Chapter 1: A Peaceable Kingdom

[Jeff]

Gurend nods his head with the half-elf's harsh words, seeming unfazed. Then he shakes his head when Kal intervenes. To Goran he says, "Your candor is well noted and appreciated, friend. I'm a bit tired of words myself." To both, with a sad smile: "Gentleman, please. The sacrifice has already been made. No more blood, all right? Mine was enough."

He looks at each of those around him in the eye, at the moment ignoring the whereabouts of Grafth and Cutter. "Well then, Kalarian d'Deneith. Pellorien. Friend half-elf with an itch to fight something." He looks pointedly at the tall half-elf by the window. "...And my aloof countryman from the towers of Arcanix." He winks at Oss.

He begins to speak, lowering his voice and forcing those furtherst from him to lean in a little to even hear him over the hum of the rail and the murmured conversations around you. “My time is short, and I think my part in this grand charade is coming to an end. They will not relent in killing me. So listen up. There is something in my possession that…” He pauses, seeming to rethink his method of explanation. “An item that…doesn’t quite belong to me. But my occupation is, for the moment, irrelevant. What I stole I did so from a man I knew and respected. A man of vision and…”

Gerund shakes his head. “Also the very man who’s trying to end me. I've betrayed him, you see. Now he's trying to keep me from delivering this item to someone who can stop him. Could stop...us. I'm...a defector, you might say."

The man sighs heavily. "Before I go on, I need to know if you’re willing to help me. All I will tell you up front is that this concerns the...uhh…safety of a great many people. Trust me, I'm on the good side. Here, now, at the end..." His voice trails off for a moment.

"It’s all going to go down in Fairhaven."

The shifter chuckles at Cutter's words. "Never taken the rail before," he says. "A bit nervous is all." He opens his coat a bit and Cutter can see tucked in a pocket is a metal flask. Liquor, most likely. "Care for some?"

Grafth is close enough now to hear the exchange. As he moves closer, though, he can see past human and shifter both to the gnome. Reading lips the best he can, Grafth discerns that the Deneith guard at that end of the cart says "Shut your mouth" to the frustrated gnome. A few more words are exchanged between them that Grafth can't quite decipher (was that "later" or "loiter"?), then the gnome walks back over to the warforged, who continues to sit utterly still. One might think the construct was damaged badly enough to make it inert, but it shows no sign of obvious violence.

[Jeff]

The dog wiggles his way away from the boy beneath the benches to stop at the feet of Kalarian. He looks up at Goran and woofs threateningly. Yet his tail is wagging.

[Darren]

goran said:

"I have no desire for violence, but touch me again and your precious plans will be the least of your worries, you arrogant fop."

"Call me a fop again, and you'll find out that my arrogance is more than just boasting."

"As for you," he says, turning his attention to Guren, "if you'd prefer that I, also, stick a knife in your gut, I assure you that can be arranged." Kalarian seems to take a moment to compose himself. He once again smiles at Pellorien, then turns his attention back to Guren. "Now, I think we've already shown our willingness to help you, so if you'll stop with all the theatrics, I think you can be assured of our further assistance."

[Josh]

The copper-haired shifter mutters, low and to himself:

"Friend, it appears to me that you may have a rapport with your canine companion that allows for a level of dialogue between you- I could likely use a bit of a distraction up ahead, if you could manage it."

Grafth moves forward toward the the shifter and tattooed man at a brisk walking pace. As he comes up behind them, he rotates and moves toward the side of the car containing the covered mass.

Brushing just slightly against both parties, he quietly says, "Excuse me, I must speak to a rail attendant."

He slides by swiftly, hoping that the two are diverted enough by conversation to have ignored him.

He strides with intent toward the guard at the front.

[Jeff]

The gnome wipes his brow, mutters some words that Grafth suspects is some sort of artificer's chant, then reaches out and touches the warforged on its steely breastplate. There is a flicker of green-blue light—unmistakably a magical infusion has just been placed upon the warforged.

The gnome looks up when he finished, a sheen of sweat on his face. He catch's Grafth's eye, then looks away. The gnome looks....guilty? Or just nervous about something.

He slides by swiftly, hoping that the two are diverted enough by conversation to have ignored him.

But before Grafth makes it to the front, the gnome turns back to the Deneith guard. The other guard at that end seems to have disappeared, either having moved out the door into the next cart or moved in the space between the front wall and the cargo. Grafth and Cutter both catch the words "Too bad" from the guard, who suddenly shoves the gnome down to the floor just short of Grafth's approaching strides. Then the guard yanks the door open and slams it behind him.

The gnome screams: "No, no...NO!" Everyone in the steerage cart turns his way at the sound of panick in his voice. The gnome, his tools jangling, scrambles widlly to his feet and begins to sprint toward the rear of the cart with terror on his face.

Grafth is in his way, so he pulls out his hooked hammer. "Get away, shifter. EVERYONE, GET AWAY!" The hammer's end points toward the back of the cart. "TO THE BACK!! HURRY!!"

__________________________________________

No Sense Motive is needed. Everyone can feel the primal and genuine fear in the gnome's voice.

What I need next from all of you is what your next immediate action is. Consider this a round or two of combat, as far as time goes. As in, what would you be doing in, say, the next 10 seconds?

[Darren]

I suppose it's too late for that, my friend.

Kalarian stands up, casts a look down at his canine companion, then unsheathes his longsword, a Deneith crest clearly visible near the hilt.

"Pellorien, my dear," he says to without turning around, "it is clear to me that you are capable of defending yourself. I suggest you make ready. Our Aundarian friend may need some help."

[Josh]

Grafth's eyes widen as a terrible thought shadows his mind. He quickly capitulates and moves the direction the gnome wishes.

"By Balinor's Axe, people... MOVE!" He scrambles forward, urging on the few anxious people in front of him. He tries to make eye contact with the tattooed man, but cannot seem to meet his gaze.

Swinging himself behind the furthest corner of the massive cargo, he crouches, pulls the handaxe from its loop and braces for the worst.

[Lara]

At Kal's words, Pellorien stands and pulls a small piece of leather from the spell component pouch at her waist. A fluid gesture, some quickly spoken words, and she completes a spell.

She pulls Guren to his feet. "I have a bad feeling about this, uncle. You want help? Do what the gnome says - get back, on the floor, make yourself as small as possible. Keep yourself alive so you can fill us on on the details, and we can decide for ourselves."

_____________________________________
Pellorien casts Mage Armor on herself (Duration: 1 hour/level; +4 bonus to AC).

She won't grapple Guren to force him to move.

[Ed]

Oss stands to his full, lanky height in a flash. He leaps toward the gnome.

"Everyone, this way!"

________________________________________
Oss will herd people toward the back, placing himself between them and the warforged as much as possible. He will not get too close toward the warforge's end of the rail but close enough to help people get away from there.

[Paul]

Cutter draws his knives and looks for a place to shelter. He sees where the gnome is crouching and thinks that seeing as he is the only one who seems to know what is going on, backs quickly up to join him.

[Jeremy]

Just before he darts across the cabin, Goran gives the entire carriage a swift once-over, studying all details as carefully as he might in the brief time. Especially the mysterious cargo, and the fleet-footed Grafth.

-- Spot check? Gather Information?--

He sighs, and shakes his head slightly. His voice, seemingly aimed only at himself, is full of weariness. Presumably there is something deeper than mere impatience with Kalarian's ridiculous bluster, or the deceitful wordplay of the last few minutes.

[glow=red,2,300]"Now what?" [/glow]

Then, with surprising swiftness, he slips behind one of the seat rows as far from the supposed threat as possible. Once there he draws no weapon, but nods toward their wounded friend, as if to assure the man is alright. Apparently, whatever else his ersatz companions might believe, the half-elf is genuinely concerned for his fellow 'man', as it were.

[Jeff]

Kalarian draws his sword, readying for action...
Grafth dives behind the back of the massive cargo with a shout...
Pellorien casts a spell, though no obvious effects appear...
Oss strides forward, managing only a few steps but pushing a few people behind him...
Cutter angles himself toward the gnome, ultimately forced to crouch behind one of the emptied benches...
Goran braces himself alongside the wounded Gurend...

He begins to try to assess the threat, but Goran's attention is drawn to Gurend. He meets the older man's eyes. There is a look of grim resignation upon his face, and even a pleading. But not for his life...he fumbles inside his coat...

In the front corner of the steerage car, everyone sees a brief flash of blue light. It is quickly evident that the blue light is emanating from the fine gaps between the warforged's joints, eyes, mouth. It remains inert as a whole, but its whole body begins to tremble under some terrible pressure.

The passengers shout and scramble to move away from it. The dark-furred shifter is lost in the crowd, the gnome pushing towards the rear.

The Thrane warrior who sat one bench over from your group has jumped up, strides past the next bench and now holds up his shield against the magical burst of light and bellows a supplication to the Silver Flame—though his words are quickly swallowed in a paindful wash of sound that overtakes the whole cart. From your various vantages, all of you can see bright blue fire outlines the Thrane's shield as his body eclipses the source of the blazing light.

In one moment, the rail cruises along at its steady, soothing pace.

In the next, the world around you is a tumble of motion, light, and a numbing sense of pain. Your mind registers, for a split second, that something has erupted or exploded—a furious blast engulfing everything around you as though the steerage cart was the sole target of some kind of arcane siege weaponry. But it is not an incendiary blast of heat and fire that you feel but a bone-freezing chill that washes over you even as it sends you hurtling through the air.

The world SPINS! As if by the force of a giant you feel your body thrown mightily against something hard but yielding that smells strongly of earth. The sensation makes you feel like a puppet moving without your own volition. Then your body jerks the opposite direction, and you hear the distant sound of glass shattering before you even feel the pain of impact.

There is a long, dark silence....

Your grasp on what has just happened is fragmented, your consciousness not entirely sure of itself. Each of you fights to regain control of your own senses. When your eyes feel like your own again, you find yourself staring up into the bright, silver-gray sky. It is still daytime, you grasp that much. But your sense of time is still unclear. How much has passed? The series of events begins to return at different paces for each of you, but you gradually remember the beginning of your day leading up to…this. Whatever this was.

You recall the panicked gnome, the warforged, the Thrane cleric calling up some kind of prayer or defensive spell in attempt to shield himself—or all of you—from the blast. You recall the intense wave of cold air, then the floor's betrayal as it flung you free of its constancy.

Then ache sets in….the lingering tension of your overworked muscles, the profusion of bruises across your body. Yet your limbs respond, your body obeys you once more. You are alive, and you are even well enough to sit up or stand. As you begin to rise, you can see the other strangers in your motley group are doing likewise. All of them have survived and are in close proximity to you.

You find yourself, dizzy, in the tall, wild grasses of the Aundairian countryside. Up the slope, perhaps 150 feet away, you can see the slight glow of the line of conductor stones stretching to the northeast and southwest horizons, yet no sign of the rest of the lightning rail itself. Behind you—

Wreckage.

The steerage cart you were in has rolled to a stop further down the slope. Much of its frame remains intact, but the front half—including the end where it had been attached to the cart in front of it—is a confusion of twisted metal and caked ice. The windows have all shattered, the doors on both ends wrenched free from their hinges. There is no flicker of electricity or any sign that any magic lingers within the cart anymore. Only the mysterious ice suggests magic was involved at all. And scattered across the tall grasses…

Bodies. Some are stirring. Most are not.

Random chunks of rich brown soil have also been spread across the grassland. The smell of healthy earth mixes with the smell of rent metal and a hint of ice.

Kal's dog bounds up the slope toward you, allegedly ejected from the cart at a different place, emitted mournful barks as he runs.

Laying in the grass nearest you is Gerund, and the two Deneith guards. One of them—the guard nicknamed Res—lies with his head twisted at an impossible angle from his shoulders.

__________________________________________

Everyone suffers damage from this (listed below), but each is alive and well....but feeling very battered....and also lucky to be alive at all.

• Cutter takes 4 points of damage (and 5 points of nonlethal damage).
  
• Kal takes 8 points of damage (and 4 points of nonlethal damage).
  
• Oss takes 8 points of damage (and 5 points of nonlethal damage).
  
• Pellorien takes 3 points of damage (and 2 points of nonlethal damage). (The force magic generated by her Mage Armor spell cushioned some of the damage in a way that physical armor cannot. The spell remains in effect.)
  
• Grafth takes 3 points of damage (and 7 points of nonlethal damage).
  
• Goran takes 3 points of damage (and 5 points of nonlethal damage).
  
• The dog takes 6 points of damage (and 2 points of nonlethal damage).

For simplicity's sake, I will always adjust your hit points for you and you'll always be able to see everyone's current hit point status in my signature (right below this).

Rules note: Nonlethal damage counts up from zero, unlike regular hit points. If your nonlethal damage exceeds your current hit points, you fall unconscious. That's how you knock someone out in D&D.

[Josh]

Dazed and in pain, Grafth takes in the scene around him, his face a mask of bewildered discomfort. He checks his body for any serious wounds.

"I knew I should have walked," he says, to no one in particular.

He limps carefully around as best he can, making sure he has all of his belongings, collecting any that might have been removed from him by the icy blast.

He looks to the wilderness beyond the conductor stones, and back to the madness in which he currently stands. He does this several times, as if trying to decide between the two.

Overwhelmed, his first thought is to look for the gnome.


__________________________
Grafth clumsily dresses any wounds he might have (Heal check = 10).
He surveys the scene, looking for the gnome (Search check =17)

[Darren]

Kalarian shakes his head, trying to clear away the fog that wishes to swallow him. He tries to rise to his feet, but his right leg betrays him and he falls face first to the ground. He pushes himself up on his elbows, stops for a moment, runs a hand over his short, spiky brown hair. Then he balls his hand up into a fist and pounds it into the ground, uses both hands to push himself upward, a grunt of exertion of anger leaving him as he finally rises to his feet, a small grin taking his face at the small accomplishment. He reaches towards the dog, his hand stroking through the soft fur, checking for wounds. "Tangat..." he says softly, "thank The Sovereign Host you're alive."

Having ensured the safety of his companion, Kalarian then begins to check on the rest of the group, searching first for Pellorien, then nodding towards the risen Grafth, and finally checking Oss, Cutter, and Goran. He retrieves his longsword and returns it to its sheath, and then begins to search for the scythe he had been carrying. His usual calm is betrayed when it seems at first as though it may have been lost. Finally finding it amongst the wreckage, he returns to Guren's body, leaning a bit more heavily on the scythe than he had before. As he walks, he mumbles a few words, and then begans looking around him at the wreckage and the other passengers, and finally at Guren. He kneels by the old man, checking him for signs of life.

_______________________
Kal is making a Heal check for Tangat.

I've also made the assumption that I was able to find all of my belongings. If that was not the case, feel free to correct me.

Kal is also casting Detect Magic and checking the wreckage, the passengers, and Guren.

[Ed]

Oss pushes to his feet with a moan. He squints as he takes in the scene before him. He runs his hands quickly over his body to feel for signs of serious wounds.

Suddenly his face changes and his head pans around the area. "The gnome! Where in the hells is the gnome?"

__________________________________
Search check and, if found a heal check, on the gnome.

[Lara]

Shaking her head and quickly patting herself down to check for injuries, Pellorien scans the wreckage around her. Too many down.

Spying the Aundarian to her left, she moves to his side, a little stiff and sore.

"Oh, uncle... Who have you crossed that values others' lives so cheaply?" she whispers, as she leans over him looking for signs of life.

___________________________
Heal check
Wild assumption check *heh*

[Jeff]

The severity of what just happened burns in your mind. Everyone’s seen the occasional news story in the Korranberg Chronicle (Khorvaire’s most widely distributed paper) about terrorist acts upon House Orien’s lightning rail or one of House Lyrandar’s elemental ships, but it is quite another thing to experience one firsthand.

Kal knows that whenever such an incident occurs with the lightning rail, the investigation is intensive, and the response time is generally impressive. House Orien has a reputation to maintain, as do all dragonmarked houses, so it should only be a matter of time before Orien agents arrive on the scene. That the rest of the lightning rail continued on its southwestern course suggests that the conductor wished to minimize the danger for the rest of the passengers by carrying them away from harm. However, it is sure to stop at the next way station for further investigation. But Kal isn’t sure just how far that is.

The rail wasn’t quite one hour out of Fairhaven at the time of explosion, and the total travel time between Fairhaven and Passage was supposed to be 12 hours. This would place you all just under 30 miles from Fairhaven. Grafth estimates that’s about a day’s travel on foot, if you don’t stop much.

The immediate vicinity: Up the slope is the line of glowing conductor stones. It’s common knowledge that folks shouldn’t mess with them: powerful electric charges play between the space between them. Below you on the slope is the wreckage of the rail coach. Further down and to the west you can see a single farmstead, a thin plume of smoke rising from a chimney. In the distance, also to the south, you can see the hint of a road and other faraway farms scattered about the countryside.

Each of you assesses your injuries, but are satisfied to find nothing needs tending. None of your equipment seems to been separated too far from where you had lain. Kal finds his exotic scythe a short ways away, having imbedded its blade mere inches from the other Deneith guard—who also lies dead. Neither Grafth nor Oss see any sign of the gnome, though it’s possible he may still be in the damaged coach. Grafth and Goran both, however, spots signs of movement through the grass, moving away from the scene of the wreck. It could possibly belong to the gnome; it would take further examining.

When Kal and Pellorien (or anyone else) approaches Gerund, they think for a moment that they’ve got the wrong person—the clothes must have been misleading. But no, it is Gurend. Or was. Now he looks remarkably different.

His once peach-colored skin is now a shade of pale gray. The hair on his head, once a receding, wavy black, appears to have shortened, straightened, and turned solid gray. Most drastic is his face. Gone the canny eyes, neatly trimmed beard and mustache, and chiseled nobility; now replaced by smooth, de-emphasized features. A small, flat nose, thin lips, and milky white eyes (bereft even of pupils) staring wide at the open sky.

A changeling. A small minority of Khorvaire’s population. Everyone knows changelings have the ability to alter their shape and appear as anyone they wish—male, female, human, dwarf, shifter, orc, anything not too much taller or shorter than their natural form. This ability has earned them distrust in most places, though some have settled into their own communities in Khorvaire’s larger cities. Everyone you’ve ever met has an opinion about changelings—ranging from hostile mistrust to a sad kind of admiration. Most agree that changelings are the descendants of humans consorting with the evil, supernatural creatures known as doppelgangers. While a scarce few are open about their heritage, most disguise themselves as members of another race and name. Others, still, embrace their deceptive ability and turn it to darker ends.

You now look upon Gurend’s true shape, for changelings revert to their true, pale-skinned form upon death. Clutched in one hand in a death grip is what appears to be a small metal-bound book. His skin is severely bruised, and given the depression of his stomach, most likely his rib cage has been shattered.

Kal casts his spell of detection.

______________________________________________

• No Heal checks are necessary on the PCs.
  
• Kal got a 14 on a Knowledge (nobility & royalty) check, which applies to the dragonmarked houses.
  
• Grafth got a 19 on a Knowledge (geography) check, to gauge the party’s current location.
  
• Goran got a 17 Spot check, automatically noticing signs of movement away from the scene.

(Note: when it comes to Knowledge checks, a 10 typically provides you with easy information, 15 for basic information, and 20 or more for more obscure information.)

Kal will not be able to examine the entire wreckage with a single casting of Detect Magic due its limited duration (1 minute), unless he only wants a quick scan to see if there is magic. Assessing how many magical auras and what kinds takes time. It would be best to pick either the bodies outside the coach or the coach itself. Or, he can cast the spell more than once.

[Lara]

Leaning over Guren's broken body, Pellorien reaches out a hand, smoothing his hair back from his face and closing his vacant eyes. A sob escapes her throat.

"I liked him," she says to no one in particular, her eyes turned on the changeling. "I would have liked to know more of him."

She removes the book from his hands and stays crouched by the body for a long moment before finally looking away to see what the others are doing.

_______________________________________
Search check - Pellorien will take anything else on the body
Listen check - just a "what's going on around her" check, afaik
Spot check - Pellorien wants to move away from the wreckage and will look for a space not too far away yet where she still might be afforded some privacy

[Josh]

Grafth looks around among the others, who seem to be regaining their composure. Then he turns his attention to his surroundings once again.

Grafth remains silent, senses alert, as he trails the movement in the grass... first with his eyes, and then with his entire body. He crouches low as he stalks forward. His hand slips briefly under his coat, and when it reappears, something glints within it.

_________________________________
Grafth's focus is on discovering the source of the movement.
Search Check = 6 (for any other information pertaining to the movement he is tracking... items, etc.)

[Darren]

Seeing Pellorien near Gurend's body and noticing her obvious emotion, Kalarian places a hand upon her shoulder. He leans close to hear ear and says quietly, "It was obvious he wanted us to have something, and we don't have much time. Take whatever he's got and we'll figure out what it is later." He then scans the wreckage. Kal will use the Detect Magic now to scan the wreckage.

When he's satisfied, he looks around for the others who seem to now be connected to him. "Investigators will be here soon, mostly Orien workers. I think it would be for the best if we were not here when they arrived. Check the survivors and make sure no one is in dire need of help. Quickly, and then let's put some distance between us and this scene..."

[Paul]

Cutter walks down the hill to where the others are standing. He studies their surroundings, his hands resting protectively on the two knives resting against his stomach. He was relieved to find them still in their intricately carved sheathes when he came around after the crash.

He joins the others and looks down at the changling, his face twisting with distaste.

"Why is no one ever who they say they are?" he mutters quietly to himself.

[Darren]

Kalarian leans in close to Pellorien, speaking so only she can hear.

"My dear, I have discovered some magic in the area. Perhaps you can give me more information? The wreckage shows pieces of the warforged...I guess he was detonated somehow. There's an evocation aura. There's also something buried under there that has a faint abjuration aura. Any thoughts on that? Maybe an idea about what might have caused this?"

Kalarian is trying to remain calm, but he keeps glancing about. It is clear that he wants to get away from the wreckage.

[Ed]

Oss watches the woman remove the book from the dead man's hands with great interest. Upon hearing the warning about the arrival of authorities from the so-called nobleman, Oss glances about him quite a lot and speaks.

"Lead the way, then. Let's be gone quickly."

____________________________________
Oss will stick close by the woman, looking for an opportunity to examine the book.

[Lara]

Pellorien steadies herself, trying not to show her discomfort at Kalarian's touch. She ever so slightly shifts her body away from him, as if to gain a clearer view of the wreckage where he said he found something magical of interest.

After a long moment, she says, "You probably know as much or even more about these things than I do. Magic of the evocation school causes this --" she gestures with one arm to indicate the devastation "-- but something with the taint of abjuration... well, it might be worth trying to locate. Maybe... maybe it will afford at least one of us some protection from whatever follows."

She pauses, still taking in the scene before her.

"Much more, I cannot say. This is truly beyond the scope of my experience."

[Darren]

Kalarian responds to both Pellorien's words as well as her movement, stiffening his posture. "Hmm. Perhaps I overestimated you."

He looks around, raising his voice so the others can hear him. "There is an item buried among the wreckage that is giving off a magic aura. It may be worth recovering it, but it will take us some time, and I can guarantee that during that time, Orien investigators will arrive on the scene. I can only imagine what they will think if we are picking through the wreckage when they arrive. I suggest we move away from here, see to our wounds, and see if, together, we can't figure out what's going on here. Are you with me?"

[Jeremy]

After checking that his bow suffered no damage (he hopes?), Goran has collected himself and scans the scene sadly, investigating any of the other passengers who might still be alive (Jeff: are there any? If so, I'd like to offer a little help, briefly, before the actions described below).

The half-elf ignores Kal's request, offering only a grunt and, quietly, his eyes piercing the brush and undergrowth,

"...there are more pressing matters, for instance, who...or what...is trying to flee, even before us?"

He then turns and slips through the grass, nudging Grafth slightly, nodding and making eye contact, to let him know he's there and to suggest they search in concert. He nods in the direction of whatever seems most promising and moves forward slowly, an arrow nocked to his bow. During this time he whispers to the shifter, keeping his gaze fixed on the bushes and trees ahead...

"Where do you think we are? Is the tall human right? Do you think Orien's people can be here that soon?" He adds, muttering,

"I don't know that I trust him."

[Jeff]

Pellorien pockets the identification papers Gurend kept, as well as a sheathed dagger attached to his belt and a pouch of coins. The plain silver ring on his finger—will she take this as well?

Goran is satisfied to find his bow intact and well. He and Grafth have turned their attention to the signs of movement among the grass. At the moment, the only thing they can tell is that more than one person has moved away from this scene. It will take a more thorough assessment of the tracks to learn more.

However, when the party turns to the collection of bodies, you find there is no sign of either the gnome or the dark-furred shifter. When Kal examined the damaged coach, there were only a few bodies within, none of them moving. In fact, amidst the whole, only two bodies are stirring at all.

A halfling with light brown hair bound in a topknot. She wears light, summery clothes with bare shoulders and a blue scarf around her neck, and wears a short sword (halfling-sized, of course) on her belt. It is evident that her left arm is broken, but she's also obviously a tough little thing to have survived. She moans but isn't quite conscious yet. A glance at her clothes tells Cutter that's definitely Brelish; possibly even a native of Sharn.

A young human male in well-made clothes (possibly Karrnathi in style) evident of nobility, with reddish-brown hair. Even even now he is struggling to sit up. He is wounded badly, with a jagged shard of metal (Kal recognizes it as a piece of the warforged) imbedded in his hip. "Gods," he hissed. "What in Khyber* just happened?"

It seems the rest of the bodies are forever stilled. Overhead, a slight rumble of thunder sounds.

As Pellorien moves away from the group, with Oss not far behind, she spots movement in the distance. At the top of the hill, not far from the line of conductor stones, she sees three horses, each with a rider. In a moment, the rest of the party spies them as well.

Kal knows, they are not Orien agents. Even to the rest, there is something unsettling about their presence. They don't look like curious spectators of the wreckage, but people approaching with intent. They are about 140 feet away, slowly closing the distance, and are obviously aware now that they've been spotted. You see the unmistable silhouette of crossbows in their hands, though from this distance you can't make out much more. The two riders on either side of the rider in the middle do appear to be armored in chainmail.
____________________________________________

Goran also gets a Search check result of 6. Both Goran and Grafth, however, can employ the Track feat with their Survival skill, to learn more.
Cutter gets a Knowledge (local—Breland) check of 21.

Combat has NOT been initiated. It won't be unless one side (the PCs or the three riders) takes a definite hostile action. At the moment, they're just slowly approaching.

* Khyber is the name of the World Below, the deep subterranean depths of the world. Typically Khyber fills the role of "Hell" in Eberron when it comes to cursing, though it is literally a physical place within the world itself rather than a different plane. Khyber is the name one of the mythic progenitor dragons, along with Eberron and Siberys, whose deep domain is said to be filled with monsters.

[Jeremy]

Goran turns his attention to the riders, standing in front of the two badly wounded strangers. He is focusing, for the moment, on the riders' mounts, all his attention is bent on discovering their nature, calling to them, in a way, to speak to him.

He says, loud enough for all to hear,

"For now our differences should be put aside. I don't think any of us has a good feeling about...them [he nods toward the riders]. Nor do I wish to turn my back on them. I can hit at least one of them from here, before they reach us. Perhaps two, if I'm lucky. Those who must run, do so without dishonor. For any who wish to stand, I'll stand with you."

With that, he half-draws his bow, keeping his arrow pointed at the ground between himself and the riders, not wishing to provoke just yet. He is sure, however, that this situation will get worse before it gets better.

_______________________________________

His first choice of target, if necessary, would be the rider with the crossbow.

[Darren]

Kalarian calls for his wolfdog companion. He shouts over to the shifter, "Grafth, is it? Grafth, meet Tangat. I believe he may be of use to you in finding the gnome who has caused us so much trouble. You two continue the search. We don't want to give him too much time to get away."

Kal places his scythe on the ground and steps up next to Goran. He pushes the sleeve of his right arm up and draws his longsword. The dragonmark on his arm has begun to glow with a blue light. He grins at Goran. "If they choose to fight, then you and I will show them how it's done!"

_______________________
Kalarian is, obviously, asking Tangat to help track the gnome.

He is also activating his dragonmark and preparing for combat.

[Jeremy]

Goran looks flatly at the Dragonmarked for a while...it's been a long time since he's seen one, at least openly. He chuckles darkly, returning his gaze to the silhouettes on the horizon, and replies:

"Indeed. One almost feels sorry for them. But perhaps they won't be so foolish as to attack." he pauses, "Then again, maybe they think we're half-dead already..."

Eyes still fixed on his quarry, the half-elf says aloud:

"Someone should stand by the wounded ones, in case they get through. And you, what's your name?" he looks at Oss, "why don't you watch the trees and brush behind us? It's only a suggestion but our 'visitors' may have us surrounded. This, I think, has all been planned. We were meant to be left here, or at least...someone was meant to be left here."

He mutters again, just loud enough for Kal to hear:

"Probably they hoped everyone would be dead, and didn't likely plan for us, eh?" He chuckles once more, with no trace of humor in his voice.