The Forgotten Forge (IC)

[Aphrodite Pandemos]

Curtains of water fall from the sky as you traverse the labyrinthine walkways of Sharn. The stone and wooden paths wind around and between the towers and spires high above the ground, forming a complex latticework than can be very confusing on evenings such as this.

The rain falls hard, running off higher walkways and balconies in drenching waves, making it difficult to see much more than a few feet ahead of you. The distant glow of everbright lanterns, barely visible in the soaking gloom, does little to light the paths on this warm, wet evening.

OOC

This is where you introduce yourself. Why are you in Sharn? In such weather?

[z010]

Seraphina pulled her cloak hood farther down over her eyes, trying not to grumble too much at the weather or the city. She'd come to Sharn looking to restock her gear and possibly find the next step in her pilgrimage. Instead, she'd spent the past three days dodging pickpockets, unscrupulous hopeful employers wanting to drag to Xen'drik of all benighted places, a no less than three separate offers to 'enhance her career' through prostitution. She'd heard rumors about Sharn, but if anything they were entirely too tame about the city.

She'd dropped off her money and gotten a letter of marque her first day there - she might be a newcomer to Sharn, but she'd traveled enough by now to have some sense of personal safety - and had restocked her supplies. Finding where the Flame was leading her next had proved more difficult than she'd expected. As she'd traveled back across Khorvaire from from the Talenta Plains it had seemed so clear. Each step she took, healing a village, travelling with a group for a few weeks, taking this or that job from a quest board, it had all gone from one to the other like flowing water. Now the only flowing water was battering down on her head from the bridges above and her spirits were flagging.

The smell of a mince meat pie managed to penetrate the walls of water around her. Beneath her, Sanal edged from one foot to the other; he liked Sharn about as much as she did and was quite ready to leave, but the miniature mount was a greedy little thing when it came to sweet meats or pastries. Hoping for inspiration along with a hot meal, she followed her nose towards one of the towers.

[Dakkhad]

"So..." they had said. "Why do you wish to associate yourself with the Boromar Clan?"

His response had been short and simple, just the way they liked it. "Because I'm not an idiot, sir"

They had asked for further explanation, regarding the hows and the whys and the what-fors, but ultimately it came down to the same thing it always did. How did it profit them?

His own reason was simple. The Boromar Clan was quite simply the single quickest and cleanest way to not get harassed in Sharn for any individual of caliber that wasn't either nobility, Dragonmarked, or both. The incredibly corrupt city guards left you alone, the Boromar left you alone, even House Tarkanan left you alone. Though to be fair, if House Tarkanan was after you for some reason, odds are you had well and truly angered someone pretty bad. Certainly there were down sides, not the least of which being Daask, but to be certain, that was a thing everyone had to deal with, not just the Boromar. The fact that they refused to traffic in death was a very big reason as well.

The reason that he gave them was just as good. First, he paid his sponsor, handsomely. Words were good, but gold was the true King in Sharn. That got him his probationary period. Second, he flash-froze a Daask goblin marauder who was trying to shake down a sponsored store clerk at knife point. It would later be ruled that said freezing was done to save the merchant's life and no charges would be pressed. His probationary period however, was at an end.

In the time since then, he had worked long and hard to prove to himself and to those who were in the know about such things (a relatively small list outside of the guilds themselves) that he was a step to the side from the common criminal. His pursuits were primarily intellectual, but the Clan didn't terribly care as long as they were getting their gold per week. There were times that he would go off and do things outside of Sharn, but when he came back, he would always pay his back dues.

At the moment he was occupying a space in one of the many libraries funded at least partially by one of the great Wizards' Orders of the city. His current outfit, being simple clothes and lacking all the sorcerous trappings of a spellcaster, had gotten a few sidelong glances the first time he had come in here. However, his demonstrated knowledge of spellcraft as well as his race's own mastery of psicraft brought a quick end to such discussions. Similarly, even in its early goings his career as an 'adventurer' had paid dividends, enough to keep him living the wealthy life for quite some time now and such things did not go unnoticed by those seeking a possible client.

Of course, he had been going through a bit of a dry spell at the moment, but something told him that was all going to change. Soon.

[Lt. Sylvia Morganshire]

"I swear I've seen you somewhere before..."

The painter looked to his work, then to Sylvia, who was sitting perfectly still. He had the distant gaze of someone lost in memory. Sylvia felt her cheeks burning slightly, but she kept her composure. "Wouldn't know from where," she said, keeping steady.

Of course, she did know. Skysedge Park didn't have many residents, but it did have a lot of visitors, apparently. A lot of people throughout Sharn who'd gone for a walk in the park with friends and family and lovers, and beheld the works of art that stood at the pathways, including one statue of a nude woman with a greatsword. That statue had recently been removed, and though no one knew why, Sylvia did - the statue had been her.

Thankfully, no one had recognized her yet. But still, that look was on more faces than she cared to see it on. That look that said I swear I have seen you naked that made her feel queasy.

She held still - she was good at that - and soon, the painter was finished. He handed her the pentagon-shaped slab of metal and she, in turn, handed him the gold pieces for his work. They haggled a bit over the size of the tip, quite by accident - in Sylvia's time, it was customary to tip a bit less.

She walked out of the portrait studio, studying the freshly crafted identification papers in the case. Name, Sylvia Morganshire (in her head, she was still Lieutenant - but only in her head.) Country of origin, Cyre. Official status, refugee (accurate, if off by about one hundred years.) Occupation, sculptor. She chuckled a little at that last line - she'd never tried it before, but she'd found that she had a knack for it, and the owners of Skysedge Park had demanded that she replaced the statue that she'd 'destroyed' by not being a statue any more, so she'd made one herself. They hadn't specified what gender, of course, or what race, or what the statue would be doing. So she'd let her imagination run with that one.

Maybe it was the light, but Sylvia could swear she was a bit paler than she expected herself to be. Well, hard to get any sun in this Host-forsaken city.

She folded the case closed and tucked it in her pocket. Identification papers, she thought dourly. Clearly the sign of a government that trusts its people. It wasn't like that before. Things were different when -

She cut the thought off. When she started to dwell on the past, she found herself sobbing into the bottom of an empty glass. She had to more forward. Get some money together to get an audience with the - she still couldn't believe that there was a country run by medusas, but there was, and their diplomats were in Sharn, and she was damn well going to visit them to figure out who had changed her back and why. Or if that didn't pan out, then she could at least try to find out if any of the elves she knew in the army were alive today. Or... anything, really. Any way forward at all.

At least she had a clean bill of health. The halfling had been quite shocked when Sylvia had explained the core of her concerns. "I spent over a century as decorative statuary and I'd like to find out if there was a hairline fracture in my heart or my brain or anything that's going to cause me to fall over and die" were not words the healer had heard every day, but she'd checked Sylvia thoroughly and said she'd be fine. At no charge, which was a rare kindness. If Sylvia ran into Miss Seraphina again, she'd find a way to repay her, that was for sure.

But right now, she needed to get to work. Some masons needed damage repaired on a gargoyle overlooking their building, and they'd pay well enough for another few days of living. So she set her shoulders, and walked back into the City of Towers.

[SalmonMax]

The rain didn't bother all the people on the terraced skyways of Sharn that day. Two figures moved along them, talking to one another as they went. The human was cloaked and hooded against the rain, his companion was not. They drew curious looks as they went, for even in Sharn, Oz was an oddity.

It was clearly a warforged; one of a race of artificial people made to be soldiers, then freed to their own recognizance after the disastrous end of the Last War. And yet the warforged were a standardized people in most respects. The great Forges that had mass-produced them made only small variations in design between batches, and even the individual modifications and flourishes they made to themselves couldn't hide the fact that they had been poured from that same mold.

Oz was different. Its body was covered in slick-looking silver metal, engraved with organized clusters of Giantish runes that gleamed softly blue in the cloud-dimmed daylight. It was basically humanoid, but its proportions were off...its head and torso sleeker and narrower and with an odd hunch or lean forward. Its arms were skinny and long, but with thicker forearms that made it look hamfisted; its legs slightly digitigrade, walking on the balls of its feet in a somewhat birdlike gait that looked a little awkward at walking speeds. It's body and face lacked the 'humanlike' details of most warforged. Two eyes, but not even a hint of nose or mouth. No sculpting to suggest muscles or chest.

It was easy enough to see at a glance that Oz had not been made by human hands.

The 'living construct' spoke to the human at its side in a voice that sounded hollow, like someone speaking while breathing inward rather than exhaling.

"...I am sorry, Waylan. I had heard no news of your mother until you returned to Sharn. Between satisfying the curiosity of the professor and his staff, and satisfying my own curiosity of this city, it is very possible I simply was not in the correct place at the correct time to learn of this terrible event. Your mother was very kind to me. I would like to help you search for her, if you will let me."

[Aphrodite Pandemos]

Suddenly, from a short distance down the street, you hear a man's voice shouting for help. As you listen, the shouts become a cry of pain which is cut short, leaving only the sound of rain pattering on the cobblestones.

DC 18 Spot Check

You spot a figure in a dark cloak moving quietly through the rain on the skybridge ahead. It seems to be avoiding the dim pools of light cast by the everbright lanterns, preferring to stay in the shadows. Lightning flashes, and you see a shape on the stone floor of the bridge in the brief illumination. the figure quickly reaches the railing of the skybridge, then slips over the barrier and disappears into the darkness and the rain.

Those that follow the sound or make the DC 18 Spot check

The skybridge ahead spans the distance between platforms attached to the sides of two different towers - Dalannan Tower and the Kelsa Spire. A body lies on the floor of the bridge, and you can see a mixture of rain and blood pooling around it. A leather satchel, still clutched tightly in the body's hand, lies in the expanding puddle of water and gore.

The body is clearly an elderly humanoid man dressed in a now-drenched and torn scholar's uniform, an unfortunate victim of a disturbed mugging. By the look of the wound, the assailant was also wielding a rather hefty weapon.

OOC

Scooting this along a bit since I might not be here tomorrow, Monday i definitely won't and Tuesday and Wednesday are up to the computer repair man.

The DC 18 Spot check is for both boxes. If you DON'T make the DC18 Spot check you only get the second box and notice it AFTER you follow the noise

You have exactly one round to examine the body before... something happens

Just for the in case ofs, roll some initiative too!

[Dakkhad]

Dakkhad would have sworn that he had developed a degree of precognition as he heard the cry of pain and the sudden silence. He had left the library a short time ago and was making his way down the walkways.

Between Dalannan Tower and Kelsa spire, the walkway was quite plainly occupied by a body. There was a leather satchel held in the cooling and dead fingers of the bridge's occupant which more than likely had a few interesting things in it. That said, discretion was the better part of valor in most cases, and he opted to hang back briefly before moving for the satchel itself.

Hanging back briefly, init roll of 14 . Intends to pick up the satchel on init 14 if not given a good reason not to.

([Moira Morley] 3:37 pm: initiatives just for the incase ofs

[Lobby]: envoy has left at 3:38 pm

Hyoseph *rolls* 1d20: 14: 14

[Lt. Sylvia Morganshire]

Upon hearing the shout, Sylvia stopped short, ducking behind a bench purely on instinct.

"Okay, Harris, Orfirus, you - " Oh, right, you're dead.

She double-checked, and her armor was fitting perfectly. It would have been better to go without it to the portrait studio, but she'd been helpfully told that if she had weapons and armor it was best to get them in the frame, for reference. She reached behind her and grabbed the handle of her only remaining friend, the sword she'd been petrified with. Then she took a deep breath, and ran towards the noise.

OOC

Initiative roll:

Mike *rolls* 1d20: 10+1: 11

Rolled at 7:50 on Jan 19, 2013.

Spot check: 15, so a failure.

[Jordan]

Waylan was fuming mad. “Thank You Oz,” he said angrily. “At least someone else gives a damn. Can you believe those old fossils? The university will not get involved? How dare they? After all she’s done for them! And to think they had the gall to try and keep me from leaving just so they could interrogate me about my magic.”

“Well, that is not going to happen. I am done with the University. Done!” The young human took a deep breath as he finished his rant all the while he kept walking, not really taking in the magnificent city around him. “I am sorry old friend. We haven’t had a chance to really catch up and all I am doing is whining about my problems”

At the cries for help and screams of terror and pain, Waylan’s head whipped around to its source. One of the most suprising revelations about the magic of the Incarnate was that Order, Chaos, Good and Evil were not merely ethical or moral concepts but held real tangible power. Waylan’s alignment with good gave him certain advantages over evil, but it also guided him to situations where his presence could tip the scales back in the favor of good. Even if he wanted to he could not pass by someone crying out for help.

Waylan moved quickly to where he could see the fallen scholar on the bridge and drew his longbow. His Incarnum melded braces glittered blue with magic as he drew and brought an arrow to the string in preparation of trouble.

Waylan’s current Soulmelds are the Keeneye Lenses and Bluesteel Bracers

[Jordan] 6:44 pm: Rolling Spot with Keeneye Lenses...

Jordan *rolls* 1d20: 6+7: 13

[Jordan] 6:45 pm: Bummer...

[Jordan] 7:29 pm: Oh poop, Initiative...

Jordan *rolls* 1d20: 15+4: 19

[Jordan] 7:29 pm: Woot!

[Jeremy] 7:31 pm: I need something to do

[Jordan] 7:31 pm: Why couldn't that be my Spot roll?

Waylan has his bow drawn and is ready to fire while he slowly approaches the body

[SalmonMax]

Before he could respond to Waylan's words, the situation changed rapidly. Waylan ran off to assist, and Oz accompanied him. As the warforged ran, it raised its right arm, into the oversized forearm of which was built some kind of tube, complicated by numerous grilles and reinforcing bars, and flexible rubbery vesicles. The colored light on the side cycled from light blue, through yellow, and then to red. A blast of incandescent lavender light hurtled skyward like a flare!

"WE REQUIRE THE PRESENCE OF THE TOWN WATCH," Oz boomed as he kept pace with Waylan to discover what had happened., "A CRIMINAL EVENT HAS OCCURRED."

[z010]

Seraphina nearly dropped the hot meat pie she'd been about to take a bite of when she heard the scream. It wasn't entirely unusual in Sharn, but it was close. And cut off. In a gurgle. She took a large bite and handed the rest to Sanal and headed them both towards the sound. The booming voice of a strange Warforged made her jump again and almost decide that it could deal with whatever was going on. The metal of her Flame pendant, cold in and clammy, wet air, brushed against her chest and reminded her of the oaths she'd taken, but legally and in her heart, and she firmed up her spine, heading for the commotion.

It was hard to see through the gathering crowd and her stomach growled a protest at the one-bite dinner her steed had already finished for her.

Spot Check

Malachite *rolls* 1d20: 12+4: 16

She failed, so I'm just having her head over.

Initiative: Malachite *rolls* 1d20: 1: 1

*facepalms*

[Aphrodite Pandemos]

As expected you see a dead humanoid figure, a dwarf, when you reach the skybridge. A quick scan reveals that there is an abnormally large gash in the dwarf as the blood pools out.

No sooner than you all get there you are surprised by, who you may think is, the killer. A warforged woman seems to pop out of nowhere after Oz yells for help. "Flesh-loving traitor," the female voiced warforged angrily spits at Oz, "you and your weak-fleshed companions shall not stop us!" The warforged rushes at Oz, shouting a terrible warcry while drawing a very large battleaxe!

OOC

Man, D&D sure is check intensive! I need a DC15 listen check. if so you can act in the surprise round

Surprise Round

Moira Morley *rolls* 1d20: 14+4: 18

[Moira Morley] 5:27 pm: Robottack

Moira Morley *rolls* 1d8: 1+4: 5

[Moira Morley] 5:32 pm: robo damage

Moira Morley *rolls* 1d20: 15: 15

[Moira Morley] 5:23 pm: robonitiative

Oz did not post initiative, so roll it. You'll act on the second round.

Waylan 19

??? 15

Dakkhad 14

Sylvia 11

Seraphina 1

[SalmonMax]

Oz is clearly taken completely by surprise by the aggression of this other machine person. The ax strikes sparks off his chassis and leaves a deep dent with a ragged hole at the bottom of it. Within the wound are dim flashes of light and the scent of burning rubber.

Recoiling from the attack, Oz stammers, "Your description does not seem to apply to me, and I do not recognize you. I believe you have mistaken me for someone else!"

His taking time to respond, and general reticence, slow him significantly in the fight!

[salmonMax] 5:42 pm: Init time!

SalmonMax *rolls* 1d20: 2+3: 5

[salmonMax] 5:42 pm: Bahaha

[Kamiko] 5:42 pm: Hihi Max. You and Envoy should have something this weekend.

[salmonMax] 5:42 pm: Perhaps he is reluctant to hit a lady.

[salmonMax] 5:51 pm: Listen

SalmonMax *rolls* 1d20: 4: 4

[salmonMax] 5:51 pm: Annnnd there we go.

[Jordan]

Waylan was so focused on the body of the dead scholar that he didn't hear the assassin's return. Of course having a big warforged bellowing for the constables right beside you isn't conducive to hearing sneaky people doing sneaky things.

As the female warforged made it's declaration, Waylan fumbled with his bow but it was too quick for him.

Listen Check

Jordan *rolls* 1d20: 7+3: 10

[Moira Morley] 6:43 pm: you still might be able to act in the attack round

[Jordan] 6:43 pm: Bah! I am teh suprised!

[Moira Morley] 6:43 pm: surprise attack

[Dakkhad]

As the warforged female personality seemed to appear from nowhere, and began shouting, Dakkhad found himself moderately offended by its shouting. When the warforged drew the battle axe and attacked what Dakkhad assumed was another citizen of Sharn. Without time to investigate further, he simply assumed that the other warforged was either a full fledged citizen of Sharn, in the employ of a citizen of Sharn, or at the very least had some sort of identification.

Dakkhad focused his mind on the screaming female type with the axe. He was 99% certain that this assault was not sanctioned by the city watch or any of the major clans and therefore would be stopped. Feeling the internal consciousness of the warforged, frayed as it may be, he quickly and decisively delivered a devastating assault on the barbarian(?)'s neural pathways.

Da Mechanics

Hyoseph *rolls* 1d20: 14+2: 16

[Hyoseph] 7:55 am: Woot, acting in surprise round!

[Moira Morley] 7:57 am: heh

Activate Mind Thrust, Overchanneling for effective ML 3, expend psi focus for Talented

DC 16 to resist

Moira Morley *rolls* 1d20: 14-1: 13

[Hyoseph] 8:07 am: almost (-1? yeesh)

Hyoseph *rolls* 3d10: 10+9+8: 27

[Hyoseph] 8:13 am: Rolling to avoid manifesting display (Concentration DC 16)

Hyoseph *rolls* 1d20: 17+7: 24

End Result: Acting in surprise round, Warforged barbarian fails will save, takes 27 damage to the brain, power display suppressed

[Aphrodite Pandemos]

Gripping her head, the female warforged lets out a scream. This time it is not a warcry, but of pain. Mentally blind sided, the warforged has no idea what came overher. If warforged HAD headaches, this would be a migraine.

The scream alerts the nearby tower residents. "Murder! They're murdering that man!" one gasps in awe of the sight. "Hey stop that!" another one angrily yells. "Someone call the watch!" another pleas.

[Lt. Sylvia Morganshire]

Now this? This, Sylvia understood.

She saw one of those giant golem... things, attacking another that was quite clearly not fighting back. She rushed in to interpose herself, greatsword out. She swiped at it...

OOC

[Mike] 10:27 pm: Aright, Sylvia is attacking at +6, -4 for trying to subdue the target, +2 for charge, so +4 total.

Mike *rolls* 1d20: 1+4: 5

[Mike] 10:27 pm: She does not hit at all.

... and unfortunately, was one hundred years out of practice, as her sword caught nothing but air. Still, she kept her cool, even as she was thrown off balance by the charge.

"Put the weapon down now!"

[Jordan]

Waylan didn't bother waiting for a response. He wasn't sure what was wrong with this Warforged but he wasn't going to wait around to figure out why it had gone psychotic. He took a few steps back, aimed the arrow he already notched up to the string and fired.

Move Action: 5' step away from she-warforged

Standard Action: Attack with Masterwork Longbow

[Jordan] 9:19 pm: Okay so I have a net 0 to hit

[Hyoseph] 9:20 pm: roll some dices

Jordan *rolls* 1d20: 12: 12

[Jordan] 9:21 pm: ha! tha's probably a miss

[Jordan] 9:24 pm: Okay, Spending an Action Point

[Lobby]: Malachite has entered at 9:24 pm

Jordan *rolls* 1d6: 6: 6

[Jordan] 9:24 pm: WooT!

[Jordan] 9:24 pm: can I get a witness?

[Hyoseph] 9:25 pm: that should push you over

[Jeremy] 9:25 pm: wb

[Hyoseph] 9:25 pm: take that robot down (WITNESSED!!!!)

Total To Hit roll: 18

If it does hit Damage is D8

[Jordan] 9:26 pm: Damage Roll

Jordan *rolls* 1d8: 7: 7

[Aphrodite Pandemos]

The warforged tries to swing it's very large battleaxe at Oz again, but is interrupted by an arrow to the back of the head. The warforged stops in midswing and slumps over. A small wispy bird like creature flies off from the warforged's body off into the rainy sky.

You all hear the whistle of the town watch. They're getting close. Common sense will tell you that running will make you look guilty of murdering the dead dwarf. Though you do have time to rummage both bodies to see what they have.

OOC

75XP for each of you

[SalmonMax]

Oz looks down at the mar in its chassis and trails a thick, tripartate digit over it. Whatever it thinks about this development, it remains silent on though.

Instead it goes to the fallen warforged and leans down to turn it over, eyes shifting to a curious violet.

"What a strange variant. Its design seems meant to imitate humanoid females...but the detail is not convincingly lifelike, which would seem to defeat the purpose of shaping it that way in the first place. And it was so angry..."

As it speaks, it scans the fallen warforged for signs of magic, as well as tries to see where the bird-thing had come from. Was it an item of some kind, or had it been part of her body?

[Lt. Sylvia Morganshire]

As the warforged fell, Sylvia stood up straighter, sheathing her sword. She turned towards Waylan, then towards the sound of the watchman's whistle.

"I'm out of date on the law. Leaving the scene of a crime is bad, I trust? I'll tell them that I saw the golem attack the dwarf." She looked down at the axe. "And that you only attacked in self-defense."

She held her hand up to shield her eyes as she looked at the dwindling flying shape. "Now what is that, I have to ask." She looked at Oz. "Do you know?"

[SalmonMax]

"I...do not," Oz replied, peering up at the whirring thing as it whirred away out of sight. "There is a housing here, that I think it was stored in." It tapped a gleaming finger on the fallen warforged's chest. "Not far from the docent's docking, or what I assume is one."

,,

"I am not familiar with these newer models though."

,,

The warforged looked back up at Sylvia and extended its hand in a passable imitation of a handshake.

,,

"I am called Oz now."