Interlude 1

[Jeff]

Interlude 1

A voice is speaking, a deep and growly voice and somewhat familiar to you—a dwarf's, perhaps—and a gentle feminine voice that you do not know. A conversation has been taking place and it has slowly lulled you back to the waking world. You hear the chink of metal, the rasp of leather, then heavy footsteps in soft earth fading away...

And then you feel the drowsy cloud of sleep lifting at last from your mind. At first, you remember nothing: who you are, where you've been....but with each passing second, your life returns to you quickly. You recall who you are, where you came from, and the events leading up to your arrival at, and return from, Shadowcrest Manor.

You feel well-rested, with not a single ache in your body, as if you've been laying in healing balms for hours and had plenty of sleep. Sitting up, you find your companions here as well, looking just as refreshed. Only...

There is no sign of Torhak. Nor Goran. Their equipment and weapons are nowhere to be seen, but you do see your own armor, weaponry, and packs gathered together in an orderly pile nearby. Your clothing is still torn and ragged, but remarkably clean.

You are in a small clearing, circled by a thick line of trees and bushes—the Whisper Wood still, but somewhere clearly other than beside the stream where you last remember being. It also looks like it's the dead of night, but a scattering of torches, wrapped by leather straps atop tall pikes in the earth, illuminate the vicinity.

In the direction you deduce to be north you can just make out what might be another clearing up a gentle slope, and with its own lights as well.

Through breaks in the forest canopy you see Dravago, the Herder's Moon, round in the sky. It is quite a bit fuller than you remember it from previous nights. You spy the half spheres of Olarune, the pale orange Sentinel moon, and Barrakas, the gray Lantern moon.

A quiet rustle in the bushes one one side of the clearing suddenly produces a familiar figure:

Grafth! Looking back at the rest of you and clearly taking stock of the situation. He seems to have been awake already, and only just arriving in this clearing. Like you, he looks well—no sign of recent injuries or blood, and bruises are always harder to see on shifters, what with all the thick hair. His clothes still looked roughed up and torn, but clean.

Beside Kal, Tangat is still sleeping. His legs are sprawled out and twitch slightly; he is the throes of a dream. Feeling no real agitation in his companion, Kal suspects Tangat is dreaming about chasing Talentan toothrunners, smaller cousins of the fastieth (the reptiles favored most by halflings as mounts).

[Ken]

"Grafth!" says Belarin. "Where have you been? Are you all right? Where did Torhak and Goran go? The fey wouldn't have taken them ... well, not Torhak at least. Any sign of them?"

He quickly sees to Kal, Charis, and Streko. "Are you all right, no injuries?"

He glances up at the sky, notices the moons, then looks back at Grafth. "How long have we been ... asleep? I hope the captain is still waiting...."

[Josh]

"Well met, Belarin," the shifter replies in a relaxed tone of voice. "Regrettably, I don't have answers to much of what you ask. My last clear memory is of something outside the manor that looked quite suspicious. I went to investigate and must have been placed under... and enchantment of some kind. Since then I have seen many things, none of which I can guarantee were real..."

His brow furrows at this last thought, as if he might find more details through sheer force of will. Grafth shakes whatever thought he may have had away, and continues, "One thing I distinctly remember during my time outside the manor is seeing the Thunderhead flying above me, heading to ground. Ralsor may have had to make an emergency landing."

He pauses, concern evident in his face. "And if any of what I remember was fact, he likely was in very grave danger."

[Joe]

"GRAFTH!!" The halfling wobbles as quickly as his little legs will carry him to the shifter. "I was so worried!! Olladra be blessed, it's wonderful to see you again!!" Streko wraps his arms around the shifter and squuezes gently but firmly. "I am heartened that you are well and seem none the worse for wear, as the saying goes?"

Suddenly, he turns around. "But Goran? Tohrak? Are there any signs?" He is about to call out to them, but stops himself. "Take stock of our situation, make sure all who are present are well. Then search for our friends. Soveriegns be praised but I'm tired of losing friends to the foul monsters that we constantly face. Your return in good health, friend Grafth, is a boon to morale."

Streko is about to speak again when he freezes. "The griffon! Where is it? Am I still dreaming? BLAST!"

[Darren]

Kalarian stares at his hands for a moment, flexing his fingers, turning them over to look at their backs, then back again to study the palms. He turns his head to look at Tangat, and smiles at his friend, then reaches over and gently scratches the dog's belly, shaking him slightly to wake him from his dream.

Kal rises from the ground, looking confident and relaxed, a change from the lines which creased his face after leaving Shadowcrest Manor. He smiles at Grafth. If he is surprised at the shifter's return, he doesn't show it. He walks over to the shifter and places a hand on his shoulder. "It's good to see you again, my friend. The news of Ralsor is troubling, but we can only fight one battle at a time."

Kalarian turns a slow circle, regarding everyone in the clearing. He notes the disappearance of Torhak and Goran, but makes no remark on it. "Is everyone okay?" he asks. "It seems clear that the lady of these woods has made us ready for our audience with her." Kal stoops to retrieve his pack and his sharrash. "I think it's time we met with her." Kal's rakish grin returns to his face as he winks and Belarin and adds, "Don't you agree?"

[Jeff]

Tangat wakes with a start, springing up from the ground, and bounding over to Grafth, tail wagging. He greets the shifter merrily.

With now a bit more light, Grafth can see that his handaxe has been altered slightly. The wooden haft is banded in metal near the base, the middle, and the end. Where the steel axehead attaches to the haft, some strange patterns have been etched into the metal. In his hands the weapon is still familiar, but there's a quiet power about it now.

Charis stands up, taking stock of her minimal equipment as well. She looks from Streko to Grafth. "I take you had some strange dream, too, Streko? A griffon? What of you, Grafth?"

Matheu, also, is nowhere to be seen.

[Ken]

"Absolutely," says Belarin to Kal, as he begins putting his studded leather armor back on, "but I'll be pleasantly surprised if we see the fey again. We've fulfilled our end of the agreement, and I suspect we'll come upon Amal soon, but that might be it." He looks forlornly at the shredded remnans of his cloak.

"Shall we see what's to the north?" He points toward the lights up ahead. "It could be Ralsor. I'll gladly hire his service if he can fly me to a tailor."

As he walks, he gives Kal and the others a look, then smiles. "So ... what did YOU dream about? Realistic, wasn't it? Streko here saw ... a griffon, you say? It think you had a more exciting vision than I did, good Streko."

[Darren]

"No vision, my friend," Kal says. He seems about to say more, but stops. Once again, he turns to look around the clearing. "I was assured, Belarin, that the lady of these woods would meet with us again. We still have business with them, involving Alvek, not to mention the disappearance of our companions. I'm not leaving here until we see her." He levels his gaze on Belarin. "So, how do we get her attention?"

[Ken]

"Well, I could paint myself purple and recite ogre poetry," says Belarin, "but I'm don't have any paint handy. Or we could --" he points toward the clearing to the north "-- see what's creating that light over there. Maybe I was wrong ... shocking, I know, but it could be the very reception you seek. Shall we?"

[Darren]

Kal smiles at Belarin's wit. "After you," he says, gesturing for Belarin to lead the way.

[Joe]

"Oddly engh, my friends, I had a very real vision of the Griffon of House Jorasco and the black dragon of no less than Olladra herself, saving me from...curse the Six, I can't remember. But there was desolation and abandonment. Whatever happens, we MUST stop Malov. The consequences of failure..." Streko touches his heart, feeling the throb of his dragonmark clearly, if only spiritually. "To quote some odd general or another, failure is not an option."

He secures his haversack and follows behind Belarin and Kal without another word, clear troubled by the strange "memories" he can still sense all around him.

[Josh]

"I'm just as interested, I imagine, in hearing your tale as is the one who sent us on our task," the shifter says, moving northward toward the light.

[Darren]

"Of course, Grafth, of course. Where are my manners?" Kal grins again. He then proceeds to tell Grafth about the events that transpired after his disappearance. He tells the shifter about the capture of Goran, the encounter with the imps ("I killed one single-handedly, my friend!") and the discovery of Alvek's letter, as well as the passageway into the basement of Shadowcrest Manor. He tells Grafth about their encounter with Gruus, the multitude of undead ("I was really quite instrumental in their destruction, though the others were magnificent as well"), and the encounter with Alvek's sister. He speaks of their discovery of the mirrors and of finding the demon being summoned by the ritual. Finally, he recounts the fight against Alvek, himself ("I chased him down to do man-to-man combat with him, but the coward kept retreating. He almost got the better of me, too. Almost."), explaining how the man finally surrendered. Kal goes on to describe the search of the house ("Damn! Torhak was carrying the chest that contained all of Alvek's riches!") and how they came to find Eftith.

"Alvek claims to have information that will be invaluable in stopping his uncle. I don't want to trust him, but I think we may need him. Which is why we must speak with the mistress of these woods and see if an arrangement can't be reached to temporarily release him into our custody."

________________
Kal is also checking amongst the belongings to see if the chest that he and Torhak found is around anywhere.

I can't believe we FINALLY managed to get some treasure after, what?, two years of adventuring?, and we may have just lost it!

[Jeff]

When you're halfway up the slope toward the multicolored lights, a girl steps out onto the path to meet you. She wears outlandish, if modest silk-like garments of green and violet that suggests its use as formal wear, but you can easily imagine its flexibility in combat. The girl herself is an elf, though appears in age akin to a human teenager, with pale gold hair worn unbound and long. Her eyes seem to glimmer, a pearlescent blue and without pupils. She carries a staff carved with runes in a spiral up its length.

To everyone but Streko (who assumes the girl is really just an elf), you realize that she is in fact an eladrin, a race not seen on Eberron very often. Related to elves, somehow, in the mythic past, they are said to dwell within Thelanis, the plane of the fey, and relate more to the surreality of that world than the realities of yours. Belarin alone knows much more about them, and knows that eladrin are beginning to appear in greater numbers since the end of the Last War, for reasons unknown, and that some are calling themselves representatives of the Faerie Court on Eberron. Belarin has met only a few in passing, however.

Clearly expecting you, the girl gives a dramatic curtsy, of a style long out of fashion. Though the gesture is graceful, even she seems embarrassed by it; she seems to be immitating human behavior.

"Come," she says. "Or soon you will be late. To each of you will be given a gift, but first you must clothe yourselves in raiment approved by the Emissary." She points to her left.

When you follow her gesture, you see to one side of the path a fallen log with upward pointing branches shorn of excess twigs. Hanging on these branches, as if they were mannequins displaying items of high fashion in a large city, are various suits of armor.

The first is a suit of black, grey, and green clothing. Thinner than leather but slightly padded. Belarin recognizes it as feyweave, a form of clothing perfected by eladrin that uses a combination of gossamar and Thelanisian cotton. "This one is for the warlock, Belarin Malizia," the girl says.

The next is a suit of carefully-shaped hide armor, dark brown that carries a slight sheen of some sort of dry glaze. "For the Talentan ranger, Grafth."

The third is a small suit of chain mail, sized for a human boy—or perhaps a halfling. The links are dull in color, but not for neglect; the metal itself is dark grey, a stony color that could be mistaken for stone at a glance. "This mesh is intended for the cleric, Lord Streko d'Jorasco."

The fourth is merely a fine hooded cloak, grey in color but lined with dark red satin. "A suitable garment for the noble, Lady Charis ir'Vanatar."

The fifth draws your eye like no other: a suit of shining chain mail, the links polished so perfectly that they seem to catch every trace of light, dim as it is, and glimmer. "This armor was chosen for the heir of Deneith, Lord Kalarian."

As if it is an afterthought, the girl smiles and adds: "It is customary for attendants to keep this raiment, should discussions with the Emmisary conclude amiably."

Then she falls silent and waits.

____________________________________

Arcana checks: Belarin (31), Charis (15), Grafth (21), Kal (19), Streko (12).

Josh: if you need any details around the stuff that Kal just spilled, just say so. I can dig 'em up. No need to go and read the second half of Chapter 4 (unless you want to).

[Darren]

Kalarian cannot contain a smile as he looks at the armor. He offers the eladrin a formal bow in return. "It is a most generous gift your mistress has bestowed upon us." Kal moves to pick up the chainmail, then stops and looks at the eladrin again, as if seeking approval. Finally he retrieves the armor and begins the process of exchanging his current chainmail for the one presented. Laying his old armor upon the ground, he looks at it for a moment, remembering the events of the past few days, the history written into every torn link. Looking down at his shining new armor, he discards sentimentality and turns to the others and pushes up his sleeves, revealing his dragonmark. "Does it suit me?" he asks with a grin.

[Josh]

As if he has become used to strangers with strange requests, Grafth accepts the armor with a simple nod. He seems quiet, as usual, but part of Kalarian's recount struck a chord with the shifter, his concerned expression clear evidence of his fact.

Once equipped, he considers the craftsmanship of the armor. "Nadeera would be impressed by such work," he says softly, to no one in particular.

Grafth waits for the newcomer to lead them onward.

[Ken]

Belarin smiles broadly and bows. "Thank you," he says to the eladrin. "These are splendid rainments!" He happily casts off his existing leather armor in favor of the new suit. "Just my colors, too..."

May 1, 2009 13:08:17 GMT -4 Darren said:

Looking down at his shining new armor, he discards sentimentality and turns to the others and pushes up his sleeves, revealing his dragonmark. "Does it suit me?" he asks with a grin.

"Ha! It does indeed, my lord! Your armor gleams as intensely as the brightest star. More opportunity for the rest of us to reap rewards as all attention is focused on you!" He pauses, as though confused. "Huh, I just spoke of us as a group. How odd, not what I expected to say." He looks at the others. "That is fine armor, Grafth, Master Streko ... and my lady Charis, a magnificent cloak!"

He looks again at the eladrin. "My thanks once more. Yes, let's continue."

[Joe]

Streko removes the studded leather armor that has, thus far, kept him alive and in one piece. "Olladra has blessed me with this fine armor and protected me from certain death many times of late. It is difficult to discard something that has brought such fortune."

He touches the fine chain armor. "Sovereign Host! It even feels like stone."

He removes his cloak and holy symbol, then the studded leather he has grown fond of. "On the other hand, what wonderous fortune has been provided to us all by this beautiful elf and her people. It would most certianly be rude, not to mention spiteful, to ignore such a gift."

He places the comfortable chain armor over his body, followed again by his recently washed robes and his beloved holy symbol.

He bows to the girl. "My deepest thanks, fair lady."

He looks at Kal, Grafth, Belarin and Charis and grins. "We do look good, do we not, my friends?" He kneels down next to Tangat and scratches behind his ears. "Perhaps you will receive a gift as well. After all, you deserve one as much as we do, perhaps moreso," he whispers to Tangat in his native halfling tongue.

[Jeff]

When Kal lifts the chain armor, it confirms what he suspected upon looking at it: this is without question made from mithral, a rare and precious silver. At least as hard as steel and half as light as normal chain. After a couple of minutes piecing it together around his body, he finds it to be very comfortable. The mithral links are overlaid above thick leather. The suit is as restrictive as normal chain, but the weight allows for maximum mobility.

When Grafth has his new armor on, he senses something about it that he doesn't yet understand. There is a magic within the thick hide (which he suspects may have been fashioned from the hide of some sort of great boar) that he feels will be helpful in the heat of combat.

When Belarin dons the shiftweave clothing, he finds it a great deal lighter than his studded leather. He also instinctively feels as though he's just completed training for some new feyborn power that he never took the time to master. He knows, innately, that he can produce a cloud of lights at will, and perhaps more...

When Streko suits up in his new chain mail, which is surprisingly only a little bit heavier than his old studded leather, he feels a sense of defiance, a resolve against his enemies. It's a strange aura of invulnerability, as though the more his enemies throw at him, the stronger he'll be for it. The sensation passes quickly, but not its memory.

When Charis slips the voluminous cloak around her body, concealing the battered (if clean) leather armor she still wears, she, too, feels a fleeting sense of invulnerability. She feels guarded, somehow, mystically protected by the fabric she wears.

Hearing your various reactions, the eladrin girl giggles. "I am glad the Emissary's raiment pleases you. I am certain, then, that you will like the Wood Mistress's gifts."

She points up toward the the top of the rise, where you can see a ring of trees, their intertwining branches forming a series of entry points to the grove. The sight is reminiscent of druid stones, arranged in a circle, but you know suspect this is something more.

"They will all be gathered up there," the girl says, but makes no move to go up herself. "Be warned: draw no weapons. Some of them have not spoken to Eberron's...natives in a very long time and might easily misconstrue your intentions."

__________________________________

The armor has been added to your new character sheets (the Google doc sheets). After wearing it for a while, your characters will automatically have a sense for what the armor can do (i.e. you get to know the mechanics behind it). Have a look to learn more about your shiny new armor! Let me know if you have any questions about these mechanics.

[Darren]

Shouldering his sharrash, Kal once again bows to the emissary. "We wouldn't dream of bringing harm to the mistress of these woods, nor to any of her people. Again, our thanks." Kalarian takes the lead, moving towards the direction indicated. As he moves a small distance away, he suddenly remembers the pouches taken from Alvek and decides to open them as he walks and inventory their contents.

____________
You had me look at the character sheet to see the armor, and it reminded me that there's still question marks next to those pouches.

[Jeff]

With time only for a quick look, Kal finds one of Alvek's pouches to contain siler sovereigns. The other, gold galifars.

__________________________

The Emissary seems to be someone other than this eladrin girl, someone she is referring to but who you have not yet met.

[Ken]

"Thank you again," says Belarin to the eladrin.

As he walks with the others, he adds quietly, "So these are not the Wood Mistress' gifts. I was a little surprised at first, since fey gifts are sometimes a little less ... obvious. This should be an interesting conversation." Looking at Kalarian, he says, "I know you want Alvek, because you think he can help you find Malov. They'll be reluctant. Propose it in a way that can help the fey. That is, if Malov committed atrocities against the fey before, say that we'll need every resource to stop him from possibly doing so again. Or convince Alvek to make some sort of penance now." A pause. "Frankly, I don't think it'll work, but there's a chance. However, if they give us Amal and decide to keep Alvek, don't force the issue. They'll get ... tetchy."

[Darren]

"Understood, Belarin," Kalarian says in a low voice. "I have no desire to start a war with the fey, and should they choose not to cooperate, we will simply find another way to stop Malov. Thank you for your counsel, my friend."

[Josh]

"Let's be on with it, then," says Grafth, moving toward the ring of trees.

[Jeff]

When you reach the top of the long, but slight incline, you step into the grove of thick trees that at once feels both natural and unnatural. The trunks are arranged in a perfect circle, a phenomenon that both Belarin and Grafth know is not in itself unnatural. Like sequoias, which form from a parent tree's root system in a ring around the original, these trees appear to have grown quite naturally. City folk, in observing such symmetry in nature, often attribute such sights to fey meddlings and name them "faerie rings." (The same sort of thing occurs with mushrooms as well.) Although it is a part of nature, Belarin knows that sometimes the fey do in fact often make mystical use of faerie rings, not minding the association at all.

Yet these are not sequoias. Much shorter, but still quite stout, the branches of each tree intertwine with the branches of the next one in the ring in such a way that the space between each trunk looks like a wide and open portal. The night forest lies behind each threshhold, yet there is a strange sort of haze lingering in each fey doorway. There are six such spaces apart from the one through which you just entered the grove.

Sitting leisurely upon a roughly-carved bench of wood within one threshhold is the Wood Mistress you first met not so long ago. She still wears the gilded, black mask but no longer wears the blanket. Instead, a robe of diaphous material clings to her body, thickly enough for some observance of modesty but so form-fitting that it leaves little to the imagination. You know without knowing how that she is a nymph, the faerie world's incarnation of humanlike beauty. Not as thin as an elf maiden, nor as stout as the average human of her height. Her skin is that perfect shade of peach between being too pale and unnaturally tanned, the sort of flawlessness some human women try very hard to achieve. Even with half of her face concealed by the mask, it's difficult not to stare at her...for most of you.

It takes a moment to realize that sitting there beside the nymph, eclipsed by the her presence, is Amal. He is no longer wearing the uniform armor of a Gray Blade of House Deneith, but comfortable, no frills clothing of light brown. He looks well, if a bit too calm and untroubled. When Amal sees Kal, he nods gently, without surprise.

The nymph puts a finger to her lips. "Now is not the time to speak of such things," she says, presumably to Kal. "They are arriving."

You don't see anyone she was referring to yet, however. At the nymph's feet you see the small wood and steel coffer that Torhak carried out of Shadowcrest Manor.

The grove is lit by various twinkling colored lights which float beyond the trees. The entire scene is bathed in the soft violet moonlight of Dravago.

[Darren]

Kalarian offers the wood mistress his deepest and most formal bow, the kind he would have observed in the halls of Sentinel Tower, the kind he is not often keen to use. "There is much I wish to speak of, my lady. Will you allow us the chance to parlay with you?"

[Ken]

Belarin's breath catches in his throat at the sight of the Wood Mistress and the mere sensation of fey power in the area. It's been a while since he has felt so close to Thelannis, and it creates an unexpected, painful pang of loss. Recovering, he bows as deeply as Kalarian and says, "Again, a pleasure, my lady," but he stays silent after that, waiting for Kalarian's opening gambit to play out and for the apparent arrival of other attendees.

[Josh]

Grafth appears vaguely uncomfortable, shifting his weight and looking around the circle, a glimmer of wariness flashing in his eyes. Whatever the source of his concern may be, he ultimately remains composed.

[Jeff]

The nymph acknowledges Belarin's words only with a gentle smile and a sweep of her eyes, which he can feel burn across his consciousness like a forgotten memory wanting to return.

"You are here for parley," she says to Kal without looking at him. "All things that desire to be spoken will be soon be spoken."

As the seconds pass in waiting, the strange scene presented by this grove continues to grow more surreal. It is reminiscent of the dream-visions you experienced recently, except that seeing your companions beside you grounds it as real. Even as you stand there, shapes, sounds, and even aromatic scents begin gradually to appear within each threshhold. The first to come clear is within the threshold left of the nymph's, appearing as if it had been there all along:

Hanging suspended by reddish threads between the trunks of the threshhold is a human-sized cocoon of pink, pearlescent silk. The material is almost transparent, as if it were produced by some giant and invisible silkworm. Within the cocoon you can easily discern the shape of Alvek ir'Turien, alleged cousin/nephew of Malov, his body wrapped tight. Only his head is fully exposed; his eyes are open but the lids droop. He looks drugged.

Grafth has never seen Alvek firsthand before now. But he recognizes the man's aristocratic face, as it was worn by the changeling on the lightning rail what now seems like long ago.

[Ken]

Belarin can't help but feel some delight as he beholds Alvek. However, he quickly makes a subtle, placating gesture toward Kal, not sure if the noble -- or any of the others -- would find the imprisonment too grotesque. "There is delicious irony in this, my lady," he says to the nymph. "My compliments on the artistry. Has he been forthcoming?"