Chapter 5: Blood and Fire

[Jeff]

Can I spend some healing surges to get them back up before we arrive?

Sure thing. Condign still has his full alottment of healing surges for the day and each use heals him 9 hit points. Basically, if nothing pressing is going on, you just use a surge, "rest" for 5 minutes, use a surge, and so on as much as you (or until you run out of healing surges). Now, if you expect any more battle before sleeping on any given day, then you just want to be judicious about it. So you tell me, how many surges will Condign use?

[Jeff's backup]

How about 2? ;D

[Jeff]

Condign spends 2 healing surges and heals 18 hit points.

[Joe]

Streko searches for Grafth and finds him pretty much where he last saw him.

"Grafth, Your skill at hit-and-run tactics was brilliant. If it weren't so deadly, I might say I enjoyed it. However, I noticed you were injured to some extent. Might I assist in a quicker recovery?"
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Should Grafth agree, Streko will cast Healing Word upon his friend.

Rolled the Healing Word...my bad:

invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2200313/ [6] = (6)

[Josh]

Grafth nods his assent to the halfling's offer. "There is little room in battle for emotion and dramatics... and we all use our own skills to the best advantage." He regards Streko with a curious smirk, "You're no slouch, yourself."

The shifter thanks Streko for his assistance, then takes stock of his supplies. "I will be glad to be done with the formalities when we reach Fairhaven. There are several items I'd like to procure, as well as additional weaponry. It seems that our party is rather lacking in mundane ranged weapons since our friend Goran..." Without finishing the thought, Grafth retires to a cabin for brief respite.

Grafth uses a Healing Surge along with Streko's Healing Word.
Healing Surge = 7 (right?)
Healing Word = Do I roll this or does Joe?

[Jeff]

Lord Dassek does little more than turn his head slightly at Streko's words. He doesn't acknowledge the halfling at all.

"I feel weary. Where can I rest? How long until we arrive at this town?" He looks down at his garments. "And I had better see if a change of clothes survived the fire."

"Within the hour," Ralsor says at this. "I think. Come..."

The half-elf pilot gestures for Condign to follow him. Ralsor seems less fazed by Condign's tiefling appearance than most of the people he's met so far. He leads Condign to a small cabin and brings him a basin of water. "Most of my equipment is in bad shape. But the city will have plenty of clothing, if you have the gold. And, maybe, some sort of chaperon." He smiles with good humor, meaning no offense. "Not that you need minding. But you can't trust those crazy Fairhavians not to get all dramatic."

On the way back up to the wheelhouse, he passes Grafth in a hallway. "My life's been pretty interesting since I met you and your friends," he says with a smirk. Then he pauses. "We're about to reach Fairhaven. I guess you've gone full circle now, eh?"

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Grafth heals 9 (from healing surge) +6 from Streko's healing word = 15 hit points. Josh, did you deduct 1 healing surge from his list, or did I do that?

[Josh]

Grafth nods to Ralsor, "I used to think Khorvaire was a vast continent, and that I might never have to visit the same place twice. Since the war, it has felt ever smaller... and now this business of Malov has shrunk it yet again. I'm not one to believe in the guiding hands of long-dead gods, but perhaps there is a place we are always meant to be."

He shakes the thought from his mind. "Once this is all over, I believe I will go somewhere I have never been, somewhere more peaceful. I hear Droaam is nice this time of year."

I made the deduction on the Google Doc.

[Jeff's backup]

Condign sets his shield aside closes the door behind Ralsor. He examines the wood handle embedded in the worn planks and shakes his head: there is no lock. How have these people survived for so long? He rests his forehead against the door, his horns leaving faint scrapes in the wood, and sighs heavily. How will I possibly survive all I have to do? The tiefling lingers for a moment, resting for the first time since the attack on the Phoenix.

Several minutes pass before Condign moves to the wash basin set on a table near the far wall of the cabin. He sheds the burned remains of his cloak and tosses it into the corner. He carefully lifts off the chainmail shirt and inspects it for damage. The enchanted metal links, smudged with blood and ash, are intact. Condign takes time to clean the chainmail and sets the armor on a chair. He then draws his sword, inspecting it from pommel to tip. The longsword, akin to the chainmail, is undamaged. He tends to the weapon that has saved his life many times. Once finished, he sheaths it; a warrior always keeps his weapon at hand.

After caring for his gear, he inspects the arm wound he received from the warforged with a military pick instead of a hand. It’s minor and already starting to heal. A quick scan of his body reveals other minor scrapes and bruises. He discovers two deeper wounds, one along his right thigh and the other across his lower back. Condign takes a cloth sitting next to the basin, wets it, and gingerly cleans the cuts. After he is satisfied that the cuts will heal, he washes the rest of the filth off. Soon the basin of water is tinged with red.

Once he is clean, Condign dons the armor and lays on the cot for a brief rest.

[Jeff]

I hear Droaam is nice this time of year."

Ralsor laughs and claps Grafth on the shoulder. "With all due respect, I hope not to go to Droaam with you." More seriously, he adds, "Fairhaven is a good city, for all its pomp and bureaucracy. And it's got some damned fine restaurants. When we've no longer got a lunatic wizard trying to destroy the nation, maybe I'll show them to you."

Once he is clean, Condign dons the armor and lays on the cot for a brief rest.

Exhausted from the fight, Condign's brief rest becomes a deep sleep faster than he would have intended. For a half an hour, he is untroubled...

But soon enough, he stirs again at the sound of the Thunderhead's crew moving about. A knock sounds at the door to the cabin. "We're coming close," the gnome's muffled voice says. Unlike the brig aboard the White Phoenix, this room has a porthole, though there is very little to see in the night sky. However, the rest of the ship is patterned exactly the same as the Phoenix. Why, right there Condign can well imagine the massive hook of the Dissolution crashing through the same wall...

Shaking that thought away, once he is as refreshed as he can be, Condign returns to the upper deck where everyone else has gathered. Ralsor, of course, stands at the helm.

The line of dots sparkling up from the dark landscape below links up to a beautiful display of firelight and magelight in the distance: the city of Fairhaven, capital of Aundair and the seat of its royal authority.

When the city draws closer—close enough that you can see the glowing dots connect to the lightning rail station just outside the north gate—two blue-green fires spring into existence in the open air, as high up as the Thunderhead itself and less than a hundred feet in front of the ship.

Lord Dassek holds up a hand to Ralsor. "Stop the ship, Captain," he calls out. Ralsor, complies, focusing his influence through the dragonshard-studded wheel. The air elemental slows, then stops, its propulsion altogether. The Thunderhead merely floats in place, resting only on the magic and buoyancy of the soarwood.

Lord Dassek strides over toward the bow. He holds one arm up and speaks a single arcane word. Blue-green fire blazes from his hand, signaling the newcomers.

Within seconds, a large winged shape glides into the Thunderhead's lanternlight. An enormous bird of prey, brown-feathered but with a strange array of feathers and oversized talons. A dragonhawk! The beast is saddled, and a rider in Aundairian livery.

"Lord Dassek," the man says, saluting. The dragonhawk's wings beat fiercely, keeping it aloft just above the deck.

Lord Dassek walks over to stand just below the rider. "The White Phoenix has fallen, Lieutenant." The rider stares for a moment, realizing that this isn't the White Phoenix. I need you to guide this ship in. This is the Thunderhead, which is piloted by Ralsor d'Lyrandar. Go. Report and return."

"Yes, my lord," the rider answers. He spurs the beast, and the dragonhawk turns and flaps off into the darkness once again. Several long feathers draft down to the deck.

Fherina slides out from the rail, stoops, and picks one up.

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For some visuals....

Although this shows daytime, and a very different landscape than Aundair, here's an image of the lightning rail "tracks" as seen from an airship above.

And here are some dragonhawks, to remind you what they look like. This one's from The Five Nations book, and this one's from The Forge of War. (The dragonhawk's on the right, whereas wyverns are on the left.)

[Darren]

Kal moves into place beside Fherina, and although he doesn't take his eyes from the dragonhawk riders, his low words are clearly meant for her. "I hope you will report true and accurately only what you have seen." Without waiting for a reply, he turns and walks back to the others.

[Josh]

After a few minutes, Grafth emerges from below deck, his mouth full of some of the remaining meat from his earlier hunt with Mist. He just sees the outline of the dragonhawk as it glides back into the night.

"Sho, Ralshur" he says, gulping down the snack, "What do you think? Should we remain below, or gather on deck to meet the authorities? How do you wish to present your ship to them?"

[Jeff]

Ralsor sighs. "I think the less work they—the Fairhavian powers that be—have to do the better they'll treat us. So let's not make them find us. We leave Mr. Emerald Claw where he is, and the rest of us gather in front of the forecastle."

Fherina eyes Kal for a moment and says nothing. Lever stands beside Ralsor in the wheelhouse, but nods and walks down to stand before the forecastle.

[Jeff's backup]

Condign comes to stand with the others at the forecastle. He stares at the winged messenger departing, his gaze slowly drifting down to the lights below. His hand settles on the pommel of his sword hilt as he turns to Kal. "Those fires? Are they warning signals? Are those towns down there under attack?" A note of steel enters his voice: "Has this Malov you speak of already started his move?"

[Darren]

Kal looks between Fairhaven below and Condign standing next to him. "That is Fairhaven, Condign. That is how the place appears every night. Have you never been to a large city?" He eyes the hand the tiefling has placed on his sword hilt. "Just keep your sword sheathed and your temper under control and I think we'll be okay." Kal doesn't sound completely convinced.

He turns to look at everyone else. "d'Lyrander is right. We said we'd cooperate, and the more we do that, the easier this will go. We need not lie to the authorities. We have nothing to hide. Our only concern is an expedient end to the situation so that we can return to hunting Malov." Kal's eyebrows draw down for a moment. "Just remember that even within the upper ranks of Fairhaven society, Malov may have agents working for him. Be truthful, but do not think safety is assured."

Kalarian grins at Ralsor. "It's a lovely ship. I hope you get to keep it."

[Ken]

Leaning over the railing, Belarin smiles broadly at the sight below. "Magnificent," he breathes. "I've seen it at night many times, but never from this height!"

He looks at Kalarian. "What is this 'need not lie' thing you speak of, my lord? Your customs are strange to me! Ha!"

OOC: Jeff, please see the DE-related postscript in my e-mail to you this morning.

[Jeff]

"It's a lovely ship. I hope you get to keep it."

Ralsor offers Kal a mock salute. "Thank you for flying with House Lyrandar. I trust you enjoyed your flight. Please feel free to tip your pilot, and your captain."

Slowly, and guided by a trio of dragonhawks and their riders, Ralsor brings the Thunderhead down toward the city and the Lyrandar sky tower near its northern gate. As you look upon the city, this time from above, it strikes you how magical it appears.

Each of the Five Nations is known for something: Breland for its size, diversity, and its industries; Karrnath for its sheer military might; Thrane for its devotions and its theocracy; doomed Cyre, now the Mournland, was known for its beauty, art, and innovation.

But Aundair is known for its purveyance of magic. No other nation attracts hopeful apprentices and magewrights like Aundair. Its arcane institutions are famous, none moreso than the Arcane Congress. But here in Fairhaven the University of Wynarn—as in in the royal family name, Wynarn—is the most prestigious institution of higher learning period. Looking down on it from hundreds of feet in the air, the academic buildings of the University are prominent, illuminated by magelight but not garishly so. The beauty of its architecture speaks for itself.

But the centerpiece of the city inevitably draws your eye: the gleaming white towers of Fairhold, palace of the Queen and fortress of Aundair's government. It looks like the perfect middle ground between stylized architecture and strategic defensibility. Even now, two dragonhawks circle the tower, backlit by a blaze of gold and green light that wreathes one of the great spires.

The Thunderhead isn't the only airship in the sky. You see no fewer than three others drifting at varying levels—most likely passenger vessels viewing the city in luxury. Only the wealthy can afford airship travel under normal circumstances. As Ralsor had once explained, the standard rate for airship travel is 1 gold galifar for every passing mile.

The Aundair River runs northeast and southwest alongside the city along a wide thicket of piers. The docks of Fairhaven have a reputation of both commercial enormity and disreputable criminal activity.

"I have only been here once," Lever says, looking every which way. "There are enclaves of every dragonmarked house here."

At this, Kal's eyes are drawn to the turrets and flags of the Deneith compound; Streko, meanwhile, looks to the squat but still quite sizeable Jorasco citadel. Grafth, Kal, and Streko have already been to both since Malov's administrations began.

"Finally," Fherina gasps, clinging to the rail as she looks down upon the great city for a moment longer before moving to stand by the corner of the forecastle.

[Darren]

Kal grunts at Lever's comment. "Hopefully we'll get to see them again soon." He folds his arms and turns to Dassek. "How do we proceed, colonel?"

[Josh]

Grafth looks down at the city in anticipation. His posture seems expressly rigid and upright, uncharacteristic of his race.

[Ken]

Belarin bounces from foot to foot as the group waits. Whether he does so out of excitement or anxiety or both is unclear.

[Jeff]

"How do we proceed, colonel?"

"You wait."

Slowly, and perhaps a bit overcautiously, Ralsor steers the Thunderhead down to the Lyrandar docking tower, a slender, 200-foot structure of stone, metal, and wood. The docking platform juts out from the upper level of the tower, and you can see another airship docked on the opposite side. The other ship is powered by an elemental ring of fire, glowing orange-red like the White Phoenix's did.

The closer the ship has come, the more people have begun to appear. By the time the Thunderhead comes to a full stop, and the elemental ring dissolves into little more than a translucent current of air, a large array of watchmen and authority figures have gathered on the docking platform. Some stand further back, as if strategically placed in case of a fight. There are a lot of crossbows among them, leveled at the ship.

Ralsor comes down onto the deck and moves into place the gangplank.

"Just stay here," Lord Dassek says, and strides up and across the gangplank to the tower platform. A small knot of uniformed men gather together, and Dassek speaks with them in hushed tones, much too far away for any of you to overhear.

Fherina eyes the crossbowmen warily, then touches Belarin on the arm. She looks nervous, and fidgets with her clothing. "I've never been arrested before," she explains meekly. She pulls her hood up and fusses with her hair.

Less than a minute later, several of the soldiers men run onto the ship, carrying stretchers and blankets. "Where are the wounded?" one of them demands, and their faces look angry and grief-stricken.

"I'll show you," Fherina volunteers, seeming to want to make a big show of cooperating. She leads the men downstairs. The men return soon after with the three survivors—the man, the woman, and the boy, Wirren—carried between them. Fherina seems to have stayed below.

"Get them to the Jorasco hospice," Lord Dassek orders, and then hurry away with the survivors.

Then Lord Dassek returns to his discussions. A few minutes stretches into twenty, and still they are talking.

[Ken]

"If I had to make a wager, which I do from time to time," says Belarin softly to his compatriots, "I'd hazard that a number of those guards are emotionally invested in seeing some of us in chains, and Dassek is making the case that that's not such a wise idea." A pause. "Well, he's trying to do so."

[Joe]

Streko grumbles softly to himself. "I should be with those wounded people at House Jorasco...or attempting to find Malov. SOMETHING aside from waiting for strangers to declare our fate."

He steps up to Kalarian. "Does Drassek truly understand the peril his city his in? That all of Eberron could be in? We MUST be allowed into Fairhaven. My fear is that Malov's spies or even himself already knows we are here. The threat is grave and Malov has already proven several times that he is not above annihilation when he is desperate. This process must be concluded. Quickly."

[Josh]

"We've stated our case," Grafth replies, "and he's seen at least a portion of what our enemy is capable of. We have to trust that this will work out in our favor." He eyes the crossbowmen warily.

[Darren]

Kal leans his sharrash against his shoulder and looks between Streko and the men on the dock. "I think Belarin and Grafth are right, my friend. I think anything we do now will only hurt our case. Dassek there is probably our best asset, at the moment. With any luck, he is arguing for us to be brought somewhere so the matter can be discussed calmly. Let us be glad that they did not simply storm the ship, disarm us, and drag us away in chains. I believe that says much for the sway that Dassek holds here." Kalarian rolls up the loose sleeves of his shirt as though trying to drive away some warmth, exposing the blue dragonmark on his forearm. He crosses his arms, making sure the mark is displayed prominently, his halfling war-scythe nestled in the crook of his elbow, the blade curving over his head. He watches the proceedings closely, but shows only outward calm. The calm of a man who is innocent, or at least who believes he has done no wrong.

[Jeff's backup]

"That is all one city?" Condign mutters. He turns again to Kal and says: "How do you keep so many people safe? I can see at least six entrances into Fairhaven--not counting the airship. There are too many fronts to defend." The tiefling's tail twitches behind him. "You would not find such a city in Fah'llrg."

Looking at the others, he says: "I commend you on your decision to face your accusers. It again speaks to your honor. If I can be of help, I will. I wish you luck."

[Jeff]

"How do you keep so many people safe? I can see at least six entrances into Fairhaven--not counting the airship. There are too many fronts to defend." The tiefling's tail twitches behind him. "You would not find such a city in Fah'llrg."

Only Charis and Kal recognize this name, and only barely. It has been a long time since they read it in a book somewhere. Fah'llrg was the ancient and original name of a territory in the northwestern, forsaken corner of Khorvaire, said to once be the capital of a vast and terrible empire thousands of years before even humans reached the shores of Khorvaire. Today, that region is known simply as the Demon Wastes.

Oblivious to this fact, Lever says matter-of-factly, "In truth, very few skirmishes reached the walls of Fairhaven during the Last War. There may be many fronts to defend, but the arcane might of this city is well known. An invading army would find much more than crossbows and pikes awaiting them at the walls."

"Fah'llrg," Ralsor repeats quietly, staring down at the city lights.

Condign feels many eyes on him, and possibly an unfair percentage of the crossbows nearby are veered toward him.

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History checks = Belarin (1d20+3=4), Charis (1d20+8=21), Grafth (1d20+3=14), Kal (1d20+7=24), Streko (1d20+4=8)

[Darren]

"Unfortunately," Kal says, "most of the danger to this city comes from within."

[Josh]

"Whoever has the book," Grafth says in a low murmur, "of all our possessions, this should not end up in anyone else's hands. We have seen what it can do to even a learned and careful magician. I can imagine what some bureaucrat might end up doing with it."

[Jeff]

"Whoever has the book....this should not end up in anyone else's hands."

As if on cue, the knot of men breaks, and Lord Dassek turns back to your party. He strides back across the gangplank as half of the men turn away.

"All right," the colonel says to you. "Listen. I've told them the story as I know it, of the fate of my ship and your part in our survival. This has, and will continue to, mollified them some. Many of the Phoenix's crew have friends in this city, and their anger is redirected at whoever's really behind the attack. If they think you're on their side, then you've got yourself more allies. But don't try their patience. It will wear thin quickly."

"Court wizards are being summoned to examine and catalogue your possessions. I have bargained on your behalf, and they will allow you to retain your person effects. But not your weapons. They will be taken from you—for a short time, if all goes well. They will become my responsibility, and I will be involved in this every step of the way, so they will never be far.

"In addition, a master inquisitive of House Medani* has apparently already been hired to investigate the events of which you are only possibly a part. He will be here soon to examine this ship and the evidence presented by the battle." He gestures at the large scorch mark in the deck. "Once he gives the all-clear, you'll be able to enter the city. Depending on how cooperative you are, you may be released (and watched carefully) or detained for a short while. That will be up to the inquisitive. He's been given much authority on this case.

"Do you understand? Please have your identification papers ready first."

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* House Medani is one of the dragonmarked houses, one of the smallest and most "recent," and bears the Mark of Detection. Like House Lyrandar, half-elves make up House Medani. The Warning Guild, the primary body of the house, is known for its bodyguards, sentries, magic researchers, advisors, inquisitives, and spy-catchers, the house is usually hired by institutions, governments, and other dragonmarked houses more often than individuals. House Medani sometimes competes with House Deneith for its bodyguards and House Tharashki with its inquisitives.

[Darren]

Kal sits with a relaxed posture, his legs out in front of him, the sharrash leaning against his shoulder, but one hand still kept on the haft. "We have no choice but to do as you say, Colonel, but we will comply. Thank you for speaking on our behalf. I would prefer if one of the Sentinel Marshal's were sent instead of a Medani Inquisitive, but I will accept whatever comes. Would it be possible to get a message to House Deneith?"