SOI Mutants & Masterminds: Struggles of Iannin - First Arc - Strange Winds

[Ouroboros]

Prelude

Three years earlier ...

The sounds of drums and pipes and voices lifted high over the ceremony and carried out over the Plains of Mageddo. The battle was at last won, and the Chaos War was over. The Horde lay deep upon the plain; motionless, their Chaos borne unlife stripped away by the ritual that the Anupan necromancers had enacted. Already great bon fires were lit, warding off the night, and fueled by the corpses of the fallen. Though some took umbrage to the unceremonious cremation of the dead there were far too few who could be given name, and far to many to be given proper burial without name. Those Anupu who remained had taken the lifeless bodies of their own only, and declared that no sorcery short of that of their god Siponak could raise those who had died in this war; such was the potency of the ritual that had cost their people its greatest mystics.

A celebration was already planned to commemorate the victory, to laud the heroes and survivors, and honor those who fell defending Iannin, but for now there were bodies to be burned. The music and chanting was part of the process; the funerary rights of the fallen would be honored this night as best they could and all the while the Horde and the fallen heroes alike would be put to cleansing fire. The scent of burning flesh was somehow absent, a minor feat of arcane lore that banished the stench.

Drage stood on a hilltop, obscured in the darkness by his color shifting armor, and the small copse of trees. Below the ceremonies continued, commemorating the fallen. There were so very few Murg left, possibly none who would claim true blood. Drage looked down and he could see a handful of Muthay sporting Murg features, but they all showed Thayim blood as well. Some said that there were no true blood Murg left on Iannin, that the price of their transgression for studying chaos had been to be wiped out to the last man. The Fen too were said to be gone, wiped from Iannin forever, the Muthay born of their blood, and the a'Fen were their legacy. The Gods alone knew what would come of the Chaos War, but even mortal eyes could see that two civilizations were no more.

Out on the a fields a figure picked over the dead, one of many opportunists who looted the corpses not yet burned. Guards patrolled the fields of the dead, an honor guard for the fallen whose duty it was to drive off looters, but they were few, and the darkness of the night was deep. The figure picked over the dead, a looter taking any item that presented itself, stooping the tangle of corpses and pawing through broke weapons and shattered armor. From below a body came a glow, ruddy in the darkness. The looter shoved a body off the pile revealing a shard of some broken thing, a swirling red glow seeming to emanate from unseen seams or cracks within the metal. The glow revealed a narrow faced muthay, fine scales showing around his deep set eyes, his skin a deep red-brown.

The muthay retrieved the glowing fragment, a greedy look in his eyes that immediately became overtaken by terror as the shard burrowed into his hand like a marrow-tick. He cried out, trying to push the shard out of the wound as it burrowed, clutching and grabbing at it as it moved under his skin and up his arm as though it lived. In moments the panicked man ceased his frantic clasping at his body. A malicious glow filled his eyes as the seed of chaos incarnate corrupted the muthay utterly.

Present Day

Tenth Day of The Cycle of Azath, Third Turn of the Fifth Age of Iannin

The summer heat and brutal humidity hung as a visible haze over Bib'ney. The cloying atmosphere was devoid of even an on shore breeze, stifling the city into a muted state. Down at the harbor sailors shuffled about on some half-hearted task, or lazed openly, under the pressure of sun and damp. The smell of the ocean was overpower by the smell of the filth that ran into the harbor from the city and of the fish merchants whose ware were going rancid. Even the cries of seagulls were intermittent, as though the birds were aware of the heat and unwilling to scavenge for food.

Deeper into the city the warehouse owners and ship's captains argued over cargo sitting too long in port, the strange lull in the winds had left all but a spare few vessels unable to make sail, and those exceptions relied heavily on magic to do what the others could not. Merchants too fretted, some saw their wares rotting before they ever made it ship-board, and others wrung their hands anxiously hoping that the shipments from the mainland would somehow float in despite the unnatural ocean calm. All around eyes darted to the west were the God Spear rose from the ocean and pieced the heavens. Normally storms orbited the great basalt column like a drunkard around the tap houses, but today the sky was nearly clear around the spire, as it had been for days since the weather had shifted.

Further into the city the tap-houses and inns were even subdued, if not quiet, there was little reason to be boisterous, and sailors now drank sullenly with what little coin they still had, or cast eyes either west or north, to the Temple of the Winds. The temples were not quiet, there square was full of people coming and going from the temples, but most to the Temple of the Winds. People demanded answers for the lack of winds that made their trade and livelihood, while others bemoaned the oppressive heatwave that was ruining crops further inland, or preventing a steady stream of freshly paid sailors to their businesses. The temple of the Twins was also busy, with worshipers praying for the twin god Tal and Len to ease their light and stop the weather that seemed ready to kill the port and island.

[Adrian Moss]

Nar-Suragygh strode down the gang-plank onto the deck. The ship, the Grappler of Storms, was a strong one, and one he would miss, but it was time.

"Uncle!," came a shout from behind him. It was his nephew, Nar-Argotu, his blood relation, though the term 'Uncle' was often used by younger Ankassim to their favored elders. Learning was passed down not through families, but to each of the clan.

"Uncle, how long will you be gone this time?"

"I don't know, Argotu. This time is different. This time I must seek out the Foe, not respond to its presence.

"But Uncle, this is your life. Let it go."

The 'it' he referred to was Suragygh's quest for redemption. They had never talked about it with him. No one in the Company had, but they all knew that Suragygh had carried a terrible soul-debt since his Father's death. It had a terrible hold on him because it was a Thing that only he could find a release from, even if it would mean his death.

"Nephew, I will be back. I don't go to seek my death. I seek to spread the light of the Twins and to make our world a stronger place - a safer place."

"But ... but how will you know?"

Know? Know what? Maybe ...

"When they no longer feel the need to thank me. When they know in their hearts that Light, Truth and Honor will always prevail. When each being can carry their own weight, then I'll come home."

Argotu snorted then gave the Ankassim version of a smile.

"Mother always said you were too stubborn. I think you ask to much, but then what would I be - any of us be - if we didn't allow the other their own freedom."

Suragygh 'smiled' back.

"Speaking of your Mother, it's not like I'm leaving right now. Let's go get some of her fine cooking. We should arrive well before dinner time."

"Now that, Uncle, is the first sane thing you've said since departing this ship. Come on. Let's fly."

[Ouroboros]

"Ye should pray ta tha gods ta let up on the heat an' bring back tha wind Suragygh," the captain commented as the two passed him on the pier, the sound of their footsteps seeming almost loud on this day. "Tal an' Len do be blindin' even tha winds with this 'ere heat wave, we canna' sail again without a breeze at our back." Captain Simyut was a narrow faced Thayim who claimed pure blood, but given his broad build and massive frame some suspected that he had a little Balor blood coursing his veins. He was typical for a sea faring man, hale of heart and spirit, and superstitious to his death. If Simyut saw something he didn't understand it was the gods work for sure, even if it was a simple matter of an exotic weapon, or a strange cloth. He was also a staunch omni-theist, willing to pray to whichever of the gods could serve his needs, and just as readily cursing those who he saw as the source of his ills. The captain caught Suragygh's arm, "Yer family, they be one o' tha temple clans, yeah? What say you about this most unnatural becalmment?"

[Adrian Moss]

"Ah, I'm of the Temple Clans and I'll be speak'en to me clansmates soon enough and bring back to ya what they tell ma. You be a good Thayim and a bedda Capt'n than most I done sailed with. I'll even go and offer up my own prayers come time for ya and ya ship."

He looked around at the harbor, suddenly noting the lack of activity.

"This be bad fa business and business be the lifeblood of ma city, alright."

Indeed, the city was a Freeport, emphasis on the word Port. Everyone here drew their livelihood from the sea, or from someone who did. No trade meant no money, less food, and more likely for beings to lose their reason. The city had been stable as long as he'd been alive, and longer than that too, going into his Father's and Grandfather's time. Was it just these seas, or the whole of the Ocean, Suragygh thought. He dismissed it. Time enough for the World's troubles later. Right now, the city was in danger, and it was brought about by supernatural means, something had to be done, and someones would have to be doing it.

He looked to his nephew,

"Home first, then the Temple. Let's see what news we can find, and what it might mean."

[Ira Sagebrush]

Drage plodded along beside the wagon down the hard packed dirt road. The occasional creak and squeak of the wood and metal construct was the only sound save the plodding of the draft horse hauling it and the incessant buzzing of insects off in the trees. Even the driver was silent as he passively held the reins of the horse, seeming to not even waste the energy to sigh in the warmth of the suns. The path they were on offered little shade and the black-skinned Murg longed to burrow into the parched soil to find reprieve. The Twins had seemed to be misguided by Wulkyn lately, blasting the island with an unyielding heat similar to the lands of the Zray and Balor.

No, not the Balor any longer.

Like his kin and the Fen, word had come that the Balor too had suffered greatly at the hands of the undead army, and what remained of the people dwelled north of the Wall, far from their Blasted homeland.

Drage shifted his thoughts, knowing such a path of thinking would leave him in a sour mood and distracted. Something he could ill afford at the moment. He was guarding this wagon as it came in from one of the Temple-sponsored farms, laden with baskets of Sanare fruit, the one thing of nature that seemed to be faring well in the heat.

After the crops had failed, the workers had set out foraging, spending their time harvesting the wild Sanare that was plump with potential because of the dire weather. What the Temple did not keep, could fetch a large sum if it could find passage off the island and to the wider markets of the mainland. This potential is what caused the Temple to send Drage to guard it. The desperate times had created desperate people and there were reports in of attacks in outlying areas. Nothing serious, but enough to cause concern in this situation.

They were nearing the town, but still he kept his eye open, always scanning for movement and an arrow at the ready.

[Ouroboros]

Isolated farms gave way to a ramshackle aura of haphazard housing that limned the northern edge of the city. Structures that were cobbled together from scraps and rarely stood for more than a few years before a cyclone, or a fire destroyed the slums whole cloth and made way for a new wave of expansion. The last such growth spurt had been nearly a decade before after a cyclone spun off the Spear had lashed the island for nearly a week straight, as though it had been determined to scrub Bib'ney and the other settlements from Ki'ninay.

The cart bounced along the rough road, hard packed dirt that was more like stone now for the years of traffic. The horse pulling the cart didn't seem to notice anything around it, not the beggars or the hawkers, or the urchins who clamored for handouts and seemed at any given moment like they would get caught under the cart before they darted away, occasionally with a handful of the crimson fruits. The drover, a Muthay man named Orrez, kept the horse moving with a switch, and cursed the brash children with very little conviction, and no indication that he was going to attempt to stop them.

Drage sighed at the banality of it all, and lowered his bow, no longer of real use in the crowded slums of Bib'ney. Ahead the massive tower of the Temple of Winds loomed large over the city; they would likely walk into the Temple Square within the hour. The cloying heat was tinged with the odor of sweat and animals, but due to the utter lack of wind the slums were spared the rotten stench that hung over the docks.

Drage slung his bow over his back and pulled his axe from the belt loop where it hung; the heavy onyxiron head seemed to swallow the sunlight, and Drage knew it would be hot to the touch. The haft was long, and the end a cluster of splinters where it had been broken from it original length. "Help!" came a cry amid the stifled hubbub. "Somebody help!" The sound came from behind them, along the worn road north into the island. Another panicked cry rose over the din, louder, and seemingly closer, before a large Muthay, apparently at least half Ssenast, burst through the crowd, his arms full with the figure of a child. "Help! My son, something happened!"

[Ouroboros]

Simyut nodded, "You be doin' tha' Suragygh, I do no be payin' ya again 'less we sail again, an' we do no be sailin' 'less the winds, they be blowin'." He released the lizard and stomped back to his boat cursing along the way as Suragygh and his nephew moved into the city. It should have taken some time for the two to walk from the docks to the temple, more time than it actually did; the streets were simply not as busy as they should have been. The heat made even the most motivated citizen lethargic, and the cessation of trade meant that trade was grinding to a slow halt. Sailors hunkered in whatever shade they could in the streets and alleys of the Comfort District, out of work and out of coin they had little to do.

The pair crossed the busy Temple Square to the Temple of Winds as the noon sun was reaching it zenith and in their clans' apartments they found family member setting a meal to the table, simple roasted grains bound together with nuts and reduced fruit juice, dried meat and fish, fresh meat was always hard to get on the island and the fishermen of Haven had ceased rowing into port when it became clear that the trade in Bib'ney was stifled, wine diluted with water, or light mead to drink, and whatever fresh fruits and vegetables could be found in the market. It was meager, but it was a meal, which was more than some could lay claim to, and it was with family, which was much more than some could even hope to lay claim to. Suragygh's mother beamed at the two men as the entered, "You are just in time, sit and dine with us!" It was as much a command as a warm offer from a family member, somehow his mother always managed to think he was not eating enough.

[Adrian Moss]

Suragygh laid his pack on the corner and took a seat on a stool. He felt fine in his armor, which translated as 'I can eat some more'. Eat he did, and once he had taken a bite out of his hunger, he let his thoughts wander to the Iannin.

"Mother, how long has the weather been so foul? I've heard of heat, and bad heat at that. When you wander the sea routes sometimes it can make you peel off your armor and curse your scales, but there is always a breeze that comes along to end it. This seems ... queer. The town looks like it hasn't had a good breeze in a month. Is it really that bad?"

Suragygh watched his Mother surreptitiously as he spoke. He wanted to appear to be eating and making idle conversation rather than express his real concern. In a way, he hoped he was feeling paranoid and not that the city was in real danger.

[Ira Sagebrush]

Draft horse, not a donkey

Drage slung his bow over his back and pulled his axe from the belt loop where it hung; the heavy onyxiron head seemed to swallow the sunlight, and Drage knew it would be hot to the touch. The haft was long, and the end a cluster of splinters where it had been broken from it original length. "Help!" came a cry amid the stifled hubbub. "Somebody help!" The sound came from behind them, along the worn road north into the island. Another panicked cry rose over the din, louder, and seemingly closer, before a large Muthay, apparently at least half Ssenast, burst through the crowd, his arms full with the figure of a child. "Help! My son, something happened!"

Drage gave him a once over quickly, making sure this was not a ploy or that the child was was playing opossum. As the Muthay continued to advance, it became exceedingly clear that there was no ulterior motive at play and Drage wasted no time in reacting. "Quick! Bring him here!" Drage deftly dropped his Halbaxe into its loop and took a one hop jump onto the cart's wheel and snagged a handful of fruit from a basket whose lid had been jarred aside before hopping back down.

Kaer's Ass, let it not be serious.

The Muthay approached and Drage waved him over turning to show the Twin's sunburst on his shoulder, "I follow the Light,"

As unpopular as they may be at the moment.

"Lay him here and tell me what happened, quickly."

Hoodoo voodoo?

[Forge] 3:48 pm: Treatment

Forge *rolls* 1d20: 13+3: 16

[Ouroboros]

"Perhaps a half a fortnight?" his mother seemed uncertain, "Certainly no more than that, though I think it less, six arcs of the cycle I think." She looked to the others at the table and most nodded in agreement. "When did the calm hit your ship?"

"Almost as long, four arcs and half, in the evening. It should have only taken us a day to reach Bib'ney by sail, but the Grappler lost all wind; we were fortunate that Captain Simyut had outfitted her to be rowed." Suragygh considered for a moment, "Though none of the crew would have admitted that during their time at the oars." They all shared a laugh at that.

"We are glad, as well, that you were about to return safely. Though these are foul omens, and poor conversation to share over a meal." She bared her teeth in a smile, such as it was, "Will you be staying? Or is your Captain determined enough to row out of the harbor by any means? Surely the temptation for trade must be great, there will be merchants willing to pay a handsome share indeed just to get their wares on a moving ship."

[Ouroboros]

The man laid the boy down on the road next to the cart, cradling him in his arms, and allowed Drage to look him over. The boy looked ill, but no obvious injury presented itself. His skin was nearly icy cold to the touch and yet he was sweating profusely. At first Drage suspected heat stroke but closer investigation of symptoms dismissed that. He crushed the Sanare and fed it to the boy, its properties were well known almost everywhere on Iannin and it was, when available, often a first choice for treatment of many maladies. Almost immediately the boy began to spasm, the berries were vomited forth violently, as he thrashed about in his father's grasp. Both were shocked by the reaction; sanare were universally beneficial.

"What happened to him?" Drage asked the muthay.

"We was in tha wood." His voice wear tinged with fear and worry, "We was lookin' fer food, huntin', an' foragin'." He shrugged, "Tarnil, he done got 'cited 'bout somethin' he found. I went ta look an' 'e had somethin', a jewel by tha look o' it!" He hand his hand up, indicating an object the size of a small bird's egg. "He put it in 'is pocket an' we was comin' back. Even if tha merchants cheated us t'would've fetched enough coin... well, tha's what we hoped." He looked down at the boy who's spasms had subsided once the sanare was expelled, though his lips seemed inflamed and his breathe was hoarse. "We was walkin' back and he started raisin a fuss an' slappin' at his britches like, an' cryin tha' somethin' was bitin' 'im. Mayhap tha' jewel was some kinda egg?" He lifted the boy's shirt and pushed down the waist of the boy's pants revealing a wicked looking wound with tendrils that radiated outward.

Less perceptive that needed

jameson *rolls* 1d20: 9+4: 13

[Ira Sagebrush]

Immediately, Drage knew that this was beyond him. He didn't have the experience or knowledge to diagnose something of this severity. He stared for a brief moment at the wound, wracking his mind as he idly tugged on a bead in his beard.

The Sanare was poisonin' him...

"I think you could be right. I fear to try blessin' 'im when the fruit did what it did. My heart says to take him to the Twins." Drage said, referring to his temple, "And the Light is where we will."

Drage stood up from where he was kneeling over the boy and looked to his father. His armor shifted in color as he moved by the wagon. He grabbed the pin that held the back hatch upright and hoisted himself up. He turned to the small gathering of people that had been attracted to the commotion. He opened his mouth to talk, but then saw a daring hand coming over the edge out of the corner of his eye and turned to it.

With a silent, one-eyed stare, the owner of the hand backed off, suddenly not finding the Sanare worth it and scampered off. Drage once again turned to the small crowd, "Who will find their God's favor today? The Temple of the Light needs warning of the needs of this child. Who among you today could outrun the Reaper?"

A young Muthay girl pushed forward, "I can!" she proudly proclaimed. A hand of a probable parent tried to grab her shoulder and pull her back, but she yanked free and closed the distance to the wagon, glancing at the boy. She was about the same height as Drage, her hair the color of autumn wheat, near the same as her skin. Her eyes, were the contrasting color of an ocean wave. She was dressed in simple clothes, but they were clean and well kept. "Not one on th'isle can beat me!"

"What is your name, child?" Drage asked, hopping down.

"Nan."

"Then fly, Nan! Tell them Drage sent ya and all that you've seen here. Go! Now!" The Murg gave an encouraging shove. After one stumble that was all that she needed and she flew off down the path towards the building that near dominated the skyline.

Drage returned his attention to the father, "Let's get you in the cart. We'll crack the horse there in the withers and make Temple in no time."

[Ouroboros]

The drover looked down from his seat at Drage, "Ain't gon' fit back dere." His drawl somehow conveyed the sense that not only was he stating the obvious, but that the had expected that the obvious need not be stated.

"Then we'll make room." Drag heaved one of the shallow baskets up and moved to place it atop another.

"Gonna end up wit' a mess if'n'ya do that. Them's berries crush easy like," again the drover seemed as though he was explaining something that need not be explained.

Drage looked around, the boy and his father were waiting, the man cradling his son in his arms, waiting to climb into the cart, and all around a crowd of people gawking at the drama. Drage saw beyond the surface though, even his one eye had enough depth perception to see that these people were poor and hungry, and that many were probably used to it even when the weather was fair and the port heavy with trade. He stepped down off the cart and cast the contents of the basket out across the hard packed earthen road. Immediately people fell on the berries collecting them up in gathered skirts, stuffing them gingerly into pockets, or simply shoving them into their mouths. Drage pulled down two more baskets and did the same ensuring that the berries would end up available to all.

He helped the muthay climb into the cart and then vaulted into the seat next to the drover. "Tha's no gon' go ova' well wit' tha clerics," he driver said, switching the draft horse and making it pull the wagon forward. "Ah hope you ain't mindin' pennance."

Doin right

+1 HP to Drage for being willing to give out three baskets of Sanare to the poor despite the hell he'll catch later.

[Adrian Moss]

"I'll not be heading out with the Captain this time, Mother."

He looked her in the eye, knowing what was coming and heading her off.

"You know this had been coming for some time. Father is a debt that I must pay, whether you see the right of it or not. I'm going to the Temple to pray for some guidance, because I just know this is my time."

Suragygh holds up a hand, temporarily holding off the argument that might come.

"The Company is in good hands, and wielded by swift minds. The family will prosper for a time without me, come what may."

The large Ankassim stands up and looks at his Mother, his Father's wife.

"Would you come to the Temple and pray with me? Even if it is for me not to go? I'd welcome your company."

"And me?" Argotu, his nephew queried.

"No, not you," Sur shot back with a laugh. "With any luck, your's would be the one prayer in a million they answered directly and we'd get a rain of frogs to quench this heat and feed our bellies all at once."

Argotu raised his hands, all innocent-like.

"Me? No. I would wish for a rain of Gold."

"That's likely to hurt," the Mother said.

"Fatally so," added Suragygh.

"But we'd all die rich!" the nephew concluded with a flourish of his hand toward the heavens.

[Ouroboros]

Suragygh's mother nodded, "Of course I will come, but I will not pray for you to stay, but rather for you to see that you do not need to go in the first place. Your father would have gone to fight the horde either way, the only difference would have been that you would have gone as well and that I may have lost both husband and son. The world is a grand thing, and Wulkyn has laid the pattern of fate down over it as the gods will it to be. You were not meant to have gone, or you would have. Your father, may he rest free of chaos, was meant to be taken from us or he would not have been. That is that way of the world."

"But what of free will?" Argotu inquired, the young Kassim's eyes seeming troubled by the talk of fate.

"Yes, free will." Karanta sighed, and looked to her grandson, "Your life is like a ship at sea. You have left one harbor, and are sailing to another. Those are the points that destiny chooses for us. The course you chart through the waters of life is yours to navigate via free will. Goturu was destined to face the horde and perish, he could have been called to do so by the temple, or hired to do so by a warlord, but his will was to choose to go on his own, to make that choice and to take up arms against the chaos spawned undead. He could have chosen to wait for the clerics to call him, or for a client to hire him, but he chose instead to volunteer to sail out." She shrugged, "We will probably never understand why his destiny lead there, but I understand why he chose the path he did, and for me that is enough."

[Ira Sagebrush]

"Fed hungry mouths, and Twin's willin', saved the life of this boy." Drage stated firmly, "Whatever penance I might serve for those actions I will suffer willingly and would do so again."

Took sense along with lives, Chaos did.

"Now, if you please Orrez, squeeze thoughts of open plains from the ancestors of that beast, and get us to the Light." Drage snapped.

The driver shrugged, keeping his countenance of apathy, but obeyed nonetheless, adding a couple yelled words of encouragement to his prods of the horse.

Drage turned around to their passengers, "I am called Drage. I serve the calling of the Twins here. What's your name?"

"Branil." he said, crouched over his boy. The emotions were plain on his face that this was tearing him up.

"A good name, Branil. Branil, it may get rough. Your son...Tarnil?"

Branil nodded silently without looking.

"Try to hold Tarnil as still as you can. The Temple will do all that they can for him. I give you my word."

After a nod from the distraught parent, Drage turned around. His heart cried in sympathy for him. Though he had never had children of his own, he knew all too well the sorrow and plight of watching kin suffer.

He pulled his Halbaxe from its loop and laid it ready across his lap, one hand in a loose grip. As the creeks and jostling of the wagon increased with the speed of the reluctant horse, Drage raised a silent voice to the Heavens as he prayed.

[Ouroboros]

The slums gave way to the new ward, where the road was still dirt, but cobblestone sidewalks lined the street for those on foot and the buildings were meant to be permanent. Further still the city got older and the street gained well worn paving stones, only occasionally marred by a pothole where stone was missing. The buildings here were older, and, as they approached the Temple Square, in better repair. The horse's hooves rang on the stone loudly and kept the street ahead clear until they were within blocks of the temples when the drover was finally forced to slow the beast. The horse for its part was showing the strain of the endeavor, its sides heaving as it made the rest of the trip.

They entered the square but by then the crowds were too thick, and the cart and horse were slowed to a walk. The unnatural weather was prompting faith were none was usually to be found, and renewing that which had lapsed, a temporary thing, but it meant that the square was a thick throng of people coming and going, preaching into the open air, or begging for coin. The cart slowed until it stopped, the driver kept prodding the horse forward, but movement was limited and even yelled at the top of his voice half of the crowd paid no heed. Standing on the wagon seat Drage could see that they could need to go on foot through the crowd, and it was impossible to tell if the little girl Nan, had succeeded in getting word to the temple.

Physical Challenge!

I want to run getting through the crowd as a challenge (Hero's Handbook, chapter 8)

The DC for the test(s) will be 15 with the default skill check as Athletics (defaulting to STR as normal) to reprsent simply muscling through the crowd.

5 degrees of success to get through the square to the temple. Each roll equals 1 minute of time.

if you have a relevant skill you'd rather use for a higher bonus on rolls (e.g. Intimidation perhaps) you can use that if it makes sense (depending on how you RP it). Some traits may grant bonuses, see me about that.

[Adrian Moss]

The crowd was as oppressive as the heat. Even with their greater weight and that fact that there were three of them, making headway was a cast iron bitch. Finally, Suragygh had enough. He climbed up into a doorjam and had his nephew hold the crowd back as the older Ankassim spread his wings. Several powerful beats later, Suragygh began to take to the air. The extreme annoyance of his action was somewhat offset by the great breeze generated by the downbeats.

"Argotu, you and Mother keep making your way forward. I'm going to fly ahead and see and hear what's going on. If things start getting ugly, the two of you may need to go home."

His Mother looked far less than happy. His nephew looked down right pissed at being regulated to body-guarding his Grandmother. Sur had to hope they would stay safe as he wheeled and headed toward the temple center.

[Ira Sagebrush]

Challenge

[jameson] 8:57 am: you can propose cross matched skill+abilitiy pairings as well, and your advantages or powers may earn you a bonus, but those
are up to you to think of and suggest to me how they would help you
[Forge] 9:09 am: well, my thought process is this...athletics to start, its already str based, he's just gonna be shoving people out of the way, aiming
for balance points and try to use Assessment to go for the 'weakest' points in the crowd (those with less defense). All the while shouting in all the
languages he knows (which is most of them) for people to make way. Depending on rolls, he might switch over to close combat...still the same
modifier, but now he's using the flat of his halbaxe and just bashing his way through. Hopefully people would heed the violence and start clearing a
path from the lunatic paladin.
[jameson] 9:11 am: make a roll for Assessment please
[jameson] 9:11 am: Insight
Forge *rolls* 1d20: 13+4: 17
[jameson] 9:12 am: k I'll grant a +2 circumstance bonus to your rolls for that
[Forge] 9:12 am: groovy
[jameson] 9:13 am: pretty much everybody in town knows common but I
[jameson] 9:13 am: I'll give you another cicumstance bonus for the first roll only of +2 since it'll be weird hearing somebody yelling about like that
[Forge] 9:13 am: it grabs attention if nothing else
[jameson] 9:14 am: exactly
[Forge] 9:14 am: so +4 on the first roll?
[jameson] 9:14 am: over and above your skill bonus, yes
Forge *rolls* 1d20: 13+5+4: 22
[Forge] 9:15 am: so close to 3
[jameson] 9:15 am: 2 degrees of sux
[Forge] 9:15 am: yup
[jameson] 9:15 am: now you just have a +2 on top of your bonus
Forge *rolls* 1d20: 11+5+2: 18
[jameson] 9:16 am: 1, 3 total, 2 minutes
[Forge] 9:18 am: there needs to be a 'Command' power
[Forge] 9:18 am: no advantage I can see to use a HP on either
Forge *rolls* 1d20: 10+5+2: 17
[jameson] 9:19 am: well you can use a HP to improve a roll
[Forge] 9:19 am: I could up my circumstance mod to +5
[jameson] 9:19 am: also possible
[jameson] 9:20 am: that roll gets you 1 more, 4 total, 3 minutes
[jameson] 9:20 am: unless you use a HP to reroll it
[Adrian Moss] 9:20 am: Flying to temple center.
[Forge] 9:21 am: he's been successful enough, he's keeping with athletics, gonna use a HP to improve the circumstance mod to +5, small group of
kids, or something easy to get through
[jameson] 9:22 am: k
[Forge] 9:22 am: /1d20+5+5
[Forge] 9:22 am: Warning ! Only IRC subset can be used (Type /? or /help for list of IRC commands)
Forge *rolls* 1d20: 8+5+5: 18
[Forge] 9:22 am: well, its a success at least
[jameson] 9:23 am: that's it, 5 degrees in 4 minuutes
[Forge] 9:23 am: not the best, not the worst
[jameson] 9:23 am: since you only needed 1 more degree of sux you could also have routine checked that last one
[Forge] 9:23 am: do you need the dice rolls in the post?
[jameson] 9:24 am: oh wait .. no, nevermind you couldn't have
[Forge] 9:24 am: true
[Forge] 9:24 am: I couldn't?
[jameson] 9:24 am: not without skill mastery
[Forge] 9:24 am: ah ok
[jameson] 9:24 am: routine checks only apply in -non-stressful- situations
[Forge] 9:24 am: because its stressful
[Forge] 9:24 am: yup

Drage growled in frustration as they came to a halt. Wasting no time, he hopped down and made his way around to the back of the cart. "Branil, it will be by foot from here. The crowd is too thick to wedge the cart through quickly. Stay close and the Light will show us the way."

The Muthay nodded, carefully handing Tarnil down to Drage while he got down from the cart himself. Drage quickly put the Halbaxe in its loop when it was apparent he was going to take the boy. He carefully cradled the small boy in his arms, apprehension flooding his thoughts as he felt the unnatural coolness of Tarnil's body. The coolness was a welcome respite, but not in the fashion that Drage would have it, and when Branil was ready, he eagerly handed the boy back.

Drage turned and found his goal, the Temple of the Light, then he looked to the crowd as his foe. Together, in a mass, they were like a giant viscous enemy. They would have strong points, impenetrable, well protected or armored-like areas, but they would also have weak spots. Chinks in the armor, an exposed joint or patch of thin skin. All he needed to do was follow the weak areas and avoid the strong and he could pass through the crowd quickly.

There!

A trio of guards were making their way through the crowd, their towering pikes giving sign for the crowd to shuffle out of the way. In a moment they would pass near and he could use the moving pocket of space to make a decent amount of headway.

Through his training as a Twin's Knight, and through his foray's as a diplomatic envoy so many years ago, he had learned many of the tongues that Iannin had grown. A skill he was appreciating as he let out in all of them. Apologizing as he muscled his way through, he began shouting out for people to make way. People didn't have much of a real chance to oblige, but he was garnering attention and people were looking his way, taking a step back and making it easier as he shoved through.

He continued to advance, always looking for the weakness in the mob-creature. Whether it be an older couple ahead of him, an odd empty space off to his left, or a hawker who had set up a small stand that people seemed to be avoiding.

He continued to pray, but he was worried about the lack of heat from the boy.

I hope it not be too late.

Just when it seemed as though the trio would be free and clear, two beggars moved to intercept them, probably with intent to pickpocket. Drage was not in the mood however, and took a three-step lunge, dropped his shoulder and bowled them over.

He picked himself up, disentangling himself from the clothing of the panhandler and with a muttered apology, escorted Branil and Tarnil towards the Temple. Panting from his effort.

Knowing my luck, they be the Twins in disguise and I'll be plagued with bitemes.

He made sure to throw his Halbaxe through its loop before he threw open the large carved wooden doors to the Temple of the Light and bellowed out a cry for assistance.

[Ouroboros]

Suragygh easily crossed the distance from the family home to the temple square, in the are there was nothing to slow him down, and he could fly an almost straight line path over most of the city's building. He found the square packed full of people going in and out of the temples and around the square itself. Circling the Temple of the Winds he looked down at the square itself and saw that it was fairly well packed, beyond even that seen on feast days and holy days. A figure caught his eye, a dark skinned and squat figure, shoving and forcing his way through the crowd, other figure following in the wake he created. They were beating a slow and steady path to the Temple of the Light. Suragygh swooped down and saw that the lead figure appeared to be a murg; supposedly extinct, their race was believed to have been wiped from Iannin by the Horde. The murg bowled over a pair of beggars and with the muthay behind him quickly mounted the stairs in front of the Temple of the Light bellowing for help, calling for the clerics to come.

The Temple of Tal and Len, the Light, sat opposite the Temple of the Winds. Where the Winds was a tall structure reaching hundreds of feet into the sky above Bib'ney the Light was squat by comparison. The temple was narrow and deep, composed of two large domes with a vast open garden in the center. The worship of the Light was done under open air, in view of the sky, and as such over half of the footprint of the temple was contained by the open air gardens; only the clerics retreat at the rear, and the petitioners hostel in the front were fully enclosed structures. The hostel's dome was supported by a ring of columns, and within walls of screens broke up the vast space into smaller areas for the clerics to see people needing healing, or those seeking blessings, and other uses. The natural light of the Twins flooded in under the dome as well as through the aperture at the top of the building.

Prompted by Drage's bellows for help, clerics rushed out toward the entrance. In typical fashion the clerics wore robes of blue and red in various proportion. A pair immediately rushed to the murg. Brother Gral and Brother Xax were thayim, deeply tanned, though one had hair as black as night itself and the other hair nearly white it was so blond. The pair were familiar to Drage, both were gifted healers, using both the blessings of the Light and mortal means. "What has happened?" one asked at the same time as the other queried, "Whom is injured?"

[Adrian Moss]

It might be nothing, he thought, or maybe it is more. Either way, why a Murg of all people would be bowling over beggars in the Temple Square was worthy of notice. Suragygh turned blythely in the air and came down. Only as the sudden breeze died down did he realize that the Murg must be one of the faithful. Instead of looking at the priests, their charge, or the Murg, the Ankassim kept his eyes looking behind them. The charge up the stairs must have incited ill-feelings. There was no call for any of the people on the stairs to be careful yet.

Keeping his eyes steady, he said to the priests,

"Is there anything I can do here?"

He counted on his familiarity to the priests to give him some leeway in his abrupt approach.

[Ira Sagebrush]

Prompted by Drage's bellows for help, clerics rushed out toward the entrance. In typical fashion the clerics wore robes of blue and red in various proportion. A pair immediately rushed to the murg. Brother Gral and Brother Xax were thayim, deeply tanned, though one had hair as black as night itself and the other hair nearly white it was so blond. The pair were familiar to Drage, both were gifted healers, using both the blessings of the Light and mortal means. "What has happened?" one asked at the same time as the other queried, "Whom is injured?"

Drage panted, "The boy...somethin' in 'im...Sanare...bad...Father has jewel."

He took a large breath, breathing in slowly, but still couldn't take his hand off the door he was leaning against. So he gestured with his other hand towards Branil and Tarnil and waved off assistance when a cleric headed towards him, "The boy, the boy. See to the boy."

With the whoosh of air of the landing Kassim, Drage glanced back outside.

Keeping his eyes steady, he said to the priests,

"Is there anything I can do here?"

"Your wings may be needed, good Kassim. I seen not a wound such as this before and even the Light may need Za'thaya's help this day. With the crowds as they are..."

Why is there a crowd? Not be a holy day...?

"...your speed would be invaluable."

[Adrian Moss]

'Wound?'

"Brother (hoping he was a Brother in the Twins), what do you suggest? The boy is in the best hands in the city, but is there someone you need fetched here?"

The dictum was that even when you didn't know what was going on, or knew what to do, you acted like did. Certainty drew upon itself courage and calm. People beneath him were worried, curious, and unsettled. Chaos on the Temple steps wouldn't help anything, nor would a continued combative stance. Instead, Suragygh stood tall and held out his wings in an (hopefully) impressive display.

Leadership

Take 10 so 10 + 6 = 16

To the first couple to dare approach, he beckoned them openly.

"Approach, everything is just fine. Let's be orderly about this and everyone will be see today."

Louder, he added, "For those of us who must wait, our time would not be wasted in prayer. Let each of us take a moment so that the symphony of our voices be taken heavenward as one great devotion. Together now, we all know the words."

Suragygh lowered his head slightly (but keeping an eye on the crowd) and raised his hands up.

"Hear our call, Twins Divine ..."

[Ouroboros]

The two Brothers quickly set to work tending the child. Gral hissed and pulled his hand back from the boy's head, "He is as cold as the grave, and yet Lord Siponak has not yet drawn life from his body."

Xax nodded, "This bodes ill. Come, we must take him into the garden where the Light may shine upon him." Looking at the boy's father he said, "We will do all we can for him. Please, how did he come to be like this?"

The boy's father carried him in the Brothers' wake and explained his story again. The three moving toward the other end of the dome and out into the sunlit garden at the center of the temple. "Here, place him on the grass," Gral bade the father. He turned to Drage as Xax knelt down next to the and examined the strange wound. "You said you fed him sanare and he reacted poorly?" The murg nodded, "Hmm, it is good that you brought him here, but I fear that this may be beyond our ability." He looked down at the boy and Xax looked up and nodded, "You must go to the market district. There is an Anupan who owns a shop there. His name is Ausar. His specialty may help us to save this boy, if the Light wills him to be saved." Gral looked to Suragygh, "Friend Kassim, will you carry Drage here to the market and help him locate Ausar and bring him here?"

[Adrian Moss]

"Nar-Suragygh," the Ankassim said in the way of an introduction. If they had the time, he would have said more. It was only proper. In a sane world, proper fled in the face of a young boy's life.

"Drage, is it? Let's go this way, it will be quicker."

He led out another passageway and back around to a less crowded corner of the Square. The Ankassim was using his bulk and height to give weight to their urgency. When they were clear of the Square, Suragygh began talking.

"I don't know this Anupan personally. I've never had the need of him, nor any real idea what he does. I hope he can help, though."

After a minute, "We should be there soon."

He wanted to ask the Murg so many questions but the time was hardly conducive to such things. Instead he kept his eyes on the mission at hand. What the Brothers had told him was disturbing. A malady beyond their reach to cure? To strike a boy so young seemed unfair.

"Were did you find the boy?" he asked. "Was he the only case of ... whatever this sickness is?"

[Ira Sagebrush]

Drage suffered exciting the square on foot, but then his urgency got the better of his tongue. He pointed to the Kassim's wings, nearly touching one, "Yer a big boy, you mind carryin' me? My legs are short and there's a lot of buildings in the way. I'd hate to have that on my conscience..."

"As to the boy, his father approached us on the road in from a farm. It seems to have come from some jewel they found. Dug right into him...the boy that is. Anupans seem to have command over Siponak's dealin's, let's hope Ausar is in his good graces this day."

[Adrian Moss]

"Hmph ... I didn't want to offend your dignity by offering. Funny how some people feel about such things. Come here, back facing me."

When the Murg was in position, Suragygh grabbed him tightly under both arms and started flapping his wings. The upward progress was, at first, slow and clumsy, barely taking them off the ground. The Ankassim kept beating his wings strongly and with more vigor. He fought against the stagnant air and kept rising. The warrior knew he was indeed mighty and would not fail for lack of muscle.

Ten flaps took them to the shoulder level of the onlookers. Five more took them so they could both see clearly down the street. On the twentieth stroke, they were above the roof eves and making forward progress at last.

"That was the easy part," the Ankassim spoke to the comparatively child-sized Murg in his arms

Now it was flap and coast, flap and coast. A massive twenty-five foot wingspan spread a momentary welcomed shade for those they passed over.

"The thing most people forget is that the most important part of flying is slowing down. Too fast an approach, and you make a fool ... and a mess, of yourself."

Their destination was fast approaching and it was time for Suragygh to find a place to put down.

"You will probably have to go in alone. I'm not sure if the domicile is sized for someone of my stature, so I'll be waiting outside for you."

[Ira Sagebrush]

"Fair Kassim, I left my dignity on the battlefield." Drage said, letting himself be carried.

The wonders of flight still made him nervous, a Murg was not meant to be off the nice firm ground, but the rush of air against his face and the openness of the world around him & the sky above was thrilling. Perhaps under different cirumstances, he would have enjoyed the journey more, but he couldn't let his mind drift from the boy and the images of him rejecting the Sanare.

"Nor is this the first time I have been carried, or dropped. It be no different that leaping from a Lenai at full speed as you try to tackle a Keyai Cock. They say that the Dark did make our skin black so it not show injury...I think I can take a bit of a tumble. There be a haywagon up a bit, aim to drop me there, if I'm too much to land with." Drage said.

"It shouldn't take long to find the lich and get an answer." Drage said, his mind clouded with thoughts and memories.

Did I just say that out loud? Get your wits about you! Not all ears are welcome to such things, and certainly not the man you be lookin' for!

"If he is willing, carry him back to the Temple, I will make my way on foot as I am able."

[Adrian Moss]

"HA! A foul man is a burden, but a fair one is half his weight is our saying. Dropping you isn't a problem. When you are free and safely down, I'll circle around and land myself. Hmmm ... okay, I'll make a controlled crash. Afterwards I'll bare you both up to a roof and take off from there. These claws may not be weapons, but they are excellent climbing tools."

If he cared one way or another about the 'lich' comment, Suragygh gave no sign.

He banked one way, then another.

"I don't know this part of the city like I should. I think we are on the right track though."

[Ouroboros]

The temples gave way to homes and tenements, some were dilapidated, and others were verging on stately manor homes within small walled in compounds. The homes finally gave way to the market district, a mix of narrow alleys, wide streets lined with businesses, and market squares full of pushcarts and kiosk stalls. Drage and Suragygh could see that instead of the usual busy hustle and bustle, the cries of hawkers yelling out their goods and deals, the markets were nearly quiet, the streets were sparsely occupied instead of being a press of busy shoppers. The heat, and the lack of trade, was killing the markets as it was the warehouses, and the port; slowly the city was starving.

From the air Drage could barely navigate, but since he wasn't in control he opted to stay quiet and let the Kassim find the shop. Brother Gral had said that it was on an alley known as the Skulls that connected to the large Bronze Market. They located the market and landed easily, business really was poor for the shopkeepers and other merchants, the market was only half full, and of those most were picking over the scant produce available from the island's interior. The Skulls was easy enough to locate, the alley looked like a dark chasm situated between a bookstore and a cartographer, and marked with a pair of lamp posts topped with skulls that burned with eldritch flames. They moved into the alley, which was perhaps wide enough for three Thayim to walk abreast. Halfway down they found the shop Gral had described to them.

The building was a tall, narrow affair of old stone. The first floor was double high, as many buildings in the market district were, the better to cater to full variety of Iannin's inhabitants, and especially because of the long history of Kassim settlement within Bib'ney. From the outside the shop was plain, the only sign was a simple one on the door that read "Ausar, Sorcerous Council for Hire". Inside, the shop was similarly dim, lit by candles that were either brand new or, more likely, enchanted to burn endlessly. Row upon row of bookcases and shelving filled the space creating a labyrinth of occult paraphernalia and texts.

Visible beyond the shelves and books at the back of the shop was a desk large enough to lay a man out on. The top appeared to be a single slab of onyxiron, and the corners were supported by four gargoyles that seemed not entirely inanimate, always appearing to have shifted slightly each time the eye left them. Behind the desk a skeletal figure sat in a chair and studied a tome open before it. The darkness at the back of the store shadowed any further detail from their vantage point at the door.

entering the shop

At the back is a desk where a skeletal figure sits. Feel free to catch yourselves up. There is all manner of occult/sorcerous material around if you wish to embellish your posts. I'll pick up again tomorrow after you guys have a chance to make your way to the back.

[Adrian Moss]

You could rarely go wrong by nodded to a being in his own house, his Father had taught him. Despite the place giving Suragygh a chill on this hot day, the Ankassim was wise enough to accept that the supernatural was ever present in the World. That didn't mean he had to like it every time he came across it.

"Master Ausar, we would appreciate a moment of your time. There is an urgent matter at the temple. My ... companion has come across a strange affliction. The victim of this 'thing' is at the Temple of the Twins and you are needed there post-haste if the boy is to live."

Looking to Drage,

"Me thinks that you can give the Master here some idea of what he may face, as I barely saw the youth."

[Ira Sagebrush]

Drage appreciated the feel of solid ground, but immediately he longed to feel the rush of wind again. There was a silence up there that was peaceful. The closest he could compare it to was the feel of riding a Lenai at full sprint across the Rain Lakes of the Mire. This made him think of his lost bond, and he absently wiped his thumb across the golden garnet that stood in the place of his eye.

No use beatin' yourself up about it, it be the past.

Taking a deep breath, he had entered the alley and its skull-sconced entry, a shiver running down his spine as he gazed at them.

How he maintains a custom, be a question Wulkyn would scratch his head at.

The approach to the storefront was mercifully quiet & 'undecorated' and Drage ate the ground quickly, despite his stature. Not knowing what to expect in the shop, he strengthened his resolve and pushed the door open, which swung wide easily, so much so that Drage had to catch it in fear that he would knock something over.

When he saw the figure in the back, it made Drage's lip curl slightly. He wasn't fond of the liches, despite what they had done for Iannin. To deal with Death was to deal with the Dark. As far as he was concerned they were walkin' the line of the abyss into Chaos. They looked the part too. They weren't much better than the walking corpses he had fought against. More than one Anupan had taken a mis-aimed arrow in the night battles, at least until they had started marking themselves and taking to staying to the rear of formations.

It's for the boy, the clerics say he can help.

Drage let Sur close the door and glanced about the room, one hand resting on his Halbaxe. The room was well organized, or at least appeared to be. Many things in the room were foreign to his skills, but he did recognize various inks and needles and components that related to Pattern Magic, or Engraving, as the Murg had called it and they seemed in order.

Not too much call for that these days.

His eyes glossed over much of what else remained and he tried not to breathe too deeply, pungant smells assaulted him as he started to walk towards the back of the shop. A couple things jumped out at him, plants from the Mire he thought he might not ever see again stood in pots. The sight surprised him more than anything, as he wondered how they could have possibly come to be so far away here on Ki'ninay.

He peeled his eyes away once again and finished his route back to the skeletal figure that seemed to be pouring over a quaint and curious tome of forgotten lore, the silhouette of a raven emblazened on the page.

He opened his mouth to talk, but Sur, a seemingly hasty Kassim, lent his voice to the quiet shop first. Drage waited, then answered, "What he says is true. The clerics at the Twins Temple send to come ask for your assistance. There is a boy whose body will not take Sanare; that is as cold as Siponak's arse. Something from a jewel looks to have mined into him. There is little time, will you come?" Drage beseeched.

[Ouroboros]

The figure looked up at them, as they spoke, and close now the light did not obscure the figure as accent its appearance. A robe of deep scarlet that bled to purple along the edges where it was adorned with glyphs in gold thread swathed its figure, leaving a suggestion of its true gauntness. The hands that protruded from the voluminous sleeves, and the head that became fully visible as the cowl slid back when it looked up, however, told the full tale. Drage's opinion of the Anupans was colored by his experience, and though they were nothing like the Horde, it was easy for prejudice to lump like with like through even the most tenuous of similarities. No flesh obscured the aged ivory of bone on hands or skull. The Anupan was almost meticulously clean, the bones seeming smooth though there was clearly a texture there. This close the two could see intricate sigils, runes, and glyphs that were painted, or carved, and even inlaid into the bone of the Anupan, all carrying some mystic link, some fraction of the power that animated the body, and bound the soul to its dead bones. In its own way the Anupan was beautiful and hideous all at the same instant.

It spoke, though the jaw never moved, and long gone were lungs and larynx. "I am not the one you seek." It's voice was resonant sounding as though it spoke from down a great corridor that echoed; a decidedly female voice, that carried an intimation of the power that allowed it to be. It considered the two, and they noticed for the first time the odd glow within the otherwise dark eye sockets, a blue that seemed to deepen at the center until it was very nearly black. A skeletal hand deftly placed a black ribbon into the tome on the desk and closed the book. Rising the figure asked, "Whom may I ask is calling upon my father?"

[Ira Sagebrush]

Drage jumped in surprise, "Flaming Twin's titties!"

He had not expected a servant, let alone a reanimated skeleton, and especially not one that was apparently Ausar's daughter. Drage let his Halbaxe slide back into the loop from where his hand had reflexively begun to draw it. He took another deep breath, something that had become a common occurrence on this fetching.

"No." Drage said, shaking his head.

*cringe* Fer cryin' out loud, watch your tongue.

"My apologies, fair, uh...lady. I am Drage, and this is Nar-Suragygh. We have urgent business with...your Father."

Stay the trail, Drage, stay the trail.

[Ouroboros]

The skeletal woman stared at Drage for a moment, her expression, such as it was, completely unreadable. Her head, skull, whatever, bowed slightly in ascent, and she glided out of the room and up a set of stairs to the second floor, the red and purple robe flowing around the skeleton beneath like a shroud caught in an unearthly wind. The pair could hear voices trailing down from the stairwell, but were unable to make out anything clearly. Standing alone in the shop felt no less unnerving than it was when the skeleton, the woman, Ausar's daughter, had sat behind the desk like some kind of spectral greeter. Drage found himself turning back toward the desk and glanced down at the gargoyle supporting the corner closest to him, it now appeared to me making a face at him.

The undead woman returned, "My father says that he is busy, and as your names are not known to him, and you have not made an appointment to call on him he says he cannot meet with you at this time. Would you like to set up a future consultation?" Drage could not be sure given the woman's unchanging skull, but he detected a hint of satisfaction from her posture and her voice.

[Ira Sagebrush]

Drage was just drawing his foot back to kick the gargoyle when the 'woman' returned.

Had Drage's face been any other color, the red wave of anger would have been apparent, but even so he stammered in disbelief as he tried to find the appropriate words, "A-ap-appointment!? HE'S BUSY?!!!"

Drage finished his kick then, too angry to wince when his foot impacted the furniture-creature. The pain only fueled his frustration and he began to shout up towards the stairs, "A BOY IS DYING! CAN YA CARE BOUT THE LIVIN' AS MUCH YER ROTTIN' SELVES FOR A MINUTE?!!"

Drage moved to head for the stairs, but Sur caught his arm, which finally gave him pause and he quieted down, at least for the moment.

Light-damned liches.

If this isn't ok and Sur would have let him rage, I will edit.

[Adrian Moss]

'Don't let him go ... yet,' Suragygh thought.

"It is true we are unknown, but I assure you our business is most pressing, literally life and death. This is a free port and he is certainly to keep his own council and do as he wishes."

Now he let's go of of Drage.

"What we ask may be of little import to your Father, but is crucial to us. Would you have him gain ill will where it is not necessary? Everything works in a three-fold manner, thus giving his indulgence in our impromptu request gains him the favor of two beings of Honor, plus the life of a third. I can promise you, given your Father enough time to learn of us, he will know he has made a good investment of his precious time."

He puts his hands together in front of him, fingers interlaced.

"Please bear my words to him."

[Ouroboros]

The Anupan woman stared back, apparently unmoved by their protests and pleas. She moved to a bookcase behind the desk a drew out a ledger, and ink well, and a quill. Opening the ledger the Honored Dead looked at them, "Perhaps in two days, after the mid?" Drage spluttered and Suragygh looked ready to give some other reply appealing to her better nature. "My father knows as well as any that death is a natural part of life. The clerics of Tal and Len are known to him as capable healers of the sick. My father is not a healer. It is not within his power to forestall Wylkyn's plan, nor to hold back Siponak's touch, unless your client wishes to become one of the Servile Dead perhaps?" At their looks she shrugged, it appearing strange given her form, "Then there is little that father could do that the Clerics could not, and much that they are able that he is not. If this child is sick he needs healers, and those at the Temple of the Light are well suited to that task." She leaned forward, "And you would do well Mire dweller, to show respect. Some may not be as forgiving and patient as others."

[Adrian Moss]

"This is not a matter of Healing, but a matter of Death. It appears to be a new form and unexplained form of dealing Death. Wouldn't that interest your Master? If the boy does perish, he will miss this opportunity to see how this magic works. I thought Anupan were devoted to their knowledge of Death in all its form, but it appears as if I am mistaken. We have come to the wrong place."

He looks to Drage,

"It matters not. Once the boy dies, we will destroy this artifact so that, whatever it is, it will never kill another. Let's go."

Suragygh turns to go, shoulders held high in contempt.

[Ira Sagebrush]

Drage stood his ground, his fists clenching and unclenching as Sur turned to leave.

I will not leave it as this.

Around clenched teeth, the Murg tried to 'temper temper' and began his bargain, calling up the stairs and all but ignoring the puppet, "If you will not donate your services, good Master...Perhaps we can employ you. Your sign posts, 'Ausar, Sorcerous Council for Hire'. Name your price for your immediate services."