[Game Thread] Part I • Chapter 2: A Dangerous Business

[AwesomeEllie]

Emak the Meek and Guythraxix the Hungry Emak was almost stunned enough to lose the beat of her song as she saw more mammals scattering away from the masked demon, the one creature that her anger was having trouble tearing limb from limb, but any stumbling that might have occurred was ensured as the creature struck again, a tentative swipe going wide while its other hand caught her in the ribs, blowing her to the side and into the ground. The only sounds that remained in her wake were whispered somethings from the tome that, even unconscious and bleeding, she still clutched in her hand. When she came back to, she was unsure how long exactly she had been down but was met with the continuation of the same struggle that had put her on the dirt to begin with, this time with two more sets of feet stamping back and forth near her. The magic coiling around her body, knitting together some of her lacerations and stinging at the burn across her face, was at least something she had experienced before, but the second tail that curled and lashed as she blinked her way to sight was peculiar, unusual, and not altogether appealing. Another few grains of sand on the vast pile that sat on her chest, trying to squeeze her breath out of her, and then more as Kerr moved to check her wounds or something, laid low where she was. And all of it was just too much, too suffocating and somehow all worse for how she had been so close to truly venting out her emotions in her song cut short. Before, her anger had been channeled, focused into beats and melody and a hook, but it had all been so... pointless. So empty and futile and she wasn't sure it would have made much of a difference if she had, when the demons first came at them, simply rolled off the back of her log and laid out on the ground to watch the world and the fight go by, much as she was doing right now. But that royally pissed her off too, to feel that not only her emotions but all that she had grown up learning and studying were somehow invalid too. If that was the case, why bother, what was the point? It was the weighty book in hand that provided her an answer, rumbling voice heavy with his own fury - fury for her. "Strike." Lash out. Eschew even the violent niceties, and let what happens, happen. "Now!" So what if Emak could hardly trust herself, she always put full faith in Guythraxix, which for the moment was enough to push her into the depths of her ancestral violence, sword be damned. Civilized song imbued with arcane power hadn't done the job, so why bother trusting civilized steel. Emak rolled up to her feet, crouched and spring-loaded to carry the motion up and forward, launching herself at the remaining demon. She threw her hand that held Guythraxix around, catching the back of the demon's neck, while the other hand grabbed under the human-enough shoulder, her feet kicking at stomach and tails wheeling for balance, but it all bought her the one instant she needed to pull herself in, below the demon's throat. Her maw stretched wide, revealing flashing, curved fangs, that snapped shut on to whatever mock-throat the creature had, tearing into flesh and sinew and cartridge as Emak fell back and to the ground, landing on her feet before twisting her head down and to the side, tearing free her prize and dropping the demon dead at her feet. It was only after a silent, focused beat that she spat out the mouthful of gore, looking just slightly more revitalized, before stooping to hook her free hand's claws underneath the bottom of the mask and yanking it up and off, a memento to take with her as she turned to move back to her seat, either not noticing or not caring about the blood that now coated her from her lips down.

 

Emak the Meek Emak the Meek HP: 31/54, 20 Temp AC/PD/MD: 18/16/17 Recoveries: 6/8 (4d8+2) Battlecries Hang Tough! (temp hp) Pull it Together! (2/2 per battle, recovery) Take Heart! (early end condition) Spells and Songs At-Will: Battle Chant (L3, attack at range with battlecries), Crescendo (close range escape attack) Recharge: Vicious Mockery (damage and damaging debuff), Song of Heroes (Attack bonus and save bonus for everyone) Daily: Charm Person (duh), Song of Thunder (song for many attacks) Expendables: Healing Potion (1) Nat 20 Voucher, Redeem At Cashier's (1) Guythraxix's battle leadership (1/day) Frenzy (1/battle) Effects: Circlet of Approachability (looks as if she belongs here)

 

Actions Reactive: Braz's recovery Dice HP healed: 4d8+2 (1, 2, 8, 2)+2 Total = 15 Quick: Frenzy, lizardfolk's racial ability. Designating half her attacks at the masked demon. Dice Attack (+6 base +4 level +1 escalation die), Damage (4d6, 4 self-damage on miss): 1d20+11sch23 (15)+11 ✔ Total = 26 4d6 6, 1, 3, 1 Total = 11 Standard: Rally Dice More healing!: 4d8+2 (3, 2, 7, 2)+2 Total = 16 Move: Take demon's mask, begin walking away

[Aethera]

The darkness ringing the roaring campfire was pushed back by the too-bright lightning gathered in the hands of the sorcerer. In the last combat he had been startled and fighting for his life against something that did not belong in reality. Demons, however, were a known entity, and this time Telephus was going to show them his power. When he opened his eyes and sent the lightning flying toward the masked demon, the crack of thunder witnessed the demon staggering backwards, visibly injured this time for whatever reason that the magical lightning may have affected it differently. The fork of lightning that split toward the injured lava monster roared straight through it, the magma it was made from cooling instantly into simple rock that shattered with the force of the lightning bolt. The sharp smell of ozone dissipated quickly in the open plains, but noses burned for a moment afterward, a reminder of the explosive spell and proof positive their former captive would be an asset to the team.

Bazziox's tie to the flow of time brings him the opportunities he needs to both heal and defend the fallen lizardwoman, even if he falters a bit at a critical moment. He can try not to chide himself, at least, because Emak woke within seconds and started to move, her wounds closing as the dragonborn's magic worked in her. The monk charged the monster that had knocked out his friend, making it snarl when his foot connected to the same center-body point just struck by lightning. Even with the mask not truly the demon's face, the clothing and expression all looked harried now, and more than a little charred. Kerr reached Emak's side as she woke, definitely looking the worse for the wear, and the paladin busied himself bandaging any of her injuries not fully healed when the rejuvenating magic petered out. The gnome's addition to Emak's survival reached both the bard and the paladin at her side. For all her tail seemed to become two instead of one, the energy burst she received was good. It was precisely what she needed, in fact.

Interrupting her rage only made the bard angrier, and with new complaints to level at the world, there was one in particular she wasn't ready to leave to fate. Lizardfolk may be part of the civilized empire now, but long ago it had not been so. That primal instinct drove her to leap at the demon, who clearly was not expecting a physical attack from the spellcaster. Their battle ended in blood and gore as Emak tore the throat out of the demon masquerading as a nobleman. Her Recharge 6+. This painted mask animates and blends with your face. When you fail a Charisma skill check, reroll it and take the better result. Quirk: Has stage fright.trophy, the mask, lost its expression as soon as she removed it from the fallen demon, becoming a pure white. With her back turned to the corpse, silence retook the campsite once more. That had been a particularly vengeful combat, and Emak's anger was not entirely sated, but it would do. Taking out the masked demon was a personal win for the bard.

Out of nowhere, lightning struck the ground in front of Emak as she was returning to where she had been settling down to sleep for the night. The light was bright enough to burn the afterimage into everyone's vision for a moment, but once that faded, in the depression of slightly burnt earth where the lightning had struck lay a book... or Seared Book (recharge 11+): It’s hard to tell that this lump of charred and ruined paper was ever actually a book, but that doesn’t stop you reading it obsessively, trying to find wisdom in the burnt, acid-scarred pages. When an enemy is slain by an acid attack – you don’t have to be the one who actually delivers the killing blow, you just need to witness it – you may either take an extra move action in your next turn, or learn one secret held by that enemy related to personal matters, or to politics, intrigue or crime. The answer appears in the pages of the seared book. Think of it as a forced final confession, or a strange variation on a speak with dead ritual that uses acid as a medium. When an enemy is slain by a lightning attack, you may either immediately cast an at-will spell as a free action, or learn one secret held by that enemy relating to arcane or spiritual matters. When an enemy is slain by a fire attack, you may either take an extra standard action in your next turn or learn one secret held by that fallen enemy related to practical matters (anything not covered by the other two). Quirk: Drawn to ruined places and ancient battlefields.what was left of a book. Whether it had been seared by the lightning arrival method or was just that old was hard to tell at first glance. But Emak had earned the notice of her patron during that fight, that much was clear.

GM Well done, all of you! Combat over. Bazziox and Kerr each get a white token for sticking to their character whether it was the ideal strategy or not, and one for Emak for some epic level RP in there. The escalation die applies to your attack rolls, not your damage rolls. Just want to make sure that's clear. I think there's some interpersonal topics that may need to be worked out, but I'm writing your dream sequences next, so if you all want to just crash for the night, I can get those posted as soon as I have them written. Waking will be the start of Chapter Three, but some dream activity RP is fair game, especially since it's going to take me some time to get Chapter Three posted what with my plan to write seven different dream sequence posts now. You may all take an incremental advance for completing the chapter, there are details in the Characters thread.

 

Characters	Hit Points	AC (PD / MD)	Recoveries	Tokens	Icons	Conditions
Telephus	48 / 48	15 (16 / 14)	4d6+26 / 8	W	Elf Queen5	Shield cast at level 4 if hit AC under 75% health (36) or crit, force reroll attack with +2 AC, must accept new resultAegis, Familiar ability, bites first enemy to hit Tel with melee attack for 4d4 damage.Counter-bite
Kerr	60 / 60	24 (16 / 17)	4d10+2 (Strong Recovery)9 / 9	WW	Diabolist5	Ring of Defense, prevent 10 damage IF the attack does seven or moreRT 7
Bazziox	60 / 60	22 (17 / 17)	4d8+38 / 8	WW	-	nil
Scabb	25 / 49	22* (17 / 17)	4d8+18 / 9	W	-	nil
Emak	31 / 54	18 (16 / 17)	4d8+26 / 8	WW	The Three6,Wyrm cursed2	nil
Breeze	42 / 42	15 (15 / 16)	4d6+18 / 8	WW	-	Ring of Defense, prevent 10 damage IF the attack does seven or moreRT 7
Maelona	52 / 52	20 (Resist all 12+16 / 17)	4d8+18 / 8	-	-	nil

Enemy	#	AC (PD / MD)	Damage	Conditions
Masked Demon		23 (17 / 21)	108	dead
Soldier Demon	0	23 (20 / 21)	30	dead
Frenzy Demon, Lesser		20 (16 / 15)	76	dead
Cambion Dirk(s)	0	20 (18 / 14)	0	all dead
Dretch(es)	0	17 (15 / 11)	0	all dead

[AwesomeEllie]

Emak the Meek and Guythraxix the Hungry As Emak slipped away, she barely flinched at the lightning bolt that found its home before her, only slowing to stoop low and scoop up the precious gift that had suddenly been bestowed upon her. After a moment, she shifted Guythraxix back into his sling and took her newer, smaller, much more worse for wear tome into her now-empty hand, stepping over the log and silently sitting down, once more gazing into the night. Before she could properly settle into her deflated brooding though, a sharp sting across her face reminded her of the remnants of the injury there, much more alarming to Emak than the gash in her side that still oozed blood. The hand that held her trophy from the demon moved back, flicking the mask between fingers as she deftly yanked out the potion she had been given when this whole damnable mission had been slapped into her lap. Teeth that were still tinged pink found their way into the cork and allowed her to pull it out before she gritted her face and took the more direct, and unpleasant, approach for potion healing - applying it directly into the wound, to ensure it did not leave a scar. A scar across her face would have been its own mark of shame, and not one she would choose to live with, even as the magical fluid hissed and popped against the vulnerable burn line, drawing a pained growl from the bard. Thank The Three it seemed potent enough to get the job done, with even a little left over that she gulped down, but that didn't keep Emak from jabbing a crooked index finger into where the wound was, feeling for any changes in texture in the scales, even pulling out a small mirror from her pack to ensure that it looked 'right'. While the scales across her cheek looked fine and untouched, she could hardly recognize the hollow, angry, tired woman that stared back at her unblinking, but all the same she knew exactly who it was. Instead of wiping at the blood on her face or moving to change out of her outfit into something a little cleaner, she only tilted her hand, looking at the long mask she held. Somewhere along the way it had changed its form, elongating and narrowing away from that of the humanish face the demon had bore, and without a thought about it, Emak simply turned it around and donned it, checking the mirror once more. The mask, covering the upper half of her face, felt right. Like a well-worn lacquered mask that conformed perfectly to its owner's face. And as she watched it in the little mirror, the plain white mask began to swirl and shift with colors, pulsing through different patterns and hues, each complementing her natural beauty in one way or another. It looked nice, maybe even gorgeous, and it made Emak want to put her mirror away even faster than before, shoving the reflective thing and its ugly truths into her bag where she didn't have to look at it anymore. No. For the time being, and maybe for a long time, she didn't want to see it again. Instead, she would just... read. Reading sounded nice. Sounded like it could get her even just a little bit further away from here, if that were possible. And so she began to read, delicately prying open the singed pages of her newest, and now second favorite book, to see what secrets and other worlds it held. Anything to not be here, in the present.

 

Emak the Meek Emak the Meek HP: 53/54, 20 Temp AC/PD/MD: 18/16/17 Recoveries: 5/8 (4d8+2) Battlecries Hang Tough! (temp hp) Pull it Together! (2/2 per battle, recovery) Take Heart! (early end condition) Spells and Songs At-Will: Battle Chant (L3, attack at range with battlecries), Crescendo (close range escape attack) Recharge: Vicious Mockery (damage and damaging debuff, 11+), Song of Heroes (Attack bonus and save bonus for everyone, 11+) Daily: Charm Person (duh), Song of Thunder (song for many attacks) Expendables: Healing Potion (1) Nat 20 Voucher, Redeem At Cashier's (1) Guythraxix's battle leadership (Recharge 11+) Mask's Aura (Recharge 6+) Seared Book (Recharge 11+) Frenzy (1/battle) Effects: Circlet of Approachability (looks as if she belongs here)

 

Actions Drink a potion to heal the face Dice Healing, max 30: 5d8+2 (6, 6, 1, 5, 2)+2 Total = 22 Dice Minion recharge: 1d20sch11 4 ✘

[Grimbreath]

In the aftermath of the fight, the adrenaline that had been coursing through the group dissipated, and fatigue swept over them. Gradually the others had made their way back to their campsite. Those in the group who were uninjured had agreed to divide up the watch for the night, and those not on duty had settled in to rest. The night grew peaceful, and this far from civilization the myriad of stars seemed to fill the sky. Kerr had gained a grudging admiration for his travelling companions. The days on the road had been hard, but they'd all pressed on without complaint, despite the fact that he had taken them through less charted territories where pilgrims seldom traveled. And they had fought well; they had fought as a team, from the lightening-fast Scabbard of Iron to little Breeze, who definitely had a sharp edge beneath the chaotic exterior. Emak had again proved her worth, while despite their initial suspicions the newcomer Telephus had shown that he was both skilled in the arcane arts and, more importantly, on their side. Kerr glanced at Bazziox; while the Inquisitor remembered his primary mission -- to ensure that Bazziox did not stray from the path of the Light -- he found it increasingly difficult to think of the cleric as anything but noble. With that word in his mind, his gaze rested momentarily on Jolene ... Maelona. He grudgingly admitted that she had also fought bravely. Thinking back to his interactions with the "Imperial archer" he mentally chastised himself for not recognizing who and what she actually was. And the deception, the fact that he was a pawn in some greater game, brought the anger seething up again. His features hardened in a frown as he considered the seemingly merciless ways of fate.

[Roekahs]

Bazziox stands for long moments as the bodies of the crushed demons lie sizzling in the dark night. Emak scoops up the mask. Bazziox sees, but he does not react. He can see the mask is empty now. And Emak appears hale. Still the dragonborn stands, facing the blackness, his thoughts turbulent and dark as the night sky. The demons had found them, but how? It had not been an accident; the masked demon had clearly been searching for … well, something. And the face on the mask, definitely recognizable, but from where? Yet the darkness in Bazziox’s mind does not simply revolve around unanswered questions. Emak had fallen. The second skirmish they have been forced into and the second companion that has been laid low. First Scabbard of Iron, now Emak. And these have been but fingers of the beast hunting them, groping the land for signs. Bazziox had taken the job lightly, just hoping to escape the walls. Now the stakes have become apparent: to protect the mission and deliver the Princess, death awaits at least one of them before their road reaches Santa Cora. But who? And how long can they stave it off? They must get nearer the city before their numbers begin dwindling or they will never make it. Bazziox eventually returns from his internal journey through the dark reaches. His eyes have lost the optimistic glow. They are firmly set and hard as the mace clutched viciously at his side. He returns to his post beside the Princess where he seats himself at the entrance to the tent. This night he will let his black thoughts keep company with the night. Setting aside the nonessentials, the dragonborn settles in for a restless sleep. In this dark moment, the successes do not occur to Bazziox. Perhaps in the morning the realization that they had fended off a demonic hunting party – and that they had done it together – would break through the melancholy. Heroes and vagabonds alike had bonded together to overcome these obstacles. And the light will shine again. For now, though, the good is lost in a sea of black.

OOC   Bazziox the Enigma Bazziox, Imperial Advisor, Princess Protector, and Otherwiseawesomedood HP: 60/60 AC/PD/MD: 22/17/17 Skill Check to Nat 20: 1/1 daily Recoveries: 8/8; 4d8+3 Quick Actions Invocations, 1/battle: (first round only)Roll a d6; as a free action after the escalation die equals, allow ally to reroll a single attack roll with a +2 bonus.Invocation of Knowledge As a free action, at some dramatic moment, you or an ally of your choice can roll for one icon relationship that might have an effect on the battle.Invocation of Love/Beauty This battle, attacks against you by enemies that moved to engage you during their turn miss on natural odd rolls.Invocation of Trickery Spells/Other: Someone nearby heals using a recoveryHeal (1/2 battle) Someone nearby heals using a free recoveryCure Wounds (used/daily) 1 nearby gains 40 temp hp; 3 nearby gain 20 temp hpDivine Endurance (daily) When engaged, roll d20; assign to any attack before end of next turnTrick Die (0/1 battle) +8 vs. PD, 4d6 fireBreath Weapon (1/1 battle) Actions! : +7 vs AC, 4d6+3 (4 miss)Mace Bash! Anyone nearby can make "save ends" roll (crit melee=auto success)Combat Boon (At-will) : +8 vs PD, 3d6+4 (+1d6 vs undamaged)Javelin of Faith (At-will, Ranged) : 1 nearby spends recovery, heals 2x; 3 nearby heal with RecoveryMighty Healing (daily, Ranged) : +8 vs PD, 7d6 dmg, lowest hp=+4AC; Miss: lowest hp=+2 ACSpirits of the Righteous (0/1 battle, Ranged)

[CharlesM]

With the fight ended, Breeze watched Emak long enough to convince himself that she was ok. The image of her bleeding body splayed out on the ground did not leave his mind easily. He watched as she donned the mask and picked up a book that he didn't remember having seen before. He did not take his eyes off of her until she was seated and had begun reading. He glanced around at the rest of the group,and seeing that everyone else seemed to be ok, he walked over to take a seat by the fire. A few minutes later, Kerr came by and tapped him for guard duty. "Of course," Breeze exclaimed leaping to his feet. It was the first time he had been asked to stand watch over the group and he was determined not to disappoint the monk. As he stood looking out into the night watching it brighten into early morning he realized he was going to have to be more careful. His life thus far hadn't been exactly easy, until you compared the worst of it with coming face to face with abuch of demons intent on ending you life. The confrontation had been a reality check. If he had left the camp in search of a fallen star he might have walked right into the demons by himself, or worse, with the Princess. His impulsiveness, he realized, could put them all in a bad situation. As dawn broke he promised himself that he would stick close tot he group a they traveled and keep his attentiion focused on their immediate surroundings.

[Aethera]

 

Tel The stars were always a feature in Tel's dreams. Sooner or later, no matter what he was dreaming about, there was a view of the starry night sky. As they wheeled overhead he could feel himself floating, though on what it was hard to tell... he wasn't wet, so it wasn't water. Daybreak rose in the eastern sky and before he knew it he was bustling into one of many scholarly functions at the Court of Stars where he was welcomed by astronomers he knew from the Queen's Wood as well as Horizon, working together on a new observation, and they wanted his help! It seemed with the altered path of the Horned Star -- yes, they called it altered, in spite of his best efforts -- there was a new constellation barely rising above the horizon for a few hours, but it was something heretofore unknown, unrecorded, and that made both sides of the astronomy/astrology line nervous. He got swept up in the conversation, though it annoyed him that he could overhear a pair of older men discussing the injured daughter of one of them, did they really need to be discussing that here, while so much activity was trying to discover the source or potential omens of a new constellation? Even as he wondered this, he saw from the corner of his eye a younger double of the two run in. "Dad! She's awake!" The parent traded a quick look with his companion, who gave him an immediate nod. The two men, the older and the younger, raced out the door and Tel's attention could once more focus on the constellation. Almost before he could realize it, again it was night. The group had divided after an argument, and he found a tall tree, one of the oldest trees near the Court of Stars in fact, and climbed into its branches. The observatory was far too noisy at the moment, but the tallest trees had almost a better view, and there were no lights nearby to ruin his night vision. He found he could climb all the way to stick his head out the top of the forest canopy, the old oak's branches were that strong. Above him the Horned Star blazed his victorious challenge to the established order, and it was good. There, on the horizon, though... what was that? The constellation had moved. Could a constellation move? No, the constellation looked a little higher tonight, like it was turning into part of their unforeseen night sky and claiming territory. But what, then, was below it? It certainly appeared to be a pair of stars quite close together, parallel to the horizon. Another constellation? Could another change to their established record of the sky be following in its wake? Fixing his eyes on them, as though he could commit their pinpoints to memory in such a way he could return to the forest floor and announce the new change... but wait. They were growing larger. Something in those two points of light scared him, and he couldn't place the feeling; he just knew that those two dots terrified him utterly. He shifted position slightly and all of a sudden he was falling! Knocked around at first by the higher branches that escaped his grasping fingers, he then began to freefall and there were no more branches to hope for. HE curled tightly in a ball and darkness closed around him. Even with his eyes closed he suddenly saw the dual points of light racing toward him. He heard the sound of a large body coming in contact with unyielding ground, but he didn't feel it. No, he seemed almost to be floating in darkness, much as he had been floating in something when he began stargazing. It felt different, though, slick, somehow. Had he injured himself in the fall, perhaps? It was hard to tell, there seemed to be almost nothing to sense.

 

Kerr In his dreams Kerr was urging Maelona and the others along, running toward a side entrance to the kitchen and storerooms of the Golden Citadel he hoped they could defend; the group made it just in time to the attached structure built into the ground for storage and hurried inside. Kerr knew immediately that they needed time to barricade the doors. "Lock the door and hide," he told Maelona, looking directly into her golden amber eyes before turning to the others. "Strip the rooms of anything you can use to barricade the door. Good luck." He gave Scabbard of Iron a nod he felt the monk would understand, and then he shut the door in their faces. He could already hear the coming footfalls, drawing of weapons, and general noises of the Abyss he was familiar with by now, so he considered his weapons and made a decision he had not made in years; he drew his sword. The club would serve as a backup weapon, but the sword's edge and dedication to the same cause as the ground he stood upon were needed if he was going to hold out long enough. Besides, with the din of demons in all directions, sheathing it again was not going to be an issue, he'd likely have fallen before his enemies were all dispatched. A few feet in front of the door for ease of motion, the paladin rooted himself to the spot and waited, longsword and shield in hand. Even as he became a motionless statue, the demons appeared. His mind was identifying each kind he knew, babbling away a bit nervously, but he knew how to let that fade into the background noise. His senses and his muscles didn't require information to be best used. A hiss to one side made him abruptly look, but there was nothing there. The demons didn't wait until they had some kind of battle plan, they just attacked their favorite Wyrmspawn prey. Amid the blur of motion that was the paladin's shining sword so readily reacting to its enemies, the still-talking part of Kerr's mind heard a word that might not have registered in the heat of battle if it weren't that Kerr spoke a number of abyssal dialects, and it most certainly wasn't one. His senses were overwhelmed some by the combat, and he couldn't quite pinpoint where the word came from, but it was from the same general direction as the hiss that he couldn't figure out. The disembodied voice kept speaking, at seeming random intervals, each word pushing at Kerr like it was trying to influence his reaction speed. And what's more, it was starting to work. Each time he gained ground against the tides of evil creatures, it lasted less time and they felt like they hit back all that much harder. A large clawed hand tore his helmet from his head, and his ears rang. Even his vision doubled for a moment, his head objecting to the attack. But as Kerr struggled to keep up with the attacking demons on all sides, for a split second it was like it wasn't just his eyes that were the problem; half the group seemed to be the mirror image of the other, and when he blocked strikes from the half-seen enemies, they didn't jar his body the same way. Indeed, those attacks seemed only useful in distracting him from other attacks. The feeling barely registered, for in short order a claw tore into his side, going right through his armor and burning like acid, then a couple lucky slashes sliced along the side of his head, blood beginning to drip into one of his eyes. He saw the large demon coming, but just couldn't get his sword or shield up in time; the creature body-checked him into the stone pillar at one side of the door, his head hit the stone hard, and everything went dark.

 

Bazziox Stuck in Axis once again in his dreams, Bazziox the advisor of the Emperor found himself following a strange scent through a back alley behind the shop where he bought pipeweed. It was something vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. The back alleys were not made for most folk to be scurrying around the city, they were mostly used by the servants in their hurry to accomplish all the tasks that were demanded of them, or the guards trying to catch thieves and other criminals. Rarely did anyone wearing perfume -- was it perfume? He wasn't even sure, now that he'd thought it. Odd thing to find down here at all, come to think of it. The only reason he strayed this far was his pipeweed, and then only because the vendor had access to one of the better strains of weed, one no other in the capital could get their hands on, and it was Bazziox's favorite. So what was that scent? A noise drew his attention and the dragonborn saw the tail end of something duck down the next alley; a shadow, or perhaps fabric... a black cloak, perhaps? No, it couldn't be, it didn't move like clothing. He broke into a trot, dodging the oddities in the back alley whether it was refuse, broken bricks fallen from the pillars of the rundown buildings, or even the stray cats. Baz sped around a corner and saw a figure, sort of. It was starting to get dark, and he could have sworn a person-sized blob of nothingness merged with the growing shadows. He was nearly ready to give up when he heard something ahead, something like a person stumbling. Then he heard a growl, and a dog started barking up ahead, silenced with a whimper that ended with the thud of something small hitting an immovable object. He sped up, but all of a sudden the next turn brought him out of the alleys and back into a major street, and any chance he had of trying to catch whomever it had been ahead of him took a nose dive. The dragonborn had to leap back, however, as a flaming carriage came flying down the street, the panicked horse finally breaking away just as it passed his alley entrance, and the carriage went flying into the open air market and collided with one of the brewery's large tuns. Everything seemed to slow for Bazziox, and he could do little but watch as people realized the danger of flames and beer, turned and fled, and then the tun exploded. He had to duck a piece of the wooden cask sailing right at his head, and when he straightened again the intersection was in total chaos. Smoke was everywhere, flames were spreading, and it was impossible to tell just what had happened, there didn't appear to be anyone in the flaming carriage. And how precisely did the carriage light on fire, anyway? Looking back in the direction it had come from, Bazziox felt like someone (or something) was watching him, but it was altogether too much chaos to truly figure out just who. It was just his imagination that it looked like a pair of red eyes were watching him, that was just ridiculous. Right?

 

Scabbard of Iron A woman's voice crying out suddenly made Scabbard of Iron roll over in his sleep, "waking" within his dreams spread-eagled on strange ground; it was like rock, but not. He ached all over, almost like he'd been defeated in battle, as much as the thought was not one he welcomed. He didn't remember a battle, but the way he was returning to consciousness seemed to suggest something unpleasant. He found himself near the monastery, the ground strange, as though some kind of fiery cataclysm had caused the very earth to become molten and then harden again. Another cry in the darkness he couldn't pinpoint, but it made him spin, finding the sound coming from the Heavenly Valley's closest field, crop of grains and other vegetables obscuring anything visible there. The darkness was absolute, even standing next to one of the lit lanterns spaced at intervals. There was something odd about the lanterns, too; once his attention had briefly touched on them it remained. It was burning brightly, but the light didn't shed illumination the way it ought. It wasn't bright even standing next to it, and the dim light did not spread as far as the next tiny puddle of light around the next lantern. It was almost as though the darkness was tangibly trying to consume the light until it was no more. It was a crazy thought, but almost as soon as he'd thought it, the next lantern sputtered. The one by him was clearly just lit and was full of both oil and tinder. None of the lanterns should be sputtering, not with that kind of fuel and the lack of wind. The monk almost moved toward the sputtering lantern, but the sound of a woman sobbing spun him back around to the fields, and he moved that direction at a trot. Someone in trouble was of far more importance than the strange lantern light. Between the field and the grove of bamboo behind it, Scabbard was led by quiet weeping to the place where a kneeling woman younger than he was cradling an older woman on the ground. The woman on the ground had what looked like stab wounds -- here, in the Heavenly Valley, she had wounds -- but there was something wrong with the blood seeping from the slashes, it was dark, almost black. As he got closer, the young woman's head flew up in fear and she grabbed a hand scythe to hold it between them. When she saw him, her eyes widened. "One of you survived!" she cried, expression somewhere between hope and desperation. "Please, help-- look out!" The hand with the scythe jerked up to point in his direction; the monk quickly spun around but saw nothing behind him but his shadow, flickering like the wan light through the fields, barely recognizable as different from the shadows around. But seeing his shadow had never given him such a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. It couldn't be looking at him, could it? The chill that shook him had nothing to do with the cool night air. Then his shadow moved. Scabbard of Iron dodged without realizing the oddity of fleeing from his own shadow until he'd felt the air movement whoosh down where he had been standing moments before. And his shadow continued to attack him, keeping him on the defensive without any weapons close at hand. It was getting darker as he bobbed and weaved away from the attacks he could barely define, which was odd, the moon was out. It couldn't get darker. Then he realized his shadow had pushed him back nearly to where the two women were, and if he dodged again, his shadow could attack the young woman instead. He dove forward, trying to grapple the darkness. "No don't!" the young woman behind him cried, but too late. For a moment he had his hands on it, feeling some kind of substance between his hands, but not knowing just what made the darkness take actual form. He could practically feel the dark satisfaction as something stabbed him in the chest. His vision grew blurry and then dark, his last image that of his shadow, now even more solid, grinning at him with his own face.

 

Emak The dream reunion with her family was just as energetic and chaotic as ever, but it was really nice to be home. The usual complaints, too long, working is no excuse, yadda yadda, pretty much the same lecture she'd gotten last time. Having Guythraxix whispering along with her mother certainly didn't help her keep a straight face in the least. She would have to ask him later if her mother was actually using the same words as last time, or if he was making it up as he went along. Either version could be true, she wouldn't put it past him. It was all he could do to keep a lid on his attitude, she had learned the hard way that if he didn't blow of steam somehow, bad things tended to come about. (And he still hadn't explained where that snakeskin came from, or why it had been dangling that eyeball over the bakery door in quite that unpleasant manner.) It was the introduction of Drosh Komsagnatus with a more than meaningful look between her mother and her sister that really started things on a different note. When she woke the next morning she was glad he hadn't remained beside her, but even as early as the lack of light from her windows said it was, she felt far more relaxed and lazy than she usually did. She almost managed to fall back to sleep, except Guythraxix realized she was awake and flopped onto the bed. "Do not drop me on the floor again," he grumbled. "The layer of dust under your bed is repulsive." Of course he was going to be mouthy, he hated having to lower himself to act 'like a regular book'. "When did Drosh sneak out?" Emak asked the book, wondering whether her mother was arranging her marriage already or not. It took a moment before she got a response. "Who?" She groaned as she sat up to glare at the intelligent tome. "Very funny. When?" "I'm not kidding, I've no idea what you're talking about." His voice was too serious to believe he was just pulling a prank. That answer made her uneasy, it was not the first time that he'd forgotten things she recalled. It wasn't entirely clear why, but it seemed like there was some force trying to meddle in what did or didn't happen, and when she had run into that strange old man with the wild hair and kind eyes in the Imperial Library, that had apparently fallen into the category of 'not supposed to happen'. "Damnit. It happened again," she informed her companion, pulling him closer. "What do you remember of last night?" The book obligingly rustled its pages and presented her with a copy of its recollection. "What? I'm not going to stay here!" Emak burst out. Guythraxix's version of events had her mother beg her to stay home, near Drakkenhall, instead of going back into the Empire. "That's ridiculous." The book didn't speak immediately, which was also a bad sign. Usually it meant he was actually pondering events, instead of knowing already what to say. "You'd better find out which version your mother recalls, then, or sneak out now and ask forgiveness later." That wasn't exactly an ideal solution either, but it certainly avoided getting trapped here. There were a number of things she had yet to do near Drakkenhall, to say nothing of the rest of the world. If she disappeared before seeing anyone, she wouldn't feel so bad about it, not after the way her mother had strongarmed her into agreeing in Guythraxix's version of events. "Let's get out of here. Your version of events seems more like mom." She also wasn't unaware of how his forgetting had been to change the things she had experienced, meaning her family was likely to remember the changed version just like the book. She slid out of bed quietly, her things still packed from the night before, so all it took was dressing and remaking the sling in which she carried the tome. It wasn't the first time she'd escaped her room out the window, so she had it down to an art at this point. Backpack in one hand, tome in the other, she fled her mother's house into the predawn darkness.

 

Breeze It was not the first time that Breeze had dreamed of flying, maneuvering easily around Horizon's many layers and odd construction, investigating the city from an angle he was unable to during his waking hours. What was different, however, was someone he didn't recognize gasping and crying out something he couldn't hear while pointing at him from one level, and then he began falling. He was used to chaos magic, but it was hard to figure out what to do when he started spinning, gravity seeming to come from multiple angles at once. He saw the ground closing in fast, and blackness hit him. His senses were confused; he hadn't hit the ground, but he hadn't felt anything else either. He was receiving no sensory input at all, and it was terrifying. The dark surrounded him, almost stifling in the feeling of emptiness, of void pressing inward or stretching out, almost like it wanted to consume him or tear him to shreds. The return of feeling was almost painful in the suddenness of it, going from nothing to input all of a sudden. He was once again flying over Horizon on a beautiful sunny day, but he was over the outer walls, soaring on the rushing wind above the cliff by the port he had visited only a few days before. Yet here, Whitecliff looked wrong. The elevator he had ridden was in bad shape, it looked like it had been stopped for construction. As Breeze flew over the cliff he began to head downwards, but this time he had some control. He didn't have to fall in terror; he was floating gently down like a leaf drifting in the wind. He passed a woodworker chipping at a large piece of wood, the outline of an octopus, squid, or perhaps even a kraken taking form as he chipped the outline deep into the sign leaned against a freshly whitewashed tavern. Breeze could even see as a man left the tavern, wiping his hands on his apron, and the two conferred for a moment before the barkeeper clapped the signmaker on the back and went back inside. It was odd, watching the men laugh, and for a moment Breeze couldn't place why. It was only as he drifted toward the large ship in the harbor and passed a seagull drifting on the air currents that he realized he couldn't hear them. No birds, nor the men, just the wind. The wind that sounded distantly like a woman's wailing, in spite of no such source. If he'd been on the cliff, perhaps he could have passed it off as wind howling over the rocks, but floating in midair out to the ship as its sails unfurled, it seemed broken, almost, the wrong sounds to go with what he was witnessing. His floating body took a nice long circle around the ship, witnessing the mermaid figurehead with upraised conch shell horn. Above her a man in a wide-brimmed straw hat who looked a bit uneasy on the ship's rail was staring out past Breeze, out into the Midland Sea, without seeing the chaos mage. The man certainly looked out of place in his three-piece suit, not one of the crew. It was only as the man suddenly snatched the hat from his head and retched over the side of the ship that Breeze's mind recognized the stranger's wild grey-touched hair; despite his hair being as much brown as gray here, it was unmistakably the man he'd met in The Blue Dragon less than a week ago. With the thought of home, or as much of one as he'd had of late, his flight circled back around toward the city and left him to contemplate his journey. He was almost to Horizon proper when he crashed into what felt like a wall in midair. An invisible wall. Tumbling now, Breeze saw he was headed toward the South Gate, or the south wall more accurately, but even as he processed the ground coming up fast once more, clouds took him and he was tumbling without being able to see anything for the thick mist, occasionally striking the same invisible wall as he fell.

This concludes our second chapter. Congratulations!

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