Chapter 1: A Peaceable Kingdom

[Jeff]

Chapter 1
A Peaceable Kingdom

Mol*, the 2nd of Rhaan** 998 YK

It is nearly noon in the city of Fairhaven, capital city of Aundair. You stand upon the boarding platform in the House Orien rail station. The terminal itself is situated just outside the city's northwestern gate. Through the domed skylight high above you can see silver-gray clouds; it is bright, but there is a promise of afternoon rain. Each of you has come to this station with your own destination in mind and your own reasons for being here.

If you’d had more time, this city looked like the kind of place worth sightseeing. . . even to those who normally prefer a shadowed grove or an open field. After all, Fairhaven is the jewel of Aundair—and no matter your opinion of this nation, none can dispute its arcane reputation or royal influence. Even from these terminal windows you can glimpse the unmistakable white spires of Queen Aurala’s palace rising above the city walls—

The twelfth bell*** of noon chimes from a nearby clock tower, marking the scheduled departure time. The lightning rail has already pulled into the station and now hovers in place just beyond the platform, humming with elemental energies. The rail is the international pride of House Orien, poised above the crackling conductor stones like a sleek metal serpent. Powered by an air elemental and the will of Orien’s dragonmarked coach conductor, the heavy iron carts are held buoyant by a field of arcane electricity which flickers beneath it and often plays across the surface of the carts themselves—the "lightning" that gives the rail its name. The track consists of a steady line of conductor stones, glowing spheres of energy that together generate an elemental conduit. . .

Of course, some of you know the theory of the magic at work, while others know—or care—little of such innovative arcana.

Already a sizable crowd has gathered along the platform, the ticket-holders growing more impatient with every minute past the departure time. You see Orien workers, liveried with the unicorn symbol of the house, running to and fro on last-second errands. The air smells of people, artificer's oil, ozone, and the sweet pastries sold at the nearby food vendors.

Unfortunately, you hold a ticket for one of the steerage carts, not one of the standard (and far more expensive) passenger seats. Either due to low funds or simply a late purchase, you have to board in the rearmost cart with the other latecomers. It won't be as comfortable a ride, perhaps, but at least the journey to the city of Passage is only twelve hours. You know you can bear it. And the lightning rail is expensive enough as is!

Lightning Rail fares:
Steerage is 3 cp/mile
Standard is 2 sp/mile
First class is 5 sp/mile

You stand near the last cart with ticket ready, waiting to board along with everyone else. A single Orien worker moves in and out of the steerage cart, his eyes bloodshot and weary. At last he begins to unfold the hinged boarding planks, but the doors to the rail haven't opened for the passengers yet.

Perhaps to alleviate the wait, a street performer is setting up over to your left at the east end of the platform. He is a young elf with shining black hair, and the red and green of his tunic suggests he might just be affiliated with House Phiarlan, the dragonmarked House of Shadow. They are a family of entertainers, so it isn’t surprising to see this elf here. The entertainer sets no fewer than seven small black orbs spinning into the air, and soon they begin to glow with a dazzling blue fire.

The crowd—at least, those close enough to see the mesmerizing display—stares transfixed at the juggler, happy for the distraction. A couple of children laugh, a few people smile. One old dwarf shakes his head. You find yourself staring as well—are there dragons flapping shadowy wings amidst the blue fire? Illusions and tricks are the province of Phiarlan heirs. But the elf’s agility is amazing.

"Passengers aboard!” a voice calls out at last, and the crowd begins to shuffle onto the awaiting rail carts. The people nearest you begin to trickle away from the entertainer.

Just then, you hear a sharp cry. There, before you! A thick cloud seems to have swallowed the already invisible sun, for in that moment the world darkens....then it brightens once again. A middle-aged man, dressed in typical bright Aundairian clothes, staggers before you, just one man from the crowd. He clutches at his stomach, his hands covered in blood. His face is a grimace of surprise and agony.

At the sight, the last traces of the crowd melt away, fearful of an attack. Most of them run for the boarding rail, while a few run back into the safety of the station’s concourse.

“Aboard!” you hear again from nearby, no doubt from some Orien worker oblivious to the incident.

Despite the implied danger, you stand your ground. You’re made of sterner stuff. Of the once thick crowd, only you and six others remain. The wounded man falls hard to his knees, clutching at his bleeding stomach. You glance at the edge of the platform: the entertainer is gone. Was he ever even there? He was nowhere near the wounded man, certainly.

There are no Orien workers near at hand. You and eight others are the only ones close by and aware of the situation. A quick glance at those around you suggest they, too, are not so easily panicked.

They are:

• A leather-clad, rustic-looking half-elf with a long bow slung across his back and a sword at his hip.
  
• A curiously-dressed shifter with a stiff posture, a shortspear held in one hand like a walking stick and a peculiar handaxe at his belt.
  
• A handsome, chain-shirted human (and obvious House Deneith heir!), with a dragonmark evident on his forearm and an exotic war-scythe gripped in one hand like a staff of office. A wolf-like dog sits at his feet, tail wagging from the sudden excitement.
  
• A sharp-eyed gnome in faded brown and red clothes, wearing a tool harness and carrying the hooked hammer made famous by his kind.
  
• A tall and wiry half-elf wearing an Aundairian tunic above a shirt of chainmail, with a crossbow slung at his hip.
  
• A lightly-armored woman with ash-blonde hair wearing shades of blue, including a well-tailored tunic.
  
• A tall, burly-armed human with a shaven head, serpentine tattoo upon his neck, and a pair of long exotic knives at his belt.

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No combat has been initiated (as there are no obvious attackers about), so simply state what your character will do in the next few moments.

With your first post, please provide a more thorough description of your character as he or she would appear right now to everyone else. Remember: third person present!

Here is a sample image of the lightning rail as it might look pulling out of the Fairehaven station.

*Eberron equivalent of Monday.
** Eberron equivalent of September.
***Throughout most of Khorvaire, hours are marked by—and therefore named—bells.
[/size]

[Ed]

The wiry half-elf drops to a crouch with a grunt. He whispers to himself as his fingers weave invisible designs in the air before him. He touches his eyelids and, when his eyes open, they glow softly. He scans the area around the staggering man.

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Oss is casting detect magic and doing a search check of (Jeff, roll for me. +4 modifier)

[Paul]

The burly human rests his hands on the handles of the exotic knives in his belt and glances over his shoulder to make sure nothing is behind him. Then he backs up toward the closest wall while surveying the rail platform for suspicious movement.

[Darren]

Kalarian turns his head slightly towards the fallen man, his attention momentarily drawn away from the beautfiul young lady he was speaking with a moment ago. His cheek brushes against the high collar of his shirt as he turns his head back and discovers that the girl has run off with the rest of the frightened crowd. With a sigh and a shrug to his canine companion (who almost seems amused by his master's misfortune), he turns to see what all the commotion is about, his hand shifting almost imperceptably to the longsword at his hip.

[Josh]

Aghast, the shifter moves forward toward the fallen man quickly. His stiffened posture eases, his long coat dragging as he crouches partway down, senses alert. His shortspear drops from his hand, but the scroll case under his other arm remains firmly in place.

He inhales deeply and blanches, overwhelmed. He refrains from touching the man, but moves closely to him, attempting to see if the victim is conscious.

The sudden alteration of his palor makes his copper hair seem almost orange as it stands, rigid, against the noonday sky. The shifter hesitates then looks up, his viridescent eyes darting swiftly among the remaining bystanders.

"Someone must help this man!"

[Paul]

The burly man hears this comment and shakes his head.

"Leave him," he calls from his position just behind the group. "It's a stomach wound. He's already dead. Unless one of you can heal him?"

He looks around the group questioningly.

[Jeremy]

Goran relaxes his posture, after an initial preparatory crouch for action. Neither of his hands move to a weapon, one is in a vest pocket and the other deftly maneuvering a toothpick between surprisingly white teeth. A slight grin seems to incriminate him, or at least paint him as heartless and, apparently, unconcerned with the carnage before him. After a moment he flicks the toothpick away, sighs, and speaks to no one in particular, ignoring the pleas of the man by the victim's side.

"Do you suppose this will delay the Rail journey significantly?"

Of course, Goran is not so casual as he intimates. His attention, through the corners of his eyes and his ears, is fixed on the six strangers who, like himself, seem to have an interest in this development. He studies them, one by one, observing, learning.

[Darren]

Kalarian leans over towards the wolfdog at his side, the leather of the many straps around his right leg creaking as he does so. He whispers something, and the dog's ears perk up as he begins to look around and sniff the air. Without saying a word, Kalarian stands back up and continues to watch the scene as the dog moves away.

[Ed]

The half-elf continues his scan of the area near the staggered man while he creeps slowly forward.

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Results of search with detect magic on?
Oss will also try a heal check to stabilize the man. Roll with +1, please.

[Josh]

Upon mention of the Rail, Grafth offers, "I admit, I am not one to become involved in affairs such as this as a habit, but..." He trails off, glancing toward the boarding vehicle.

"I saw no one escaping the scene. There is a chance that the assailant has boarded the Rail. If this man knows anything, we must act fast." At this he turns back to the victim.

[Jeremy]

Goran looks intently at the man by the victim's side.

"Is he alive?" he says, weariness but also concern now evident in his voice. Since no one else seems to be doing anything, the half-elf from the forests will help, if he can.

[Jeff]

The tall half-elf weaves a brief spell, a soft glow now suffusing his eyes as he scans the area. Oss detects several magical auras on the persons of the others around him—the other half-elf, the shifter, the gnome, the Deneith heir, the blonde woman, the well-muscled man, and the wounded man—all seem to possess a device or two with magical properties. Beyond that, only a faint trace of illusionary magic hangs dissipating in the air around the group, as though something cloaked in illusion passed swiftly by...notably by the bleeding Aundairian. If he maintains the spell for a few moments longer, he could potentially learn more.

At the Deneith heir's prompting, the wolfdog moves just outside the circle of the group and begins sniffing the platform in earnest. It's obvious there's a lot to smell around here!

As Cutter scans the area, he sees nothing amiss beyond the obvious. Something unsettling seems to drift at the edge of his vision, lurking in the peripheral, but he can't place it.

The Aundairian sways on his knees, his face a mask of pain. "Please, oh gods...no..." He looks up pleadingly, but his eyes are glazed. He clings to the edge of consciousness. One bloody finger points vaguely toward the boarding rail. "I must...get on...must..."

The sharp-eyed gnome searches frantically through his harness as if looking for a healing potion—but you see no such vials. He spins around at last, looking up at those who are merely watching. "By the Sovereigns, can no one help this man?? I'm no Jorasco healer, damn it!"

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As you can see, I'm going to use green text to denote information specific to certain characters. While everyone's free to read it, please refrain from using that knowledge unless you're the character in question.

[Jeremy]

Goran goes to the stricken man's side, and begins healing him, with his innate talents and magic.

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Jeff?

[Jeff]

Even without ready bandages, the rustic half-elf manages to stanch the worst of the bleeding and tie up a tight bandage around the Aundairian's waist using strips of the man's own clothing—all without needing to use magic. It's obvious he is a practiced healer. The Aundairian will live, for now. But the wound will still need more serious attention if that is to last. Should Goran choose, he can apply a minor healing spell to help even more. He does noticed, while treating the wound, that there is a blue discoloration in the skin around the injury. It would seem that some sort of infecting substance, if not outright poison, was involved. The wound itself looks like it was made with a short blade.

The Aundairian is only dimly aware of his savior at all. He continues to stare with lolling senses toward the rail. "Help....on the rail. Must...get on...safe..."

A single Orien worker steps off the boarding ramp in the rearmost cart. He looks on in confusion, then beckons to the group.

"Are you coming?"

The dog sniffs around where the elven entertainer set up, then pads over toward the edge of the platform. If he has a scent, it either ends below, along the line of deadly conductor stones at ground level, or perhaps on the rail cart itself.

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Goran gets a 17 on his Heal check (you can click "Goran's Dice Rolls" in the signature of Jeremy's post to see how this shows up), successfully stabilizing the Aundairian. (Under normal circumstances, all you need is a 15.)

[Paul]

Cutter frowns and moves his head to either side, trying to pin down down the source of the movement he glimpsed.

Search +4
Appraise +2
(Not sure which to use here. Jeff?)

[Jeff]

Unfortunately, Cutter learns nothing more.

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A Search check has already been made for Cutter. (Appraise would be to assess the monetary value of an object.)

[Darren]

Kalarian looks towards his canine companion, who seems eager to board the train. "Well?" he says, somewhat exasperated. "Isn't someone going to pick that man up and put him on the train? Come now, friends, we haven't got all day. You there, large man," he says, referring to the burly human. "Pick him up and put him on board. We haven't got all day, and I, for one, do not intend to waste the money I spent on this ticket. We'll sort this all out once we're moving." Without a glance behind him, Kalarian hefts the odd looking weapon onto his shoulder and boards the train, the slightest hint of a limp evident as he walks.

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If appropriate, Kalarian is making a Diplomacy check (+7) or Intimidate check (+5) for his request. He would also like to make a Sense Motive check (+4) on the Aundarian man.

[Jeff]

Kal has a hard time gaging the intentions of the wounded Aundairian—mostly because the man is gasping in agony in lieu of offering subtleties. If nothing else, his injury can't possibly be faked.

Once Kal gains the boarding ramp, the dog follows, looking frequently back at the rest of the group with ears up. He gives a sudden and decidedly urgent bark. A few faces peer through the windows of the cart.
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You can Bluff, be Diplomatic, Intimidate, or use Sense Motive all you want with the other inhabitants of the world, but not other player characters! You've got to pull that off yourself without rolls. Good luck with that, heh.

[Josh]

Grafth retrievs his shortspear, sliding it through a loop on his pack, and looks at the imposing man that had just been addressed.

"The wound is well-dressed, but he will be in agony unless he is healed, as we both know. Let's just get this over with and be on our way. Someone on board can surely deal with the rest." He bends down further and lifts the wounded man's arm over his shoulder, then places his own across the man's back. Slowly and deliberately, he lifts him up to standing height.

In a slightly strained voice, the shifter says, "He's light enough, but doesn't seem too responsive... I may need some assistance here!"

[Jeremy]

Goran senses this man's life is tied into his own fate, somehow, and chooses to use a little of his magic to heal him further.

He then looks around at the others, recognizing anyone who might have arcane abilities, and mentions that something poisonous, clearly magical, seems to be imbued in the poor man's wound. "Do any of you have the ability to slow or stop the effects of poison, or break this magic?".

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Goran casts Cure Minor Wounds.

[Lara]

Engrossed in studying the work of the Phiarlan entertainer, Pellorien takes a moment to notice the scene going on in front of her. She quickly assesses the situation, noting the others' actions.

She steps toward the injured man as he speaks.

Hearing the worker's question, she calls back to him, "Yes, we're on our way!"

Stepping to the injured man's side, she wraps an arm around his waist and provides a shoulder for him to lean on, assisting the shifter. She straightens the injured man's clothes trying to hide evidence of the serious wound as much as possible.

"I can't help him other than to get him on the train, which is where he obviously wants to be," she says. Looking around, she adds, "Well, come on. I don't imagine you want to miss your train, either."

A few steps farther she asks, "Anybody know if he's got a ticket?"

She sighs.

More loudly, so the Orien worker can overhear, she says, "Thank you all so much for helping my uncle."

____________________________________________

Approaching the Orien worker, she prepares Charm Person in case she needs to do some convincing to get the injured man aboard.

[Jeff]

The half-elf chants a brief string of words—it could be a prayer or a wizard's chant, it's difficult to tell—and applies restorative magic upon the Aundairian. The blood flow immediately ceases, though from the man's face he seems unaware.

The shifter and blonde-haired woman help the Aundairian walk. He seems to have the strength to support at least some of his own weight now. When they approach the boarding ramp, the Orien worker—a middle-aged man of healthy bearing—widens his eyes in alarm. "Wait, wait..." He begins to shake his head.

The blonde frees up one hand, makes a simple gesture, and triggers a spell with a couple of arcane words. The worker's face softens almost immediately. "I mean...I mean..." He blinks, as though taking in the scene anew. "My apologies, miss!"

He steps forward to help her and the shifter get the wounded Aundairian aboard. "Can't you see this young lady's uncle is not well?" he demands to no one in particular. "Please, make way. We'll settle tickets once everyone's safely aboard." Once they're clear of the ramp and step through the cart's door, he catches the attention of another Orien worker standing on the ramp the next cart over. "Hold up! Sick passenger! Just a moment longer!"

Staring after the blonde woman with a wistful smile, he beckons vaguely to the remaining people still standing on the platform. "Are you folks coming?"

Grafth, Pellorien, and Kal (and his dog) have boarded. Oss, Cutter, and Goran have not yet.

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Goran's spell restores 1 hit point to the Aundairian and automatically stabilizes the wound. Oss and Pellorien recognize the half-elf's spell for what it is, thinking that it sounds almost like a druid's chant.

Pellorien casts Charm Person and very obviously sees it take effect.

Hey, all: please try to provide more description of your characters so we can all get a good picture. It's okay if it seems a little out of context to do so.

[Darren]

Kalarian, who has been watching out of the corner of his eye to see what the others would do, now takes particular note of the blonde woman.

"Nice work, my dear." He gestures towards a spot to sit down, having cleared away all the other passengers (at first with kinds words, then with meaningful glances, and finally with threats for the stragglers). Keeping his attention firmly upon the woman, he says, "Well, I suppose we ought to figure out who this man really is. If I may?" He flashes a smile at her that says she can relax; Kalarian now has the situation under control.

Kalarian reluctantly turns his green-brown eyes upon the Aundarian man, taking a moment to look at him as though he's sizing him up. Still standing over him, he begins to speak to the wounded man. "It appears that we may be able to help you, sir. Of course, that's if you can gather yourself long enough to tell us who you are, and why it is someone felt it necessary to run you through..."

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I'm assuming a Gather Information check is in order...?

[Jeff]

Kal can begin a Gather Information check, but that's really a more longterm kind of thing, which usually involves a handful of coins and schmoozing people with drinks. It would be easier to do this in a standard passenger cart, where meals and drinks are provided.

[Darren]

A Diplomacy check to see if he can befriend the Aundarian man?

[Ed]

Oss stands from his crouched position, a lanky scarecrow rising to his feet, and heads toward the train. He eyes his fellow passengers carefully, his head twitching back and form between them constantly.

Once aboard, the half-elf sits across from the Deneith heir, his eyes never leaving the man. Oss speaks to the woman without looking at her and says, "The man will live?"

[Jeremy]

Having done what he can, for the moment, Goran slips onto the train and moves back, as it were, behind the scene, to begin once again watching, observing. His long hair hangs in dirty plaits about his face, he is not used to the effects of a city upon his hygiene, and has let it slide, for the time being. He is wary, at the moment, sensing that a lot more is going on here than simply a man struck by a wayward missile of some sort, magic or otherwise. He is an outsider, one glance at him makes this obvious, as he partakes of a mutual mistrust that this creates.

He knows he's revealed quite a bit about himself with the use of his magic and his obvious care for a stranger. Now he hopes to gather a bit more information about these other strangers. Curiously, he doesn't seem as concerned about why the man was smitten so, but rather why these others, himself included, should seem to have deliberately involved themselves in his fate.

[Jeff]

You and the other strangers step onto the steerage cart, having boarded from the front. It's about 90 feet long and just over 30 feet wide, comprised of smooth, quality benches (most of them filled now) and little else.

Two House Deneith guard stand at either end of the steerage cart—sturdy men armored in chainmail, carrying longswords. Kal recognizes them instantly as members of the Defender's Guild, and knows they're regularly hired by House Orien for rail security. They look on at the settling passengers with alert, if bored eyes.

The rear cart isn't as packed as you'd have expected it to be. Nearly half the benches that usually comprise such steerage carts have been replaced on one side with a massive canvas-covered lump—crates, perhaps? It would seem some cargo has been placed here as well. The smell of earth strongly fills the cart, but the windows have been opened to lessen the smell. Grafth can tell that the scent is that of rich soil and is even somewhat damp. Without a doubt the smell—not entirely unpleasant—is coming from the mysterious cargo.

Only about twenty people have seated themselves on the benches, and all eyes fix on you and the other strangers as the shifter and blonde woman help the wounded Aundairian make their way to the furthest bench—the only available seating that offers them a semblance of "privacy." Almost immediately, one of the Deneith guards at the rear of the cart notices the blood on the Aundairian man, and taps his fellow on the shoulder to direct his attention your way. For the moment, the guards merely watch, but their interest is keen. The Orien worker, magically charmed by the blonde woman, lingers near the rear of the cart after he shuts the door. He speaks to the Deneith guards, and their interest in the matter quickly fades.

As you take your seats, a call goes out from an unseen Orien worker and the lightning rail surges to life. The electric flashes outside the window intensify, and the soft humming of the whole graduates into an artificial ambience. Only the occasional crackle of electricity outside the windows reminds you that powerful magics are at work. Through these windows, you can see the Fairhaven station begin to slip away. Several bystanders on the platform watch the rail go. A handful of Orien workers look on as well, seemingly aware now that something went amiss at boarding time.

The other passengers aboard seem pretty normal—lower to middle-class folk of various nationalities. Most appear Aundairian, where even the working glass dress as elegantly as possible within their means. Bright colors, jackets, and vests, and a smattering of simple jewelry. A handful of Brelish also fill in the group—comfortable, airy fashions, trademark splashes of "Brelish blue," and smiling faces just as curious when abroad as when home.

Aside from the motley group you're sitting with now, only a few others stand out. Sitting toward the front of the cart nearest the door is a metal-bodied warforged (the only one you've seen recently), sitting perfectly still on the bench. Components of wood and stone also make up his body. On the third bench in, a dark-furred shifter sits scowling at his neighbors, looking for all the world like he'd rather be somewhere else. Finally, a dark-haired man in banded armor sits close to your group, wearing a symbol of the Silver Flame around his neck, on his tunic, and even on his pauldrons. He looks Thrane, for sure. He watches the wounded Aundairian with suspicion in his intense eyes.

The Aundairian countryside swiftly replaces the rail station and the walls of Fairhaven. You are firmly en route to the city of Passage!

Kal: "It appears that we may be able to help you, sir. Of course, that's if you can gather yourself long enough to tell us who you are, and why it is someone felt it necessary to run you through..."

The Aundairian looks up at Kal, his eyes still watering from the pain but having gained more awareness since the healing. "I..." He looks around fearfully at the other passengers. Some stare back, although it would take very keen hearing indeed to pick out your party's words among the murmur of the crowd and the ambiance of the lightning rail itself. "Mustn't talk...yet," he mutters. He points in the direction of Fairhaven. "Away...first. Distance." As he points, you can see a plain silver ring upon one finger. Possibly a wedding ring, although not all who wed use such jewelry.

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On the map, G denotes where the Deneith guards typically stand (although they do pace a bit), PCs is where you, the player characters, have been forced to sit. At least that whole bench is yours.

[Darren]

Kalarian, still standing, leans over the man, his gaze fixed the Aundarian as if he were the only person on the train. He gives a warm smile, everything in his bearing trying to assure the wounded man that he is safe in the presence of Kalarian. He casually pushes up the laces sleeves of his red tunic, the blue dragonmark standing out clearly on his right forearm.

"My friend," he says in a soothing voice. "We simply do not have time. Whoever attacked you may still be here. It is obvious that by simply being near you, we put ourselves into some danger, so I think that you would be best served by telling us what we need to know in order to defend you and protect ourselves." Shifting his weapon to his left hand, Kalarain gestures towards the Deneith guards with his dragonmarked arm. "Do not worry about them. Seriously. They wouldn't dare try to interfere with me. As for any of the rabble on the train, well....if they can hear us, they are surely making a mistake by eavesdropping. These others seem to have proven their usefulness to you by saving your life. So, out with it..."

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Kalarian wants to make a few checks. First, he'd like to make whatever appropriate Knowledge checks there are regarding the man and his ring. Next, he'd like to make a Diplomacy check to try to get the man to give him more information.

[Josh]

"Thank you for your assistance, madame," Grafth nods to the woman who assisted him.

Free of the Aundairian for the moment, the shifter composes himself, checking his belongings, and making sure the black iron bar that hangs from his neck is firmly in place, tucked behind the folds of his long, brown duster. A quick glance around the car seems to put him at ease, as if he had been expecting a crowded assault of his senses before boarding.

"So this is the Lightning Rail..." he breathes quietly. He glances briefly down the aisle, pausing more than once at the odorous, hulking mass. He turns his attention back to the group, waiting to see how the others react to their surroundings. His fingers trace the edges of the runes sewn into his gloves as he waits, an obvious habit he has picked up from years of use.

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Grafth attempts to use his keen sense of smell and knowledge of nature to see if he can identify the region from which the earthen mass originates.