The cavern is dark, little more than a hole broken into the ground to reveal a large, rocky dome underneath. Now a single spotlight of dusty daylight pierces the black. At the bottom, a human kneels in dark blue robes, which are peppered with glittering stars in a realistic portrait of the night sky. His hands prop him against a crumbling stone and his head sags in disappointment that nothing is here.
Outside the hole, a male gnome and a male minotaur sit, idly chatting.
“Ever since the laboratory, I think,” says the gnome.
“You think it started there, Tick?" says the minotaur. "Not the circus?”
“Why would it have started at the circus? When Q’wai found the Tome of the Traveler, that's when the idea got in his head,” Tick says.
“Yeah, maybe,” says the minotaur.
“Tyrol…” says Tick, but he isn’t looking at his friend. “Did you hear something?”
Below, Q’wai lifts his head at the sound of a footstep. The monk slowly turns around to see only his dangling rope, swaying slightly in the beam of daylight. It had been still just a moment ago...
------------
Dog’s sword smashes down on the shield of the human female opposing him. The woman grunts and staggers back but lifts her weapon, ready to swing in response.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Doggear Brakespine says, lowering his own shield and sword. “If you throw your shield at an attack like that, you will absorb all of the blow. That will slow down your reaction time when you could be casting a spell or readying your attack. Remember, shunt those blows to the side and let the attacker do all the work.”
Dog adjusts the woman’s shield arm up like she is a wooden puppet. Then he tilts her shield to an angle before pantomiming his own attack sliding off the shield and away from the woman.
“Got it?”
She nods dutifully and paces backwards, lowering herself into a battle-ready stance.
“Ready?” Dog says, settling into his own stance.
------------
“I don’t like what you are insinuating,” says the polished, aristocratic voice across the desk from Lord Kendall. The Lord responds with a frown.
“I...meant no disrespect, Emissary Tock,” Kendall says. “I just had hoped for someone more...official in response to my query.”
“I am as official as anyone can possibly get," Tock says, continuing his polished voice. “If I am sent to vet you for meeting the new princess, then you know your query has been taken seriously, Lord Kendall. I am King Haddian’s official Emissary for these matters.”
Tock eyes the Lord carefully. There are rumors that he has been building a war chest for some political maneuver. There is also word that he was incensed by the King’s choice to adopt an heir, as Haddian was adopted by his grandfather, jumping the line of succession. Tock’s dealings with Kendall have largely been at public functions to date. Even there the man was a bit prickly and narrow minded in the views he espoused.
Lord Kendall relaxes, picking up his pipe and stuffing tobacco into it. “That is a relief to hear. I thought I was being dismissed by his highness.”
Tock manages a small, ravenesque smile. “Well, I do have a few questions. You aren’t out of the woods yet.”
------------
Feldus Parro’s heart races as he looks over his shoulder, ignoring the branches of thin trees and bushes that whip him as he sprints through the light forest. He had long ago abandoned the steel spikes, rope, and rations he had stolen from the work crew. They were too heavy for him to carry while running. But his pursuer is not interested in the items. It...or they...wants him.
Feldus bursts from the trees onto the Long Road, looking wildly for a place to run and hide. He slides down the other side of the Road into thicker trees. It won’t help him. His pursuer is perfectly at home in the forest.
Martin swarms across the Long Road behind Parro in the form of a group of rats. The chase has been a long one and he has not made much progress gaining on his target. The ranger scurries down the incline into the thicker forest. Where did that little weasel go?
------------
It is hot again, like every other day so far on this tenth plane of hell. A human man sits on a beach, talking to the waves. “I had the dream again last night. That's twenty-three nights in a row I’ve had it.”
The waves crash against the sand in response, running up the man’s bare feet and ankles and wetting the worn cuffs of his trousers. As the water recedes, the ocean froths and a giant, bronze head emerges. It rises higher and higher, towering over the man. The dragon looks down at the human, a glint of amusement in its eyes. “I know, Ronis. Mine was the same,” the creature says with a rumble. “Again. But I have good news for you.”
Ronis sighs, standing up and turning to look at the small island where he has survived for a full ten-day by himself. His dream brought him here, trapped him on this island when the ship carrying him to Alciondria wrecked on the reef. Before he left, it had only been a strange dream. Then it was just a strange dream that recurred a few nights in a row. Then everyone in the village stared at him as he walked past. They had all had the dream that night too. He had no choice but to go. He had to warn Queen Duliani. “I don’t know what I am supposed to do about it, stuck here like this,” he mutters.
Ronis frowns at his own words. Queen Duliani was certainly not on this island. He had explored every bit of it, finding only creatures he had never even heard of, most of which had tried to kill him. But also Verkolax, the bronze dragon.
“That is what I am telling you, Ronis. I have found a ship. It will be passing by in the next three hours. Light your signal fire.”
Verkolax was young, for a dragon, but he had instantly taken a shine to Ronis. This made the young sorcerer somewhat uneasy but that feeling was beginning to fade. Verkolax had been nothing but kind, honest, and open to Ronis.
“Are you sure they will get close enough this time?” Ronis says.
“I will make sure of it,” says Verkolax.
Two and a half hours later, the white sails of a merchant ship crest the waves of the choppy sea. Another hour and a half passes before a dinghy washes to the shore, manned with 4 sailors. They look none too pleased to see Ronis. Verkolax has wisely made himself scarce.
The quartermaster, for that is clearly who he was, steps out of the boat, drawing his scimitar. "Who are ye?" the man says. "How many are ye?"
Q'wai pushes the disappointment from his mind and focuses on absorbing every possible detail from his surroundings: sounds, smells, sights, the slightest movement of the air. (Perception: 13)
"Who is here?" the monk asks gently. His hands subtly slide to a battle-ready grip on his quarterstaff.
Ronis raises his hands out before him placatingly, openly displaying his lack of a weapon. Not that that would help them any if they tried anything.
"One. Just the one." He glances at the scimitar. "There's no need for that. My name is Ronis, I've been standed here for a bit of time. I just need to get to Alciondria; I wont be much of a burden on supplies, and I can even help with navigation, or well, anything involving maps at least. Please?"
He eyes them warily, ready to set his hands alight at the slightest sign of aggression.
Q'wai pushes the disappointment from his mind and focuses on absorbing every possible detail from his surroundings: sounds, smells, sights, the slightest movement of the air. (Perception: 13)
"Who is here?" the monk asks gently. His hands subtly slide to a battle-ready grip on his quarterstaff.
"I already looked here," says a quiet, non-threatening voice.
Q'waicannot tell if it is male or female. Or where the voice is coming from. It seems to be coming from everywhere as it echoes off of the chamber ceiling.
"Of course, that was a long time ago. The Dagger has moved many times since then."
This stranger has not outright named the artifact, but he or she is almost certainly referencing the Dagger of the Daystar. The very artifact that was supposed to be here...
Ronis raises his hands out before him placatingly, openly displaying his lack of a weapon. Not that that would help them any if they tried anything.
"One. Just the one." He glances at the scimitar. "There's no need for that. My name is Ronis, I've been standed here for a bit of time. I just need to get to Alciondria; I wont be much of a burden on supplies, and I can even help with navigation, or well, anything involving maps at least. Please?"
He eyes them warily, ready to set his hands alight at the slightest sign of aggression.
Persuasion: 13
The sailor lowers his sword but does not sheath it. "Alciondria? You are a ways of course, mate. What ship did you sail that stranded ye here?"
(Cytonus, feel free to improvise when I put you on the spot here. Give another persuasion roll when you post."
"Your voice I hear," replies Q'wai, "but your form I do not see. I am Q'wai."
He eases his grip on his quarterstaff and shifts his feet, choosing to stand in a more relaxed pose. "I was certain that what I sought would be here. Can you tell me of the dagger's location? And, if it is acceptable to you, can you tell me of your own search?
Ronis rubs the back of his neck, fingers gliding over patches of red scales. "It was just a simple trading vessel. I paid to hitch a ride, but..." He sighs, gesturing to the other side of the island. "A freak storm blew us off course, trapped us in a current that drove us into a reef. We wrecked. I haven't seen anyone else." His mind flashes, remembering the feeling of panic as the ocean pulled him down below, the glint of bronze scales before his vision went black.
Ronis rubs the back of his neck, fingers gliding over patches of red scales. "It was just a simple trading vessel. I paid to hitch a ride, but..." He sighs, gesturing to the other side of the island. "A freak storm blew us off course, trapped us in a current that drove us into a reef. We wrecked. I haven't seen anyone else." His mind flashes, remembering the feeling of panic as the ocean pulled him down below, the glint of bronze scales before his vision went black.
(Persuasion: 14)
The quartermaster narrows his eyes at Ronis. "A trading vessel," he says flatly. The sailor still does not sheath his sword. "How did you survive here with no weapons, no nuthin'?"
The man is clearly suspicious of Ronis and unwilling to let go of those suspicions.
Ronis rolls his eyes. He isn't incredibly keen on revealing his abilities; sailors are a notoriously superstitious bunch. He lacksadaisically points a finger over to a rock where what possessions of his survived the wreck are kept. "I have weapons. Over there. And I'm not exactly useless at being self-sustaining. In fact I'm rather practiced at it." He sighs. "Listen, I get it. The high seas are treacherous. Pirates, storms, and sea monsters abound, and all make the sea-faring life quite the hassle, and I'm an unknown to you. A risk. But I've been stuck on this gods-forsaken pile of sand for a tenday now, and I really am quite tired of it. It's nice and scenic, sure, but the locals aren't all too welcoming. And my business in Alciondria is fairly important. I think. So please set aside your well-meaning suspicions, and allow me onto your ship. "
The quartermaster sheaths his sword and holds his hands up in placating surrender. "Okay, okay mate. Get your things. We can't get you to Alciondria but we'll get you close. We're bound for Delphendria."
That is indeed close and, as Ronis said, it gets him off this gods-forsaken island.
Forty-five minutes later, the sorcerer is aboard the Waterwyrm and the sails are rising to catch the wind. The quartermaster is barking orders to the crew while the first mate shows Ronis to a cot next to the potatoes in the hold. It is cool down here and quiet but he feels the urge to see his island off before they sail too far. Or perhaps it is to see off Verkolax.
Above deck, the island is already beginning to recede. It was an unpleasant place and Verkolax is still nowhere to be seen. He doesn't blame the young dragon. Humanoids are notoriously cruel to his kind.
"Oi, see the marlin jumping ahead of the ship?" says one of the crew. Indeed, several large fish are arcing out of the water off to the side of the prow. "That's good luck. Maybe the gods're smiling on us for pickin' you up, friend."
But Ronis' eyes fall to the dark shape wending back and forth alongside the ship. Verkolax swims playfully with the Waterwyrm for the entire day. When the sun sets, Ronis can no longer see the shadow of his dragon friend but somehow, he is certain he is still not alone.
At dawn, another ship is sighted. Ronis is woken by the bustle of activity as sailors ready their stations, trim the sails, and signal the ship. "It is probably another merchant ship," says one of the crew. "But there's no telling this far out of the busier shipping routes."
The other ship does not respond and does not change course. But nor does it raise the jolly roger or steer towards the Waterwyrm. The crew get noticeably anxious. Swords are strapped to belts and cannons loaded in anticipating of a fight. Sailors ready to drop full sail in case they need to fly.
"Sorry, mate. You might have jumped from the pot into the pyre," says the first mate. "I hope you have some tricks up your sleeves because I've a sinking feeling about this encounter."
Ronis looks to the approaching ship, furiously thinking ofwhat he could do before things escalate...
Dog's next attack is just as brutal but this time, the sword gets pushed off to the side with a solid parry, blade scraping across her shield. "Good!"he growls, grin across half his face, stepping briefly out of her reach, but not before her sword arcs up to try to keep him in combat.
The parry is strong, and he has to dance away to escape getting cut. He swallows what would have been a dumb verbal riposte and instead makes a fist and a strange gesture with his sword arm, and the packed earth in a five foot hole right before her path turns into momentary liquid and reforms (mold earth) as a five-foot cubic wall immediately on Dog's side of it.
She can't see him anymore, and decides he's lying in wait, ready to pounce on her. She goes to her right, judging the right-handed goliath would want a clean sweep with his sword arm to ambush her. She doesn't see the small spider on top of the earthen mount. She steps forward slowly, stance low to the ground, and sneaks up on the gruff, tall man. Stepping around the wall, she sees she's guessed right, directly ahead of her is Dog, in a ready stance to try to take her head off, but looking around the other side of his hiding place. Moving in a wider loop to catch him from the opposite flank, she pounces into a vicious lunge... and hits nothing. She waves her sword in his form, which she now sees is a silent image. Her head whips around to look for the real goliath, looking up too late to see him descending from the top of the wall in a downward arc, winged boots gently flapping in the breeze. His attack slows and gently knocks her helmet with the flat of his blade.
"Good instincts, and they'll get even better. And your parries are truly something your enemies will fear. But the thing you can depend on in a fight is that nothing will turn out as you expect. Sometimes the ground disappears, and you have to move around the very earth in front of you. Sometimes you think you see your friend but it's not really your friend. Sometimes the very heavens and hells decide to have a brawl right in front of you. Sometimes your... talkative instructor flies up when you're not looking and tries to pull a trick on you without much guile to make a point you already knew. The thing to remember is to adapt, and don't be afraid to try dumb things. Also, we have to get you some lessons, if you're interested, with my friend Gash. You've the mind for spells, if your records are accurate. Use it."
Dog gets the first swing in again for a third time when the sounds of battle are shouted over by a third party. "Dog!" says the newcomer. "Brakespine!"
Dog holds up his hand and the battle ceases, his sparring partner relaxing but looking a little disappointed as well. Dog turns to find his second-in-command, Gunnur Grumbatch. The half-orc cleric is reliable, if a bit gruff at times. In this moment he looks stricken.
Dog approaches his underling, sheathing his weapon. Before the goliath can say anything, Grumbatch lets a tear roll down his cheek. "Dog, what do we do? King Haddian is dead."
“We were supposed to play chess tomorrow,”Dog says in a monotone, to himself. “Thought I might have a chance this time. Now...”
He trails off. Steely eyes dart back up to Gunnur. “I assume it’s the expected cause? How many people know this? Gather the others. The ones we trust. But stay close. I am going straight to Prin- Queen Gentoa. She is where I left her?” All of this has been said through message. He looks at his sparring partner. “Come. Adapt. Stay sharp. Expect everything.”
He waves his hand and the erupted earth reforms to its original state. He waves again and the silent image bends down in a crouch, deep in thought. “Always keep them guessing,”he says to Gunnur’s quizzical look.
He will send the guard (does she have a name?) off to help enact the plan they had developed for this eventuality. Secure Genny and Nev... Gentoa and Neventi. Give the Queen her space to grieve, leaving most of the task to Bulwark. Gather the core group of advisors and screen them for magical influence and deception. Prepare for the more mundane, formal, and official tasks that came next. Pull down the casks of the good stuff that Hadrian liked, and pass around glasses, per his request. Get Gentoa ready for her big day. Watch for anyone who might try to take advantage of this, and crush them into paste. Ensure domestic tranquility.
The soldier does not have name yet. I assign her one below. Any unnamed characters in your Extras tab on your character sheet you can customize with a name. Or I will when the time arises.
“We were supposed to play chess tomorrow,”Dog says in a monotone, to himself. “Thought I might have a chance this time. Now...”
He trails off. Steely eyes dart back up to Gunnur. “I assume it’s the expected cause? How many people know this? Gather the others. The ones we trust. But stay close. I am going straight to Prin- Queen Gentoa. She is where I left her?” All of this has been said through message. He looks at his sparring partner. “Come. Adapt. Stay sharp. Expect everything.”
He waves his hand and the erupted earth reforms to its original state. He waves again and the silent image bends down in a crouch, deep in thought. “Always keep them guessing,”he says to Gunnur’s quizzical look.
He will send the guard (does she have a name?) off to help enact the plan they had developed for this eventuality. Secure Genny and Nev... Gentoa and Neventi. Give the Queen her space to grieve, leaving most of the task to Bulwark. Gather the core group of advisors and screen them for magical influence and deception. Prepare for the more mundane, formal, and official tasks that came next. Pull down the casks of the good stuff that Hadrian liked, and pass around glasses, per his request. Get Gentoa ready for her big day. Watch for anyone who might try to take advantage of this, and crush them into paste. Ensure domestic tranquility.
Gunnur heads off to begin gathering advisors while Dog's sparring partner, Kyva Losein, makes her way to the presumptive queen and her biological mother. As Dog exits the training facility, he encounters his third underling, Bitzer, polishing his weapon.
"What's up, chief?" Bitzer says with a salute that clanks against his metallic head. Bitzer, like Dog's former teammate Bulwark, is a construct. They could not be more dissimilar, though. Bitzer is a jovial, social person who is keen on improvising strategies and trying to invent new jokes. "Gunnur and Kyva took off like their pants were on fire."
Martin isn’t one to put up with thieves. The rats gather back together, forming his human self on the run. He dashed after the runner, hoping to catch a glimpse for just long enough to mark the culprit.
Martin isn’t one to put up with thieves. The rats gather back together, forming his human self on the run. He dashed after the runner, hoping to catch a glimpse for just long enough to mark the culprit.
(Hey, at least roll for it! Perception: 22)
Martin forms up into his humanoid form behind Feldus Parro, who is cowering behind a large tree. "Oh, come on!: Feldus says. He throws his hands up in the air. "You got me, okay?!"
“Yup. Sure did, ya turd. Now come with me, and if you try running again, know that I may just shoot you next time instead.”
(make my own rolls? Like some kind of poor??)
(Ha!)
As Martin leads the thief back to the Long Road, an approaching storm of hooves drowns out all other noise. Looking up the incline to the Road, horse and rider after horse and rider thunder past. Martin recognizes the uniforms. They are those of the royal messengers. Something big has happened.
Knowing better than to try and halt this stampede, he waits patiently while Feldus stands next to him, hands clamped over his ears and shouting, "What in the nine hells is this about?"
A cloud of dust hangs in the air in the wake of the riders, keeping the thief and his captor from climbing the hill to the road. Before the dust can settle, another rider approaches. Martin recognizes these hoof beats. They are for his own horse, Mable Macy. She is a glorious cream and tan draft horse, built for hauling carts and carriages, but has taken nicely to having Martin as a rider. Now, Shaggaustus Kine, Martin's dragonborn assistant sits atop her. He deftly dismounts, still holding the reins as he looks down at Martin and his quarry.
"Finally caught your thief, I see," he says, eyeing Feldus with a hint of anger in his eyes. But Shaggaustus' quick temper cools before it can truly flare up this time. He turns his attention to Martin with some urgency.
"You are summoned the capital," Shaggaustus says. He does not even choke up as he delivers the news. "The King is dead."
"Well, I'll be fu-" says Feldus Parro.
"You'll be silent!" Shaggaustus says, betraying his calm demeanor at delivering the news. But again he calms quickly. "The funeral will be held in 10 days. The Queen requests your presence."
Martin is a halfway between Pallaxus and Munon. By horse it would take 16 or 17 days to reach his destination. Ignoring the dust, Martin takes Feldus by the elbow and leads him up to the Road.
The thief cannot help himself and blurts out, in spite of Shaggaustus' withering glare, "How in the hells are you going to get to Alciondria in 10 days?"
Martin strokes his Mable Macy’s neck and head. “That’s a good ******* question.”
There were teleportation circles to use in many cities 10 months ago, but I’m not actually certain if I can use those still. For now, Martin will tie the thief across Mable Macy. Then cast longstrider at 2nd level on himself and Mable Macy. Then wildshape into a horse, and get running for Pallaxus.
Martin strokes his Mable Macy’s neck and head. “That’s a good ****ing question.”
There were teleportation circles to use in many cities 10 months ago, but I’m not actually certain if I can use those still. For now, Martin will tie the thief across Mable Macy. Then cast longstrider at 2nd level on himself and Mable Macy. Then wildshape into a horse, and get running for Pallaxus.
(Oops. I typo'd. Marble Macy should be the horse's name! Sorry.)
After about 10 minutes of riding, Martin comes up on the road work camp where road maintenance is underway. He finds the two other members of his team standing on the road watching for Martin or Shaggaustus to come back. The first is the elf Gileon Greyfeather. Next to him stands Tronk, the half-ogre and a real brute with a soft-spot for fuzzy little creatures.
Gileon flags down Marble Macy, who stops readily for someone she recognizes. The scout turns to Martin as he slows, knowing well the look of Martin in his horse form. "Sir, we can take the thief to Munon for you."
Tronk lifts Feldus easily off of the horse. The thief squeals in fear.
"What else you need, boss?" Tronk says. He gently strokes Macy's mane as Feldus dangles in his grip.
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The cavern is dark, little more than a hole broken into the ground to reveal a large, rocky dome underneath. Now a single spotlight of dusty daylight pierces the black. At the bottom, a human kneels in dark blue robes, which are peppered with glittering stars in a realistic portrait of the night sky. His hands prop him against a crumbling stone and his head sags in disappointment that nothing is here.
Outside the hole, a male gnome and a male minotaur sit, idly chatting.
“Ever since the laboratory, I think,” says the gnome.
“You think it started there, Tick?" says the minotaur. "Not the circus?”
“Why would it have started at the circus? When Q’wai found the Tome of the Traveler, that's when the idea got in his head,” Tick says.
“Yeah, maybe,” says the minotaur.
“Tyrol…” says Tick, but he isn’t looking at his friend. “Did you hear something?”
Below, Q’wai lifts his head at the sound of a footstep. The monk slowly turns around to see only his dangling rope, swaying slightly in the beam of daylight. It had been still just a moment ago...
------------
Dog’s sword smashes down on the shield of the human female opposing him. The woman grunts and staggers back but lifts her weapon, ready to swing in response.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Doggear Brakespine says, lowering his own shield and sword. “If you throw your shield at an attack like that, you will absorb all of the blow. That will slow down your reaction time when you could be casting a spell or readying your attack. Remember, shunt those blows to the side and let the attacker do all the work.”
Dog adjusts the woman’s shield arm up like she is a wooden puppet. Then he tilts her shield to an angle before pantomiming his own attack sliding off the shield and away from the woman.
“Got it?”
She nods dutifully and paces backwards, lowering herself into a battle-ready stance.
“Ready?” Dog says, settling into his own stance.
------------
“I don’t like what you are insinuating,” says the polished, aristocratic voice across the desk from Lord Kendall. The Lord responds with a frown.
“I...meant no disrespect, Emissary Tock,” Kendall says. “I just had hoped for someone more...official in response to my query.”
“I am as official as anyone can possibly get," Tock says, continuing his polished voice. “If I am sent to vet you for meeting the new princess, then you know your query has been taken seriously, Lord Kendall. I am King Haddian’s official Emissary for these matters.”
Tock eyes the Lord carefully. There are rumors that he has been building a war chest for some political maneuver. There is also word that he was incensed by the King’s choice to adopt an heir, as Haddian was adopted by his grandfather, jumping the line of succession. Tock’s dealings with Kendall have largely been at public functions to date. Even there the man was a bit prickly and narrow minded in the views he espoused.
Lord Kendall relaxes, picking up his pipe and stuffing tobacco into it. “That is a relief to hear. I thought I was being dismissed by his highness.”
Tock manages a small, ravenesque smile. “Well, I do have a few questions. You aren’t out of the woods yet.”
------------
Feldus Parro’s heart races as he looks over his shoulder, ignoring the branches of thin trees and bushes that whip him as he sprints through the light forest. He had long ago abandoned the steel spikes, rope, and rations he had stolen from the work crew. They were too heavy for him to carry while running. But his pursuer is not interested in the items. It...or they...wants him.
Feldus bursts from the trees onto the Long Road, looking wildly for a place to run and hide. He slides down the other side of the Road into thicker trees. It won’t help him. His pursuer is perfectly at home in the forest.
Martin swarms across the Long Road behind Parro in the form of a group of rats. The chase has been a long one and he has not made much progress gaining on his target. The ranger scurries down the incline into the thicker forest. Where did that little weasel go?
------------
It is hot again, like every other day so far on this tenth plane of hell. A human man sits on a beach, talking to the waves. “I had the dream again last night. That's twenty-three nights in a row I’ve had it.”
The waves crash against the sand in response, running up the man’s bare feet and ankles and wetting the worn cuffs of his trousers. As the water recedes, the ocean froths and a giant, bronze head emerges. It rises higher and higher, towering over the man. The dragon looks down at the human, a glint of amusement in its eyes. “I know, Ronis. Mine was the same,” the creature says with a rumble. “Again. But I have good news for you.”
Ronis sighs, standing up and turning to look at the small island where he has survived for a full ten-day by himself. His dream brought him here, trapped him on this island when the ship carrying him to Alciondria wrecked on the reef. Before he left, it had only been a strange dream. Then it was just a strange dream that recurred a few nights in a row. Then everyone in the village stared at him as he walked past. They had all had the dream that night too. He had no choice but to go. He had to warn Queen Duliani. “I don’t know what I am supposed to do about it, stuck here like this,” he mutters.
Ronis frowns at his own words. Queen Duliani was certainly not on this island. He had explored every bit of it, finding only creatures he had never even heard of, most of which had tried to kill him. But also Verkolax, the bronze dragon.
“That is what I am telling you, Ronis. I have found a ship. It will be passing by in the next three hours. Light your signal fire.”
Verkolax was young, for a dragon, but he had instantly taken a shine to Ronis. This made the young sorcerer somewhat uneasy but that feeling was beginning to fade. Verkolax had been nothing but kind, honest, and open to Ronis.
“Are you sure they will get close enough this time?” Ronis says.
“I will make sure of it,” says Verkolax.
Two and a half hours later, the white sails of a merchant ship crest the waves of the choppy sea. Another hour and a half passes before a dinghy washes to the shore, manned with 4 sailors. They look none too pleased to see Ronis. Verkolax has wisely made himself scarce.
The quartermaster, for that is clearly who he was, steps out of the boat, drawing his scimitar. "Who are ye?" the man says. "How many are ye?"
Q'wai pushes the disappointment from his mind and focuses on absorbing every possible detail from his surroundings: sounds, smells, sights, the slightest movement of the air. (Perception: 13)
"Who is here?" the monk asks gently. His hands subtly slide to a battle-ready grip on his quarterstaff.
Ronis raises his hands out before him placatingly, openly displaying his lack of a weapon. Not that that would help them any if they tried anything.
"One. Just the one." He glances at the scimitar. "There's no need for that. My name is Ronis, I've been standed here for a bit of time. I just need to get to Alciondria; I wont be much of a burden on supplies, and I can even help with navigation, or well, anything involving maps at least. Please?"
He eyes them warily, ready to set his hands alight at the slightest sign of aggression.
"I already looked here," says a quiet, non-threatening voice.
Q'wai cannot tell if it is male or female. Or where the voice is coming from. It seems to be coming from everywhere as it echoes off of the chamber ceiling.
"Of course, that was a long time ago. The Dagger has moved many times since then."
This stranger has not outright named the artifact, but he or she is almost certainly referencing the Dagger of the Daystar. The very artifact that was supposed to be here...
Persuasion: 13
The sailor lowers his sword but does not sheath it. "Alciondria? You are a ways of course, mate. What ship did you sail that stranded ye here?"
(Cytonus, feel free to improvise when I put you on the spot here. Give another persuasion roll when you post."
"Your voice I hear," replies Q'wai, "but your form I do not see. I am Q'wai."
He eases his grip on his quarterstaff and shifts his feet, choosing to stand in a more relaxed pose. "I was certain that what I sought would be here. Can you tell me of the dagger's location? And, if it is acceptable to you, can you tell me of your own search?
Ronis rubs the back of his neck, fingers gliding over patches of red scales. "It was just a simple trading vessel. I paid to hitch a ride, but..." He sighs, gesturing to the other side of the island. "A freak storm blew us off course, trapped us in a current that drove us into a reef. We wrecked. I haven't seen anyone else." His mind flashes, remembering the feeling of panic as the ocean pulled him down below, the glint of bronze scales before his vision went black.
(Persuasion: 14)
The quartermaster narrows his eyes at Ronis. "A trading vessel," he says flatly. The sailor still does not sheath his sword. "How did you survive here with no weapons, no nuthin'?"
The man is clearly suspicious of Ronis and unwilling to let go of those suspicions.
Ronis rolls his eyes. He isn't incredibly keen on revealing his abilities; sailors are a notoriously superstitious bunch. He lacksadaisically points a finger over to a rock where what possessions of his survived the wreck are kept. "I have weapons. Over there. And I'm not exactly useless at being self-sustaining. In fact I'm rather practiced at it." He sighs. "Listen, I get it. The high seas are treacherous. Pirates, storms, and sea monsters abound, and all make the sea-faring life quite the hassle, and I'm an unknown to you. A risk. But I've been stuck on this gods-forsaken pile of sand for a tenday now, and I really am quite tired of it. It's nice and scenic, sure, but the locals aren't all too welcoming. And my business in Alciondria is fairly important. I think. So please set aside your well-meaning suspicions, and allow me onto your ship. "
(Persuasion: 26)
The quartermaster sheaths his sword and holds his hands up in placating surrender. "Okay, okay mate. Get your things. We can't get you to Alciondria but we'll get you close. We're bound for Delphendria."
That is indeed close and, as Ronis said, it gets him off this gods-forsaken island.
Forty-five minutes later, the sorcerer is aboard the Waterwyrm and the sails are rising to catch the wind. The quartermaster is barking orders to the crew while the first mate shows Ronis to a cot next to the potatoes in the hold. It is cool down here and quiet but he feels the urge to see his island off before they sail too far. Or perhaps it is to see off Verkolax.
Above deck, the island is already beginning to recede. It was an unpleasant place and Verkolax is still nowhere to be seen. He doesn't blame the young dragon. Humanoids are notoriously cruel to his kind.
"Oi, see the marlin jumping ahead of the ship?" says one of the crew. Indeed, several large fish are arcing out of the water off to the side of the prow. "That's good luck. Maybe the gods're smiling on us for pickin' you up, friend."
But Ronis' eyes fall to the dark shape wending back and forth alongside the ship. Verkolax swims playfully with the Waterwyrm for the entire day. When the sun sets, Ronis can no longer see the shadow of his dragon friend but somehow, he is certain he is still not alone.
At dawn, another ship is sighted. Ronis is woken by the bustle of activity as sailors ready their stations, trim the sails, and signal the ship. "It is probably another merchant ship," says one of the crew. "But there's no telling this far out of the busier shipping routes."
The other ship does not respond and does not change course. But nor does it raise the jolly roger or steer towards the Waterwyrm. The crew get noticeably anxious. Swords are strapped to belts and cannons loaded in anticipating of a fight. Sailors ready to drop full sail in case they need to fly.
"Sorry, mate. You might have jumped from the pot into the pyre," says the first mate. "I hope you have some tricks up your sleeves because I've a sinking feeling about this encounter."
Ronis looks to the approaching ship, furiously thinking ofwhat he could do before things escalate...
Dog's next attack is just as brutal but this time, the sword gets pushed off to the side with a solid parry, blade scraping across her shield. "Good!" he growls, grin across half his face, stepping briefly out of her reach, but not before her sword arcs up to try to keep him in combat.
The parry is strong, and he has to dance away to escape getting cut. He swallows what would have been a dumb verbal riposte and instead makes a fist and a strange gesture with his sword arm, and the packed earth in a five foot hole right before her path turns into momentary liquid and reforms (mold earth) as a five-foot cubic wall immediately on Dog's side of it.
She can't see him anymore, and decides he's lying in wait, ready to pounce on her. She goes to her right, judging the right-handed goliath would want a clean sweep with his sword arm to ambush her. She doesn't see the small spider on top of the earthen mount. She steps forward slowly, stance low to the ground, and sneaks up on the gruff, tall man. Stepping around the wall, she sees she's guessed right, directly ahead of her is Dog, in a ready stance to try to take her head off, but looking around the other side of his hiding place. Moving in a wider loop to catch him from the opposite flank, she pounces into a vicious lunge... and hits nothing. She waves her sword in his form, which she now sees is a silent image. Her head whips around to look for the real goliath, looking up too late to see him descending from the top of the wall in a downward arc, winged boots gently flapping in the breeze. His attack slows and gently knocks her helmet with the flat of his blade.
"Good instincts, and they'll get even better. And your parries are truly something your enemies will fear. But the thing you can depend on in a fight is that nothing will turn out as you expect. Sometimes the ground disappears, and you have to move around the very earth in front of you. Sometimes you think you see your friend but it's not really your friend. Sometimes the very heavens and hells decide to have a brawl right in front of you. Sometimes your... talkative instructor flies up when you're not looking and tries to pull a trick on you without much guile to make a point you already knew. The thing to remember is to adapt, and don't be afraid to try dumb things. Also, we have to get you some lessons, if you're interested, with my friend Gash. You've the mind for spells, if your records are accurate. Use it."
His sword tip darts up. "Enough talk. Again."
Dog gets the first swing in again for a third time when the sounds of battle are shouted over by a third party. "Dog!" says the newcomer. "Brakespine!"
Dog holds up his hand and the battle ceases, his sparring partner relaxing but looking a little disappointed as well. Dog turns to find his second-in-command, Gunnur Grumbatch. The half-orc cleric is reliable, if a bit gruff at times. In this moment he looks stricken.
Dog approaches his underling, sheathing his weapon. Before the goliath can say anything, Grumbatch lets a tear roll down his cheek. "Dog, what do we do? King Haddian is dead."
“We were supposed to play chess tomorrow,” Dog says in a monotone, to himself. “Thought I might have a chance this time. Now...”
He trails off. Steely eyes dart back up to Gunnur. “I assume it’s the expected cause? How many people know this? Gather the others. The ones we trust. But stay close. I am going straight to Prin- Queen Gentoa. She is where I left her?” All of this has been said through message. He looks at his sparring partner. “Come. Adapt. Stay sharp. Expect everything.”
He waves his hand and the erupted earth reforms to its original state. He waves again and the silent image bends down in a crouch, deep in thought. “Always keep them guessing,” he says to Gunnur’s quizzical look.
He will send the guard (does she have a name?) off to help enact the plan they had developed for this eventuality. Secure Genny and Nev... Gentoa and Neventi. Give the Queen her space to grieve, leaving most of the task to Bulwark. Gather the core group of advisors and screen them for magical influence and deception. Prepare for the more mundane, formal, and official tasks that came next. Pull down the casks of the good stuff that Hadrian liked, and pass around glasses, per his request. Get Gentoa ready for her big day. Watch for anyone who might try to take advantage of this, and crush them into paste. Ensure domestic tranquility.
The soldier does not have name yet. I assign her one below. Any unnamed characters in your Extras tab on your character sheet you can customize with a name. Or I will when the time arises.
Gunnur heads off to begin gathering advisors while Dog's sparring partner, Kyva Losein, makes her way to the presumptive queen and her biological mother. As Dog exits the training facility, he encounters his third underling, Bitzer, polishing his weapon.
"What's up, chief?" Bitzer says with a salute that clanks against his metallic head. Bitzer, like Dog's former teammate Bulwark, is a construct. They could not be more dissimilar, though. Bitzer is a jovial, social person who is keen on improvising strategies and trying to invent new jokes. "Gunnur and Kyva took off like their pants were on fire."
Martin isn’t one to put up with thieves. The rats gather back together, forming his human self on the run. He dashed after the runner, hoping to catch a glimpse for just long enough to mark the culprit.
Paladin - warforged - orange
(Hey, at least roll for it! Perception: 22)
Martin forms up into his humanoid form behind Feldus Parro, who is cowering behind a large tree. "Oh, come on!: Feldus says. He throws his hands up in the air. "You got me, okay?!"
“Yup. Sure did, ya turd. Now come with me, and if you try running again, know that I may just shoot you next time instead.”
(make my own rolls? Like some kind of poor??)
Paladin - warforged - orange
(Ha!)
As Martin leads the thief back to the Long Road, an approaching storm of hooves drowns out all other noise. Looking up the incline to the Road, horse and rider after horse and rider thunder past. Martin recognizes the uniforms. They are those of the royal messengers. Something big has happened.
Knowing better than to try and halt this stampede, he waits patiently while Feldus stands next to him, hands clamped over his ears and shouting, "What in the nine hells is this about?"
A cloud of dust hangs in the air in the wake of the riders, keeping the thief and his captor from climbing the hill to the road. Before the dust can settle, another rider approaches. Martin recognizes these hoof beats. They are for his own horse, Mable Macy. She is a glorious cream and tan draft horse, built for hauling carts and carriages, but has taken nicely to having Martin as a rider. Now, Shaggaustus Kine, Martin's dragonborn assistant sits atop her. He deftly dismounts, still holding the reins as he looks down at Martin and his quarry.
"Finally caught your thief, I see," he says, eyeing Feldus with a hint of anger in his eyes. But Shaggaustus' quick temper cools before it can truly flare up this time. He turns his attention to Martin with some urgency.
"You are summoned the capital," Shaggaustus says. He does not even choke up as he delivers the news. "The King is dead."
"Well, I'll be fu-" says Feldus Parro.
"You'll be silent!" Shaggaustus says, betraying his calm demeanor at delivering the news. But again he calms quickly. "The funeral will be held in 10 days. The Queen requests your presence."
Martin is a halfway between Pallaxus and Munon. By horse it would take 16 or 17 days to reach his destination. Ignoring the dust, Martin takes Feldus by the elbow and leads him up to the Road.
The thief cannot help himself and blurts out, in spite of Shaggaustus' withering glare, "How in the hells are you going to get to Alciondria in 10 days?"
(The distance is about 400 miles.)
Martin strokes his Mable Macy’s neck and head. “That’s a good ******* question.”
There were teleportation circles to use in many cities 10 months ago, but I’m not actually certain if I can use those still. For now, Martin will tie the thief across Mable Macy. Then cast longstrider at 2nd level on himself and Mable Macy. Then wildshape into a horse, and get running for Pallaxus.
Paladin - warforged - orange
(Oops. I typo'd. Marble Macy should be the horse's name! Sorry.)
After about 10 minutes of riding, Martin comes up on the road work camp where road maintenance is underway. He finds the two other members of his team standing on the road watching for Martin or Shaggaustus to come back. The first is the elf Gileon Greyfeather. Next to him stands Tronk, the half-ogre and a real brute with a soft-spot for fuzzy little creatures.
Gileon flags down Marble Macy, who stops readily for someone she recognizes. The scout turns to Martin as he slows, knowing well the look of Martin in his horse form. "Sir, we can take the thief to Munon for you."
Tronk lifts Feldus easily off of the horse. The thief squeals in fear.
"What else you need, boss?" Tronk says. He gently strokes Macy's mane as Feldus dangles in his grip.