorry to keep you waiting..." he murmurs distantly. "My trial was...the philosophy of legal and social justice, I guess?"

He smiles wanly. "Fitting, I suppose."

What does the spirit mean, the answers lie within?

The paladin shakes his head as if to clear it, and then walks forward into the next trial.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 129):

Keef is still bobbing up and down, nearly toppling into the abyss not far behind.

Not me, I got asked about 'good'.  It was lots of fun!  I've been paying close attention to everything you and the others and Giles and the squirrel and you have been saying all along and it made it easy and I was falling so that made it harder to answer but I stopped screaming and the wind by my head wasn't that loud so maybe it was an illusion and I wasn't falling since I'm back here with you all so it can't have been that far unless I was teleported but anyway I answered and lets do it again!

Keef leans heavily on the Everstaff and sucks in air.

For Boreas, it is perhaps the first time Keef has taken a breath since returning to the pedestal and statues.

"Good and the...squirrel?" Zuriel asks.

Maeve shrugs, entirely clueless with regard to the squirrel.

Boreas nods at everyone's recounting.

Well... I hope we get to stick together on the next one, but I have a feeling otherwise...

He follows Maeve through the door.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 133):

The door opens to reveal a modest chamber, perhaps 15x15x8 in size.  The floor is smooth stone, and the room itself is relatively unadorned.

The only objects in the room are five faceless stone statues of varying heights: a tall male Highborn, a slim female Highborn, a strong human female, a tall human male, and a lanky human teenager.

They look like nothing so much as the mannequins used to show off goods at tailor shops and fashion stores in the larger cities, and resting upon each statue's head is an iron circlet [Private to Boreas Highwind: (all are magical)].

The statues form a circle, and stand with their backs toward the center.  On the opposite side of the room is another door of iron, the frame of which is surrounded by five nooks that seem meant to hold an object of some kind -- perhaps a stone, apple, or similar-sized item.  Near each nook is a rune, written in the same ancient language as before.

[Private to Boreas Highwind:
The runes read as follows:

Bottom Left: A Father's Greed
Upper Left: A Father's Shadow
Top Center: A Father's Love
Upper Right: A Father's Wrath
Bottom Right: A Father's Sin]

[Crossroads]
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:30, Mon 16 Dec 2013.

Boreas surveys the room, examining each feature in turn.

The statues are clearly meant to represent us.  And the iron circlets are magical, just about every kind under the sun.  No necromancy, though, thank the gods.  As for the runes...

Boreas points to each of the alcoves and reads the inscription for the party:

Bottom Left: A Father's Greed
Upper Left: A Father's Shadow
Top Center: A Father's Love
Upper Right: A Father's Wrath
Bottom Right: A Father's Sin

Not exactly sure what we're to do here, though...
This message was last edited by the player at 15:39, Mon 16 Dec 2013.

Zuriel stares unblinkingly at the mannequin of the tall Highborn for a time before taking the iron circlet and placing it on his brow.

"No sense delaying the inevitable."

Clearly each of these is supposed to pertain to one of us, Maeve says, indicating the alcoves.

But which one?  I can see at least two that might apply. . .

She plucks the circlet from her statue and places it on her head.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 137):

The squirrel? Keef chatters on as the P.A.R.T.Y. files through the door, What squirrel?

Keef's eyes go wide with wonder at the statues, the runes and the circlets.  While Zuriel regards his double stoically, Keef stands before his own attempting to imitate its pose and compare heights.

Keef shudders when Boreas reads the runes, but then eagerly follows Zuriel and Maeve in grabbing the 'Keef' circlet and placing it on his head.

Sure better than thorns... he mutters.

Chubbs, meanwhile, hops around the periphery of the statues, looking at each.

Boreas, seeing the others unharmed... relatively speaking... by the circlets, slowly lifts his from his statue and puts it on.

Lyriel also spends some time regarding her doppelgänger before silently donning her circlet.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 140):

The cold metal surface of the iron band feels strangely pleasant against your head, and you are perhaps unsurprised to find each circlet fits perfectly.

Upon donning his circlet, Zuriel becomes bathed in a pale aura.  As the P.A.R.T.Y. continues to put on their respective pieces of headgear, the aura spreads and intensifies until everyone is bathed in what is now a vibrant shade of green.

When Lyriel places her circlet upon her head -- becoming the final member to do so -- the room goes black, and each P.A.R.T.Y. member suddenly gets the sense that they are... somewhere else.

***

Zuriel's Vision

Zuriel's vision clears, and he finds himself standing in the Embers -- the Chamber of Judgement reserved exclusively for fallen paladins who have betrayed the values of the Flame.  He is armed, armored, and unbound, but stands in a small pit set maybe 4 feet below the rest of the room.  Paladins stand around the rim of the pit, resplendent in full military regalia, gazing down upon him.

In the center stands Knight-Captain Edrahil, his arms crossed in anger.  At his side is Lady Vesper, wearing a victorious smirk.  Lyriel stands next to her mother, along with a smattering of other clergy.

One particular paladin catches Zuriel's eye -- Finwë.  He stands out for two reasons: the first, because of their childhood enmity, but more pressingly, because of his proximity to Lyriel.

Zuriel's natural reaction to this discovery seems palpable, prompting Lyriel to speak up.

"Don't look so hurt -- you couldn't really think you were a match for me," Lyriel sneers, wrapping an arm around Finwë.  "I'm a trueblood!  I didn't volunteer for Baldwin's idiotic quest; I was deployed -- by your father, no less.  Seems he still thinks you need a babysitter, even after all these years..."

She chuckles at this, and Finwë laughs along with her.

"We expected you to do stupid things," she continues.  "But to consort with heretics?  To quibble with divine judgement?  This entire mission is fallacy!  The Church is eternal, Justice is inflexible, and your selfish search for personal glory at the expense of both brings shame to your family and to the Flame."

Finwë wraps a comforting arm around Lyriel, and Lady Vesper smiles at the gesture in approval.

"I take no joy in this, Zuriel, contrary to what you might expect.  Do you know how much trouble Eldric went through trying to set you on the right path?" he demands, his expression growing darker. "It wasn't the big, bad world he was trying to protect you from.  He was trying to save you from yourself. We all were.  But some people can't be helped."

The Knight-Captain clears his throat at this outburst, and the room goes silent.

"That's enough, Finwë.  Knight Errant Zuriel Siléndril, due to your gross miscarriage of duty, we hereby revoke your title and do this day dishonorably discharge you from the Flame."

He marches to within arm's length to Zuriel, draws his sword, and slashes forward in a smooth motion.  Though Zuriel is unharmed, his tabbard falls to the ground in an unceremonious heap.

"You shall spend five days in stocks before the Temple commons, in testament to the nature of Duty -- and what happens to those who forget it."

"After serving your sentence, you should return to your misguided allies," he adds darkly.  "I was wrong.  You have no home in Hae'driel."

A paladin advances to the pit with manacles in hand, and the crowd turns its collective back on the Embers as one body.

The next thing Zuriel knows, he's bound in the stocks.  People largely ignore him as they bustle by, but a child of 8 summers or so looks up at him with curiosity.

"Are you the Oathbreaker?" she asks timidly.  "Momma says you were preaching that the Goddess was dying, and that the Empire had forgotten what true Justice was.  She said you consorted with wildkin, werewolves, and worse!  Is that true?"

***

Maeve's Vision

The world swirls like the sands of an hourglass, and suddenly Maeve finds herself in a familiar world of dunes and deserts.  She is fully armed and armored, and stationed at the head of a column of the Sultan's finest cavalry as they march across a dangerous swathe of territory connecting two major trading routes.

Suddenly, the dunes around her company are swarming with mounted soldiers, each wearing Gaelian armor.  The disposition of their forces is nearly identical, with the only real difference being that the ambushing army contains a variety of races -- particularly minotaur -- while Maeve's army is almost entirely human.

A loud horn blasts over the din, heralding the arrival of an enormous armored human who clomps forward mounted upon an exotic bearlike creature.

Maeve recognizes the figure at once; between the armor, the mount, and the standard upon it, he can be none other than General Arnaud Hassan.

"You have been sorely missed, Janissary," his voice booms across the sands.  "I would know what you have learned during your self-imposed exile. I expected you earlier -- a decade sooner, really.  The Sultanate has been weaker for your extended absence."

Maeve can feel his eyes upon her despite the fact that his helmet is closed, and the soldiers on both sides scramble to give the pair a wide berth.

The General's massive spear is lowered in her direction, and muscles in his mount's neck and legs grow visibly tense.

"You've always yearned to prove your worthiness on your own merits.  Now, before an audience of your peers, is your chance. Show me what was so important that you'd leave my legacy to wither in the pitiless sun."

***

Keef's Vision

Still clad in his usual adventuring gear, Keef's eyes snap open to reveal a small, dirty bedroom that he knows all too well.  Loud noises come the stairs down the hall -- cursing, the shattering of glass, a yelp of pain.

One of his brothers limps into the room shortly thereafter, blood oozing under his nose.  He shakes his head slowly at Keef, climbs into one of the three beds crammed into the tiny space, faces the wall, and pulls the covers over his head without a word -- though his body shakes with silent sobs.

"Keef!  Get down here!  Now, blast it!" bellows a drunken voice from the kitchen downstairs.  "And be quick about it, boy, unless yer eager for another go."

***

Boreas's Vision

Boreas finds himself strapped to a table in dark room that resembles a barn or stable -- though this assertion is based on the smell and the sounds more than sight.  Exotic horses, birds, and other creatures hoot, holler, and clamber nearby, each in their own pens, and the weak light of late afternoon streams in through one of the many windows.

A familiar figure stands above Boreas, a smug expression upon his face.

"The prodigal son returns at last!  And look, you were kind enough to bring our pride and joy home with you."

He nods to another man nearby, who picks up a pair of iron blacksmith tongs and reaches forward to clamp them down upon the emerald eye.  He tugs, twists, and pulls, but the gem remains locked into place.

The first man sighs and runs a hand through his greasy hair in aggravation.

"Damnation.  I was hoping we could avoid this, but that gem's one-of-a-kind," he says, drawing a dagger and handing it to his associate.  The man shrugs apologetically.  "I can always make another son."

***

Lyriels' Vision

Lyriel finds herself in a dark, dirty tavern located in a section of Hae'driel she'd taken great pains to avoid for her entire life.  She's equipped as usual, but has covered herself entirely with a hooded cloud, shrouding her appearance.  A rugged, dirty-looking man is seated across from her, clad in leather armor.

"Done the digging you asked for, but I want the second half of my payment up front."

The cleric regards the man for a moment, confused, then follows his greedy gaze to a large purse of golden coins sitting on the table nearby.  Sensing there would be no resistance, the man reaches over and drags the bag into his lap.

"Looks like we're set," he begins, rummaging through the bag for a moment before continuing.  "So, like I said, looked into the details surrounding this Eldric fella's death, and there's something shady about it.  The mission details, the selected routes, the causes and times of deaths, the paperwork... no two ways about it, something fishy happened."

He secures the bag of money and takes a long drink from his mug.

"An' that ain't the weirdest bit.  The way it all lines up, I don't think them paladins were just killed in combat out there," he says, moving closer to Lyriel and lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper.  "I think they were betrayed.  Murdered, by one of their own."

He holds up a piece of paper, which has been folded in half, and grins wickedly at the cleric across from him.

"Y'wanna know who did it?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:51, Mon 16 Dec 2013.

I'm dreaming...I must be. Like before. But, how can the magics here know all of this? It feels so real..."

Despite Zuriel's attempts to reassure himself, a dull ache builds in his heart.

Real or not, it's true enough, or could be...

He looks up slowly from the dusty ground he had been regarding, and into the eyes of the child. "You shouldn't be here, little one," he says kindly, voice raspy from disuse and thirst. "You are too young to be worrying yourself with such matters. Go play in the park, and enjoy the day. It is as your mother says, though what I did I did only in attempt to make the world a little better; a little brighter."

His gaze returns back down to the dust. But I failed. I failed miserably, and brought only pain to those around me.

The former paladin's vision blurs, and tears fall from his golden eyes to mix in with the dust at his feet before being absorbed into the parched earth.

As he shifts his weight the collar of his tunic tears, and suddenly, dangling from his neck and filling the center of his vision, was his mother's pendant. Strangely, the pendant was clear and in razor-focus despite the blur of dust and tears obscuring the rest of Zuriel's vision. As he regards the intricate pendant shimmering in the afternoon sun, a sense of peace comes over him. In the distance, he hears his childhood music box melody tinkling, as if carried on the winds from a great distance. Zuriel sighs and closes his eyes, allowing the music to wash over him and carry away his fear and heartache.

Dream or reality, what I have done is right...and every moment I spend here wallowing in self-pity is a moment longer before I can continue on what I know is the correct course of action.

Zuriel's eyes snap open, and he sees the child still standing before him, eyeing him curiously. "Could you do me a favor, child? Could you please go into the temple, and find my father, the Knight-Captain? Tell him that his son requests a trial by combat."

Let Tassada herself be the one to judge my actions, and decide my fate.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:41, Mon 16 Dec 2013.

A thousand false memories rush through Boreas' mind at once as the tongs approach.  Flashes of his comrades discovering his true heritage.  Their support.  The long journey back home.  The ambush that caught them all unawares.

My... friends.  Where are my friends? he manages to say as the tongs draw closer.

Friends? Your Highborn companions lodged no further protest once we told them the matter concerned stolen properly. Threatened to fetch the Wardens, of course, but I have it on good authority that they have been delayed... The eastern warrior and the boy were less than pleased with that solution, but I told them to take it up with my lawyers.  As you know, they are quite... beastly.  Regardless, for the moment, you and that gem are all mine.  Release the latter, and we'll let you go.  After you show us how it works, of course.

Boreas' father gives a look to the other man, who continues to lower the tongs.

More false memories... or memories that haven't really happened yet...

The eye begins to glow.

[Will 18]

Another thought rushes to mind... name magic?  Without thinking, Boreas blurts out the words: Egwyl haearn!

The gem flares with light as the tongs begin to vibrate, cracking and splintering with a bang.

[Extractor Will 7]

As his father and the other man stagger away from the blast, Boreas takes advantage of the distraction.  He slips out of his simple bindings, flipping backward off the table and landing on his feet.

[Escape Artist 25]

His gem pulses with a furious light.  You wanted a demonstration, father?  Pay attention.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:11, Mon 16 Dec 2013.

This isn't real.  This isn't real.  This *can't* be real. You are standing in a the vault and this is just an illusion.

In spite of these assertions, Maeve can't help but feel the heat of the sun beating down on her and the weight of her gear as well.  Her mount--a steed which looks suspiciously like Wes--snorts and tosses its head to rid his mane of grit.

It certainly *feels* real.

It certainly feels like something that could come to pass.

The General's disappointment in her is crushing.

I. . .I'm sorry. . . . I didn't mean for this to come to pass. . . .But you know why I had to leave. I just wanted to accomplish something on my own, out from under my commanding officer's shadow. I just wanted to make you proud!. . .I'm so sorry. . .

Maeve gives herself a good, swift mental slap.

Quiet sniveling!  Vision, remember?

The self-flagellation seems to help clear her head and Maeve remembers the day that the General saw her ship off from the capital city's port.  Although he kept the conversation and bantering light--"bring us back a dragon's head for the throne room!"--she could tell that he understood the gravity of her decision, and was, indeed, proud of her for it.

That is the truth.  Not this.

What have I learned?  I have learned that these, for a start, are not my peers.    She waves her hand to indicate the largely homogeneous army behind her.  I select my peers based on their merits, not on their purity.  You always told me that.  Now I know that to be true.

I have also learned that I was justified in my decision to seek an adventure outside these lands.  The Lion of Gaelia casts a long shadow indeed, and I would have never grown to the potential you knew I had if I had stayed here. Maev'Rah Hassan has proven her worth.  Maybe it's time for just Maeve to show hers.

She flips up her visor and grins at the General.  She knows that if he were to do the same, his eyes would look very much like hers.

What say you, old man?  A friendly duel?

In reply to Maeve (msg # 144):

No it... I left... I'm not here...

Despite these words, Keef isn't convinced.  He casts a obligatory glance around the room knowing full well what he'll find: nowhere to run to.  The windows open either on a sheer drop where the old tree used to be before papa cut it down or else don't open at all anymore.

Keef looks down.  Battered armor is replaced by rags, smudges of dirt and ash and fresh bruises.

Wordlessly, Keef makes his way through the door, ignoring the glances from his kin who seek only to be left alone for another night.  As he starts down the narrow staircase, Keef feels for his weapons but turns up only bare hands.  Weak hands, a child's hands.

Keef jumps the last step, not out of eagerness but habit, the wood has long since rotted through.

Before he sees, he smells.  Mildew, old cheese and ever the stench of ale and cheap wine. Alone, unarmed and small, Keef rounds into the candle light of the kitchen.

In reply to Keef (msg # 145):

Zuriel's Vision

The girl wanders off toward the Temple, leaving Zuriel to his thoughts.  Three long hours later, he finds himself transported to what is informally known as the Judiciary Arena, a small patch of grass nestled behind the courthouse.

It is not designed with spectators in mind, as only two small benches and a taller chair are placed nearby -- a bench for each "second", and the chair for the judge.

Despite these precautions, a sizable crowd has turned up to watch the fallen paladin further humiliate himself.  The day's judge climbs into the seat and motions for silence.

"Let it be known that Zuriel Siléndril has chosen to appeal his recent sentencing, which stripped him of both rank and title, through a trial by combat.  The defendant has selected to use a longsword and shield.  The prosecutor has selected a warhammer -- like the goddess intended."

"Who will stand in support of the prosecution?"

"If it pleased the court, I accept this responsibility."

Lyriel breaks from the crowd and approaches the field, but instead of taking a position in the challenger's staging area, she moves to stand before the prosecution's "second" bench.

"And who will stand in support of the accused?"

There is silence for a long, agonizing minute, and then a powerful voice rings out from the crowd.

"I will."

The crowd explodes into murmurings and jabber as a well-known figure walks steadily toward the defendant's "second" bench -- Knight-Captain Edrahil Siléndril.

"Order," the judge admonishes the crowd sternly.  After they fall silent, he continues.

"The prosecution calls forth today's Arbiter."

An armored figure clomps onto the other side of the field, wielding a warhammer that's every bit as massive as his smile.

"Watch carefully," Finwë says, adjusting his stance for the coming duel. "You might finally learn something."

~~ Combat Disposition ~~

You are each within one move action of one another.  The field is not much bigger than a tennis court, and there are spectators all around.  Using them to your advantage in any way forfeits the match, as does harming them or leaving the arena.

Trial by Combat ends when one combatant is rendered unable or unwilling to continue the fight, at the judge's discretion.

~~ NPC Stats for Finwë ~~
HP: 45
AC: 15
F/R/W: +6/+1/+1
[Private to GM: BAB +9
Hammer: d8+4/x3]

~~ Initiative! ~~

Zuriel 18
Finwë 15

In reply to DM (msg # 146):

Boreas's Vision

The thug backs up in surprise as the tongs explode in his hands, raising the dagger defensively.  His father recovers more quickly, though still seems hesitant to approach his escaped prisoner.

"A fine idea," he says at least, reaching under his shirt to reveal the small wooden whistle he always keeps there.  Without another word, he blows into it -- though not a note can be discerned by human ears.

A sulfurous smell fills the room, and a concentrated burst of flames appears nearby.  Soon, the flames fade to reveal a spindly, red-skinned humanoid creature that stands about six feet tall and looks to weigh no more than 140 pounds.

"Retrieve the emerald eye, and I will consider our bargain fulfilled."

The creature snorts, glances at Boreas, and cracks its knuckles eagerly.

~~ Combat Disposition ~~

You are all within one move action of each other. The stable is rather large (35x30x10), though you only have 20x10x10 to work with due to the actual stable stalls.  There is a large double door across the room from the table upon which Boreas was tied.  No other furniture is in the room, though there are basic farming implements strewn around (pitchfork, shovel, wheelbarrow, hay bales, etc.)

~~ NPC Stats ~~

HP: 55
AC: 19
Touch/Flat: 11/18
F/R/W: 10/6/6
[Private to GM: Attacks: 2x Claws +12 (1d6+5), 1x bite +7 (1d6+2)
Sneak Attack: +2d6
Protective Slime (Su)
A slimy red jelly coats the babau’s skin. Any weapon that touches it takes 1d8 points of acid damage from the corrosive goo. A creature who strikes the babau with an unarmed attack, unarmed strike, touch spell, or natural weapon takes this damage as well but can negate the damage with a DC 18 Reflex save.
Spells: see invis, dispel magic, darkness, greater teleport
http://www.d20srd.org/srd/monsters/demon.htm
Baboub]

~~ Initiative ~~
Boreas 15
Dad & Goons 11
Demon 6

Zuriel scans the crowd before his eyes settle on Lyriel, standing as Finwë's second.

I know this is a dream, I know...

He swallows and tightens his grip on his longsword. The grass was springy under his boots, and the smell of freshly oiled armor fills his nose. His pulse hammers in his ears, and he stares down into Finwë's smugly twinkling eyes.

This feels too real. Like a possible future.

Very briefly, Zuriel looks behind him at his father, and nods. Despite all that had transpired, Zuriel was grateful for the Knight-Captain's presence and support. The audience goes silent as the judge signals the beginning of the match. The only sounds are those of the wind whistling over the rooftops and Zuriel's own heart. Zuriel's eyes narrow, and he darts forward.

Time to forge my own destiny, for a change.

Bringing the point of his longsword down, he rushes towards Finwë, who was clearly not expecting such an aggressive opening move. The trueborn moves to the side, but not quickly enough, and Zuriel's blade finds purchase along Finwë's side, drawing a line of scarlet across the grass.

[Charge: 15]

[Damage: 6]

The crowd gasps.

First blood.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:23, Tue 17 Dec 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 147):

Maeve's Vision

The armored figure shifts in his saddle, then flips up his visor to reveal a smiling face much like Maeve's own.

"Many have wondered what would happen the day Hassan-Rah challenged the Lion in open combat... and I, not the least of them."

He kicks his bear-like mount forward slightly, raises his spear, and dismounts into the sand before advancing toward Maeve.

"Even the best-trained animals have a hard time telling a duel from the real thing.  Perhaps we shall tilt someday, but for now, a melee spar would seem... ideal."

With that, General Hassan slips the visor down over his features and assumes a readied stance.

~~ Combat Disposition & Special Rules ~~

You are within one move action of each other.  Maeve may dismount and ready her weapon as a free action, if she desires.  Your soldiers have created a circular arena roughly 30 feet in diameter, the border of which is made up of cheering spectators.  All penalties for attempting to deal non-lethal damage are negated.

~~ NPC Stats ~~

HP: 70
AC: 17
F/R/W: 7/4/2
Trip? +4

[Private to GM: Attack: +12 spear (need the damage code)]

~~ Initiative ~~

Maeve 19
General Hassan 17
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:53, Tue 17 Dec 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 149):

Keef's Vision

The flickering candlelight does little to mask the kitchen's accumulated filth.  Dirty pots, pans, and bowls fill the washing basin, and the rusted cauldron hanging above the fireplace contains the crusted remains of a hundred meals along its rim.

Leaning over the room's only table is a bear of a man dressed only in torn, baggy trousers.  Coarse black hair covers his arms, chest, and impressive beer gut, and his unshaven stubble grows in clumpy patches upon his cheeks and chin.  His head, however, is mostly bald, except for a band of greasy hair stubbornly clinging to the band of skin that runs from the top of one ear around the back of his head to the top of the other.

Upon the table is a carving knife, a wedge of moldy cheese, and half a loaf of very stale bread.  An empty tankard stands nearby, and the man grips the table with fat, meaty fingers as he stares at it sadly.

His train of thought is interrupted by Keef's arrive, and the man heaves himself upright -- much to the relief of the table, which stands noticeably taller with the crushing weight removed.

"We got a problem," he slurs, voice dangerously soft.  He grabs the tankard and turns it upside down.  "We're outta... outta ale."

He lurches forward slightly, shaking the empty tankard for emphasis as his hatred-filled eyes focus in on his shivering son.

"Again.  Have I not made myself PERFECTLY CLEAR?!"

Beads of spittle fly from his mouth as he raises his voice, which is now approaching a thunderous scream.

Taking the tankard, he hurls it at Keef -- striking him squarely in the jaw.

[Ranged Attack: 18]
[Damage: 2]

"FILL IT UP," he bellows, pointing outside at the cold, rainy blackness of night.  "An' if you're not back with a RESPECTFUL AMOUNT of ale within the hour, it'll be your hide.  Or your useless brother's, if that's what it takes."

When Keef doesn't react immediately, his father takes another step toward him and snarls.

"NOW, boy!"

Come now, we've sparred before.  You win.  You *always* win.

Maybe not today though?

Very well.  We'll spar until one of us yields.

Maeve gracefully dismounts from the Wes-doppelganger and readies her weapon.  With a trilling battle cry, she launches herself at the General.

[OOC: for purposes of this fight, consider all damage I do non-lethal.]

[Trip attempt: 20]

[Opposed trip attempt: 11]

The General is brought down to one knee as Maeve pulls her trademark move and deals him a hit with the flat of her blade.

[Attack: 14]

[OOC: Chris has just informed me that this would hit b/c prone targets receive -4 AC]

[Damage: 12]
This message was last edited by the player at 16:40, Tue 17 Dec 2013.

Father, consorting with demons?  I always had my suspicions but... this isn't real.  But it could be...

I expected better from you, father.  Well, no.  I suppose I didn't.

Boreas nimbly scales one of the stable posts, clinging to the ceiling as a blast of emerald green energy streaks out from his gem...

[Ranged Touch 24]

...and strikes the demon squarely in the chest, staggering it and leaving a small singe mark.

[Damage 10]

Father, end this foolishness.  You are still blood, even if nothing else remains.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 151):

Keef rubs his chin as tears form in the corners of his eyes.  When his father approaches, he lowers his head and dodges to one side, scooping the tankard up off the floor and racing to the door with a muttered yessir... sorry sir

Before there is a reply, Keef is out the door into the cold night.  Immediately, the rain soaks through his rags and he is shivering.  He sighs as his father moves out of view, but the soft glow through the ajar door serves as a reminder, a tether made of light that keeps him from straying.

Keef sloshes through the muck toward the tavern, rubbing cold wet hands against cold wet arms.

I am not here... I left... but I couldn't escape...

As the light of his home fades into the dark night, the tall light of the tavern takes its place, pulling him in like a moth.

Thunder cracks, causing Keef to jump to one side, nearly tumbling off the road.

... just thunder... it shouldn't scare me... I can... I can fight now...

For an instant, the driving rain no longer pierces Keef's clothing, now replaced by sturdy armor and a heavy pack.  Keef's grip tightens around his waster.  Slowly he turns, head aloft, back toward his house.

It is only one step before the voice rings in his ears once more Have I not made myself PERFECTLY CLEAR?  Stupid BOY!

The waster is an empty tankard of ale and the cold rain is soaking through again. No... it's my fault... shoulda gotten it earlier... Head lowered, Keef continues to trudge toward the tavern to beg so that he can roll home yet another keg...
This message was last edited by the player at 16:06, Tue 17 Dec 2013.

Lyriel sits back slightly, wrinkling her nose at the rogue's foul breath.

What is this? A vision, or a dream? It certainly *smells* real enough.

She keeps her laps folded primly in her lap, eager to be out of this decedent part of the city, yet her need to know the true circumstances surrounding her brother's death outweighed her sense of propriety.

She nods. I've paid you what you asked and more. Tell me what you know.

She braces herself for the news, but in a detached way. My worst fears have already come to pass. What could this vision possibly show me that would add to my sorrow?
This message was last edited by the player at 18:57, Tue 17 Dec 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 148):

Zuriel's Vision

Finwë suppresses a gasp of pain as Zuriel's blade bites into his flesh, biting off the yelp almost before it could leave his mouth.

He tenses, knuckles whitening around the hefty shaft of his warhammer, and he swings the weapon in a wide, angry arc.

[Attack: 20]

The heavy hammer crunches into Zuriel's armored shoulder mercilessly, the force of the blow reverberating throughout his entire left-hand side of the body.

[Damage: 7]

The crowd roars in delight, only to be cut short by the judge's icy gaze, and Finwë brings the hammer to bear for another strike.

~~ NPC Stats for Finwë ~~
HP: 45
AC: 15
F/R/W: +6/+1/+1
[Private to GM: BAB +9
Hammer: d8+4/x3]

~~ Round 2 ~~

Zuriel (Damage: 7)
Finwë (Damage: 6)
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:47, Wed 18 Dec 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 155):

Maeve's Vision

The General grunts as Maeve flips him to the ground, and gasps as his ribs take a ringing follow-up blow.

Finding himself on one knee, he tumbles backward and upright in a surprisingly graceful maneuver for a man so old.

[Tumble: 23]

Stabilizing himself, he lifts his weapon and smiles.

"Very good, Maeve'Rah, but I fear even the Lion's daughter is no match for the Spear of the Sands."

[Attack: 28]

The spear shimmers with a bright light as it plunges toward Maeve, and the expertly placed bow snakes past her defenses with surprising ease.

[Damage: 9]

~~ NPC Stats ~~

HP: 70
AC: 17
F/R/W: 7/4/2
Trip? +4

[Private to GM: Attack: +10 spear (1d8+5)/x3
Thundering
A thundering weapon creates a cacophonous roar like thunder upon striking a successful critical hit. The sonic energy does not harm the wielder. A thundering weapon deals an extra 1d8 points of sonic damage on a successful critical hit. If the weapon’s critical multiplier is ×3, add an extra 2d8 points of sonic damage instead, and if the multiplier is ×4, add an extra 3d8 points of sonic damage. Bows, crossbows, and slings so crafted bestow the sonic energy upon their ammunition. Subjects dealt a critical hit by a thundering weapon must make a DC 14 Fortitude save or be deafened permanently]

~~ Round 2~~

Maeve (Damage: 9)
General Hassan (Damage: 12)

In reply to DM (msg # 156):

Boreas's Vision

The elder Highwind laughs as his son climbs hand over hand toward the rafters, taking a step back to stand with his human associate.

"I think we'll let my friend here handle this one, eh Clint?"

The man nods vigorous, still nursing the hand that once held a pair of iron tongs.

The demon, for its part, cranes its neck upward, clearly debating how to handle such an elusive quarry.  The emerald bolt searing against his flesh shakes him from whatever train of thought he was following, however, and he snarls with rage.

"Nothing personal, human, but a pact is a pact," it rumbles, before invoking words of power.

[Casting: Darkness]

Shadows surge forth in a 20-foot radius from his person, partially obscuring the demon as he begins to climb claw over claw toward the rafters -- and the woodsman lurking within them.

[Climb: 15]

~~ NPC Stats~~

HP: 55
AC: 19
Touch/Flat: 11/18
F/R/W: 10/6/6
[Private to GM: Attacks: 2x Claws +12 (1d6+5), 1x bite +7 (1d6+2)
Sneak Attack: +2d6
Protective Slime (Su)
A slimy red jelly coats the babau’s skin. Any weapon that touches it takes 1d8 points of acid damage from the corrosive goo. A creature who strikes the babau with an unarmed attack, unarmed strike, touch spell, or natural weapon takes this damage as well but can negate the damage with a DC 18 Reflex save.
Spells: see invis, dispel magic, darkness, greater teleport
http://www.d20srd.org/srd/monsters/demon.htm
Baboub]

~~ Initiative ~~
Boreas (Damage: 0)
Dad & Goons (Damage: 0)
Demon (Damage: 10)

Zuriel hisses in pain as Finwë's warhammer connects solidly, but taller Highborn spins with the blow, finding better footing and a more favorable position. He makes a feint followed by a quick jab which catches Finwë in the chest.

[Attack: 19]

[Combat Expertise: +5 AC]

[Damage: 5]

Over the shorter elf's shoulder Zuriel can see Lyriel looking on.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:19, Wed 18 Dec 2013.

In reply to Keef (msg # 153):

Keef's Vision

Keef trudges through the filth and the muck of poorly maintained inner-city roads, splashing through ankle-deep puddles indiscriminately as he hurries toward his objective.

After what seems like an eternity, he catches a glimpse of the ramshackle tavern he knows all too well. You might call it a dive, if you were being polite, but most people used words like "condemned" and "rat's nest" to describe the place.

As the boy runs toward the door, which hung half-open on its only remaining hinge, he finds himself roughly heaved upward -- suspended by his shoulders in the steely grip of a burly man he'd never seen before in his life.

"Outta the way, whelp," the man barks, tossing Keef aside like a ragdoll and entering the tavern without a second glance.

Keef lands gracelessly in a puddle by the side of the door, wedged between the alley and a pathetic, unused tethering area that had perhaps allowed for mounted patrons under a previous owner.

The boy struggles to push himself to his feet on the slick cobblestone road, crushing despair weighing down upon him as he realizes that the empty tankard has clattered away into the darkness.  As he scrambles to search for it in the slime, something unexpected catches his eye -- a large toad, who sits watching him with an exasperated expression etched upon his visage.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:23, Wed 18 Dec 2013.

Boreas climbs away from the creature, firing another blast from his eye as he comes to rest against a thick, wooden beam.

[Ranged Touch 16]
[Miss Chance: Hit]
[Damage 11]

Cursed demonic magic.  If only Zuriel were still fighting by my side...

Of course it was very good.  I learned that particular trick from you, after all!

The Spear of the Sands. . . .hardly fair bringing that to a duel.  But the Lion didn't claw his way to where he was by playing by the rules.

Maeve's next attack is less intense in force, but all the more crushing for it.

[Attack (power attack at -1): 28]

[Damage: 14]

In reply to Maeve (msg # 161):

Lyriel's Vision

The man chuckles, pulling the paper closer toward him.

"I dunno," he says softly.  "It's pretty damning information about a pretty important person. Could get us both in trouble.  Y'sure you wanna know?"

He motions toward her with his half-empty tankard of ale.

"Yer not the type, pardon my observation, for roughhousing, and this?" he holds the paper aloft for a moment.  "Is gonna lead to a whole mess o' trouble, if it gets out.  Maybe even war.  Is it worth it?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:27, Wed 18 Dec 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 162):

Zuriel's Vision

Blood streams from the chest wound, threatening to mar the otherwise pristine tabbard worn over Finwë's armor.  Annoyed, he narrows his eyes and sweeps his warhammer toward Zuriel with renewed vigor.

[Attack: 13]

The blow falls solidly upon Zuriel's shield, clanking uselessly off its sturdy frame.

~~ NPC Stats for Finwë ~~
HP: 45
AC: 15
F/R/W: +6/+1/+1
[Private to GM: BAB +9
Hammer: d8+4/x3]

~~ Round 3 ~~

Zuriel (Damage: 7)
Finwë (Damage: 11)

In reply to DM (msg # 163):

Boreas's Vision

The humans continue to stand well out of the way, while the demon hisses at the impact of the second blast.  Slightly injured at this point, he continues to crawl steadfastly toward his prey.

[Climb: 22]

The darkness continues to caress his form, hanging about him like an overlarge cloak, and he manages to position himself within arm's reach.

"You're only making things harder for yourself," he grumbles, swinging a clawed hand in Boreas's direction.

[Attack: 20]
[Miss?: No]

Razor-sharp talons slash against the woodsman's leg, dealing slightly more than superficial damage.

[Damage: 6]

~~ NPC Stats~~

HP: 55
AC: 19
Touch/Flat: 11/18
F/R/W: 10/6/6
[Private to GM: Attacks: 2x Claws +12 (1d6+5), 1x bite +7 (1d6+2)
Sneak Attack: +2d6
Protective Slime (Su)
A slimy red jelly coats the babau’s skin. Any weapon that touches it takes 1d8 points of acid damage from the corrosive goo. A creature who strikes the babau with an unarmed attack, unarmed strike, touch spell, or natural weapon takes this damage as well but can negate the damage with a DC 18 Reflex save.
Spells: see invis, dispel magic, darkness, greater teleport
http://www.d20srd.org/srd/monsters/demon.htm
Baboub]

~~ Round 3 ~~
Boreas (Damage: 6)
Dad & Goons (Damage: 0)
Demon (Damage: 21)
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:35, Wed 18 Dec 2013.

Zuriel fights the urge to smirk as Finwë's blow bounces off his shield .

Focus. He still has the upper hand.

He takes advantage of Finwë's momentary overextension to make a horizontal slash, catching the smaller elf along the hip.

[Attack: 21]

[CE +5]

The blade cuts through the armor, drawing another wound.

[Damage: 7]

Zuriel quickly brings his sword back up into a defensive stance, expecting a counterattack.

In reply to DM (msg # 164):

Maeve's Vision

"I know," the General smiles wistfully.  "But you were never good enough to actually use it against me back when I taught you to do it."

Maeve's battering blow catches him off-guard, and he winces at the impact.

"There will be bruises tomorrow, I wager.  Reminders to be quicker on our feet."

He adjusts his stance slightly, then swings the spear toward his daughter at a rather unexpected angle.

[Attack: 29]
[Crit?: 15 (fail)]

The spear once again plows through her defenses, though the blow could have been significantly more crippling than it was.  The speartip hums for a moment, but falls silent before anything beyond the mundane can occur.

[Damage: 8]

"Worry more about the thrust and parry, and less about the enchantments at play.  The Spear of the Sands is a friend of the family; you're as safe from its rage as I am myself."

The spears ends its journey in a favorable position, and the General grins.

"Besides, you're absolutely correct -- its power has no place in a friendly duel."

~~ NPC Stats ~~

HP: 70
AC: 17
F/R/W: 7/4/2
Trip? +4

[Private to GM: Attack: +10 spear (1d8+5)/x3
Thundering
A thundering weapon creates a cacophonous roar like thunder upon striking a successful critical hit. The sonic energy does not harm the wielder. A thundering weapon deals an extra 1d8 points of sonic damage on a successful critical hit. If the weapon’s critical multiplier is ×3, add an extra 2d8 points of sonic damage instead, and if the multiplier is ×4, add an extra 3d8 points of sonic damage. Bows, crossbows, and slings so crafted bestow the sonic energy upon their ammunition. Subjects dealt a critical hit by a thundering weapon must make a DC 14 Fortitude save or be deafened permanently]

~~ Round 3~~

Maeve (Damage: 17)
General Hassan (Damage: 26)
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:16, Wed 18 Dec 2013.

Perhaps that means I've gotten better on my travels.

Maeve's next attack is precise and calculating.

[Attack (power attack at -2): 25]

Which isn't to say that I'm quite up to par with you

[Damage: 17]

But maybe not that far behind, either?

What of it, old man?  Do you yield, or is there life in you yet?  The words are delivered with a grin.

In reply to DM (msg # 162):

Remember this is a vision, those words might not even be true. I see no reason why a vision could start a war.

Lyriel considers the words of the unsavory looking character before her, I paid you fair and square for that information, I have no intention of damming anyone, I appreciate your services and would kindly ask you to reveal what you know sir.

Lyriel claps her hands together in her lap in anticipation, then adds if it is any comfort to you I have no intention of letting this information leave this room. She slides him another gold coin, and I assume you don't either.

Boreas gathers momentum, swinging back off the rafters, doing a single flip in midair, and landing on his feet.

[Tumble 25]

He then rushes to the other side of the room and fires another blast...

[Ranged Touch 24]

[Miss Chance: Miss]

...but it streaks past the demon, barely missing him.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 168):

Lyriel's Vision

The man pockets the coin, shrugs, and hands Lyriel the piece of paper.

"If y'need anything else, you know where to find me."

With that, he downs his drink and slips away into the crowd -- leaving the cleric alone with her thoughts, and an incriminating scrap of paper upon which has been scrawled a single word: Mason.

Lyriel blinks in surprise, for the House Mason was noble line based in Tris.  Though human, they enjoyed a robust relationship with Hae'driel's noble circles based on the rather high concentration of elven blood among them.  "For humans, they're not so bad," as the saying went.

They were such good allies that Hae'driel had allowed them to host visiting dignitaries from time to time -- including their current diplomat, Lord Vesper.  Over the years, they had become staunch supporters of most of the Highborn's actions, and would frequently defend them in the Empress's court.

Lyriel glanced down at the tattered scrap of paper in silence.  If House Mason had been involved in Eldric's death, something was very wrong indeed -- and this was likely just the beginning.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:26, Wed 18 Dec 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 170):

Keef flips himself over and raises his head out of the muck on knobby elbows.

As he watches, water streaming through thick greasy hair, the toad takes a tentative hop toward him.

It's hopeless, Keef offers.  The toad stops moving, opens its mouth and laughs a harsh rasping laugh, like a fat herald who smokes too much pipeweed.

The sound catches Keef off guard, and he freezes in place.  I've missed you... you're... you're my...  The toad nods in agreement.  It gathers its strength behind it, and in one single bound it leaps over a large muddy puddle and lands directly on Keef's head.  Instead of stopping, however, it passes through wet hair and skull and vanishes.  Keef shudders as the spectral animal merges with him.

That's right... that's where I put that...

Slowly and mechanically, Keef lifts himself out of the muck and turns toward the tavern.  He glances at the dropped tankard and bites his lip.

it's important... I have to go back, he NEEDS me and this time... this time it will be different.

Keef looks at the tavern, the windows of greased animal hide almost containing the soft glow of candles and debouchery within.  Through strands of wet hair caked in mud, Keef's eyes glow red.

I have to go back, I have to help him, but THIS place....  Keef takes a first step toward the building, then another and another, each more confident than the last.

Arm outstretched, he plows through the flimsy door and marches into the main room.

There are only a few here and conscious, among them the hefty barkeep and the man who shoved him aside before.  Keef ignores both and walks around the back of the bar.  There, despite the protestations of the proprietor, he seizes a small barrel of ale and proceeds to roll it out the door.

The barkeep yells something about theft, children and beatings, but Keef pays it no heed.  He is vaguely aware that the man is trying to lay his hands on him.  With a flick of his fingers, Keef sends a pea-sized dot of red energy directly into the man's open mouth.  The pea blossoms into a small fireball, then a bigger one, then one so big it cannot be contained.  The roar is deafening and blots out the thump of the inkeep's headless, smouldering body hitting the gritty floors.

At this the other figure, who until now had been content to laugh from his chair near the fire, tumbles over that same chair in haste to exit.  Keef's head snaps around, eyes aglow with red energy.  He raises his hands slowly toward the man, arms covered in battered armor, fingers gloved.  A thousand tiny pricks of red light erupt from his fingers and flay the man alive.  Screaming, bloody and near skinless, the man falls into his chair with a wet thump.

Keef does not smile, nor does he pause.  He merely walks out of the inn as he came, this time rolling a barrel of ale through the muck and rain.

In reply to DM (msg # 170):

Lyriel folds the piece of paper to her chest lifting her head in prayer.

Goddess let this not be true. This could be so much worse than I thought. Oh Goddess what do I do? My father, and even the whole of Hae'driel could be in trouble...This can't be real!

A tear of sorrow and anguish rolls down her cheek as she opens her brilliant green eyes.

Zuriel's Vision

Finwë howls with rage more than pain at Zuriel's onslaught. "You bastard, you've disgraced us all! LEARN. YOUR. PLACE." He rushes forward and smashes through Zuriel's defenses. The trueborn's sudden ferocity catches Zuriel off guard, and Finwë's warhammer catches his under his chin, lifting him off his feet.

[Attack: 26]

[Damage: 12]

The blow sends Zuriel reeling, head ringing and stars dancing in his vision. His pendent spins with his motion, freed by the blow to hang openly around his neck, where it glitters iridescently.

He grits his teeth through the pain and focuses inward. Let us see if the light truly has forsaken me...

[Lay on Hands: 15]

The pendant burns brightly as white light infuses Zuriel's countenance in a holy glow, and the wounds Finwë administered heal before his very eyes. The ringing in Zuriel's ears takes on a musical characteristic that quickly becomes the tinkling notes Zuriel's childhood melody, and he feels a rush of warm air envelope him.

Mother?

"Whatever happens here, I walk in the light, as I have ever, and always will."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:16, Wed 18 Dec 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 173):

Zuriel's Vision

The spectators let out a collective gasp as the fallen paladin's wounds vanish, and Finwë's jaw drops in shock.

"How could you..."

Centering himself, he turns toward the judge in anger.

"The Trial by Combat is only open to followers of Tassada!  Zuriel has clearly forgotten himself, and pledged his life to another in his desperate bid to retain divine power.  That's not how atonement works!"

The judge considers these words for a moment, then shakes his head.

"The defendant appears to retain the Goddess's favor after all.  Who are we to argue?  This trial is no longer necessary, and I further move for the reinstatement of..."

"NO!"

Finwë screams, interrupting the judge and stomping toward Zuriel with murder in his eyes.

"This half-breed whelp has dishonored the Church, the Flame, his family, and himself.  Can't you see?  He wields the powers of another god!  It's sacrilege! It's heresy!  He has no place with us, and he never has!"

He swings his weapon with recklessness fueled by rage, blind to the world around him, and brings the heavy warhammer down toward Zuriel's unprotected skull.

[Smite Evil: 24]

Having lowered his guard, Zuriel's eyes widen with the certainty that he will not be able to block the blow in time, but as he tenses for impact, a second warhammer appears in his peripheral -- making a counterattack in his defense.

[Attack: 37]
[Crit? Yes]

Wielded by an unknown hand, this second hammer swings in an upward arc not unlike a baseball bat, catching Finwë square in the stomach as he struggles to land the overhead blow he had already committed himself to.  The hammer's head explodes with radiant light upon contact, propelling the Arbiter backwards with a thunderous crash.

[Damage: 48]

Finwë's weapon hits the ground first, landing a few feet away from where he eventually crumbles in a graceless, unmoving heap.

Zuriel has only a moment to consider this before whirling to see who had come to his aid : Knight-Captain Edrahil.

The furious spark of anger dancing in his father's eyes is matched only by the radiant glow from his warhammer, which lets of gentle wisps of steam in the chilly morning air.  The paladin's sword sits loosely in its sheath on his belt, and a thick shield rests across his back.

[Private to Zuriel Silendril: Zuriel recognizes these well, for they are the weapons Edrahil trusts more than any other -- weapons that he typically only wears before a Crusade.  He came ready for trouble.]

"This trial is over," he says stiffly, placing a gauntleted hand upon Zuriel's shoulder.  "Unless there are further objections...."

The judge blinks, as stunned as the silent crowd, and motions toward Lyriel, who rushes toward Finwë's battered form with healing magics at her fingertips.

"We will speak of this at Council, Knight-Captain," he says at last.  "But for now, I remand custody of the prisoner to you."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:17, Wed 18 Dec 2013.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 167):

Maeve's Vision

The general staggers under the onslaught, wipes a splatter of blood from his chapped lips, and relaxes his stance.

"I do believe I've been sent sprawling to the ground enough for one day.  In front of my men, no less..."

He smiles, lowering his weapon to approach his daughter.  Clapping her on the shoulder, he looks positively giddy.

"Just look at you!  Perhaps, by the time your journey ends, they will no longer refer to you as the Lion's daughter, but to me as the father of the great Maeve'Rah."

The warmth of pride suffuses Maeve, and the vision grows hazy before fading away.

****

Maeve's eyes snap open to reveal the same chamber as before, with the iron circlet clamped securely around "her" statue's head. She does not remember taking it off to place it there, but memories of her experiences remain quite distinct.

Looking around, she finds her allies still wearing their crowns, standing before their doppelganger-like statues, eyes closed in concentration.  Strangest of all is a small, blue gem that now rests at "her" statue's feet.  It glitters promisingly, and looks like it would fit nicely into one of the nooks by the door.

OOC: No injuries suffered during your vision have been retained.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 172):

Lyriel's Vision

The scene fades, replaced by a series of images that flash endlessly through the cleric's mind.

Playing with her brother and her parents as a child.

Her brother's commissioning ceremony.

Her ballroom dance with Zuriel during her coming-of-age gala.

Her parents' increasingly distracting arguments at home.

Her studies at the Academy, and the mournful visit that sent her home.

Her brother's cold gravesite, adorned with flowers.

Her father's voluntary transfer to Tris, and his infrequent visits since.

Her enrollment in the Abbey.

Her deployment to the P.A.R.T.Y.

Her silent dance just moments ago, during the Test of Wisdom.

Through it all, a dark shadow lurks in the background.  Her father's words echo through her mind -- the words with which her life was forever changed: Your brother is dead, and his burden now falls upon your shoulders.  It is time you learned what it means to serve House Vesper. It is time to do your part to assuage our debt.

A nagging thought enters her mind, a tiny voice in the back of her mind that she has never quite been able to suppress: What has House Vesper done to deserve such sorrow?

A voice snaps her from her reverie, and she finds herself once more in the dingy tavern.

"Is this seat taken?"

A tall, muscular high elf slides into the chair across from her.  He is dressed entirely in black, but despite his hooded cloak, Lyriel can make out eyes that seem remarkably like her own.

"Long time, no see, sis," the figure continues, his unblinking eyes boring into her own.  "I think it's time we had a talk."

[Private to Lyriel Vesper: As far as you know, Eldric is dead.  You saw the body (though it was badly decomposed) and buried him.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:40, Wed 18 Dec 2013.

Zuriel takes a moment to gather his wits as he stands there in the grass, stunned by what has transpired.

"Come, Zuriel," his father calls from over his shoulder as he walks back into the temple.

Zuriel gives one last look at Lyriel, hunched over Finwë's limp form. She stiffens, as if she senses his gaze upon her, and refuses to look up. He sighs and turns away, following the clanking of his father's footsteps.

This is far more than a vision.

Zuriel walks through the familiar hallways and arches of the Temple until he reaches his father's office. Edrahil swings the heavy door open, and walks inside, electing to stand by the window rather than occupy his usual position behind the heavy oaken desk that contained the majority of his business. Zuriel follows him inside and closes the door behind him with a muffled boom.

For a moment, father and son regard each other silently. Zuriel's pendant shimmers in the light of the afternoon sun filtering rough the window, turning his father's dark hair gold. Zuriel raises an eyebrow at the longsword and shield slung at Edrahil's back.

He only carries those when he expects trouble of the worst kind...

Zuriel pauses a moment, collecting his thoughts, and then speaks. "You knew, didn't you?" he asks, gesturing to his father's armament. "You were expecting this. Father, when I was on the field today, I felt a presence. One that is difficult to explain. I was fallen, should have been stripped of my powers. Yet I was not forsaken by the light, and you don't seem surprised."

Zuriel takes a deep breath and holds up a hand. "I'm not...I don't want to have another argument, but I have to know. Father, who was Meira?"

Maeve's eyes fill with tears of happiness.  She leans forward to embrace the General but as she does so, she finds herself back in the chamber with the statues once more.

I've had quite enough of these sudden teleportations.

She takes up her guisarme, which had been resting against her statue, and stoops to pick up the gem, rubbing it curiously.

I miss you, Father.  I hope that I can return before too long to show you what I have learned.  For real, this time.

Maeve walks over to the alcoves and studies them for a long moment before reaching out and setting the blue gem in the alcove labeled "A Father's Shadow."

But maybe I am beginning to move out of that shadow, at long last.

Still suffused with the warmth of her father's pride, Maeve settles against the wall, polearm laid across her legs, to await the completion of her companions' visions.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 177):

Zuriel's Vision

Edrahil sighs, turning to face the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

"So you know.  I've often wondered when you'd be old enough to understand," he says softly.  "Goddess knows, I've asked the same of myself."

He stares at the window, not looking through it, then turns to regard his son.

"Yes, I knew that the Light would not forsake you.  As for your mother, I suppose it's time you knew the truth.  She..."

***

The Knight-Captain continues to speak, but the words have become so faint that Zuriel cannot understand them.  The room wavers around him, shimmering unsteadily, until he finds himself once again in the vault's curious chamber.

The circlet is once again on "his" statue's head, though how it got there is hard to say, and in Zuriel's hand rests an egg-shaped aquamarine.  Like Maeve's, it looks to be just about the right shape to slip into one of the door's empty nooks.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:29, Wed 18 Dec 2013.

Zuriel's eyes come open blearily. "No! No, Father I can't hear you! Father please, who was Meira?! Who was my mother?!"

He springs to his feet, reaching towards a vision only he can see before he realizes he has returned to reality. He sags to his knees. "Gods...dammit!" he mumbles bitterly, blinking back tears of frustration. His right fist closes around his gem, and with his left he punches the floor uselessly. He becomes aware of Maeve watching him, and straightens up, making an attempt to regain his composure.

"I'm glad you all aren't waiting on me this time," he says absently as he recognizes that only the two of them seem to have completed their visions.

He walks over to the alcoves, and contemplates the different slots a long while.

Sin, or love? Before the vision, I might have answered differently, but now...I think I understand. Or at least, am beginning to.

Zuriel takes his gem and inserts it into the slot marked "A Father's Love" before walking over to Maeve and slumping down next to her with a sigh.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:15, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

Bad vision? Maeve says sympathetically as the paladin rails in frustration. She watches in silence as he places his gem in the alcove marked "love."

Well, maybe not so bad then.  It sounds like that she waves vaguely toward the word "love" is something that the majority of us would be hard-pressed to find.

Do you want to talk about it then?

Zuriel nods. "Love.. I suppose, though it's...complicated. The vision was uncanny. I saw things, things I couldn't know. I wonder if they were true?"

He smiles wryly. "You sure you know what you're getting yourself into, asking to talk?" Maeve chuckles and rolls her eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll keep it brief." He continues to give a brief summary of his vision, answering questions and clarifying as necessary.

[OOC: Maeve can consider my vision to be IC knowledge.]

Zuriel sighs upon finishing his story. "I suppose I always knew my father loved me, even if he had a hard time showing it. The real answers I had hoped for though..."

The paladin looks over at Maeve, fixing her with his intense gaze briefly before looking away. He seems to make a decision.

"You aren't from Hae'driel, so you probably haven't heard of my family, but...I'm, for lack of a better term, a bastard. Worse, I don't even know my mother's lineage. I don't really even know for sure that I'm Highborn. In a society where parentage and bloodlines are everything, I have only half the picture. And my family name has been...tarnished, by Wildheart actually. I don't know the details. My father refuses to talk about my uncle, much as he absolutely forbids any discussion of my mother. The Book of Answers has yielded some insights. My mother's name was Meira, and she's dead. I don't care whether or not I'm trueborn, but to not know who my mother is, the kind of person she was...I had hoped the vision could tell me more."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:39, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

Maeve's brow furrows in thought as Zuriel explains his vision and a little of his family's history.

Well, one thing is for certain.  You need not fear losing Lyriel's affections.  Trust me on this one.

Being a bastard is hardly your fault though, is it? Any shame in that regard should lie with your father. . .not that I'm saying that your father *should* be ashamed.  Just that it seems wrong for you to shoulder the blame.

The emphasis on bloodlines is strange to me. Should our travels take us to Gaelia, you're find that it's rather more. . .egalitarian there.  Less of an emphasis on who you are and more on what you can contribute. I think that my vision taught me a little of that as well.

Maeve sits for a while in silence and idly flicks pebbles at Boreas, who happens to be standing closest to her and Zuriel.  The woodsman, still deep in his vision, does not react.  Maeve amuses herself in this manner for awhile before coming to a decision of her own.

Do you remember, in the carriage ride from the Hitchcock Inn, I told you that my father was a foot solider in the Imperial Army?  Zuriel nods in agreement.

Yes, well.  Strictly speaking, that was perhaps not entirely true.

More silence.  More pebbles.

Have you ever heard of General Arnaud Hassan, also called the Lion of Gaelia, also known among some enemy circles as the Scourge of the Sands, also hailed by a few other names which escape my recollection at the time?

Zuriel has difficulty suppressing a smile at Maeve's insight into Lyriel, though he lets it pass without comment.

"I appreciate that. I don't care about the 'sin' or shame, I just wish I knew who she was." Zuriel shakes his head, focusing on Maeve's most recent question. "I've heard a bit about General Hassan. Mostly from my military history lectures. The Order tends to focus on our own battles, but we discussed General Hassan briefly when learning about foreign armies. A brilliant and innovative strategist and tactician, if memory serves. Why, did you serve under him?"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:41, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

Um. . . . .yes?  But there's more to it than that.

Hassan is a brilliant tactician and strategist, like you said, not to mention a damn good soldier.  He's something of a legend in Gaelia not only for his skill but also for his forward thinking.  Did you know that it was per his recommendation that minotaurs were instated into the Imperial Army with full recognition and benefits, and not just as contractors?

Zuriel makes a "mmmm" sound that indicates his interest, though it's clear that he doesn't see where this is going just yet.

But yes, I served under him.  Probably longer than most have!  You remember that move with the three werewolves?

Another nod from Zuriel.

He showed me that trick for the first time when I was nine.  He *claims* that he used it to bring down ten enemy soldiers in a single swipe, but I think that he may have been exaggerating.

Maeve thinks about this for a minute.

Mind you though, he might not have been.  One old codger says that he saw father behead at least five with one sweep.  They wrote a wretched ballad about it.  Gods, how father hates when they sing it. . . . .

Zuriel raises an eyebrow. "So you are the illustrious General's daughter, I take it? That would explain your exceptional combat acumen. What brings you all the way from Gaelia?"

He smiles kindly. "Not that I'm trying to pry, if you'd rather keep your reasons to yourself. I'm just glad fate has brought you to us, whatever your motives."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:28, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

Maeve smiles. No, it's quite all right.

In response, she jerks a thumb at the alcove labeled "a father's shadow," which now holds her blue gem.

All of my life, people have assumed that I would be exceptional. Not just because of any skill or talent, real or imagined, but also because of my heritage.  That's not the way of things in Gaelia, of course.  Father would have never allowed me a place in his regiment if I hadn't lived up to his standards, daughter or not, but there will always be people who assumed that I wheedled my way in by virtue of impressive family ties.  You can't know how it is to go through life known only as "the General's kid" or "the Lion's cub"--ugh, that was the worst--rather than Maev'Rah Hassan. It's like not having a name.

Maeve pauses.

Incidentally, *never* call me Maev'Rah.  I hate it, and nobody uses it except for father, and only then when he's feeling excessively emotional.

In short, I left Gaelia--and my family name---so that I could prove myself and earn the respect of my companions without the benefit of an impressive pedigree.  And I think. . . .I think my vision was telling me that it was the right decision.  But maybe also that I don't need to hide who I am.

[OOC: recap of vision, Zuriel can treat it as IC knowledge]

You seem to think it extraordinary that women would choose to enter military service.  Is that not the way of things in Hae'driel?  Are there no female paladins riding to champion Tassada?

Zuriel smiles upon the conclusion of Maeve's vision. "Your father sounds like he really cares about you, Maeve. But I understand you wanting to make a name for yourself. Being in your father's shadow...I think I can empathize. Feeling like your worth was judged by people who didn't even know you, based solely on your parentage?"

He laughs bitterly. "That I can understand all too well. But for what it's worth, I'm proud to call you a friend and comrade. And that has nothing to do who your father is, and everything to do with your skill at arms and your bravery in the face of danger. You truly are an exceptional warrior."

Zuriel pauses for a moment, thinking. "Especially given the prejudices you've no-doubt had to overcome as a female warrior. In Astraena, at least, women very seldom take to combat professions. It's not unheard of, but very uncommon. Mostly, they are found in various holy orders. The Knights of the Emerald Flame do have female paladins amongst their ranks, though they are usually dispatched to less prestigious posts in command of non-Highborn paladins. I don't think I've met a non-Highborn female paladin, ever. I can't imagine the kind of barriers they would have to overcome."

The paladin sighs. "It all comes back to judging people based on what they are, rather than who they are. I think our society would be much better off if people took the time to look a bit deeper. How is it in Gaelia? It sounds like your father is one to judge a man - or woman - by their own merits. Are women more apt to take up the blade in your lands?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:13, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 188):

As Keef continues down the wet road, mud squishing beneath his boots and running into small puddles downhill, he casts a glance over his shoulder.

The Tavern, it appears, has caught fire and is slowly being consumed in reddish flame.  The windows have been blown out and already the upper stories threaten to collapse down into the lower.

Keef does not recall setting the place ablaze, nor could he deny that it was him.  Collateral damage, perhaps?  Hard to say.

I just hope he won't mind... I guess as long as there's some beer left... Keef mutters to the large toad balanced on the keg of beer.  As Keef kicks it idly down the road, the toad hops and shifts to stay on top like someone doing a log roll.

The old house draws nearer, as it does the rain bites through what was armor and soaks Keef's rags.  At this point, however, he doesn't mind as much.  Keef glances down at the sword he holds in one hand, the only piece of arm or armor remaining and truly the only piece of property he owns.

Sir Greenheart had his first sword too... and look where he ended up! The toad, however, is not impressed with the child's weapon.

Keef ignores the creature.  You'll see... I'll be a hero too.  Father wouldn't approve but... but that's my fault... if only I weren't so small and lazy and stupid... I know I can do it but... I just need to do better...

Keef, having reached the muddy stoop of his family house, bends down and lifts the keg as carefully as his wobbly knees allow him.

...but maybe this time this will make him happy...

With great effort, Keef hauls the beer into the house.

Thank  you, Zuriel.   Your words mean more than you can know.

Yes, father does love me very much.  Like you, I never knew my mother.  It's been just me and him against the world for as long as I can recall.  Well, me, him, and lieutenants bursting in at strange hours of the day and night demanding audience.

Maeve considers Zuriel's other question as she flicks yet another pebble at Boreas.  This one bounces off his nose, and the young warrior gives a triumphant grin.

I wonder what they're seeing right now?

In Gaelia, female soldiers aren't exactly common, but it's not *uncommon* to see them either. I'd say that anywhere from five to ten percent of our armies are women.  That's not father's doing, that's just how it's always been.

What father is known for is banishing some of the prejudices with regard to other races.  I mentioned the minotaurs?  Well, just a few decades ago, about the only military position they could hope to attain was as a mercenary contractor. Father saw their potential--they're essentially mobile battering rams--and convinced the Sultan to open the ranks officially to the minotaurs, and for those already fighting for the kingdom to be instated with official ranks, recognition, and benefits due.

To this day, the minotaurs still stop him on the street to shake his hand. Me too, to a lesser degree, thank the gods.  Maeve smiles as she remembers a rather alarming incident when, as a toddler, an overly-enthusiastic Kah'Ribu had hugged her, tossed her up in the air, and narrowly avoided dumping her in a vat of steaming tea leaves.

There are now a number of minotaurs colonels, and even a major general.  When I left, father had even appointed a gnome as a captain.  He's made a lot of friends for his actions. . . and lost a lot too.  Prejudice still runs deep, even in Gaelia.

But enough about me.  Tell me more about this Finwe fellow.  He seems a right bastard. . . .in the non-literal sense.

In reply to Maeve (msg # 190):

Boreas's Vision

The demon releases a gruff laugh as the blast sizzles past him in the darkness, then releases his grip on the walls to fall with a calculated thud to the wooden planks below.

Hissing, he clomps over toward Boreas's new position, claws ready to strike.

[Attack: 19]
[Miss: No]

His right arm thrusts forward, stripping bits of flesh from his foe's shoulder.

[Damage: 7]

~~ NPC Stats~~

HP: 55
AC: 19
Touch/Flat: 11/18
F/R/W: 10/6/6
[Private to GM: Attacks: 2x Claws +12 (1d6+5), 1x bite +7 (1d6+2)
Sneak Attack: +2d6
Protective Slime (Su)
A slimy red jelly coats the babau’s skin. Any weapon that touches it takes 1d8 points of acid damage from the corrosive goo. A creature who strikes the babau with an unarmed attack, unarmed strike, touch spell, or natural weapon takes this damage as well but can negate the damage with a DC 18 Reflex save.
Spells: see invis, dispel magic, darkness, greater teleport
http://www.d20srd.org/srd/monsters/demon.htm
Baboub]

~~ Round 4 ~~
Boreas (Damage: 13)
Dad & Goons (Damage: 0)
Demon (Damage: 21)
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:58, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 191):

Keef's Vision

Keef drags the barrel of ale out of the storm and hastily moves to wipe away the worst of the muck and the mud using a soiled towel that leaves the keg filthier than before.  Satisfied, he lugs it to the kitchen and sets it in its usual place -- making sure that it's accessible and right where his father can find it in the morning.

For his part, Keef's father has found a place on the dirty floorboards, leaning with his back against the wall near the dying fire.  His head is lolled back in drunken stupor, and drool dribbles down the corners of his mouth.  In one hand he holds a rusty bread knife, upon which has been impaled a large chunk of moldy cheese.

He snores fitfully, and Keef has to act quickly to keep Chubbs from bouncing over to hop on his stomach.  Carefully avoiding the wooden steps known to creak the loudest, Keef quietly retreats to the bedroom -- oddly pleased with himself for completing his appointed task.

***

Keef has barely reached the top of the staircase before the vision fades, and he finds himself once more in the vault's ancient chamber.  The circlet has somehow found its way back upon "his" statue's head, and he is surprised to discover a small ruby in the palm of his left hand.

[Private to Keef: The Everstaff's voice, which had been strangely absent during the dream, returns with a comforting tone: "Is there anything you'd like to talk about, Master? I am happy to help."]

The boy glances around, noting Maeve and Zuriel speaking in hushed tones off the one side while Lyriel and Boreas remain in a motionless trance.  There are two gems much like his new ruby nestled into the nooks near the door, and it's clear that his gem would easily fit into any of the remaining slots.

Zuriel chuckles, unaware of Keef's return to reality. "Yes, indeed. Finwë and I, we've never seen eye to eye, even during childhood. He's the heir to House Harlindon, one of the oldest and most influential trueborn families. They pride themselves on having barely any human 'contamination' in their bloodlines, and have friends and contacts throughout society. Something he never failed to hold over me."

He frowns, considering his old rival. "Finwë is everything that I despise about Hae'driel and 'Highborn' society. Arrogant, entitled, cruel, bigoted, rich, and very, very well connected. He's a dangerous enemy to have, I suppose, but I don't care. I detest him and everything he stands for. When we were children he took to bullying the children of the servants, particularly the half-blooded ones. It got worse when we were older. I once saw him force a beggar outside his family estate dance in a puddle of mud until the poor man collapsed from exhaustion. Said he had to work for his dinner before tossing him an old hunk of bread. Most of all, Finwë seems to enjoy the ability to torment others without risk of consequence because of his station."

Zuriel sighs. "I suppose that's why I saw him in my vision with...Lyriel. I have no doubt that Lyriel would have better taste than that pompous ass, but still...the vision did have a point. The Vesper family is well-respected, and the caliber of match Lyriel can expect is much more in the league of Finwë...it's not self deprecation, it's just reality. There's no way her family would consent to her having anything to do with the bastard son of a disgraced, even if I had her affections."

At this, the paladin laughs bitterly. "Her mother made that all to clear when I danced with her at a winter ball, a long time ago. I didn't even know who she was...I suppose that's what the vision wanted me to see. It just felt so...real. Even knowing it was a vision, it hurt."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:33, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

Ah.  Connected, wealthy, and entirely too mean-spirited and dense to use those wealth and connections to benefit anyone but himself.  Sounds like a dangerous sort indeed.

Again, you need not concern yourself regarding Lyriel.  She remembers that dance.  Well, more specifically, she remembers dancing with *you.*  Remembers it quite fondly, as a matter of fact.  But that's something you'll have to ask her about.

Still, I would like to hear that story.

Maeve is about to elaborate when she notices Keef's return to reality.

Keef!  You're back.  Did you learn what you needed to?
This message was last edited by the player at 16:19, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

Boreas winces as the blood beads up in the slash marks.  He steels his resolve, then rolls out of the way of another swipe.

[Tumble 21]

Egwyl pren! Boreas utters the words of power.

His father's eyes widen in surprise as the whistle resting lazily in his hand begins to vibrate, then to shake.  The shaking intensifies as it shatters into hundreds of splinters.

[Will Fail]

The demon's mouth drops agape.  Its form is broken by thousands of pinpricks of light, which blossom into brilliant shafts.  The light consumes the demon, and it vanishes in a brilliant flash.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 195):

Boreas's Vision

The demon's dispersal leaves the elder Highwind glowering, even as his associate tugs at his sleeve and makes for the door.

"Come on, boss..."

"You've forgotten yourself," he says, eyes smouldering with anger. "What's the first thing I taught you, boy?  Never steal from a Krall..."

As the pair hurries away, the vision of the stable becomes hazy, then vanishes completely.

***

Boreas finds himself once more in the vault's chamber, standing before "his" statue, which wears an iron circlet he does not remember returning.  A small emerald rests in the palm of his hand, and it appears to be the perfect shape and size to slip into one of the remaining nooks near the door.

A pebble bounces off his nose, and he turns to find Maeve and Zuriel chatting quietly off to one side.  Maeve has a small pile of pebbles nearby, and mechanically reaches for another to throw without glancing away from the paladin.

Keef, too, seems to have returned from his vision, quietly contemplating a small ruby near the doorway.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:21, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

Zuriel looks over at Keef, who still seems lost in his vision, though he holds a red gem in his palm.

"Well, we've got the time..."

The paladin clears his throat, and begins weaving a tale from long ago. Surprisingly, Zuriel is actually a decent storyteller, and Maeve finds herself transported to the grand halls of the Highborn, on a cold winter years past.

******

On a Winter Solstice twelve years ago...

Zuriel followed his father through the entranceway to the Hall of Seasons in central Hae'driel. Decorated for the Feast of the Midwinter Flame, the grand ballroom was a sight that never failed to take his breath away. Countless crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their central orbs glowing with arcane fire. The scintillating light washed the ballroom with hues of gold, red, green, and blue as the enchanted fire flickered and changed colors. Silver and gold candelabras were scattered about the hall, with the dancing light from hundreds of elegant tapers adding to the warm glow.

He inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg coming from the mulled wine fountains. The feast this year looked as decadent as ever. From where he stood, Zuriel could see six roasted boar, and at least two deer. There were dishes upon dishes of roasted pheasant, grouse, swan, and forest duck, and several cornucopia overflowing with rich artisan cheeses, nuts, fruits, and puddings. The many strategically placed winter wine fonts put forth the lovely aroma into the air that Zuriel had come to associate with the season. A chamber orchestra played in the corner, loud enough to be enjoyed but not so loud as to make conversation difficult. The overall atmosphere was one of splendid grandeur, yet intimate warmth, which made the disconnect with the attitude of the attendees all the more apparent.

The Feast of Midwinter Flame was the highlight of the winter social season, and while the Feast was celebrated throughout the city, only the most elite Highborn families had the opportunity to attend the festivities in the Hall of Seasons. Those invited were engaged in nothing short of social warfare, each striving to be the center of attention, have the most elegant, expensive outfit, and the most exotic accessories. Extravagant flattery was exchanged face to face, then immediately followed up with snide gossip as soon as the initial party was no longer present. Warm greetings and veiled insults often went hand in hand, and who spoke with whom for how long was meticulously tracked and catalogued by numerous witnesses.

"Come, Zuriel," said his father over his shoulder. Edrahil Siléndril was in the full ceremonial dress befitting a Knight-Captain of the Emerald Flame. His father wore a pure white doublet edged in emerald over emerald silk leggings with leather boots that were polished until they seemed to shine with their own light. On his left sleeve was embroidered the Siléndril family crest, and on his right, the symbol of the Order. His shoulders bore golden epaulettes hung with braided tassels and the twisted white cord of his rank looped over his right arm. It was this arm he used to beckon Zuriel, as the other was clutched by Alora Eriador, the woman Edrahil had been most recently courting.

Alora was dressed in a one-shouldered evening gown of swan feathers, which flared widely at the feet, curved in at her hips, and culminated in the head of the swan, which served as the strap. An elaborate feathered headdress set with enough diamonds to make even a Gaelian merchant's jaw drop completed the ensemble. It was the pinnacle of the season's fashion, and in Zuriel's opinion, altogether hideous. Zuriel grimaced to himself. It's not that he disliked Alora, exactly. She was fine enough, though very absorbed in climbing the social hierarchy. Zuriel just found her constant basking and preening in the attention her dress garnered tiresome. Still, he resolved not to let the social machinations sully his enjoyment of the festival itself, which Zuriel was quite fond of and looked forward to every year.

Following his father, the trio proceeded to the center of the ballroom where the High Cleric of Tassada was preparing to officially announce the beginning of the festivities. Dressed in resplendent white and emerald robes and wielding the gilded staff of his office, topped with a lit emerald flame, High Father Haldurin cleared his throat, silencing the room.

"My children, welcome to the Hall of Seasons for this year's Feast of the Midwinter Flame! It gladdens my heart to see you all here tonight, basking in the light of the Most Divine. Let us not forget, though, in the midst of our merrymaking, that the true reason we are celebrating tonight is to honor the divine flame of Tassada, and the light she imparts within us all!" This was greeted by murmurs of assent, though Zuriel detected that many of those were just enthusiastic enough to not be rude, barely masking the underlying boredom. Clearly, most of the attendees were here for the party, though Zuriel found himself nodding and agreeing with the Cleric, along with his father and the smattering of other paladins in attendance.

"For it is such that even on this darkest day of the year, the Holy Fire burns brightly still. And it is our duty as the Highborn, Tassada's Scions and Heralds in this altogether dark world, to reflect this light and drive away the darkness and wickedness all around us!"

Another round of Ayes and nods greeted this statement, a bit more genuine than the first.

"And with that, let the Feast if Midwinter Flame begin!" A chorus of cheers and applause rang out, and the crowd dispersed to various parts of the ballroom while the music started back up. A few couples took advantage of the music to dance, elaborate outfits glittering in the candlelight, while most found plates of food from passing servants or made use of the wine fountains. Zuriel managed to lose himself in the crowd, escaping his father's watchful eye with a sense of relief. He hated the idle chitchat that accompanied standing in his father's shadow, even more so with Alora on his arm.

As a young Highborn only recently come of age, Zuriel's outfit was appropriately subdued, though still elegant. Clad in the Siléndril family colors of scarlet and black with gold trim, he wore a close cut black satin doublet and black leggings. The doublet had panels of scarlet, and his sleeves were trimmed in gold, the only minor concession to true finery. Consequently, Zuriel was for the most part ignored and allowed to do as he pleased, or at the worst sniffed at dismissively.

After tucking into a roast pheasant and slice of boar with harvest apple compote, he turned his attention to the mulled wine, getting in line for a draught. Zuriel nodded and smiled politely at one of his father's peers, and received a thin smile in response after the paladin in question looked around to ensure nobody else was observing the social interaction. Zuriel's smile faltered a bit and he returned his gaze to the wine. Taking a cup and holding it under the stream until it was full, Zuriel took a deep drink, savoring the spices and lingering warmth. He nearly spilled his goblet in surprise as he felt a tight grip clamp down on the crook of his arm like a vice.

"You forget yourself, Zuriel," his father hissed in his ear. "The Dance of the Maidens is about to begin, and you are expected to comport yourself with dignity as you dance your turn with those coming of age this year. I will *NOT* have my son make a fool of himself in front of the whole city. Your dancing is uncoordinated enough as it is without the influence of drink.". Edrahil plucked the goblet out of his son's hand and thrust it at a passing server without looking.

Zuriel's complexion flushed as red as his doublet out of a combination of anger and embarrassment. He had been dreading the dance all season. It was true that his movements on the dance floor were not as graceful as most of his peers. He seemed not to have inherited his father's easy grace, and his build instead was broad and tall. In his youth he had only just started filling out, leaving his body in an awkward transition between youthful musculature and his adult frame. Nothing in the world terrified him more than having to dance in front of all the judging eyes of the city. Zuriel had mostly gotten by on the periphery of society. When he was remarked upon at all, it was never pleasant, so he found it best to be ignored as much as possible. However, this year, as Zuriel had recently come of age himself, he would be expected to dance with all the maidens coming of age as they were officially introduced to society.

In Zuriel's mind, nothing was more horrifying. "Father," he opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off. "Silence. You will participate as is tradition. We will have a hard enough time finding you a suitable match as it is. Now come. It is nearly time." Zuriel's legs felt leaden as he was half-dragged by his father to the center of the ballroom where Alora waited primly, daintily nibbling on a pastry. Zuriel was shoved none too gently into the gaggle of other young men his age by his father, who returned to the edge of the dance floor with Alora, eyes narrowed.

Then, the light in the center of the dance floor brightened and the chamber musicians started up a regal tune. Zuriel watched in a daze as a group of about fifteen elf-maidens were escorted to the middle of the room by their fathers. Dressed in scintillating dresses, they strutted and twirled as their names and families were announced over the music. Some looked over at their future dance partners coquettishly, others looked down their noses at the rest of society, preening in the spotlight. A few smiled sweetly, and one two looked as vaguely lost as Zuriel felt, though they hid it well.

Zuriel's stomach did a flip as his fellow suitors lined up, and he scurried into place. He faced a raven-haired lass with icy blue eyes in a midnight blue dress with a neckline that plunged daringly and distractingly. The dress was accentuated with peacock feathers, and drop sapphires sparkled dangling from her dainty ears. She regarded him through half lidded eyes as she looked down her nose at him, and he felt like a pig being sized up for slaughter.

Suddenly, the music swelled, and the two lines came together. Zuriel lurched forward mechanically, feet moving to the music as he had practiced countless times in the privacy of his bedroom. His arms reached out to hers as he completed the frame, and Zuriel was distantly proud that they only slightly trembled. He matched her step for step, and while he managed to keep up, her narrowed eyes and dismissive sniffs indicated she was unimpressed. She seemed only too happy when the music changed and it was time for new dance partners.

This time Zuriel was paired with a blonde maiden in a red dress, cut, if it were possible, even more seductively. Zuriel flushed, keeping his eyes locked firmly with hers. He knew that if looked down, all was lost. He didn't think it a view he could turn away from. After several steps, he noticed with a shock that many of the pairs dancing around him were engaged in quiet conversation. "Hello, I'm Zuriel Siléndril. Your dress is gorgeous...are you having a good time at the festival?" he finished lamely, unsure what he was expected to say. "I was until just a moment ago," she responded, rolling her eyes.

Zuriel stopped trying to make conversation.

The next several pairs passed in a blur of color, motion, and sound, punctuated by the occasional haughty look or smirk of disapproval. On the whole, Zuriel was doing quite well, but he was in no way as at home in the ballroom as some of the other young Highborn men, gliding effortlessly across the dance floor and engaging their partners in witty banter that had the girls giggling breathlessly as they twirled around to the music. Whenever the dance patterns brought him in sight of his father, Zuriel could see Edrahil's jaw muscles working to suppress a grimace.

The music changed once more, and Zuriel found himself paired with a lovely maiden of honey-blonde hair wearing an elegant and classically cut forest emerald dress that matched the shade of her pretty green eyes precisely. Her hair was pinned in an elegant twist that showed off a delicate neck, next to which dangled emerald earrings of the same hue as the dress. She smiled shyly at Zuriel, a faint blush registering under her porcelain complexion.

The music brought them together, and his right hand encircled her waist, left clasping hers. She was very warm under his touch, and as he became aware of her nearness, he was suddenly even more self conscious of his dancing. To his horror, he made a slight misstep, and his face flushed bright red as he looked up, expecting her to scoff. Instead, she took a dainty little improvised skip that made his stumble look planned, and winked, smiling encouragingly.

Zuriel's golden-amber eyes widened and his face lit up as he smiled back radiantly, relieved beyond all measure. He proceeded into the next dance with something approaching enthusiasm. He wasn't perfect, but she compensated neatly for all his mistakes, and to his utter shock, Zuriel found that he was enjoying himself. He still didn't trust himself well enough to talk, but when next he whirled in front of his father, Zuriel noted Edrahil looking on with a faint smile, and he couldn't be sure, but he thought a nod of approval.

Suddenly, a screeching voice rang out from the crowd behind him. "No! You stop this instant! Get your filthy hands off my daughter!" A middle-aged Highborn lady strutted out onto the dance floor, stumbling somewhat. Her eyes flashed in fury, and her hands were clenched. Her face was flushed, from anger or wine Zuriel couldn't be sure. She was dressed elegantly, and he thought he recognized the Vesper family crest on the brooch at her neck. Surprised curiosity turned quickly from consternation to horror as Zuriel realized the lady was addressing him.

The angry noblewoman turned the full fury of her gaze on an exceedingly bewildered Zuriel. Idly he noted she had the same green eyes as the lass he was still attempting to dance with.

The noblewoman promptly resolved that particular issue. She tore her daughter from Zuriel's arms, pushing him backwards with an index finger that had the force of a couched lance. "I won't have somebody like you dancing with my daughter on the night she's introduced to society. It's a wonder they even let your kind in here!"

Before Zuriel had a chance to respond, Zuriel's father intervened, eyes flashing. "What is the meaning of this, Lady Vesper?!" Edrahil sputtered.

"This is!" she spits, pointing at Zuriel. "Your bastard brat is sullying my daughter's introduction to a society he shouldn't even be part of!"

"Please, mother, stop!" the girl protests.

"Hush Lyriel, this is for your own good. Go find one of the other, more suitable boys to dance with," she says, clearly unaware that the music stopped and everybody was looking at them. At this point, both involved dancers were hiding behind their parents, who were eyeing each other furiously.

"It is tradition, Lady Vesper," Edrahil says delicately, biting off each word, "for the young scions of the houses to dance with the newly announced maidens."

"It is tradition," Lady Vesper responds, "That all the *Highborn* youths dance with our maidens. Not a half breed get from some filthy tavern wench, or worse." The girl in green clamps her hands over her mouth, and looks for all the world like she wants the ground to swallow her up. Zuriel, meanwhile, hardly registers what is happening. His blood hammers in his ears, and his mouth goes dry and fills with a bitter metallic taste. His eyes dart around, seeing the jeers and whispers. He becomes aware that the whole entirety of the ballroom is looking on at the scene with bated breath. Zuriel wonders if he is having a nightmare, and if he'll wake up. He feels vaguely like throwing up, but can't seem to summon the effort required. At last he decides that he wasn't having a nightmare, because none of his nightmares were ever this horrifying.

"I mean honestly," she continues, clearly drunk, "How awful must she have been if you won't even admit who it was? Did you drunkenly flop on a dwarf by mistake?" Titters erupt from nearby. Alora sniffs, tosses her head, and drapes herself conspicuously on some other nobleman's arm.

Edrahil's jaw muscle clenches. His voice is low, and dangerously icy. "Lady Vesper, know that if you were not a woman, I would duel you to the death on the spot. As it is, it is only out of respect for your family's service to the Order that I don't challenge whichever male relation has the misfortune of escorting you to this esteemed event. To be sure..."

Whatever else his father has to say, Zuriel doesn't hear. He sees a slight opening in the crowd surrounding the scene and bolts for it. Pushing his way through the thronging nobles, Zuriel dashes towards the nearest exit, the scene blurring around him. He explodes out into the cold midwinter air, and rushes to the stables, where his horse is tacked. Leaping onto its back, he kicks it into a gallop and rides out into the winter, sleet stinging his face, though he hardly feels it. His horse heads out into the night, and Zuriel neither knows nor cares where it's headed. The only sensations he feels are the sting of the icy wind and sleet on his face, a dull pounding in his ears, an excruciating ache in his heart, and a subtle comforting warmth from the silver pendant hanging around his neck.

*******

Zuriel falls silent as he wraps up his tale, suddenly embarrassed by the outpouring of his emotions. He absently blinks away a tear at the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry, I've never told that story to anybody before. It was too painful, too bittersweet. But with the vision...now seemed like a good time."

He smiles at the Eastern warrior. "Thank you, Maeve, for listening. It feels good to tell that to somebody who understands."

[OOC: Maeve can consider the story IC knowledge, as can Keef and Boreas if they choose to return to reality before or during the story]
This message was last edited by the player at 16:31, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

Boreas reaches a hand up, catching Maeve's pebble.  He steps over to the doorway and contemplates the nooks.

It seems you've finished your vision some time ago, Boreas says, eyeing the pile of pebbles near where he was standing.  Mine was... enlightening.

His eyes scan the remaining nooks for a moment before he slides his gem into "Father's Greed."

Lyriel's jaw drops in shock as she beholds her brother Eldric, alive and well.

No, this can't be, this is a vision!

Words rush to her mouth in unstoppable tide. Eldric! You...you're dead. I saw your body, we buried you! We asked and appealed for a resurrection, but were refused. How...Brother...this can't be real. YOU DIED!

At this, Lyriel loses her composure completely and bursts into tears, sobbing into her hands.

This is too cruel, this can't be...oh gods, Eldric!

Maeve flushes slightly, caught in the act of pebble-tossing, though she quickly recovers her composure.

As were ours.  Our talk has been equally, if not more, enlightening.

I'm sorry I missed it, then.  I woke up in the middle of your tale, Zuriel.

In reply to DM (msg # 196):

Keef looks around and rubs his eyes as if to clear something thick and greasy.  He realizes then that he is wearing his gloves, which surprises him.

Keef twists his moppy head this way and that, giving himself a look over.  Only then does he discover the ruby in his palm.  He stands for a while, rocking back and forth on his heels gazing into it nervously.

When Maeve speaks to him, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

What?  Learn? I.... I think so....  Keef looks around the chamber nervously but seems to calm somewhat.  It's ok... It was my fault but now that I'm here... with all of you... it's not my responsibility right now...

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 199):

Lyriel's Vision

The figure sits stoically for a moment, until the worst of the sobbing subsides.

"Have you never wondered, dear Lyriel, why such supplications are denied? We have the power to restore the fallen, and yet we parcel it out like rations during a famine."

He leans forward, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over Lyriel's senses like a tidal wave.

"You accepted my death without question!  How sad, you thought, followed by woe is me.  You didn't think to question the story you were fed; you were told the what, the where, the how, and the when, but never bothered to figure out the why!"

Eldric pauses to catch his breath, calming himself a bit before continuing.

"The truth of the matter is that our family's debt is not my problem, and it doesn't have to be yours.  Let me help you free yourself from this burden, so you can return to the Academy and be the woman you always wanted to be."

He extends his hand toward her.

"What do you say?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:21, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

In reply to DM (msg # 203):

Semi-numb, Keef watches Boreas place his gem into a slot.  He follows, curious and looks over the remaining openings.

He hefts the small stone in one hand as if weighing it.  It's not a sin if it's not your fault... but I suppose anger is anger...

He carefully slips the stone into the "Father's Wrath" spot.

Lyriel stops crying, shocked at her brothers words. How...how can you be so cruel? What do you think brought me here other than questioning your death?  Something seemed off to me from the start, but I wasn't in a position to investigate until now."

The elven maiden wipes away her tears angrily. This isn't the Eldric I know.

So tell me the why then, brother. Tell me why they refused to return you to life. Tell me why they chose to turn their back on their most promising paladin in a generation. Tell me why you were taken from me, and the only answers they gave me were lies and deceit.

She slides the piece of paper over to her brother.

Tell me why I've been mourning your death every day for the past three years, and you've only just now decided to show yourself.

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 205):

Lyriel's Vision

"I see that the abbey has done little to curb your haughty sense of entitlement.  That's mother's fault, not yours.  But you're asking the wrong questions," Eldric says, glancing at the proffered paper for a moment before raising an eyebrow.  "Mason.  It's not surprising to hear they would be involved in all this, too.  It's disappointing, but... such is life."

He lowers his voice slightly, softening it with emotion.

"I do not mean to be unduly harsh, dear sister, but the best way to actually get through to our family -- to you, and even to me, sometimes -- is to shock us out of our comfort zone.  The way we were raised is not our fault, though we do shoulder the blame for the ways in which we allow it to affect our daily lives."

Eldric sighs, deflating somewhat.

"I set an impossible example to follow, even for me.  Do you know how difficult that is?  Do you have any idea what it's like to have your every move carefully chronicled and replicated by a legion of adoring eyes?"

"I had the same choice in my vocation as you had in yours," he adds dryly.  "That is to say, none.  We are both bound to serve penance for a crime we did not commit.  How is that Justice?  Know this: is it not."

Eldric returns the paper to his sister, then stands to gather his things.

"It would seem that you are not yet ready to know the truth, and I fear that I can tarry no longer.  Know that I cherished our time together... that I love you, and that I regret the way things have to be.  May the Goddess keep you safe until we meet again."

Any response whirling within Lyriel's mind is stopped short when the world fades into a haze around her, and the tavern becomes lost in darkness.

***

Lyriel finds herself standing before "her" statue, which wears the circlet she last remembered placing upon her own head.  An amethyst gem sparkles in her hand, the same size as all the others, and it takes her a moment to realize that she is the last to return to her senses.

The nooks around the door are all filled except one: A Father's Sin.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:09, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

Zuriel nods at Boreas. "Maeve, I have to say, I hope our travels take us to Gaelia at some point. I'd love to learn more about the people and culture."

The paladin leaves it at that, not wanting to betray Maeve's trust with respect to her lineage.

If she wants to tell the others, that's her decision.

He readjusts his sitting position to restore blood flow to his legs, and looks over at Lyriel, still entranced in her vision.

I wonder what she sees...

Motion from Keef catches the paladin's eye. He looks over to see him slot his gem into the markings for 'A Father's Wrath'. "Is everything alright Keef? You look shaken."

In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 208):

Keef nods, but it the gesture does nothing to convince Zuriel.

I saw things... they seemed so real... I was back where I came from, the home I fled and my father... it was all the same and that much always will be.  I can't change what happened, nor fix him or make up for how I let him down.  Keef forces a slight smile and holds out his waster.  But this part is different, this part I can do.  I can be a hero, a hero doesn't have to be big or strong or smart or... well it certainly HELPS but he just has to... to want and to try, no matter what.

He looks over the statues, each with it's headpiece returned.

Everyone had a vision? Were they all horrible?
This message was last edited by the player at 19:19, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

Lyriel gasps as she returns abruptly to reality. No, Eldric wait! DON'T LEAVE ME AGAIN! she yells, tears once more in her eyes.

She looks down dully at the amethyst in her hand, and walks over to the alcoves, oblivious to the looks her comrades were giving her. She stands a long while before the nook marked 'A Father's Sin' before numbly placing her gem into the slot.

Eldric...what have they done to you?

The gem clicks into place with a finality that echoes through the otherwise complete silence in the chamber.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 210):

After the final gem clicks into place, a faint rumbling echoes throughout the chamber.  It stops as quickly as it begins, leaving the room much the same as before.

Each gem now glows as if lit from below, though the door itself remains stubbornly closed.  The door has no knob, but possesses instead a single brass ring that reflects the prismatic light surrounding the door haphazardly.

Maeve gives Zuriel a single nod as he springs to his feet to comfort Lyriel, who is still shaking with the aftershock of her vision.

No sense in keeping it a secret any longer. Not sure that there ever was a reason for itI'll tell them.  Once we're done here.

The General's daughter reaches out to place a hand on the brass ring, and gives it a pull.

Zuriel watches Lyriel silently as she returns to reality. He stands up after she puts her gem in place, answering Keef softly. "Mine was...mixed."

He walks over to Lyriel, nodding to Maeve, and hesitantly puts his hand on her shoulder. She stiffens, then turns and buries herself in his arms, shuddering silently. He holds her, conscious of the gaze of his comrades, until she disengages, wiping her eyes and blushing. "Eldric?" Zuriel asks quietly, to which she nods curtly. He looks at her intently, and from her haunted expression gathers a good idea of what transpired.

"Whatever you saw, don't let it effect what you think of your brother. The visions can't be real, not exactly. The people in them are ghosts, figments of reality. A distortion of what is or was, and not necessarily the truth...it's the only explanation."

It...has to be. There's no way the real Lyriel would act like the phantasm of her in my vision...is there?
This message was last edited by the player at 19:53, Thu 19 Dec 2013.

Horrible?  Well, yes.  But not... unexpected.  I don't know if what I saw will come to pass or not, but I think I'll know what to do if it does.  I won't go into details right now, but it won't surprise you to learn that the vision was about my eye.

Boreas approaches the door as Maeve pulls on the ring.

Perhaps we can all discuss this further once the trials and the vault are behind us.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 214):

Lyriel wipes the remaining tears from her eyes and nods, you're right Boreas, let's just try to get through the rest of this first.

The cleric straightens up, trying to put on a brave face for whatever they were going to face next.

In reply to Lyriel Vesper (msg # 215):

The door opens easily, revealing another small chamber similar to the one the P.A.R.T.Y. currently occupies.

The floor, walls, and ceiling are made of dark, smooth stone, polished to a flawless finish.  A pedestal stands in the center of the room, upon which rests a bowl made from the same material as the chamber itself.

The room is bathed in a pale blue light, creating a somewhat aquatic ambiance.  There are no further doors, and only a single line of runes to read, which are printed around the rim of the bowl.

Boreas translates the message aloud:

Raise the bowl above your head
Speak my name, or wind up dead

Zuriel looks into the bowl curiously, trying to assess its contents.

"To advance, make water burn" he recites. "I wonder what that means?"

Peering inside, Zuriel sees the bowl is full of tendrils of dense fog that seem to have coalesced.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:17, Fri 20 Dec 2013.

I don't suppose that you know Sylvan for "my name?"

Boreas slides the scroll tube and key from his bag of holding.  He turns the cold metal cylinder over in his hands.

I don't suppose it's the right time to use this, perhaps?

"I don't have any better ideas. Maybe we could at least see what it says?"

Boreas inserts the key into the keyhole and turns it, producing a metallic click as the top pops off.  The scroll inside is made of thick vellum, written in an ancient, mystical language.

No idea what it says.  Lyriel, Keef, can you tell?

Lyriel leans over, passing her eyes over the writing.

I think this might work...

[Casting: Read Magic]

Her eyes glow for a moment and her brow furrows with puzzlement.

It's a summoning spell.  I don't believe I've ever seen anything like it before.  Here, Keef.  Do you know anything?

Boreas holds the scroll open for the young hero.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 221):

Keef squints and parses through the text.

[Private to GM: I don't have read magic prepped, anything else I can figure out?
Spellcraft: 25]

A summoning spell?  Sounds terribly helpful. . . .or terribly dangerous Maeve deadpans, leaning on her guisarme off to one side of the room.

Do you see anything, Keef?  What does it do?

With little to do while her more magically-inclined companions try to discern the scroll and with her vision still very much weighing on her mind, Maeve finds herself humming a Gaelian melody that she had first heard in the cradle.  Eventually, words fit the tune:

"Oh let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dream
I am a traveler of both time and space, to be where I have been
To sit with elders of the gentle race, this world has seldom seen
They talk of days for which they sit and wait and all will be revealed"

She blinks, noticing Zuriel and Lyriel looking at her, Boreas and Keef still hunched over the scroll.

Sorry.  My vision. . . . .it took me back home.

"That's a pretty song. Puts me in the mind of something soft and comforting. Who sang it to you? "
This message was last edited by the player at 16:44, Fri 20 Dec 2013.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 225):

Home?  I try not to think about that...

Keef twists his head this way and that and stretches his mouth to try wording some of the stranger runes.

Drexler! he exclaims finally.  Keef beams and does a little half-jig.  Chubbs blinks in resignation.

Seeing that nobody is as excited as he is, Keef continues.  It's a Drexler... I mean IT isn't a Drexler, it's a scroll, but it WILL Drexler.  I mean...it will bring a or to a Drexler... to THE Drexler if that's the case.  Keef pauses to assess the confused looks in people's faces and decides it could possibly be explained better.

If we cast this spell, we'll have a Drexler... or we'll be there.  Simple as that.

In reply to Keef (msg # 227):

Zuriel nods, reaching toward the bowl for a moment before stopping abruptly.

"Nothing about fire or water?" he asks dubiously.  "Maybe we misunderstood something..."

Boreas approaches the bowl.  Puzzled, he looks at the mist for a long time, watching as the light shines out from the bottom of the bowl.  He blows, sending a faint ripple through the tendrils, and he brushes the bowl with his fingertips.  Taking a torch, he moves the tendrils around a little with the butt end.

I'm not quite sure yet.  Perhaps that ring you were given might help, Maeve.

Boreas examines the ring, staring intently at it.

[Knowledge (Nobility) 21]

Hmm.  It's definitely not a human or highborn house.  It really looks more like a holy symbol.  Perhaps Lyriel and Zuriel would know more.  I don't think it'll help us here, at any rate.

He goes back to examining the bowl.

In reply to Boreas Highwind (msg # 229):

Keef shakes his head, shaggy hair flopping about.

Fire OR water... I think that's exactly it!  The... I mean 'a' .... well really 'THE' in this case... Drexler will be different whether it's Fire OR water.  We have to pick one.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:52, Fri 20 Dec 2013.

Boreas pours some water into the bowl.  The mist tendrils curl and twist as they float to the top.  He scratches his beard at the lack of any obvious change.

To advance, make water burn.  I suppose we have to choose fire.

Boreas lights a torch and touches it to the foam.  The flames flicker and twist as the foam burns.  Refracted through the water below, yellow-orange light bathes the room, replacing the aquatic glow that was once there.

The foam burns rapidly.  We have only seconds if we want to lift the bowl and speak while it's burning.

Zuriel steps forward and takes hold of the bowl. "Stand back," he says. "If this isn't the correct ritual we don't know what will happen."

He raises the burning bowl above his head and takes a deep breath. His gaze lingers on Lyriel briefly he looks upward at the bowl.

The moment of truth...Tassada's will be done.

Zuriel swallows. "Drexler"

Maeve braces for an attack in case the Drexler--whatever that might be--proves to be less than friendly.

In reply to Maeve Hassan (msg # 233):

As Zuriel intones the unfamiliar name, the flames lapping at the sides of the bowl intensify, filling the room with bright light.  A series of grinding sounds follow, persisting until the burning foam has been completely consumed.

Once the flames subside, the room returns to its aquatic character, with pale blue light filtering upward from the now empty pedestal.  The bowl is also empty, and you can now observe that the bottom of the basin is completely clear -- like glass.

Set within the nook in which the bowl had been resting is a tiny nub of blue crystal that looks to be about the same size as a human finger.  The light emanating from this structure matches the hue of the room around you, though it is somewhat brighter now that the bowl and its contents have been removed.

You turn toward the door from which you entered only to realize that it has been removed from its frame.  In place of the iron door is a shimmering panel of crimson energy.  Opaque in nature, the panel obscures anything that might be beyond it, and crackles with a dangerous vigor.

Perhaps most interestingly of all, the panel seems to be inlaid with an enormous humanoid face, which shimmers and shifts along with the energy to form what appears to be a living barrier.

[Crossroads]