Chapter 7: Unconscious Revelations

[Brian]

Condign moves to stand in the dwarven line. As he waits his turn, he keeps his eye on the other tiefling. He is almost as curious about the other tiefling as he is about what awaits him in the bank vault.

[Mike]

Syrdan nods at Adamant's words. "You're a brave soul, my friend," the elf says. "Most creatures of faith have an established realm of history and ritual to latch onto. They can believe in that history and ritual even if their faith isn't strong. You, on the other hand ... it seems all the warforged have is faith, at least for now."

"Unlike my people, your kind have a short history. The beautiful part of that, though, is you get to write the early chapters of that history. In that, I envy you."

Aug 22, 2010 0:29:52 GMT -4 Dave W. said:

Adamant gestures towards a statue of an elven warrior, "May I examine one of these for just a moment? The carving is very fine," Adamants lightly touches the densewood with a metal finger. "The wood, it is unlike anything I have seen. Too strong for ligaments, but possibly useful for armor. Or of course tools or weapons. Does this have a meaning beyond a show of skill?"

"Of sorts," Syrdan replies. He smiles as he watches Adamant examine the statue. "It's a work of art. Art evokes emotion and creativity from people, both from the creators of the art and those who view it. It's a visceral experience."

Syrdan takes a few steps back, eying the statue critically. "When I look at this, I see a work of beauty. I see something that an artist took much time and care to make. And I see the face of a brave warrior, felled in battle, whose courage is properly captured in the countenance of this statue. It's a proper tribute to a fallen hero."

[Jeff]

Condign

As Condign waits, he sees the other tiefling reach the head of his line. He sits down with a gnome at the desk and the two speak quietly and well outside of Condign's hearing. As Condign understands it, while House Sivis handles legalities, documentations (such as notarized identification papers), translation services, and mailing services, it is most famous for its speaking stones: magical devices that allow gnomes with the Mark of Scribing to send spoken words through one speaking stone to be received by another gnome at another speaking stone anywhere in the world.

But soon Condign reaches the front of his own line, and his attention is forced to return to the business at hand. The female dwarf who receives him behind the desk at first looks at him with mild alarm—unaccustomed, perhaps, to seeing a tall, horned, red-skinned client appear—then her expression softens to a professional smile. Condign shows her the bank note that the inquisitive Soneste gave him, and his identification papers when she asks for it. The dwarf woman studies the papers, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Kastar territory, the Labyrinth of the Dem..." she mouths as she reads it. "Ohh." She looks up at him again, her face returning to its professional veneer again. "All is in order, Mister Condign. One moment."

She leaves him standing at the desk for a few minutes. Some part of Condign wonders if he's about to be arrested or something.

Then a brusque, no-nonsense older dwarf in fine clothing comes forward. Bushy brows, brown and gray beard bound by a silvered clasp, monocle perched on one eye. He wears a few jeweled rings, an amulet of silver, and on his neck Condign sees a dragonmark—the Mark of Warding. He looks Condign up and down, maintains a professional expression, but grunts softly. "Greetings, Mister..." He consults a paper in his hand. "Condign, is it? I am Lord Gardain, and I will assist you."

A young gnome appears at his side—a Sivis representative, perhaps—as well as a much younger dwarf, some junior member of House Kundarak who seems to be learning the ropes of the Banking Guild. Lord Gardain glances with slight annoyance at both the younger dwarf and the gnome beside him. "These are my...associates, here to witness the proper proceedings." Condign feels like he's somehow in trouble just talking to this authoritative dwarf. But the dragonmarked dwarf appears to be serving him. "Do you have any questions for me in advance?" Lord Gardan asks him.

[Jeff]

Kal and Tangat

"But yes, this is my first time here. What can you tell me of operations in this sector?"

The guardsman says, "Well, there isn't much we don't do here, my lord. But this is our chief recruiting station, all client-facing operations, and a hub for all services. But Upper Tavick's Landing"—he points up to the towers of the Upper City and to the east—"is where most internal house business takes place."

Then they pass through into the antechamber of the Deneith enclave. Two pillars embossed with Deneith armies dominate the room. A mural of Sentinel Tower as it appeared centuries ago adorns the far wall. A mosaic of the house crest—with a roaring chimera—is a large seal at the center of the marble floor. Various desks line the room, and two banks of stairs on opposite sides of the chamber spiral up to a balcony and second floor. People come and go.

Kal sees that indeed the personnel here are largely administrative. Not very many people are even armored, though of course there are armed guards posted in every room. Most of the personnel are employees of Deneith, hired to manage the beaurocratic side of the business. But this does seem to be the place where clients come to ask about mercenary or bodyguard services.

A few look at Tangat with some concern, as he is wolflike in appearance and unleashed, but seeing him well behaved beside Kal, they eventually dismiss concern.

The guard stops and looks at Kal. "Is there someone in particular you are looking for? Someone I can direct or announce you to?"

[Jeff]

Belarin and Streko

Belarin:

"Matheu? May I ask a favor? When things have settled down a bit, would you consent to teach me the Draconic language? Scribe and scholar though I may be since birth, grasp of the Draconic tongue has always eluded me. And recent events have made it clear that knowledge of the language would be useful to me personally and to the group as a whole. And I can think of no finer teacher than yourself."

There is silence at first, once again making you wonder if Matheu has flown away. Then he answers, I would consider it. I have done so before. Though the bustle of Sharn is not the optimal environment for study. Nor is your pattern of recurring violence. Additionally, there are hurdles to overcome when learning a spoken language telepathically. Nevertheless, it is the oldest and noblest language and something more of your race should learn, even if only as a point of reference in the history of Eberron.

Earlier you asked me what what sources of arcane knowledge might be found in this city. Morgrave University is one such, located on Upper Menthis; though it is as famous as Wynarn University in Fairhaven, it also has a more mercenary reputation. Some regard the scholars and professors of Morgrave to be more interested in plundering ancient civilizations than studying them. In addition to some wizardry studies, Morgrave University does offer courses that teach Draconic—perhaps you should enroll, if my instruction is not complete—though their nuances of language leave something to be desired.

[Jeff]

Adamant and Syrdan

As Adamant and Syrdan walk on, more elves stroll past; most look like citizens of Sharn but their cultural identity as Aereni is strong. A few look a bit more assimilated, while a few look more estranged from Brelish sensibilities than even Syrdan. More than once Adamant spots an elf with tattoos and body paint other races might consider macabre: shadowing around the eyes, bonelike patterns, and even a deathly pallor. To Syrdan, it's quite natural; respect for and emulation of the dead and the deeds of the fallen is one of the first things elves learn.

Following their discussion, Adamant is amazed to see that their destination, the temple Syrdan referred to as the Gates of Passage, is shaped like a ziggurat below and a dome above, and the entire structure is shaped from densewood. A pair of bronze doors hangs open, flanked by two marble warriors reminiscent of Adamant's companion himself.

A single elf in solemn gray robes, fine chainmail, and a slender scimitar emerges from a shadowed alcove beneath one of the statues. Syrdan hasn't seen this one before, but he knows there are always at least two or three concealed guards at the entrance to this temple. The elf inclines his head respectfully to Syrdan, spares only a brief glance at Adamant, and says in Elven, "Greetings, warrior. The Gates welcome you. Will you assume responsibility for the actions of—and all words spoken by—this construct? It is uncommon for one of Cannith's soldiers of war to enter here, but allies of the People are welcome as well." Syrdan knows that in the temples of the Undying Court, the spirits are listening, and that that even spoken words must be respectful.

[Darren]

Aug 23, 2010 11:55:29 GMT -4 Jeff said:

The guard stops and looks at Kal. "Is there someone in particular you are looking for? Someone I can direct or announce you to?"

"Whoever is in charge here," Kal says as he looks around. His head swivels back to the guard. "If you can connect me with the highest authority in this house, then that is who I should be speaking with. If not, then whoever you can find for me will do fine. Shall I wait here?"

[Mike]

Adamant and Syrdan

Aug 23, 2010 13:23:15 GMT -4 Jeff said:

"Greetings, warrior. The Gates welcome you. Will you assume responsibility for the actions of—and all words spoken by—this construct? It is uncommon for one of Cannith's soldiers of war to enter here, but allies of the People are welcome as well.".

Syrdan bows his head slightly in deference to the guard. "I assume complete responsibility for the construct," Syrdan replies. "He is an ally and a friend. I swear on the honor of my ancestors that he bears neither malice nor ill will towards anyone or anything within the Gates."

[Dave W.]

Aug 23, 2010 10:49:31 GMT -4 Mike said:

Syrdan nods at Adamant's words. "You're a brave soul, my friend," the elf says. "Most creatures of faith have an established realm of history and ritual to latch onto. They can believe in that history and ritual even if their faith isn't strong. You, on the other hand ... it seems all the warforged have is faith, at least for now."

"Unlike my people, your kind have a short history. The beautiful part of that, though, is you get to write the early chapters of that history. In that, I envy you."

"You are very kind. In truth I have mostly borrowed the rituals of another, that of a warrior-monk of a small monastery near the border of what was once my country."

"Father Charl told me I was 'called' to my faith. I suppose there is truth to that, but it was the singing at the monastery that drew me there. From the first time he let me sing with them I felt ... connected... as though I had the same workings in my deepest core that these humans had in theirs," Adamant pauses. "I am sorry, I am not saying this well, I can not bend words as Kal and Belarin can. In any event, I believe my Lady Dol Arrah brought this experience to me and so I try to do what I can to honor and serve Her."

"Of sorts," Syrdan replies. He smiles as he watches Adamant examine the statue. "It's a work of art. Art evokes emotion and creativity from people, both from the creators of the art and those who view it. It's a visceral experience." 

"It does invoke a feeling, though I have no viscera. Mostly it is the weight and solidity of it, like it has always been here. Your people are remarkable; I suppose you have the same sense of permanence."

---------------
Moving to the gates. 

Aug 23, 2010 14:51:08 GMT -4 Mike said:

Syrdan bows his head slightly in deference to the guard.

Adamant has unconsciously been using the slouchy pose to appear less threatening. When he sees his elf-friend bow his head, Adamant makes the best impersonation of that action he can though he has no idea what is being said.

[Ken]

Aug 23, 2010 12:49:34 GMT -4 Jeff said:

I would consider it. I have done so before. .... In addition to some wizardry studies, Morgrave University does offer courses that teach Draconic—perhaps you should enroll, if my instruction is not complete—though their nuances of language leave something to be desired.

"Thank you, Matheu," says Belarin sincerely. "I'll be sure to follow up on that, recurring violence permitting. I'll do my best over the next few days to set aside quiet hours for lessons."

He looks at Streko before continuing to speak to both of them. "Regarding my earlier question about arcane centers of learning... yes, when the fey Wood Mistress of the Court of Dusk gave me my dagger, she told me that I needed to find the person who had stolen its counterpart from the fey. That's all I know about the person.

"However, due to our group's recent notoriety, I'm uncomfortably aware that my prey-slash-hunter likely knows much more about me. And I've probably spent too much time relishing the wonderful hospitality of Streko's parents. If I'm to survive the coming months, I need to catch up -- both in arcane knowledge and defenses. Sharn, through its centers of learning and, yes, its underworld, can hopefully provide both."

[Jeff]

Kal and Tangat

"Whoever is in charge here...If you can connect me with the highest authority in this house, then that is who I should be speaking with. If not, then whoever you can find for me will do fine. Shall I wait here?"

The guard considers this a moment. "I suppose it depends on what it is you wish to speak with someone about, my lord. The head of all house operations in Sharn is Lord Sadran, but he does not come down here every day, and I'm not sure it would be wise to track him down without making absolutely sure he is the one to address. Can you tell me something of your intentions? That would help me determine where to bring you."

[Jeff]

Adamant and Syrdan

The elf guard bows and steps back into the alcove, admitting Syrdan and his guest.

The interior little resembles the chapels and temples of the Sovereign Host that Adamant has been in. Instead of rows of pews in a large central chamber, the Gates of Passage seems to be a series of smaller sanctuaries honeycombed together without doors. At the center of each is a statue, sculpture, or artifact representing some ancestral figure or figures. Syrdan knows of one such sanctuary on one side of the temple associated with his line's ancestry; he has already spent some time there.

Each sanctuary is a twenty-foot radius hexagonal chamber lacking a ceiling; instead, each looks up into the dark, vaulted dome of the whole temple. A spectral white haze that glows with its own soft light drifts about up there

All in all, the temple is dimly lit with everburning candles in strategic locations, perfectly suited for elves but with enough patches of darkness to have a human—or warforged—constantly watching the floor so he doesn't stumble over something.

It's as quiet as a library here, but more prone to echoes. Adamant's footfalls draw a little bit of attention, but not so much that it's of great concern.

Syrdan has found the high priest coming and going in here before. It might take a little bit of wandering to locate him.

[Jeff]

Belarin and Streko

I will attempt to locate the pawnshop you are searching for, Matheu says, though I am curious how you intend to apply a false identity upon yourself. You are no changeling and, unless I am mistaken, do not possess spells of transmutation. Then nothing more. He seems to be quickly out of range of his telepathy.

Belarin and Streko press on, moving in what they hope is a northeasterly direction. Soon they find a street runs outside some of the towers of the district and flushed right to the edge of the Bazaaar. Beyond a railway, they find themselves looking out on their right to the open chasm between the plateaus. From, they can see a little bit more of the city as it rises high above, and descends far below. More flying creatures flit about, mostly higher up toward the Upper City, but a few down here as well.

The crowd in front of them suddenly parts as a dark gray shape descends. A gargoyle, looking so very much like the ones they fought in the caverns beneath the city. But then they all look the same. This one, however, wears a harness of green and gold—designating it as a Vadalis messenger gargoyle—and grasps a scroll case in each hand. When it touches down to the cobblestones, the nearest citizens give it space, but otherwise don't seem too concerned. A woman clutches at two children and hurries along, while a passing mercenary drops his hand to the hilt of his sword.

Its back to Belarin and Streko, the gargoyle walks in a hunched posture away from them, thick gray tail swishing slowly from side to side, almost like Condign's. Horned head swiveling, it heads off in the direction of one of the nearest merchant stalls. The crowd starts to fill in the gap again.

Not long after the gargoyle walks away, but Streko feels uneasy about something. He turns and looks back for a moment, scanning the crowd from a halfling's height. There is a bearded man in a traveler's cloak that he walked by who, a minute ago, Streko is fairly sure was a woman. It sure looks like the same cloak, but clearly a different face. Streko can't be sure. But then, yes...now he is sure, that's the very same gold belt buckled he/she is wearing. Then the man meets Streko's eye, and pauses...

Frowns. Then turns and melts into the crowd.

Belarin only sees Streko stop and look around, but doesn't know why.

[Darren]

Aug 24, 2010 11:20:56 GMT -4 Jeff said:

The guard considers this a moment. "I suppose it depends on what it is you wish to speak with someone about, my lord. The head of all house operations in Sharn is Lord Sadran, but he does not come down here every day, and I'm not sure it would be wise to track him down without making absolutely sure he is the one to address. Can you tell me something of your intentions? That would help me determine where to bring you."

Kal sighs. "With all due respect to your position, good man, it is not my intention to discuss my business with a rank and file soldier. Suffice to say that I have reports to make and valuable House information to discuss. I am also in need of another marked heir, like myself. There is no need to track down Sadran, but whoever is currently here that is of highest rank will do."

[Joe]

Streko growls low in his throat, as if imitating Tangat in some way. "Belarin," he says, "we are being followed. By a changeling!

"For some reason, you and I have been targeted as either easy marks or for some other purpose that is no doubt nefarious. My concern is that we may not be the only ones. We must be alert and, more importantly, we must alert the others as soon as we can. Your business first, as whoever it is doesn't seem eager for a confrontation. But let us be quick. Perhaps Matheu will be able to assist us in notifying our companions."

He looks around, trying to memorize items and clothing material. "Changelings. Where there is one, there may be others. Quickly, we must move deeper into the crowd."

[Dave W.]

Aug 24, 2010 16:14:19 GMT -4 Jeff said:

All in all, the temple is dimly lit with everburning candles in strategic locations, perfectly suited for elves but with enough patches of darkness to have a human—or warforged—constantly watching the floor so he doesn't stumble over something.

It's as quiet as a library here, but more prone to echoes. Adamant's footfalls draw a little bit of attention, but not so much that it's of great concern.

Noting the quiet, Adamant will not speak until someone speaks to him. He tries desperately to be as quiet as a nearly 300 pound assemblage of metal and wood can be.

------------------
Feel free to make any sort of roll you think necessary. If he did a take-10 Stealth, that would be an 8, so I'm guessing he's not particularly noise-free. Hopefully, it's clear he's trying.

[Jeff]

Kal and Tangat

"With all due respect to your position, good man, it is not my intention to discuss my business with a rank and file soldier."

The man's eyes darken for a moment, then he nods. "I'll see what I can do, my lord. Wait here."

He walks off, disappearing into one of the adjoining corridors.

As he waits, Kal sees a small knot of people gathered on one side of the chamber. A young man dressed in well-made but non-Deneith leather armor—a would-be Blademark recruit, perhaps—stands near the wall, speaking quietly with an old woman swaddled in matronly, but tattered and decidedly poor robes. There is some urgency on his face as he speaks with her, hunching to be at eye level with the shriveled old woman.

At a desk nearby, a dwarf argues with a Blademark recruiter. A warforged stands behind the recruiter's desk, the chest of his plating actually carved with the Watchful Eye, one of the symbols of Deneith, an emblem only members of the Blademarks or the Defenders Guild are permitted to bear. Kal can't be sure, but the softly glowing green eyes of the warforged seem to be fixed on him at the moment.

[Mike]

Syrdan looks over at Adamant with a grin. "I've never been in a noisy temple," he whispers to the warforged. "Considering temples are where people are supposed to speak with their ancestors or their gods, I've always found that quite odd."

He slowly walks through the main areas of the temple, looking around for signs of other priests. "The high priest we seek is named Mayne Jhaelian," Syrdan says softly to Adamant. "And I'm also curious to meet someone named Lerrhana, though I've never met her before."

Syrdan gestures around the temple as the two walk. "We don't have gods, at least not in the ways most other races traditionally know," he says to Adamant. "Instead, we place our faith and our values in our ancestors. The greatest of our ancestors - those who are wise, and benevolent, and powerful - ascend to a state known as the Undying. The esteemed souls that comprise the Undying Court are who my people revere."

[Ken]

Aug 24, 2010 20:45:13 GMT -4 Joe said:

"We must be alert and, more importantly, we must alert the others as soon as we can. Your business first, as whoever it is doesn't seem eager for a confrontation. But let us be quick. Perhaps Matheu will be able to assist us in notifying our companions."

He looks around, trying to memorize items and clothing material. "Changelings. Where there is one, there may be others. Quickly, we must move deeper into the crowd."

Belarin looks around warily, then places a hand on Streko's shoulder. "All right, all right," he says in a hopefully comforting tone. "Let's not make too much out of this, or make too much noise about it. Let's keep moving." He attempts to guide Streko along in the direction in which they had been going, proceeding in an unhurried fashion.

"Yes, I believe you that a changeling thief -- or thieves -- may have marked us as targets. Not surprising, really. Look at our fine clothes comparied to those of the unwashed masses around us. We stand out, my friend." He glances at his fey-created garments and chuckles. "As well we should! When I was, uh, I mean if I practiced thievery, I'd certainly assess the wealth of two people like ourselves. It doesn't necessarily mean that a larger group has sinister designs on us or our friends -- well, any more than is already the case, that is.

"So, yes, let's use extra caution and slightly more haste. But we should be doing that regardless in a place like this."

He lets out a short laugh. "You know, Streko, this is a welcome relief. I'm usually the paranoid one!"

[Jeff]

Belarin and Streko

Streko doesn't see anyone particularly suspicious after a while as both he and Belarin press on into the busy streets. Ten minutes of working their way northward, Matheu speaks.

Look up, and follow me.

For less than two seconds, the pseudodragon's red cat-sized body appears, gliding overhead....then vanishes again. A few people around do a double-take, but looking back, there is no sign of Matheu.

Staying more or less unseen, Matheu continues to lead on. A row of buildings, built into a series of slenderer towers, appear on the right, build right into the edge of the district. Matheu directs you through a few turns, then finally onto a slightly less crowded dead-end street.

There at the end, he says. There are two doors. The one on the left is residential, leads to some apartments. The one on the right you will find is a place of business, but there are no signs advertising it. I believe this is the one you want.

You see the doors in question. The one on the right is painted red, making it distinctive, but there is no sign. Though it hangs ajar, as if to allow fresh air in. Distant music can be heard filtering out from there.

Just in case, Streko looks over his shoulder to see who else is nearby and would be observing them: A pair of arguing humans, a dwarf reading through some papers beside a cart, and a half-elf examining what appears to be an old stringless lute, sitting on a nearby stoop. All are dressed middle-classed.

[Dave W.]

Aug 25, 2010 9:26:56 GMT -4 Mike said:

Syrdan looks over at Adamant with a grin. "I've never been in a noisy temple," he whispers to the warforged. "Considering temples are where people are supposed to speak with their ancestors or their gods, I've always found that quite odd."

"That does seem odd now that you mention it," Adamant whispers. "It is peaceful though. Maybe they're trying for restful?"

"Most temples I have visited were similarly 'restful'. I do enjoy the spirit of quiet and respect but I feel most at home with a congregation that sings. For me singing is very much a part of worship."

When Syrdan mentions Mayne Jhaelian and Lerrhana, Adamant replies politely, "I look forward to meeting them." As Syrdan further details the Undying Court, Adamant nods, "Your beliefs are different but also similar. Vassals of the Host believe that the best of us can ascend to become immortal saints or demi-gods. It is a very rare thing though. And they remain Servants to their god."

"May I ask if there is a significance to the many chambers here. I notice they are 6-sided rooms, is the number 6 a spiritual number for your people? The number 8 is very important to the Host; and it is often referenced in scriptures and songs."

[Joe]

Streko looks up at Belarin after surveying the route behind them. "How difficult would it be to either make us vanish altogether or to make it appear as if we are not going where it is we wish to go? Can you even work illusory spells, or perhaps the fey can assist in some way? I apologize for my obvious lack of experience in this regard."

He clears his throat. "And one is only paranoid if he or she is incorrect. Otherwise, they are cautious. And I am nothing if not cautious. Most of the time."

[Darren]

Aug 25, 2010 9:19:25 GMT -4 Jeff said:

As he waits, Kal sees a small knot of people gathered on one side of the chamber. A young man dressed in well-made but non-Deneith leather armor—a would-be Blademark recruit, perhaps—stands near the wall, speaking quietly with an old woman swaddled in matronly, but tattered and decidedly poor robes. There is some urgency on his face as he speaks with her, hunching to be at eye level with the shriveled old woman.

At a desk nearby, a dwarf argues with a Blademark recruiter. A warforged stands behind the recruiter's desk, the chest of his plating actually carved with the Watchful Eye, one of the symbols of Deneith, an emblem only members of the Blademarks or the Defenders Guild are permitted to bear. Kal can't be sure, but the softly glowing green eyes of the warforged seem to be fixed on him at the moment.

Kal nods at the warforged, then grins as he strides over the to young man and the older woman. "She doesn't want you to join, huh?" he says to the young man with a nod towards the person Kal assumes is the young man's mother. "I understand, ma'am, but service in the Blademarks Guild can be excellent for building up skills that a man needs." Kal folds his arm, the dragonmark standing out stark against his skin, his sharrash resting in the crook of his elbow. Although Kal could never pass for a strongman in a traveling show, his muscles are well-developed and the bulk of his arms is clear. "It worked wonders for me."

[Ken]

Aug 25, 2010 21:52:05 GMT -4 Joe said:

Streko looks up at Belarin after surveying the route behind them. "How difficult would it be to either make us vanish altogether or to make it appear as if we are not going where it is we wish to go? Can you even work illusory spells, or perhaps the fey can assist in some way? I apologize for my obvious lack of experience in this regard."

He clears his throat. "And one is only paranoid if he or she is incorrect. Otherwise, they are cautious. And I am nothing if not cautious. Most of the time."

"Oh, you misunderstand, Good Streko," says Belarin. "I wasn't being critical. Paranoia has a delicious taste. Like melon dipped in chocolate, then rolled around in fear. Yummy. As for illusory spells... that's a good question! I don't have a favorable answer for you, but it's a good question. I can cloak myself in shadow when necessary, yet that would do you no benefit.

"Let's press on, then. If the proprietor is as connected as Castar suggests, I trust she'll have her own protections against prying eyes. Oh, and thank you, Matheu." Belarin moves directly toward the opening and gently pushes open the red door.

[Jeff]

Belarin and Streko

When Belarin and Streko push through the red door, they enter a marvelous single-story interior. The shop is open and airy, brightly lit with natural light, and more spacious than you would have expected—about three apartments wide—with windows overlooking the city chasm and the residential district of Ambassador Towers across the way.

Although it is clearly a pawnshop, there is little to compare it to Shining Detritus, Gerus's shop in North Market. This one isn't cramped, and the objects displayed on shelves, the floor, and even pedestals look more like objets d′art than mere curiosities. There is a lot of exotic pottery (partial and whole), ornamental carpets, lamps, jewelry, and spices. On one wall hang a number of unusual weapons, clearly hailing from non-Brelish cultures. Unfamiliar incense lingers in the air, and the very gentle music you hear is coming from one corner—where you see a figure in a hooded gray robe sitting there, playing softly on a lyre. You're not sure if it's a trick of the light and shadow, but it looks like there's a beak protruding from the hood...

"Good morning," a velvety feminine voice says, drawing your attention to the opposite side of the shop, where a gnome sits at a tall desk, consulting a ledger.

She looks to be about Fherina's same age—young but not too young—and there is a natural friendliness to her tone that you can't help but like. She wears an outfit of crimson and gold, tailored to fit, and her hazelnut brown hair is shot through with streaks of blonde and swept back like most gnomes.

"Here to browse? Please, have a look around. And leave the door open behind you, would you? I don't want it to get too smokey in here."

___________________________

Personally, I imagine the Bazaar and this shop in particular as looking a lot like the streets and buildings of Cairo from Raiders of the Lost Ark.

[Jeff]

Kal and Tangat

At this, the young man looks up and watches Kal with a strange intensity. There's a sheen of sweat on the man's brow, which gives Kal pause. The old woman's face, however, twists into something like hatred as she looks up at him. There's something wrong here. Tangat, beside Kal, senses his master's discomfort and issues a low growl.

"Yes," the young man says, "It's...it's about building skills. That's what I'm trying to make her understand." Kal senses that these words are forced.

The Blademark sergeant at the desk nearby, as if also catching wind. The warforged steps around and approaches. "What is wrong, citizens?" it says.

[Jeff]

Adamant and Syrdan

"May I ask if there is a significance to the many chambers here. I notice they are 6-sided rooms, is the number 6 a spiritual number for your people? The number 8 is very important to the Host; and it is often referenced in scriptures and songs."

"I will answer this question, Syrdan," a quiet, rasping voice says suddenly. And with that, a withered old elf steps out from the shadows of the nearest sanctuary, emerging like a child's nightmare.

Syrdan recognizes this as the High Priest of Passage, Mayne Jhaelian.

Adamant has never quite seen anyone like him. The elderly elf's elegant black and gold robes hang from a bony, delicate frame, while a talisman of a gilded skull mask hangs like a holy symbol around his neck. Most striking is his face. The skin is mottled and cold, and his vivid green eyes seem to be the only sign of life in an otherwise frozen face. His voice is little more than a rasping whisper, as if it is difficult for him to draw breath into decaying lungs.

Adamant has never seen someone so frail looking; the slightest touch could knock him over, surely. Even without great knowledge of human or elven physiology, the warforged feels sure that this elf must be very unwell. But Syrdan understands that this extreme resemblance to the dead is merely a part of the high priest's reverence—particularly common among elves of the Jhaelian line—and that it is the result of magical and alchemical treatments.

Despite this disturbing appearance, Adamant can sense, as a being of spirituality himself, that there is power in this elf greater than most priests the warforged has ever met. Though it has not been confirmed, even Syrdan has heard rumors that Mayne Jhaelian has the power to infuse a dead body with true life; though that is not something any elf would do lightly, even with such power.

Mayne looks up at the much taller warforged, the ghost of a smile on his dry lips. "The number 6 is not of great value in itself, child of House Cannith. But the arrangement of these chambers in such a manner reminds us of the union of all our lines of ancestry. Like the hive of an insect, there is a larger purpose to the whole even as each line remains distinct." He shrugs, and Adamant half expects to see dust to drift off the priest's body as if he'd been lying like a mummy for centuries. But there is no dust. "Not all the temples of the Undying Court are constructed this way. Each bears its own teachings."

[Ken]

As they walk through the shop, Belarin shares a childlike look of delight with Streko. "This is closer to what I expected of Sharn marketplaces," he says.

Aug 26, 2010 8:13:54 GMT -4 Jeff said:

"Here to browse? Please, have a look around. And leave the door open behind you, would you? I don't want it to get too smokey in here."

Belarin mutters softly, in a voice that only Streko can hear, "...something she couldn't possibly carry, be creative...ahhh!"

He steps up, a radiant smile on his face. "Good morning! Yes, we'd like to browse, but there is a particular item I'm hoping to find." He leans forward. "Would you happen to have a jeweled collar for a pet pseudodragon?"

[Jeff]

Belarin and Streko

He steps up, a radiant smile on his face. "Good morning! Yes, we'd like to browse, but there is a particular item I'm hoping to find." He leans forward. "Would you happen to have a jeweled collar for a pet pseudodragon?"

The gnome smiles. "For the one who led you to my shop? It would be a sad day indeed if one of Eberron's smallest ancestors allowed a collar to be placed upon its neck." She tilts her head a little, fixing Belarin with her gleaming black eyes. "I'm afraid I haven't any such thing. Anything else?"

[Joe]

Streko furrows his bushy brows and steps up to the gnome. "There are certain....pests....that I seem to be bothered with from time to time. I was wondering, perhaps, if you had a scented perfume to make them go away? I am, in particular, searching for a scent that will leave these inquisitive, foolhardy and, how shall I put this, overly mouthy and conniving, creatures, wishing they had spent time inside an Otyugh's maw than consistantly pester me with their written embellishments and overly curious natures, particularly when coin is involved. Is that something you may carry? Something you might have in stock?

"And while you're at it, something perhaps to, chase away Otyughs?"

Streko smiles at the gnome.