Chapter 2: Rites of Passage

[Darren]

"Ah, yes, of course," Kal says, "it's a human expression. How does one explain it? It's sarcasm, I guess you would say. Ah...clearly it was not a good landing, you see?" Realizing he is getting nowhere, Kal decides to change the subject. "If you'll pardon my saying so, you are quite an unusual specimen for a warforged. I mean that as a compliment, of course."

[Jeremy]

Goran will casually take up a place behind whichever of the capstans seems best in relation to the group. He motions to Kal or Grafth (whoever's attn. he can get) where he will be.

He is keeping his eye on that warforged.

[Jeff]

If she had eyelids, the warforged might have blinked. After a long pause, she says to Kal, "The correct term would be 'model,' though 'design' is preferable." Kal thinks that her voice, though it has a slight hollow, artificial quality to it, sounds a little bit like the raspy voice of one of his first girlfriends back in Sentinel Tower.

The last of the obvious passengers comes down the gangplank from the Thunderhead. Their grumbles disappear into the stairwell; none of them opt for the gondola descent, seeming eager to stay on stable ground.

All that remains aboard the airship, then, is a trio of men standing on deck in a tight group, talking business in hushed tones. One of them, a man in a viridian longcoat and a head of shaggy hair, sounds like he's losing a bargaining session. The second man is tall, decked in the utilitarian clothes of a man who works in magic—a magewright or artificer. The third is short, cloaked, and barely taller than a dwarf, shaking his head with disgust. You can't hear the details of their discussion from here.

Nearby, peering around the corner of the forecastle and watching the three men is a young woman in a black and gray dress. Her hair is long and dark, bound in a topknot and flowing down in a long braid. She is pretty, but she looks a bit sneaky.

Grafth guesses that either the coated man or the taller one is likely to be the pilot. It's difficult to tell. From here he can't even tell if any of them is half-elven.

[Joe]

Streko had been following close to Goran. After being "examined" by the "female" warforged, Streko has come to a decision. He whispers harshly to his friend.

"I'm not certain, but I believe I've either just been spotted by that warforged or given a marriage proposal. I had best find a shadow and hide in it completely. I will be nearby, just not in the open."

With that, Streko looks for the nearest deep shadows and fades into them, keeping an eye on Goran the entire time.
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Streko will never admit it, but he feels a bit sullied by the warforged's scrutiny...

[Jeff]

When the stevedores are finished tying down the airship, Goran moves into the shadows formed by the nearest capstan. Streko slowly slides into the groove formed by the archway behind him. To the best of their knowledge, no one marked their movements.

At last, the trio of men on board the Thunderhead breaks up. The tall man and the short man step up to the gangplank, then march determinedly down again and into the stairwell.

Only the man in the viridian longcoat remains; sighs big, then makes his way over to the bow of the ship, where he stands alone and stares down into the lights of Passage. He combs his fingers through his hair, and you note the pointed ears and scruffy jaw. Definitely a half-elf. Only he and the woman—who nows slips away—seem to be on the ship now. Then again, there's plenty of places on board passengers or crew can go below decks.

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Streko's Hide check = 9
Goran's Hide check = 15

[Josh]

"Well, here goes," mumbles the shifter as he heads toward the ship, sure that his companions are somewhere around him, observing the scene. His movements are as discreet as possible as he attempts to look like a passenger.

When he gets close enough to the bow ship, he calls out, "Ralsor!"

[Jeff]

The coated half-elf looks abruptly over to Grafth. He makes his way over to the side of the ship and stops at the top of the gangplank, looking down at Grafth. He wears a silver-hilted cutlass at his belt and a few simple rings on his fingers. He is the very picture of an aristocratic Lyrandar sailor, if a bit disheveled and possibly down on his luck. There is an unmistakably rakish quality to his expression and bearing that Grafth finds Kal-ish. He is surprisingly young.

"My name precedes me yet again. You have the advantage of me, sir," he says. He looks Grafth up and down with scrutinizing, if tired eyes. "I am Ralsor d'Lyrandar, and I just may be—and quite possibly could be for an indeterminate amount of time—at your service. Incidentally, I don't suppose you know anything about repairing the binding matrix on elemental airships?"

Grafth senses the slender warforged moving steadily behind him, as if she's stepping into the line of people who wished to speak to Ralsor. He's always aware that she can hear their every word. There is a distinctive, if slight, alchemical scent clinging to her. Not unpleasant, but not particularly natural—even for a warforged. Maybe...a bit like paint? It's very thin.

[Josh]

Grafth nods his head slightly in greeting. "My name is Grafth, and I was sent here at the behest of a colleague of Arrun Entarro." He looks for a reaction to the name. "It is a matter of urgency, as well as one of discretion... is there a place nearby that we might speak more freely?"

[Jeff]

Near Kal, Amal whispers, "My lord, should we join Grafth? That warforged is a warrior, if ever I saw one. Not that many aren't."

Ralsor looks intently at Grafth, about to answer, then the half-elf artificer from the waiting area approaches. He holds up a hand to Grafth. "One moment?" He fishes into his pocket and withdraws a small pouch that sounds of coins. He tosses it over to the older half-elf, who catches it with a scowl on his face. "Don't even say anything, Gant. It's all there, and then some. More than you need for repair."

He turns back to Grafth, the notices the warforged at last. She steps forward, standing beside Grafth. "You are Ralsor d'Lyrandar, then? Offspring of Captain Querin d'Lyrandar?" she asks, though it sounds more like a statement than a question.

The Lyrandar pilot hesitates, and Grafth sees a flicker of annoyance across his face. "If you're an assassin....then no, I'm not." A grin splits his face, seeming forced.

"I am not."

"Then I'm Ralsor." He inclines his head toward Grafth but he addresses the warforged again. "I believe this fellow wanted to speak to me in private. Did you have a question, or can it wait?"

The warforged nods and steps back, body and face impossible to read. She is, if nothing else, patient.

Looking back at Grafth, Ralsor says, "I'm not sure about discretion, but I'm sure we can find a place to speak freely. I was going to find some place to grab a bite to eat. And possibly a new artificer, quartermaster, and cook. Ever crewed an airship? I'm hiring."

[Josh]

"I assure you, I am not the man for the job, as my place is on solid ground." Grafth seems momentarily amused at the proposition. While he takes notice of the warforged, he pays it little mind.

"Yes, let's find a place to sit." Grafth looks around, spots Kalarian, and discreetly beckons him over. The shifter will follow Ralsor to the location of his choosing. "We won't take much of your time."

[Darren]

Kalarian has been watching from a slight distance with his arms folded. Hearing Grafth's suggestion to move off, he inclines his head slightly towards Amal, lowering his voice for the Blademark's ears only. "Stay here and keep an eye on that warforged." Reaching down to scratch Tangat behind the ears, he whispers to his canine companion, "And you see if you can find that other pretty girl, yes?" Kal is referring to the one that was here earlier and that seems to have slipped away. With a nod towards Grafth, Kalarian moves to the shifter's side but does not speak otherwise.

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Sorry guys. I would have loved to have done more with everything that just happened in the last few posts, but I was out for a while this evening and apparently missed out.

[Jeff]

"I assure you, I am not the man for the job, as my place is on solid ground....Yes, let's find a place to sit...We won't take much of your time."

Ralsor shrugs. "I know a place near the tower. We can talk there. Your friends coming with us?" He looks to Kal and Amal who wait nearby. Then he looks over to the warforged. "Can I help you...er...miss?"

The warforged steps forward again and nods her head. "It is my understanding that you—Ralsor d'Lyrandar—have a reputation for transporting cargo off the usual trade routes. Is this so?"

"Most of the time," the half-elf answers, seeming uneasy with hearing his name spoken so much.

"I would like to discuss the possibility of such a charter," she says.

"What's your name?" Ralsor asks.

"The name by which I am commonly referred is Mist."

"Mist, I would be happy to discuss this more with you. After I eat. Since you probably don't eat, let's do so after I do. It would greatly inspire me to listen to you further if you would be so kind as to guard the Thunderhead in my absence. I don't expect any problems, but I think if you stand around with that blade of yours, it'll discourage unguessable problems."

Mist stares back at him for a moment. "I will guard it."

Ralsor smiles, then comes down the gangplank. "I won't be long. Thank you, Mist." He turns back to Grafth and gestures toward the stairwell. "I didn't catch your name, friend."

Tangat woofs softly in reply to Kal, ready to do whatever is needed. Amal nods to Kal, then walks a short distance away where he can keep an eye on the warforged.

If anyone's noticed Goran or Streko, they haven't indicated such.

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Darren, the women who "slipped away" did so on board the ship. I'm assuming Kal isn't asking Tangat to sneak aboard?

[Darren]

Apologies. I didn't realize that. I thought she was on the platform. No, Tangat should not go on board. He can come with Kal, instead.

"Rather trusting of you, sir, to leave a warforged you don't know to guard your ship. How do you know she won't kill the crew and ransack it while you're gone?" It takes Kal a moment to realize he has unconsciously referred to the warforged as 'she', despite its obvious lack of gender.

[Jeff]

Ralsor shrugs. "I have no real crew at the moment. And if the ship is ransacked, House Lyrandar can pay for it. It's their responsibility for the moment. Are you joining us...friend of Grafth?" He waits expectantly for Kal's name.

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Ralsor will soon head down the tower. If there's anything else you wish to do before that, say so.

[Josh]

Grafth blinks, "My apologies. This is Kalarian d'Deneith, a traveling companion of mine. He and Tangat," he nods toward the hound, "will be joining us."

As they walk, he says to Kal, "Amal will wait for us here, then? We must keep track of time, so we don't miss our other appointment."

Turning back to Ralsor, Grafth smiles, "It seems that you have a reputation around here, though I've yet to understand whether it is a good or bad one."

[Jeff]

"Don't believe a word of it, Grafth. Rumors run rampant." Ralsor raises his eyebrows at mention of Kal's name. "D'Deneith? It's about time another 'marked house takes issue with me." He grins. "Good to meet you, Lord Kalarian. Do you like catfish?"

[Joe]

Streko waits until they pass...keeps an eye on Goran...and continues to scan the remaining people to see if anything, or anyone, looks suspicious.
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As Streko's job is to cover Goran's back, he will follow the helf-elf's lead in this matter.

[Darren]

"Hmm...I prefer the food of the Plains, honestly, but if prepared correctly, I imagine I could go for some catfish about now." Clapping the half-elf on the shoulder, he says, "I'm not here in any official capacity, Ralsor, so don't worry. House Deneith has no issue with you that I'm aware of. I'm just here with my friend, Grafth, is all." Turning his head slightly to catch Amal's eye, he offers the Blademark a slight nod and then turns back to Ralsor. "Quite an interesting ship you've got there," he continues as they walk.

[Jeff]

"I'm not here in any official capacity, Ralsor, so don't worry. House Deneith has no issue with you that I'm aware of. I'm just here with my friend, Grafth, is all."

"Then I suppose life will just have to stay boring," Ralsor says. He winds his way down the main stairwell with Grafth and Kal in tow, making small talk about absolutely nothing of interest. Kal suspects that Ralsor's a good deal cannier than he's making himself come across, as if his garrulous manner is a veneer. Yet he feels nothing sinister about him. He seems like the sort of man who learns more by watching others' reactions. Tangat trots alongside the Deneith heir.

When they reach the bottom of the stairwell, the Lyrandar guards give Ralsor a bemused glance, but say nothing and let the group pass. The Lyrandar pilot leads them outside into the open air again. He stops for a moment, identifies a nearby restaurant—the sign naming it the Royal Sturgeon—and heads that way. "The catfish is wonderful, but if you've a penchant for caviar, this is the place to get it. The food comes fresh from Lake Galifar daily."

* * *

Back up in the lower docking level, Goran and Streko wait in the shadows. Amal remains watchful but at ease. Although the dark-skinned Blademark looks like a mercenary, he adopts an off-duty manner. The curious warforged, who named herself Mist, stands tall at the bottom of the Thunderhead's gangplank. Her scimitar remains sheathed at her back.

The crowds have dwindled to but a few people. With a gentle roar, the other airship with its ring of elemental fire moves away from the eastern platform, steadily veering south until it's out of view.

Goran and Streko see a familiar-looking man sitting stiffly, almost militaristic, on one of the benches. The Emerald Claw commander, only dressed in utilitarian, civilian clothing, not armor. Pel, no doubt, playing her part.

Both the Eldeen ranger and halfling priest notice another man step out from the stairwell. Long blond hair, and the garments of a traveling scholar, make him stand out just a tiny bit. He quickly notes the false commander with some interest, seeming a bit surprised.

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Sense Motive = Grafth (15), Kal (21).

[Joe]

Streko motions subtly to Goran, pointing out the "travelling scholar." Rather than jumping up and down like a monkey to get Goran's attention, Streko decides to move forward a little, out of the shadows. He glances around, as if looking for someone, then ambles over to the edge and looks around some more before returning to an area near where Pel is sitting, but not too close as to be identified as being with the "Emerald Claw soldier."

[Jeff]

Streko and Goran

Streko steps from his hiding place, looking as nonchalant as possible in the doing. He finds the other end of the bench Pel is sitting on empty, and tries his best to look like he's looking for someone else.

The blond scholar notes the halfling's presence, but doesn't turn away. Instead, he approaches Pel, seemingly fooled by her resemblance to the Emerald Claw commander. "Raumok?" he asks.

Pel looks up to the man and nods gently.

The scholar sits down beside the false commander, turning to face him (away from Streko). He whispers, "You're early, too, I see."

"I didn't want to take any chances," Streko hears Pel say in a masculine voice, slightly louder as if to encourage the stranger to speak a bit louder. Somehow, within the timbre of the gravely voice, Streko can detect a hint of Pel's voice. Changelings can slightly alter their voices to match their new forms, but it's still an effort to imitate.

[Jeff]

Grafth and Kal

Ralsor leads Grafth and Kal into the Royal Sturgeon. Just inside the door, he looks to Kal and points to Tangat. "Listen, keep your friend close to you. They won't put up a fuss if she's real close."

Tangat woofs loudly.

Ralsor looks from dog to master with a lopsided grin. "Ah. He. My apologies."

The restaurant is upscale, on par with the Transient Hound's dining rooms. Grafth is assailed by many smells...ranging from pungent fish recently plucked from the water to their broiled counterparts. The tang of lemon and spices adds to the mix. Tangat's tail becomes quite active and he looks up at Grafth as they move in. One of the waitresses—several steps up from the typical tavern wench, dressed in formal attire—spots the Lyrandar pilot and gestures idly with a hand. He then leads the others to a corner booth.

Once ale—a local brew, quite good—is delivered along with a basket of bread, Ralsor immediately launches into the bread. He stares out the nearest window, which affords a view of Lake Galifar—where Olarune, the pale orange moon is reflected in the water. With his mouth still full of bread, he mumbles. "Tho. Arruth Entharro? Whath he up to?"

[Joe]

Streko does indeed notice the slight inflection remeniscent of his friend. He pays closer attention, hoping the scholar doesn't notice. If he senses hesitation, Streko will intervene non-chalantly...something along the lines of "Do you know the exact time?" and follow that up with something along the lines of "Have you seen a burly fellow, heavy beard, gamey smell? He was supposed to be on the next airship coming in and I haven't notice him."

[Josh]

The Royal Sturgeon

With his mouth still full of bread, he mumbles. "Tho. Arruth Entharro? Whath he up to?"

"He's dead."

Grafth takes a long drag on his ale, then puts the drink down heavily on the table.

"I couriered an item to Passage for his father, Drosin. When I completed the delivery, I was given a note by a follower of the Silver Flame that told of Arrun's passing. It also requested that I speak to you. About what, I am not entirely certain, though the tone of this message was quite dire."

The shifter takes another drink, and looks at Ralsor, "I do not doubt what the author of this note, known to me only by the initial 'A', has written. If you were friends with Arrun, you have my sympathy. Additionally my friends and I have been through much over the past few days, and you may be able to help us."

[Jeff]

At the Royal Sturgeon

The half-elf nearly chokes at Grafth's first words. He takes another swig of his drink to wash it down, coughing.

"Twelve Bloody Moons," he says, catching his breath.

After digesting the shifter's words, Ralsor looks him in the eye. "'A', is it? And you were 'given' this note. So did you get a good look at this mysterious 'A'?" The Lyrandar heir looks anew at both men, seeming to recognize their trappings as those of men of action. Kal detects a nervous edge to his words. He feels almost certain that Ralsor knows very well who A might be.

"Look, I didn't know the Entarros very well, and I'm not sure I want to hear how he died. But I wish them well, 'may the Flame keep them' and all that good holy stuff. But I'm really not sure why this A-man seems to think I can help you. I run cargo...er, deliveries—sometimes for my house—that no one else wants. I make my living, and I don't bother anyone." He straightens his posture and says in an officious voice, "If you want it there but don't care what it looks like when it gets there, I'm your man."

He gives a helpless, bitter laugh, then drains the rest of his ale.

The waitress glides by and replaces it, then begins to drop of metal plates of sizzling fish. Tangat stands and paws at both his master and the shifter.

"So what's a courier—not Orien, I take it?—and a Deneith battle mage got to do with Thranes, anyway?"

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To refresh your memory, Darren, Grafth's words pertain to this.

[Darren]

Kalarian absently hands down half of his meal to Tangat. His eyes, however, never leave Ralsor. "See, I think you're not telling us the whole truth, my friend. I'm pretty sure of it. I think you and I are not so unalike, and I know that I'd be leaving out some details right now. So what is it? Who is this mystery 'A'? We were told to seek you out, so that means you probably know something about this. And if you were associated with this Arrun, and if this 'A' was the one who murdered him, then it's possible he might come for you next. We might be able to help with that. As you say, we have seen our fair share of action." Kalarian leans back in his seat, his hands folded on his lap. He watches Ralsor in silence, waiting for the man to respond.

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Thanks for the refresher, Jeff. I had completely forgotten all of that.

[Jeff]

At the Royal Sturgeon

Ralsor glares at Kal for a moment, then dives into his fish in silence. Tangat happily scarfs down the proferred half meal. It is gone entirely within seconds. When he's finished, he paws gently at Grafth's leg.

"All right," the Lyrandar pilot says at length. "I may know who this 'A' is. But I need to know more about you and what you're doing here and why you're even following the request of a man—or woman—you don't even know." He levels his eyes at Grafth at this. "Give me some information so I know you're not just another charlatan looking to get Lyrandar services for free by swindling one of its...beloved black sheep."

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Btw, for my previous post, Grafth's Sense Motive check was 9, Kal's was 23. Hence, Kal sensed more than was being said. That's how it works, folks. Whenever someone lies to you, or simply hides something, I do a secret roll for you to sense it.

[Darren]

Kalarian offers a somewhat sheepish smile at Grafth, realizing he has, as usual, overstepped his bounds. Then he nods his head towards Ralsor, an unspoken suggestion to give the Lyrander pilot some information.

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Now I'm waiting on Grafth, Grand Turkey.

[Josh]

Grafth nods as both Kalarian and Ralsor speak. "I don't blame you for needing more information– we are just as wary of strangers, considering the circumstances– and hopefully I will have enough to earn your trust. As a specialized courier myself, I ask few questions of my clients and pride myself on my timeliness and discretion. You can understand why we need to follow this lead, and why I might not have all the details for you."

He takes a breath, pausing to collect his thoughts. Finally he speaks, his tone a bit lower, his voice slightly softer than before.

"Did you hear about the attack on the lightning rail, a mere two days ago? We were on that rail, headed here, when it was seemingly assaulted by terrorists. Kalarian and I may have died, if not for a paladin of the Silver Flame, who gave his own life to protect the passengers.

"Based on this note given to me– I admit, not by hand, but rather left at the location of delivery– by 'A', it seems a possibility that it was Arrun himself who shielded us from the explosion. Perhaps you would know if this is something he might do...

"We made our way back to Fairhaven, and then boarded another train to Passage... but not without encountering some rather sinister individuals... members of the Emerald Claw who seemed very interested in the rail attack, as well as our demise."

The shifter glances at Kalarian, remembering how much they have all been through in such a short time. "When we finally arrived in Passage, I was surprised to find this note, and more surprised still when it spoke of an enemy, impeding chaos, and war. Something told me that despite the seemingly circumstantial and random connection between myself, the rail attack, and people bent on our deaths, that there is more to this situation that we can grasp.

"As much as I would like to be uninvolved in this, we must see it through to the finish. If someone wishes to start another war, they must be stopped."

Grafth's face shows a flash of anger, followed by sadness.

[Darren]

"'It will begin in Fairhaven', they said." Kalarian grows quiet, seeming to have gained a new understanding of the scale of what they have become involved in.

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Waiting on you, Imperial Lord Turkey.