Shenua doesn't really know how to feel now that the danger has passed. Though she still aches from the Weave's rebuke when she tried to overload the node, relief washes over her: they've broken free, and the masked man and his guards are nowhere to be seen. As she catches her breath, her mind briefly lingers on the sensation of the Weave coursing through her veins. Such raw power! And this, even knowing the Weave is still in need of mending. How incredible would it feel if it were completely restored, she wonders.

But as much as she wants to dwell on that, one question presses above all others: what now? Where did the masked man and his soldiers go? Have they vanished for good? Somehow Shenua doubts it; a nagging sense tells her they will cross paths again. And Lirae — has she gone too? But how? She was far too weak to even speak. Did these people take her? Is she even safe?

The tiefling presses her fingertips to her temples as these thoughts rush through her mind. One thing is clear, and Shenua voices it as soon as her nerves have calmed enough to speak. Stepping toward Vorenus and Iromae, she says, "Are… are you okay? I have a million questions, but I don't think this is the time or place. Let's get out of here, alright? Not that I like following that man's words, but he was right about one thing: someone will have noticed what we just did, and we shouldn't be here when they come. Safehouse? We'll talk there."

Before leaving, Shenua casts a final glance around the room, using her magic to sharpen her senses. With all the commotion, the spell is unlikely to draw any additional attention. She makes sure, however, to cancel it before they reach the streets of Suzail.

(ooc: Just want to check if there's anything magical in the room. Perhaps Lirae, or the masked man and his guards, dropped something when the bindings shattered, or especially when Vorenus unleashed the storm on them?)

Vorenus collapses to the ground, breathing heavy, unable to speak for a good few minutes.  It takes a while for his eyes to come back into focus, to see the room and Shenua, Iromae.  With a very hoarse voice, he says “What happened?  Everyone okay?  Where… where are they?  I’ve never felt anything like that before.  I’m.. I’m sorry, I felt all of that power channel through me, and I couldn’t stand seeing those people, the though of them harming you, Lirae, all of us.  So, I funneled the power through me, to blow them to bits, oh gosh, I have no idea what happened.  I hope I didn’t cause irreparable harm… but, you’re right.  We need to get out of here.  I may need your help.  Nothing like that has ever come out of me before…”. Vorenus staggers to a standing position, looking around, trying to get his bearings.  

In the immediate aftermath, Iromae is left holding her head with both hands. Eyes closed, she rubs at her temples. Finally, she looks around to see the place empty other than her friends. With, hopefully, nothing else to worry about, she slides down to sit on the ground. 

"Blow them to bits?" she asks Vorenus in a weak voice. "You think the others were destroyed? Not just shuffled off elsewhere?" There's no accusation in her tone, just trying to piece together what had happened. "Did we consume the node? It seems as dead as when we arrived."  She then looks over at Shenua. "You're right, we should talk elsewhere."  With a sigh she adds, "I'm going to need to rest at some point." 

The silence after the storm feels heavier than the storm itself. The tribunal hall is scorched and cracked, smelling of hot stone and ozone. Dust drifts lazily in the faint, sourceless light still clinging to the fractured node.

Shenua’s senses flare as the Detect Magic takes hold. The air hums faintly with lingering conjuration — a teleportation trace, already unraveling. That’s how the masked man and his guards vanished, and how Lirae was taken. There’s no stable circle left, only the aftertaste of displacement magic. The bindings at your wrists are inert, the etched runes cracked and smoldering.

A closer sweep reveals two faint auras amid the debris:

Abjuration, clinging to a twisted iron rod half-buried in rubble. A fragment of the manacles, maybe still useful ... or dangerous.

Evocation, faint but sharp, embedded in a shard of blackened stone from the node itself. Its pulse resonates faintly with Vorenus, like a bell still ringing in the marrow of his bones.

No sign of Lirae remains except the dark smear of blood trailing toward the grate, cut off sharply where the teleport trace is strongest.

Outside the chamber, distant voices echo — soldiers or watch patrols, maybe both. The masked man was right about one thing: the storm of magic here did not go unnoticed.

You have a sliver of time before the place is crawling with witnesses.

Vorenus controls his breathing, notices or more aptly feels the pulsing charred stone in the node and he reaches out, picking it up, holding it in his hand.  He feels the thrum in his body, beating in time with his heart he imagines.  He looks at Shenua and Iromae, saying "We need to leave, right now.  Back to the safe house.  We must go!  I found this piece, piece of the node I think -  I don't know, I have some connection to it, I feel it inside me.  Anything else?  I have so much going on in my mind..."  Vorenus is distracted, but he clearly looks like a cornered animal, looking to flee with all possible speed.

"Yes, we need to get out. Now," Iromae agrees. She struggles back onto her feet, looking weary, but ready to go. "Quickly." She moves slowly until she is sure the others are joining her, but she starts to retrace their steps the way they came in. 

"Teleportation," Shenua mutters. "So that's how they left so quickly. And how they took Lirae with them." She curses in Infernal, frustration sharp in her voice. How in the Nine Hells were they supposed to find the wizard now? Could they still access the Masquerade? And what about the mirrorcraft clothes from the Veil & Vellum — how to get them without Lirae's referral? She shook her head. Not the time. Not here.

Wasting no more breath, she nods to Vorenus and Iromae and moves toward the exit with them. Then she halts, her eyes returning to the fragment of the manacles. Residual magic still clings to it — maybe dangerous, maybe invaluable. For a heartbeat she hesitates, weighing the risks. Then she snaps out of it, stoops to pick the fragment, and hurries after her companions.

"Don't worry," she says to Iromae, her voice softer now. "You'll get your rest. Just hold on a little longer, then you we can all collapse properly." She smiles slightly and squeezes the cleric's hand for comfort before adding, with a quick glance at Vorenus, "You take his hand, okay? In case it goes dark again in the corridors."

With that, she presses forward, toward the exit — and, gods willing, toward the safehouse.

The echo of your footsteps feels far too loud in the empty chamber as you gather yourselves and move toward the exit. The tribunal’s shadows seem heavier now, like the whole place is holding its breath, waiting for the aftermath of what you’ve just done. Somewhere outside, faint voices stir — guards or onlookers already drawn by the noise and flash of magic.

If you’re to reach the safehouse, you’ll need to slip away quickly and quietly. Each of you will need to rely on your own strengths to get out unseen. Choose how you’ll contribute to the escape:

Stealth – Move silently through the corridors and into the streets.

Perception or Investigation – Spot the safest route back, noticing patrols or hazards before it’s too late.

Arcana – Keep the volatile shard or the lingering magic in check so it doesn’t flare and draw attention.

Constitution – Endure the fatigue and strain, pushing your body just a little further.

Persuasion/Deception – If caught or noticed, bluff your way past as though you belong there.

Everyone should make one check, describing how they’re helping the group escape. The outcome of your rolls will determine what complications (if any) follow you back to the safehouse.

Iromae will rely on her Perception to keep an eye out for anyone that might be watching for them, or any pitfalls they might run into.  (Perception: 19)

Vorenus uses his skills that he’s honed over time with many traveling bands of adventurers to persuade them that everything is just fine, nothing to see here, we were out for evening stroll and got turned around, left our whozywhatsis back at the apartment and need to go back to get it immediately, etc.  He spins a fine web of B.S. if they are stopped, allowing them to proceed and move on back toward the safe house.  

Persuasion : 22

(Arcana: 14)

Shenua worries that the shard of the node and the manacles she and Vorenus are carrying might draw unwanted attention during their escape. As she considers ways to prevent this, only two options come to mind. The first is to wrap both items in cloth, as Lirae suggested the night before. She removes her jacket and carefully envelops them.

The second: create an arcane distraction that might draw even more notice than the items themselves. With that thought, she halts just before the exit and slips a lockpick from her thieves' tools. Crouching, she begins to trace intricate runes into the ground. They resemble the ones her companions have seen her carve before when summoning her arcane contraptions—but this time, there are many more, as though she's preparing something far larger than a handheld cannon.

When the last mark is in place, she rises, flicks her wrist, and makes a sharp cut through the air with the lockpick. The runes flare to life, coalescing into the shape of a three-legged eldritch turret.

"There you go. Do what you do best and cause a little havoc for me, will you?" the tiefling murmurs, resting a loving hand on the turret's golden metal—part proud, part sad to leave one of her creations behind as a decoy. She then turns and follows Iromae and Vorenus.

(ooc: Portal, anyone? :D)

The tribunal’s halls are still humming faintly from the backlash of the Weave when you slip out, shadows pooling in every corner.

Iromae takes point, eyes scanning every doorway and alley. Twice she halts the group at just the right moment — once as a patrol rounds a corner ahead, once when a side street suddenly flares with lanternlight. Thanks to her vigilance, you weave through the dark like smoke, always one step ahead of being spotted.

Vorenus, when the three of you do cross paths with a pair of watchmen near the outer steps, is quick with a silvered tongue. His words are so easy, so casual, that the guards look almost embarrassed for having suspected you at all. They wave you on without question, leaving the way clear.

Shenua, meanwhile, wraps the volatile fragments tight and kneels by the threshold. Her runes glow softly, and in a heartbeat, a gleaming tripod cannon unfurls itself, swiveling its body with a metallic hiss. It’s barely five minutes before distant shouts rise from within the tribunals — soldiers drawn to her creation’s bright reports. The distraction works flawlessly, pulling pursuit away from your trail.

By the time the three of you slip through Suzail’s twisting backstreets, the city is already stirring with the aftershock of the node’s collapse. Bells toll, voices rise, and patrols rush in the opposite direction. But none follow you. The safehouse door closes behind you with a solid thud, cutting off the noise of the city outside.

For now — you’re safe.

It's just past one in the morning.

Iromae had taken Vorenus' hand, making sure that he had a guide even in the darkest parts of their journey. Once back into the hideout, she lets out a long breath, relieving the tension she hadn't quite been fully aware of. "We seem to have made it back without issue. I hope. I fear without our ally this is going to be so much harder. But, I really need to rest now," she says softly.  

"You two do what you must, but I'm going to lie down a bit." She finds a spot on the floor where she can get comfortable and maybe catch a nap at least. 

Vorenus give Iromae a fully body, enthusiastic hug.  He gives Shenua a friendly hug as well, relieved that they made it out alive, a nervous laugh comes forth.  “I uh… we need to talk when you wake about what happened back there.  I’m sorry, I felt the power surge through my body, I did what I thought was right to protect us, to defeat those horrible people.  I hope Lirae is okay.  I’m exhausted, and I feel so .. strange.  I’m going to sit down and try to relax, to make sense of all of this.”  He sits nearby Iromae, his legs crossed and leaning back against the wall.  He takes the shard of the node in his hand, holding it and trying to sense the rhythm and thrumming that he was feeling before.  ((Attuning to it?  Short rest here?)). 

Like her companions, Shenua collapses to the floor as soon as they reach the safehouse—though she makes an effort to do so a little away from Iromae and Vorenus.

Rubbing her temples to ease the lingering ache from her failed attempt at overloading the weave, she turns her attention to the fragment of manacles she brought back. Perhaps, with more time and less pressure, she can unravel more of the puzzle the visit to the Old Tribunals has become. (Arcana: 12)

The safehouse door clicks shut, and for the first time since the Tribunal you’re wrapped in the comfort of four familiar walls. Outside, Suzail is hushed under midnight’s veil — distant patrol boots echo faintly, but none pause at your door.

Iromae’s sigh fills the quiet, her words heavy but tender as she settles against the floorboards, exhaustion winning out. Vorenus’s embrace breaks some of the tension that has knotted in each of you since the night began, though his nervous laughter betrays the weight of what he’s just carried. The shard of charred stone rests in his palm, pulsing faintly, its rhythm syncing with his own heartbeat. He feels it stir — a resonance, not hostile, but insistent, as though inviting him closer. Attunement is possible, though doing so will tie him more deeply to whatever remnants of the node linger inside it.

Shenua, still rubbing at her temples, spreads the jagged remnant of manacles across her lap. The etchings are faint now, as if burned out, but some threads of dampened magic remain woven within the iron. With a night of study, you could try to reconstruct what its exact function was — restraint, conduit, or both. For now, though, you glean one thing with clarity: they were not meant to last. Whoever forged these bindings intended them for single use, their magic collapsing after the ritual. They were crafted only for tonight.

The three of you find yourselves balanced on the edge of exhaustion. You could give in to rest here, letting Suzail’s night pass uneventfully while you regain your strength. Or you could push yourselves further — study, attune, or debate what you’ve seen.

Iromae is certainly going to rest first. She also makes no objection to what the others decide to do. 

Vorenus keeps holding the piece of charred stone in his hand, he does try to attune to the magical remnant… but he is tired.  He goes to sleep leaning against the wall while seated, then (after needing to get up and relieve himself), he finds a suitable spot to sleep, still holding onto the shard.  He is exhausted, and sleep comes easily to him.   What dreams may come…. That is another matter.

Shenua rests for a short while, enough to ease the worst of the Weave's backlash. She stretches, loosening the knots in her body as best as she can, and little by little the haze in her mind begins to lift. When the pain has dulled enough, she takes up the manacles again, her fingers tracing the half-burned etchings as though committing them to memory by touch alone. She is worried that if she closes her eyes now, by morning the last threads of magic may have faded, leaving only meaningless scraps of iron. She refuses to let that happen.

To keep herself sharp, she splashes her face with water, the chill biting deep enough to snap her back into focus. At intervals she paces the cramped room, rolling the stiffness from her shoulders, murmuring quiet observations as she puzzles through the remnants of spellcraft. Once or twice, she will also walk up to the shuttered windows (if any!), trying to listen for the faintest sign of danger outside. They had been cautious escaping the Old Tribunal, but she wants to pay attention, just in case.

(ooc: so my idea is that she takes a short rest at least, if possible. If she can spend 1 hit die, she'd recover 6 of the 7 HP she lost)

The adrenaline that carried you from the Tribunal finally burns away. Silence falls heavy, broken only by uneven breathing as exhaustion catches up to each of you in turn.

Iromae all but collapses, slipping into the kind of sleep that only comes after nerves are stretched too thin. Her body needs it — her mind even more so.

Vorenus clutches the shard, intending to wrestle with its strange pull, but slumber overtakes him before any true progress can be made. He sleeps sitting, posture slack, dreams waiting in the wings. The shard remains warm in his palm, almost … expectant.

Shenua manages only a short rest at first. She splashes water on her face, murmurs thoughts aloud, and runs her hands across the manacles again and again. Though the runes are seared and broken, a whisper of power remains — frustratingly elusive, like smoke slipping between her fingers. (Arcana 12: you can confirm the binding was meant to dampen Weave-conduits rather than prevent mundane struggle. It relied on resonance with nodes themselves, and with the node gone inert, much of its power has dissipated.)

Her rest is enough to dull the ache — yes, she can spend a hit die, regaining 6 HP.

Through the shuttered windows, Suzail slumbers on. The streets outside are quiet; the Tribunal incident has not yet rippled outward. For now, you are safe.