Chapter 7: Unconscious Revelations

[Dave W.]

Sept 1, 2010 8:47:49 GMT -4 Mike said:

Aug 31, 2010 9:08:08 GMT -4 Jeff said:

"I've come to think of it as prayer," Syrdan says. A thin smile crosses his face. "I believe Adamant just wants to let the ground know that he appreciates it being beneath his feet."

"Wummppf," Adamant lets out a perhaps too loud bass musical note. "Yes, a prayer;" the warforged adds lightly, "one should always beg forgiveness for being such a burden."

[Joe]

The front door of the shop, already ajar, creaks opens further, drawing Streko's attention back that way for a moment.

A balding, portly man with a workman's clothes strolls in, wiping his brow. He looks like one of the Bazaar's many porters, perhaps on a break. He looks over at Streko and gives a short wave and a friendly smile. "Hello there," he says. "Anything good in here?"

The lyre music stops. The beaked and cloaked figure stands up.

The first thought on Streko's mind is CHANGELING! as the round human enters the shop. The music's abrupt end sends Streko's nerves jarring even further into fight/flight mode.

Olladra's gifts and training, however, have been time-tested upon the halfling. Streko shows nothi\ng more than polite interest.

"This shop is filled to the brim with goodness. In fact, I doubt if anything bad could possibly survive in such a wonderful establishment as this. Wouldn't you agree, friend musician?"

Streko turns his head slightly to the hooded man and bows, never taking his eyes off the newcomer. "Strange how busy it is, and yet, so unassuming! Wouldn't you agree?"

[Jeff]

Kal and Tangat

Kal throws himself at the old woman—

Her skin darkens, softens, then starts to evaporate in the span of a heartbeat. By the time he crashes into her—dead on—the weight of her body seems considerably less, as if she'd shriveled to a husk in a moment's time. He thinks for a moment he can even see her skeleton as he makes contact with her and bears her to the ground. As the two tumble to the marble floor, a wash of foul air blows into him, through him, and sends him into a daze.

Darkness and dizziness seem to be waging war, each trying to claim Kal. He hears shouts, distant shouts of people in the room, panicked, frightened.

Tangat's bark is noticeably absent.

Kal is strangely cognizant of the fact that he's blacking out, coming in and out of consciousness.

He hears, or remembers, a deep voice. ...first you must be transformed.

Then he sees something. Darkness curtains away and he finds himself looking at a stone threshold of some kind, tall, larger than a normal one. Just beyond it, stairs lead down toward a dark river...

Then that vision is veiled in darkness again, darkness from his own eyelids.

Finally he has strength enough again to open his eyes. The world is bleary, but it's coming back into focus slowly, and sound is returning again. He hears the voices of frightened people again, but this time there's also gruffer voices, barking orders, taking control.

A warforged looms over him where he lays with the hard ground under him. It holds out its hand, kneeling. For a moment Kal thinks it might be Adamant, his new friend, but no...the Watchful Eye of Deneith is carved into its chest. "My lord...Lord Kalarian, is it? Are you well?" Human soldiers stand beside and behind the warforged, also looking down.

[Jeff]

Adamant and Syrdan

"I would like to give you another symbol," Mayne says. "For you to use or save as you wish." He leans down and withdraws something from the reliquary: a small wreath of dark green leaves.

Syrdan has seen such before, worn as a laurel upon the head, as a necklace, or even hung from a warrior's belt. He also recognizes from his training back home that these are mordrei'in, or "leaves of death."

During rites, Aereni priests and practitioners often consume small amounts of mordrei’in. No mere fabricated or distilled drug, these are the leaves of the mordril, a tree that grows only on Aerenal, and only in grave dirt. The leaves are deadly when eaten raw, but with the proper application of herbal and alchemical techniques, they become only mildly poisonous and enhance the consumer’s ability to focus. Worshipers hold this trancelike state to be a bridge between the living and the dead.

"This coronet was fashioned for the living elders who worship in the Councilors' Fane." Syrdan has visited the Fane once, long ago, which is located in Shae Mordrai, the Aerenal City of the Dead, the seat of the Undying Court, and the spiritual heart of the elven nation. "But it was sent to me not so long ago now. I give this to you as a reward for your service, though I know you ask for none—but also for another task I would ask of you but not require."

He holds out the leaves of death for Syrdan to accept.

_____________________________

Mike: If Syrdan accepts this gift, I'll add the stats to his sheet. It's actually an alternative holy symbol which he can use as an implement for the only two powers he has that have Implement as a keyword. Channel Divinity: Abjure Undead and Channel Divinity: Undying's Command.

[Jeff]

Belarin and Streko

"You must hear and see much in this spot, Vundry," he continues. "Any new whispers of shadowy excitement that might be of interest to a thrill-seeking scoundrel?"

Vundry smirks. "Oh, I'm not sure I know you well enough to be doling out my whispers, Macklin Thiel. But I suppose finding out more about the real you is where we start. Someone told you to come here. I make it a habit of finding out who did the pointing."

"Also, now would be the right time for that initial payment," Vundry says. "As much as you do have on you, that is...with enough to get you back to where you're staying. And..." She takes the bottle, and a swig, then smiles. "Let's account for five galifars with this."

Meanwhile...

"Strange how busy it is, and yet, so unassuming! Wouldn't you agree?"

The shopper smiles. "Sounds good to me." He starts down the nearest aisle and glances at the wares. "'Course, just getting away from the crowds is nice." He looks up toward Streko and the hooded figure. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I heard song...guess it sorta lured me in."

The hooded figure sets down the lyre on the ground, lifts up what appears to be a walking stick with a string dangling from the tip, and starts forward toward the door. As he makes his way past Streko one aisle over, the halfling hears the soft click of bird-like talons on the hardwood floor. The newly entered shopper looks at Streko with a puzzled expression as if to say: What did I do?

[Jeff]

Condign

"Very good." Lord Gardan stands, withdraws a numbered key from his pocket, and walks over to one of the vaults on the wall. The Mark of Warding on his neck seems to pulsate with blue light as he grips the handle. He whispers something Condign can't quite hear or understand, then inserts the key into a hole and twists it. There is a soft hum in the air just for a moment as the vault unlocks. Then the vault's thick metal swings open. Condign can see some sort of long, narrow case within.

"Interesting." Pocketing the key again, the dwarf reaches out and grasps the case and pulls it out and carries it to the table. The case is polished and lacquered, made of some sort of rosewood. It looks fairly delicate, like it's meant to contain a musical instrument.

"Probably not an ooze, then," the gnome observes.

"Not a standard coffer, either," the younger dwarf says, speaking for the first time.

Lord Gardan shoots them both a murderous glance, then tests the latch on the case itself. Also locked. "Hmmm. We have not been provided with a key for this. However..." He shuffles through his scrolls. "If you sign this document, agreeing not to hold House Kundarak accountable for any resultant misfortunes for the opening, we can provide locksmithing services free of charge as part of this transaction."

[Darren]

Rolling to his back, Kal feels his chest with his hands. He looks up at the warforged, blinking some kind of dust from his eyes. "I believe I am," he says as he props himself up on his elbows. Then he looks down and realizes his right leg is twisted at an unnatural angle. Kal quickly grabs his leg and straightens it. Making a vexed sound, Kal tightens one of the many straps surrounding his leg even as he notices that one of the buckles broke in the fall.

Accepting the hand up from the warforged, Kal is surprised to find that the metal of the construct's hand is not cold as he expected it would be. An odd thought to have right now, he muses. Brushing himself off, Kal looks around the room, particularly noting whether or not Tangat is okay. "What happened?" he asks. "Is everyone here okay? Where did that woman go? And the young man?" he asks, quickly scanning the area. "Where is he? I want to talk to him...."

[Brian]

Lord Gardan:

"If you sign this document, agreeing not to hold House Kundarak accountable for any resultant misfortunes for the opening, we can provide locksmithing services free of charge as part of this transaction."

Condign nods to the dwarf and signs the waiver. "I may as well have you open it. I'd like to get to the bottom of this." He pushed to signed scroll back to Lord Gardan. "I am sure my friends are having far more fun than I am. Lord Kalarian is undoubtedly lounging somewhere with a drink in his hand."

[Joe]

Streko holds his place. He shrugs at the newcomer, but says nothing else. Feeling as if something important just happened, Streko attempts to keep his eye on the stranger and the strange bird-like creature that just passed him by.

Bird? Griffon? Is there a connection here that I am missing?

Streko waits to see how this will play out, absent-mindedly gripping the griffon figurine tighter in one hand, all the while trying to maintain visual contact with both the musician and the interloper without making it look as if he is assessing the situation from a tactical pespective.

[Ken]

Sept 2, 2010 15:42:01 GMT -4 Jeff said:

Vundry smirks. "Oh, I'm not sure I know you well enough to be doling out my whispers, Macklin Thiel. But I suppose finding out more about the real you is where we start. Someone told you to come here. I make it a habit of finding out who did the pointing."

"Also, now would be the right time for that initial payment," Vundry says. "As much as you do have on you, that is...with enough to get you back to where you're staying. And..." She takes the bottle, and a swig, then smiles. "Let's account for five galifars with this."

"Hmmm, well," says Belarin, "as the identity of the one who praised you isn't really part of the transaction, that knowledge carries a price.... say, five galifars." He smiles teasingly. It's clear that he's enjoying this conversation. He then reaches into a belt pouch and counts out some coins in his hand. "Twenty galifars to start."

[Jeff]

Belarin and Streko

Belarin:

"Hmmm, well....as the identity of the one who praised you isn't really part of the transaction, that knowledge carries a price.... say, five galifars.....Twenty galifars to start."

Vundry narrows her eyes, but Belarin thinks it may be in mockery. "A fair price," she says, "For finding out who sent business my way. But I'm afraid the antidote for the poison you just ingested"—she pats a pocket of her vest—"is also five galifars. So I guess that makes it even. Twenty-five galifars." Vundry's face is unreadable...she's damned good at this, so Belarin's not quite certain whether she's jesting or not. He'd like to assume so. "So let's hear about your contact."

Meanwhile, in the main shop...

Streko waits to see how this will play out...

When the hooded bird-man is fully past Streko, he reaches the front door, reaches out and grasps the door handle, then slams it shut! Then he spins, and in a swift and fluid motion Streko can barely follow lifts up, lifts up his slender walking stick and slides the string to one end. The next instant his walking stick is revealed as a shortbow! An arrow appears from somewhere.

The creak of the string has Streko tense, ready to duck—but the creature swivels and points it at the newcomer.

"Changeling," the bird-man rasps. "You not leaving here."

Streko can make out a little bit more detail of the bird-man. His beak is black, but the feathers around his head are dark brown flecked with lighter brown. His features suggest a mixture of both falcon and crow. Streko's never seen the like.

The portly shopper holds up his hands in surprise. "What? No."

In the backroom, both Belarin and Vundry hear the door slam. The gnome frowns. "Erekk," she says, then fixes Belarin with an unspoken accusation. "Did you bring trouble?" Then, faster, "Better tell me who sent you to me. Now."

[Jeff]

Condign

Once his signature is down, Lord Gardan reaches out, taps the case, and there is another audible click as it unlocks. Condign is left wondering what powers the Mark of Warding imparts a dragonmarked dwarf, and what powers are simply learned by the dwarves of Kundarak. He knows their business is all about safekeeping, warding property, and all that.

"The case as well as its contents are your property now," the dwarf says. "And none of our business. You are not required to open it here. But this chamber will afford you privacy, should you wish to do so. If you do opt to open it here, however, we must remain with you."

Thinking back to his years among the Ghaash'kala, Condign can't help but consider the contrast between the "civilized" world and the home he left behind. Back home, treasure vaults were simply a well-hidden cave or secret passage in the Ghaash'kala territory within the Labyrinth. Maybe a locked chest or two, if the orcs had scavenged any from slain travelers foolish enough to bring valuables into the Demon Wastes.

_________________________

Brian: jumped through enough hoops yet, Brian?

[Brian]

Condign pulls the case toward him, turning it so that the hinged side points to the dwarf and his companions.

"Just have a quick peek, my lord. I know you will understand the need for discretion."

Condign holds the base with one hand, and with the other he opens the lid enough to see what is hidden inside. All the time he is keeping the case facing the others so they can not see the contents.


____________________

Funny man. Just wait. Revenge will be mine.

[Mike]

Sept 2, 2010 10:44:28 GMT -4 Jeff said:

"This coronet was fashioned for the living elders who worship in the Councilors' Fane." Syrdan has visited the Fane once, long ago, which is located in Shae Mordrai, the Aerenal City of the Dead, the seat of the Undying Court, and the spiritual heart of the elven nation. "But it was sent to me not so long ago now. I give this to you as a reward for your service, though I know you ask for none—but also for another task I would ask of you but not require."

He holds out the leaves of death for Syrdan to accept.

Syrdan is quiet for a moment, almost unsure of what to say.

"Thank you," he finally says in reverent tones, "you honor me. I will do my best to ensure I honor you and this temple in kind." He carefully takes the leaves of death from Mayne. For the moment, he puts in on in a similar manner to a necklace, but he glances down at his belt.

I'll need to find a worthy place for this, he thinks.

"This is quite a gift," Syrdan says. "Should I assume you think I'll need it on my journeys onward from here?" He gives Mayne a curious look. "And do those journeys include anything for the needs of the temple? Know that my blade is yours ... if anything if required of me, I shall do what you ask."

[Jeff]

Kal and Tangat

"What happened?....Is everyone here okay? Where did that woman go? And the young man?...Where is he? I want to talk to him...."

Even as Kal speaks these words and steadies himself on his feet again, pain begins to rise to the fore. As if some numbing medicine is now washing away, revealing the hurt it was hiding. Every muscle is sore, as if he'd been sprinting non-stop for an hour. He feels drained by more than exertion, as if by some malevolent force.

He also smells burned flesh. Not his, though.

Looking to the ground, he sees the old woman is now nothing more than a scattered pile of vaguely human-shaped dust and tattered robes. Utterly destroyed by whatever power she unleashed with her "dragonmark." Kal looks to where the young man, her son, had been. The man lies flat on his back, his body and clothing utterly blackened. Smoke rises from the corpse. It looks like...an electrical burn, and maybe even a bit of fire.

Tangat!

Kal feels a moment of panic as he looks around. Then he sees the dog lying on his side, wheezing but alive. His eyes are sad and glassy. His pain is evident, mostly through their shared bond. Tangat, too, has been hit with whatever foul energy the woman had unleashed. His fur looks wilted, and he appears to be teetering on the edge of consciousness.

"What in Khyber happened?" a voice demands. Kal looks and sees some sort of Deneith official approaching. This one's actually armored and looks like a Blademark commander, someone much higher up than even the usual white, gray, and gold blades of the Blademark ranks.

"An attack, my lord," the warforged says, pointing to the remains of the crone. "This woman...used some sort of suicidal spell. This man"—the warforged reaches out to help steady Kal—"intervened quickly. Without a thought." His gemstone eyes flicker for a moment, and somehow Kal think it equates a smile of approval. He's seen something like that in Adamant's 'expressions' a few times. "I believe this man took the worst of it. And survived."

Kal also notices a few people nearby lying on the ground, wounded. Their skin is gray, looking wrinkled and stricken, but they're being tended to now. It doesn't look like anyone but the crone and her son were actually killed.

The Blademark commander stands directly in front of Kal. "Son...how do you feel?"

Kal's attention is mostly on Tangat, the warforged, and the commander, but he's dimly aware of activity going on around him. Healers being called in, soldiers to secure the area, and so on.

_________________________

Kal and Tangat both have sustained 20 necrotic damage and is weakened (for only a few rounds worth).

[Jeff]

Condign

Condign lifts the lid just enough to peer within. Nestled in black velvet the tiefling sees a sword. A broadsword. Looks...impressive. But he'd need to see it in good light to really appraise the blade.

[Jeff]

Adamant and Syrdan

Syrdan:

"Should I assume you think I'll need it on my journeys onward from here?"

"Not necessarily," Mayne says. "But now that you've left Aerenal, i suspect you will be venturing into more and more dangerous places." In Elvish, he says, "Such is life in the Deathguard, young Syrdan. But danger precedes the next journey and I know that you have accepted that."

The high priest closes the ornate chest, then faces both elf and warforged squarely. His words are for Syrdan, though. "Shortly after you departed for the North Market, Lerrhana also set out on an investigation of her own. It is not one I asked of her, so I do not know very much about it. She has not returned yet. I am have become mildly concerned. Lerrhana is a warrior of skill, but I am unsure of the danger."

The elderly elf priest smiles softly...though his corpselike appearance would probably give a human child nightmares. "Lerrhana is proud, and I suspect she would not wish me to send someone to her 'rescue'...if such is even required. But she reminds me of my own granddaughter, and I cannot help my concerned... like a foolish old sire."

[Brian]

With a sharp snap, Condign closes the lid. His face betrays no reaction.

"Thank you, my lords," he says as he lifts the case. "I believe we are done. If you will kindly show me out?"


______________________________

Once outside, Condign will find a fairly private place in which he can inspect the broadsword.

[Ken]

"Castar sent me," says Belarin casually. "Still want to poison me? I think we're back to twenty galifars for the first payment. Shall we go see what's ruffled your friend's feathers?"

[Jeff]

Condign

Once business is concluded, dwarves seem to be remarkably expedient. In no time, Condign is brought back out into the central hall of the Kundarak/Sivis operations. He stands there for a moment, case under his arms, drawing only a few curious stares from the people in here, when he sees the other tiefling just walking out the main threshold.

[Brian]

Jeff:

He stands there for a moment, case under his arms, drawing only a few curious stares from the people in here, when he sees the other tiefling just walking out the main threshold.

Seeing the the other tiefling leave the building, Condign decides to try and follow him. He holds the sword case out in front of him, as if admiring it, while he casually follows around twenty paces behind his kinsman.

[Mike]

Sept 3, 2010 9:31:31 GMT -4 Jeff said:

The high priest closes the ornate chest, then faces both elf and warforged squarely. His words are for Syrdan, though. "Shortly after you departed for the North Market, Lerrhana also set out on an investigation of her own. It is not one I asked of her, so I do not know very much about it. She has not returned yet. I am have become mildly concerned. Lerrhana is a warrior of skill, but I am unsure of the danger."

The elderly elf priest smiles softly...though his corpselike appearance would probably give a human child nightmares. "Lerrhana is proud, and I suspect she would not wish me to send someone to her 'rescue'...if such is even required. But she reminds me of my own granddaughter, and I cannot help my concerned... like a foolish old sire."

Syrdan smiles at the priest's words. "I understand," the elf says. "I never require rescue, either. But perhaps I could track Lerrhana down, to merely relay a message to her, nothing more. And if she happened to need a slight amount of assistance when that message was delivered ..." Syrdan shrugs. "Well, that would just be fortunate happenstance, wouldn't it?"

Syrdan scratches his chin, lost in thought for a moment. "Would you happen to know where Lerrhana was last headed?"

[Darren]

Kalarian ignores the commander for a moment. He stoops to retrieve his sharrash, then leans on it for support. "Would you see to my friend?" he says quietly to one of the people tending wounds and pointing over to Tangat. "I would consider it a personal favor."

Spinning quickly - perhaps a bit too quickly, as he hurriedly steadies himself and tries to make sure that no one notices - Kal sends a cold look at the Blademark. "Don't worry about me. There are innocents here who need more attention than I do," he says. "Commander, how is it that an attack was allowed to happen inside of these gates?" As he has many times in the past, Kal folds his arms so that his dragonmark stands out like a badge in front of him.

[Jeff]

Condign

Condign keeps pace with the other tiefling from a distance as others pass them by, coming and going from the compound. The tiefling stranger makes his way toward the exit, carrying nothing in his hands, though Condign is fairly sure he saw at least a dagger on his belt earlier—pretty standard in a city with so many agendas. Some of the other people do a double-take when they pass the tiefling, then again when they see Condign, and he can't help but crack a slight smile. What is this—a tiefling pride parade? Just to see one is rare.

When Condign exits the enclave altogether the tiefling is just approaching an intersection. Condign glances in the direction of the Deneith enclave, to the left, and his instincts tell him something's going on that way, a slight stirring in the crowds and what looks like a doubling up of the guardsmen. Trouble. In the direction Kal went.

But the tiefling stranger turns right, heading the opposite direction. Condign needs to choose one way or another, and quick.

[Jeff]

Kal and Tangat

When none of the healers moves at Kal's request, the commander pivots and points at one of them. "The dog!" he shouts, and almost immediately a bald halfling dashes forward and kneels at Tangat's side. Jorasco, probably. Kal trusts that Tangat will be fine.

Kal:

"Commander, how is it that an attack was allowed to happen inside of these gates?" As he has many times in the past, Kal folds his arms so that his dragonmark stands out like a badge in front of him.

Even as he folds his arms, Kal notices for the first time that his own dragonmark is glowing softly. He can feel its warmth, but the numbness masked it.

"I would like to know that myself, my lord," the commander says, and though his tone is respectful, he doesn't say it as if to a superior. Kal senses that this man is of Deneith blood himself, a career Blademark to the core. Nevertheless, he is sizing Kal up himself—his armor, his weapons, his dragonmark, his bearing.

The commander looks to the warforged. "Breech, tell me what you saw."

The warforged's eyes flash again with white-blue light. "A recruit, and his parent. The fault is mine, my lord, I was not paying as much attention to them as I should have. I have failed."

"Go on."

"The elderly woman, she was becoming hysterical. That is when I observed more carefully. She shouted as if to the whole enclave and said it would 'be the first to pay for the crimes' of its sires. I do not know what she meant by this. Then she revealed her head, hairless and lit with a tattoo, very like a dragonmark but not like any I've seen—"

"House Tarkanan!" the commander says, and nearly spits. He turns to look at the nearest guards and officials. "Lock this place down. No one goes out, no one comes in. This story's not getting out without our say-so."

Then he turns back to face Kal and the warforged named Breech. "Continue."

Breech says, "This man grappled the woman and quelled her magic. His own dragonmark seemed to come to life. There was fire and lightning. The woman's offspring attempted to intervene, to pull this man away, but the lightning defeated him first. There was a shockwave of some sort."

There is a murmur in the crowd around the room, agreeing with this statement.

The commander looks at Kal. "You've saved some lives, I think, my lord. You have my gratitude, and I would have your name."

________________________

Darren, roll a History check...

[Darren]

Kal's eyes move to follow the halfling, and once he knows Tangat is well taken care of, his attention returns to the Blademark.

"My name is Kalarian Jaeren, Commander," Kal says. He neither bows nor salutes. He is not disrepectful. Kal is simply knows who he is and who the other man is. "I now know the name of this warforged, but I haven't had the pleasure of yours...."

Arms still folded, Kal seems to ignore the glow of his dragonmark. At least to all outward appearances. He surveys the room. "Commander, that woman said that we would be the first. I suggest you contact all other Deneith enclaves that you can and tell them to be alert for a similar attack. I doubt this will be an isolated incident." Kalarian draws a deep breath. "Breach," he says, "is there a log kept of who comes through the gates? Do we know what names the woman and the boy gave? Or what reason they gave for being here?"

Kal moves towards the burn marks on the ground that show where the old woman was, and then he looks at the charred form of the boy. "I think he knew what was going to happen, but he didn't agree with it. He seemed nervous. But he also asked her to stop." Kal's boot heels click on the floor as he paces back to the other man. "Is there any grudge against this enclave that would cause an attack like this?"

________________
History check (1d20+7=11)

Kal should have paid more attention in class.....

[Brian]

When Condign reaches the intersection, he is torn on what to do. The tiefling heading down the right passage is his first encounter with another of his race--and is possibly his first clue in the mission for which he was sent from the Demon Wastes.

However, the commotion down the other lane at the Deneith enclave is growing louder. Undoubtedly, his companion is at the center of it all. Kalarian is competent, but alone.

Condign utters an oath and starts running toward the Deneith enclave. When he sees the compound being sealed off, he runs harder, shouting: "Wait!"

[Jeff]

Condign

Condign sees that he may be too late. Deneith soldiers are gathering quickly at the end of the street he's on. Negotiating through them may prove difficult. The pedestrians around the street look on in curiosity, slowing their paces to watch.

Looking over his shoulder, Condign sees the other tiefling make a turn around a corner, then is out of sight. If he follows, Condign might be able to catch him. Might.

[Brian]

Condign turns his back on the tiefling. He cannot leave his friend to unknown perils.

Crowds are gathering before him, making passage difficult. If he doesn't find a way through them--and quickly--he risks being shut out of the enclave.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!" Condign roars. At the same time, he activates the ring given to him by Castellan Adele and the royal crest of Aundair blazes before him. He hopes desperately that it is enough to startle the crowd into parting and get him into the enclave on time.

[Jeff]

Condign

Condign's mere appearance, armored, armed, and bellowing voice easily parts the crowd. But a line of Deneith soldiers in chain mail, each armed with a sword, halberd, or crossbow, doesn't balk in the slightest. The Aundairian royal crest flashes in the air before him, giving everyone around a good look before dissipating again.

"Stay back!" one of the guards shouts at him. The attention of at least five men is fixed on him, while the others continue to secure the area.

"Stand down, red man," a calmer, more authoritative guard says, leveling his crossbow at Condign, a bolt loaded and ready to discharge. "You're not getting in here. In fact, you're going to stop and set that case down. Now."

The curious crowds behind Condign drift slowly forward, interested in seeing the horned tiefling warrior confront the forces of House Deneith...which seem to be growing. Condign senses the arrival of more guards behind him.

"An agent of Aundair?" he hears one guard remark to another.