"Live by the wyrm, die by the wyrm," Crajeon quipped as his murderers fell to Procz's frosty breath. Those who survived the initial burst were quickly cut down by scimitar blade and psychic knife. Two still lived thanks to Kreo's intervention, but they remained unconscious, breathing shallowly on the factory floor.

Baern returned to the work of dismantling the dragon's stomach. With a few pistons cracked and gears bent out of alignment, he was able to reach in and drag out what remained of the Dragonfather. The cult leader was a large man, and only after much grunting and groaning on the gnome's part did he deposit the lifeless body on the floor.

The five chromatic dragons adorning the mask still writhed, their heads twisting to take in the faces of those who had slain the Dark Queen's champion. Anyone wishing to see the Dragonfather's own face would need to lay hands on the mask, which was an intimidating proposition, given the writhing heads.

Baern reached for the mask and tried to slip it off without getting bitten in turn.

"One moment please, Baern." said Procz. "Let me try that with a little arcane trick." He climbed off Zúm and limped closer.

Procz made some quick motions with his hands and started trying to remove that mask off without touching it. "If this doesn't work, I highly recommend using one of your tools. Better not touch the object before we know what it is."

Casting (invisible) Mage Hand.

Baern sat back on his haunches and nodded. ”You do your thing, constable.”

Standing among the bevy of fallen foes, Frack slid his helmet, which had inched forward enough to partially cover his eyes, back into place. He wasn't sure he understood why the cultists gave up their lives on behalf of a mechanical thing, but they did. It bothered him to consider it.

His attention turned to Baern operating on the dragon. Eventually, the Dragonfather, at least what was left of him, was removed from the When he noticed the mask was still moving, in spite of its wearer's death, the hair on the back of his neck stood straight. "Careful," he needlessly warned Procz as he approached. "That mask still looks like a problem."

Procz felt the presence of the Dark Lady only through his mage hand, but he felt it nevertheless. It was awesome in the most literal sense of the word, inspiring both terror at the existence of a Being so much greater than himself but also something like relief. For better or worse, the fate of the city was not in his hands. His own meager contributions to maintaining law and order in Coglinton would, at best, affect a few individuals for a few years. Tiamat existed on a different scale, one where years and individuals were as inconsequential as seconds and gnats to the kobold constable.

She offered him a vision of order that did not rely upon brainless automatons and greedy, corruptible mortals. In this vision, the peoples of Coglinton commuted on trains that were never crowded and always on time, chatting amicably with their neighbors as they made their way to the factories. The constables who walked the streets did so without bluster, smiling to the hard-working people they passed and greeting them by name.

There were no shakedowns or roughings up; their authority was enforced not by back-alley cudgeling but by the beating of wings in the sky, wings of all colors: the black and red and green and white and blue of Tiamat, yes, but also the silver and gold and copper of legend. Procz felt the pull of ancestral kinship with those great creatures, felt a bit of their magnificence stirring in his own tiny heart.

As the vision faded, he was left with a lingering sense of injustice. Nothing he'd been told about dragons of yore was false: they were harsh overlords, capable of great spite and violence. But he'd not been told everything that was true, either. There were truths that had been withheld from him, truths tantalizingly close to being brought to light, just as soon as he discovered the Luminescent Athenaeum.

---

While Procz was consumed by the Dark Lady's vision, the others got their first look at the Dragonfather's face. There was nothing remarkable about it. He was a human man, middle-aged and flabby-faced, with a bushy mustache and eyes that would have been glassy even in life. He looked less like a cult leader than a bureaucrat, which was exactly what he was.

Kreo alone recognized the man as Klaus Jacop, a manager at one of Crock Cognelius's factories. She had butted heads with him before, almost literally, for he had been notorious for giving no quarter to the unions. Any of his workers so much as seen speaking with an organizer had been fired on the spot, and more than one agitator had found themselves victims of the sort of unfortunate accident that occurred in all factories but seemed especially common in his.

While Procz busied himself with the mask, Baern went through Jacop's robes...

Anything besides the mask on Mr. Jacop?

Vecaal was mesmerized by the mask, completely caught off guard when he saw it still writhed with power and intent despite the host's death.  He had assumed it some sort of device that was controlled by the wearer, almost like a puppetry mask but with power that could be invoked.  Now though, it seemed like the dragonborn had misidentified who, or rather what, was actually in control.

Agreeing that Procz was better suited to handling the 'live' artifact, he spared a quick glance for the nondescript Dragonfather and huffed.  Neither the scent nor the face were familiar, and even when Kreo was able to identify the man the name meant very little to Vecaal.  Just another bureaucrat who'd seized power and left the rest behind.  Hardly someone worth dying for, he thought with a snort.

He turned his attention back to the constable, eying the proceedings warily. "Just watch where you point that thing, eh?"

"Klaus Jacop, one of Crock's managers. Union-buster."

Kreo's hand rose reflexively to cast his cantrip, but the words caught in his throat

"He was a hard man, a greedy man. He served Crock for pay and the chance to vent his rage on the world. He wasn't the one who broke my horn, but I imagine the sight of my injury brought him no small amount of pleasure."

The satyr wiped his right eye with his fingers and cleared his throat

"He hurt a lot of friends, a lot of comrades. And more than a few of the men and women I used to work with. If you find a . . . "

He rubbed his good horn, thinking

". . . a little ring, costume jewelry, nothing really valuable. It'd be a paste stone, green in colour, on a tin ring. He took it, and the owner can't get it back, but her next of kin might want it."

Baern found a gold signet ring on one of the man's pudgy fingers and a tin ring set with a cheap green stone on another, just as Kreo had described. Klaus also carried a long dagger with a cross-guard fashioned in the form of folded black dragon's wings.

"I recognize that," Creojan quipped, laying a hand upon one of the many spots he'd been stabbed.

Finally, there were some credits for Crock's company store and a bit of scrap wood with some odd shapes scratched into it. A map was the most likely explanation, but making sense of the crude drawings would be no trivial task.

Everyone can choose to make either an Investigation or a History check on the map. Between the six of you, you'll need to pass both to make sense of it.

Baern held up the tin ring between pinched thumb and forefinger. "This here?" he said, looking to Kreo for confirmation. "It's all yours, mate."

"Hope it brings them a bit of peace."

09:54, Today: Baern Snagglehorn rolled 16 using 1d20-1.  History.

Worth casting detect magic on the signet or dagger? Does anyone have the spell?

The dragonborn watched Baern unearth the goodies carried by the Dragonfather, alternately hissing in or out depending on his approval of the particular item. Treasure seemed to be a favourite part of the game for him.  After the cheap ring had been handed over to Kreo and Baern began examining the odd piece of scrap wood, Vecaal stepped close and looked over the gnome's shoulder, not a hard thing to do when one was almost twice the height.

"Whatcha got there?" he asked with genuine curiosity, examining the scratchings on the wood with a practiced eye.

OOC:
11:20, Today: Vecaal Alifras rolled 19 using 1d20+4.  Investigation (map).  Can add 1d6 with psi-bolstered knack if necessary to pass check.

"Dunno'," Baern confessed, scratching his bald head. "Looks like a map to me." He handed the scrap up to Vecaal for a closer look.

"It should, thank you."

Kreo pocketed the ring and began the motions of a divination he'd used from time to time to find worthwhile finds in rubbish piles

OOC: detect magic

"We should be cautious, there is often more to these than meets the eye."

OOC: rolled an 11 on either Investigation or History as they're the same bonus

Neither of the rings is magical. The dagger radiates evocation magic.

The kobold constable stood still for several long moments as he experienced the vision. Finally, a couple of tears trickled down his cheeks, which he quickly wiped away with the back of his hand. The moment of vulnerability was pushed away by resolve, possibly feigned, and poorly masked with a sniff and a quick cough.

He let the mask levitate in the air while he gave the others a quick glance, including the dead Dragonfather, immediately concluding that it was not a known criminal, but happy to hear that Kreo could identify him.

Procz then gave the map a look. Such things were in his area of expertise, although possibly not the only one in the company. Several of them had proven to have many resources, including potentially powerful magic. He then proceeded to find cloth or canvas on the dead cultists to wrap around the mask.

I'll add my History and Investigation, in case they might help. That's History 25 and Investigation 13.

Frack moved toward Procz as the constable worked his magic, just in case his shield might be needed to lend some extra protection. Fortunately, it wasn't.

As he stood alongside the kobold, he saw a tear rolling down his face. He worried that something might be affecting his friend that was beyond the protection of his simple shield. "Procz, are you all right?" he asked, not sure if the constable could even hear him.

His attention eventually moved to the former dragonfather. Removal of the mask had revealed a fairly boring countenance behind it, but somehow, the flabby face looked familiar. Like someone he had seen before. "Wait," he exclaimed excitedly. "I think I know him. The name is on the tip of my tongue." He snapped his fingers three times, hoping it would somehow help his memory.

"Hmmm. I guess I don't know him then." He shrugged.


OOC: Frack, not surprisingly, has nothing to offer in the way of interpreting the map. He's heard of maps, and he knew a dwarf once named Mappy (or was it Pappy), but that's about it.
19:36, Today: Frack rolled 10 using 1d20-1.  Investigation - map.
19:32, Today: Frack rolled 10 using 1d20-1.  History.

The map was not a scaled representation of the Lower Slopes. Rather, it appeared to represent a series of landmarks one would expect to fly over were one planning an aerial assault.

The first was easily recognizable as The Ledge, a particularly steep drop off favored for dumping by factories on Crock's side of town. As a result, a large shanty town at the foot of The Ledge housed a scrappy group of survivalists known as The Remnants.

The next symbol depicted a large pile of bones. It was not immediately obvious to anyone in the party what this might represent, but it seemed like the sort of thing you might know it when you saw it. Or that one of The Remnants might know, if they could be convinced to share some local knowledge. Although, getting The Remnants to disclose anything about a favorite scavenging ground was notoriously difficult...

Just beyond and slightly above the pile of bones, a small X was carved into the wood.

Further beyond that, a collection of triangles stood in a circular formation. This, too, was not a landmark known to any in the party, which was strange, because it seemed like something that would have been distinctive.

"Yes, my friend." Procz gave the goblin knight a nod and a brave smile. "I'm well. I was just thinking of something. It doesn't matter really. And you? What do you make of this?"

While looking at the map with the others, Procz was happy to realize he had come out of the fight pretty much uninjured. He had learned his lesson about advancing to quickly without enough companions the other day. This group were odd allies, but allies nonetheless. They made him feel safer.

"I'm afraid I have no means to examine the area from an airborne perspective. That would have been beneficial, but the magic is still beyond my current skill set." The kobold patted his construct dog familiar on the head. Perhaps some day he'd make Zúm fly.

"Time to go," Baern said, pocketing a couple of the more essential looking components of the dragon and rising to his feet.

"Come on, Crajeon."

I think we're done here?

Frack studied the strange map for a moment, adjusting his helmet in deep thought. "That first squiggly line must be the Ledge. It's a hot spot for scavengers. Well, at least the bottom of it is. I've never been on the top side." He studied a moment longer. "And I don't know what that pile of bones is supposed to be. Hopefully we don't have to find out."

As they prepared to depart, Frack watched Bearn bring along a few useful components from the dragon. Following that lead, the paladin scavenged the shiniest piece he could find: a hinge pin that had wiggled its way out of position and onto the floor. Functionally, the pin was irrelevant to the dragon's operation, but Frack didn't understand that. And he liked the way it looked.

"I might be able to do something there, depending on the scale," Vecaal hissed, responding to Procz and an aerial assessment.  "Would need to get to the The Ledge first, to gauge it all."

The dragonborn agreed with Baern as far as 'what next?'.  There was little more they could accomplish here, he suspected.  "All right.  Back to the skiff?"

Baern nodded. "Back to the skiff." He dusted off his hands on his pant legs and turned to leave, presuming the others would follow.

"How do we want to approach the Ledge? I might have some pull with workers in his territory I can try to get a few things in place for us. Gentle our approach a bit."

Kreo turned with the others to head for the skiff

When discussion of next steps started, Frack's eyes lit up. "I know one of the Remnants!" he announced enthusiastically. "She may be able to help us if we can get to the Ledge. Of course that's if..." The goblin bit his lip in thought before continuing with noticeably less enthusiasm. "Well, she'll probably help us... I mean I think maybe she probably would."

The journey back to the mainland was another difficult one for Frack. He crawled into the bow as he had done on the ride over, then winced with every pitch of the small craft on the return trip. Attempts to look unaffected after their arrival on solid ground were betrayed by his greener-than-usual hue.