Chapter 2: Rites of Passage

[Jeff]

At the Royal Sturgeon

"Twelve Bloody..." Ralsor mutters, listening to Grafth's explanation. At Kal's add-on, he pushes away his plate and sinks his head down to the table. Tangat inches closer to him, keenly aware that the half-elf no longer wants the rest of his meal. Ralsor mumbles something, then lifts his head again. "Thank you, gentlemen, for ruining my evening, Rhaan, and the whole of the Year of the Kingdom 998." There is no real derision in his voice, just some sort of weariness.

He sits up straight again and holds out one hand, fingers spread wide. "Dorige Leth," he says, ticking off one finger. "Vorix Kel," he says, ticking off another finger. "Arrun Entarro," he finishes, ticking off a third finger. "So that's two left. I guess I'd better pay attention." He speaks quietly and mostly to himself.

Finally, he looks back to Grafth and Kal. "Well, harbingers of doom, I'm not sure what to say. Everyone and their brother says this or that will rekindle the war. But nothing does. The Five Nations have been at peace for two years now—and though half of each nation is champing at the bit to fight again, we all remember the Day of Mourning and we all lose interest in seeing it again. If you pick up the chronicles—any of them—you can pick a random story and see a great threat in it. Someone scheming to start the war anew. Well, we can't stop them. It's going to happen or it isn't, right? Who in Khyber are we?"

He points a finger at Kal. "So you're here with him"—indicating Grafth—"because you're a fellow passenger aboard the rail, one of the survivors? Why aren't you going to House Deneith with this? I'm hardly one to call on the resources of House Lyrandar."

[Darren]

"We're looking into it," Kalarian says, non-comittaly. "That's not what this is about right now, though, is it? You just listed three out of five names of people who, I presume, are all dead. I'm guessing you're one of the remaining two. Seems like self-preservation should be your concern right now. Still, I think there's more to this, and I think a lot of this is connected. If you tell us what you know, we might be able to stop it before you wind up like those other three corpses."

___________
Your turn Most Exalted Turkey.

[Jeff]

At the Royal Sturgeon

"Actually, no, I'm not. They're just five people with whom I was once acquainted. And three of them have recently met a mysterious end...and Arrun was the best of them. But I'm not on that list." He sighs deeply. "Though if you're telling the truth, it sounds like you're marked men. Not particularly in my best interest to be hanging around you, then, is it?"

"Look, I really don't want to get caught up in all this. It sounds like you're in trouble, and if someone recommended me to you, then I'm not going to just turn you away. If you need to get somewhere fast, I don't mind taking a detour and taking you there. But I'm no knight or battle mage. There isn't much I can do for you. Though, I know of a good warforged who you recruit. Doesn't talk much. Seems like a good guard." He offers a humorless chuckle.

[Jeff]

At the Lyrandar Docking Tower

The blond scholar-man nods. "I understand that. Did you..." He turns his head, then, and looks over at Streko at the other end of the bench.

The halfling instantly says:

"Do you know the exact time?"

"I do not," he answers.

"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."

"No," the man says, his face screwing up with distaste at the halfling. Over his shoulder, Streko can see the commander-that-is-Pel smile slightly. "Listen...friend," the blonde man continues. "Can you please clear off for a bit? I'd like to speak with my colleague privately?" He actually fishes in a pocket of his coat and pulls out a copper crown. Streko hasn't felt this condescendingly dismissed since his early days in Sharn.

"Should we really be talking so directly?" the commander-that-is-Pel says softly, drawing the scholar's attention back again.

"It doesn't matter," the scholar says with a hint of derision.

Streko notices a new person emerge on this docking level, stepping out of the wide stairwell. A small figure—just a few inches taller than him—bundled in a traveling cloak. It's hard to be sure of much, but he feels it's a female halfling or gnome.

[Joe]

Streko grabs the copper piece. "Sir, I'll take your coin, as you seem most happy to relieve yourself of it." He steps directly up the scholar. "However, I believe it would behoove you to treat strangers with a bit more respect. You never know if the next one you meet might want your tongue for his soup." Streko snarls at him. "Good day to you, sir." He nods at Pel. "And to you."

Streko notices a new person emerge on this docking level, stepping out of the wide stairwell. A small figure—just a few inches taller than him—bundled in a traveling cloak. It's hard to be sure of much, but he feels it's a female halfling or gnome.

Streko glances around, makes as if he's just noticed the new arrival and looks back at the scholar. He snarls again and heads away, making eye contact with Goran to let him know that he is going to continue to mingle, but attempt to keep close to Pel, just in case.

As Streko approaches the newcomer, he tries to get a better look at "her." His first thoughts are, of course, of his sister, but he certainly doesn't want to get his hopes up!

He approaches her with the same thought in mind that he had with the scholar. An innocuous question regarding the time...

[Jeff]

At the Lyrandar Docking Tower

The scholar shrugs as Streko storms away. Both the false commander and the scholar continue speaking in low tones, and Streko is quickly losing what they're saying. The only thing he does hear on the way out is, "...I didn't find it. So I sure hope you did." The words were spoken by the blond scholar.

When Streko approaches the other small figure, he finds she is softly humming to herself. She almost seems nervous to be up here at night, with not so many people around as during the day. For just a moment, he feels a head rush as he approaches her, and he blinks in the light of the nearest lantern, wondering if it could possibly be his sister. But alas, it is not.

Still, large reddish-amber eyes peer out from her hood, long-lashed and lovely. She is a gnome, for certain, and she seems to be about Streko's own age. When words come out of the halfling's mouth, she says, "Twenty-second bell, almost," almost without a thought. Gnomes are known for being informative.

"Excuse me," she presses, "Do you know if there are any ships leaving here tonight?" She looks curiously toward the Thunderhead, where the warforged Mist continues to guard the gangplank.

[Josh]

"We may very well need transport, and soon... but at this very moment we need more information. It's the only way we'll be able to figure out what is going on."

To Ralsor, he asks, "Who is 'A'? And what will you tell us about the five on your 'list'?"

[Jeff]

At the Royal Sturgeon

Ralsor nods at Grafth's question. "Your 'A' is a man named Aldronivus. When I was much younger, he was a sort of...quizzical, eccentric uncle. But he's not really family, not of Lyrandar. A strange sort of holy man, I guess you could say. I used to assume he was a priest of the Silver Flame, but now I'm not so sure. I haven't heard from him much in the last few years. In fact, only once since the Thronehold Treaty. I don't know what he's up to now that the war's over. But during the war, he worked with the templars."

Seeing a hesitation, he explains. "They're, well, warriors and priests and paladins of the Silver Flame. A small but memorable order that's part of the larger Church. Passionate about what they do, though I couldn't tell you what that is. 'Destroying evil wherever they find it,' I suppose. They were concerned more about identifying and purging sources of evil and corruption than about fighting Thrane's war."

"So...Aldronivus had something to do with them. The five I mentioned were templars I was acquainted with. I'm not one of them, and I'm interested in joining any schemes they've gotten mixed up in."

[Darren]

Kal listens with interest to the Lyrander half-elf. "Would you mind giving us the names of the other two on your list? Was there a connection amongst those five beyond being templars? I'm trying to figure the connection between these five specifically and you. You were aquainted with all of them, and someone thought enough of you to tell us to find you, so there must be some reason for that." Kal seems to study the table for a moment, then looks up. "Does the name Malov ir'Turian mean anything to you?"

[Joe]

Streko feels the surge of hope dissipate rapidly and disguises it with a question. "What time...? He is, however, cut off.

"Twenty-second bell, almost."

Streko suppresses a grin, but then shrugs and smiles warmly. Gnomes are known for being informative, after all.

"Do you know if there are any ships leaving here tonight?" She looks curiously toward the Thunderhead, where the warforged Mist continues to guard the gangplank.

"I have it on decent authority that the Lyrander ship before you might be leaving this evening, although I honestly don't know where it is heading."

He takes his eyes away from the beautiful young gnome for a moment, makes eye contact with Goran (shakes his head ever so slightly) and then looks back at Pel.

His eyes shift to the scholar with a deep frown. "What harm might one dart do? Just one."

Afraid he might have said something out loud he would be hard pressed to explain, he bows deeply to the gnome.

"Streko Tavven, at your service, my lady. Perhaps I might escort you over to that odd-looking warforged, as it appears to be part of the crew of the airship. We might ask if it knows when and where the ship might be heading out...and, if you don't mind me saying, it would allow me the honor of speaking with you some more."

Streko reaches out his arm, hoping she wraps it around his. He gives her his most charming smile.

He then glances surreptitiously over at the scholar and Pel again.

He squints at the scholar. "May the Keeper bless you," he mumbles softly, then shakes his head. "Fates bite me, I didn't mean that..."

He turns back to the gnome, smiling. "You must think me unbalanced, my lady." He pats her arms gently. "I assure you, I am quite...balanced. As halflings go."

He escorts her toward the Thunderhead. "And quite the lovely evening it is, wouldn't you agree?"

[Jeff]

In the Royal Sturgeon

Ralsor thinks for a moment. "Ir'Turian? The family from Fairhaven? Aren't they...." He pauses. "Wait, why? Do you think this whole thing has something to do with them? I don't know who this Malov is. One of the family members, I suppose? I've spent more time in Aundair than any other nation, but the family business has had me spend a great deal of time abroad. So I don't have all the gossip."

"There. That's all I know. I don't know what more you want. As for those other two names....I don't really know you fellows, do I? I'm not going to be the one responsible for getting them into more danger by giving up their identities. You might have made all this up, right? You didn't even know Aldronivus's name until I said it."

"No offense, of course." He grins. "Gentlemen, it's been...interesting." He plucks a galifar from an inner pocket of his viridian coat and waves to the waitress.

[Jeff]

"Pleased to meet you, Master Streko," the gnome says. "Tavven? That's Jorasco, isn't it?" She looks him up and down, noting the holy symbol of Olladra. "Couldn't decide which way to go? House or Host?" She smiles big. "I jest, Streko. I think that's wonderful. It would seem good to stick near one of Lady Weal's favorites."

When they approach the gangplank of the Thunderhead, Mist stands tall above both halfling and gnome. She says nothing, but Streko gets the distinct impression that both gnome and warforged are sizing each other up.

"I'm to guard this airship," Mist finally says. "You will not be allowed to board without Ralsor d'Lyrandar's expressed permission."

[Darren]

Kalarian clears his throat, motioning for Ralsor to sit back down. He moves closer to Grafth and says in a low voice, "Perhaps you should show him the package."

[Josh]

Grafth nods to Kalarian and reaches into his bag, plucking out a small pouch. "You have been helpful, Ralsor d'Lyrander, and we should probably be getting back to the docking tower soon." He glances at his companion.

"Aldronivus had also asked me to show you this." Reaching into the pouch, he slides out the opalescent dragonshard, but only long enough for Ralsor to get a good look at the item. "I am not certain why, but he left this in my posession. Does it mean anything to you?"

[Jeff]

Ralsor's eyes focus sharply on the Siberys dragonshard, then widen. He delicately smooths his expression out, but both Grafth and Kal marked his astonishment.

He meets Grafth's eyes, very seriously, after the dragonshard disappears again. "Can I see it again, and hold it? I think....I recognize that shard."

[Darren]

Kalarian grins a not entirely friendly grin at the half-elf. "Now you're asking us to put a lot of trust in you, friend, where you weren't willing to show it to us before. I think a little give and take are in order."

[Jeff]

Ralsor shakes his head. "Not true at all, Kalarian. I told you who Aldronivus is. Once you meet the man, you'll understand why that required a certain level of trust. I also told you about the templars, and named three of them. If that is just some Siberys shard—not unlike the one upon your finger, Kal—then we have nothing else to discuss here. But if that's something more, if it's what I'm hoping it's not, then things get a little more complicated."

[Josh]

Grafth once again removes the shard from its encasement, resting it in the palm of his left hand. He holds it, outstretched, across the table. Beneath the table, his right hand feels for a clear path to his axe.

"Let's be quick about it- I don't think we need any more advertisement of our personal affairs."

[Darren]

Kal winks at Ralsor, a silent acknowledgment of his reasoning. "The item is in the protection of my friend here, so it is his decision."

[Edit] As Grafth hands over the shard, Kalarian eyes him suspiciously, his hands resting lightly on top of the table, ready to cast if the half-elf makes the wrong move.

____________
Oops. I guess Josh and I posted at the exact same time, and his hit first. Well, there you go, then.

[Jeff]

Ralsor takes the dragonshard into his hand, but he keeps his hand near Grafth's, seeming sensitive to the shifter's apparent ownership of it. He scrutinizes the palm-sized shard, and both Kal and Grafth see the gold-hued veins that trace through the stone glow softly at his touch. Kal knows that Siberys shards are best exploited with the use of dragonmarks (like his)—though he's also not seen many this large. The glow likely indicates that the Lyrandar pilot does indeed have a dragonmark of his own. Which, of course, makes sense since he pilots an airship.

"Sovereign slag," Ralsor curses. He presses the stone back into Grafth's hand. "Well, I know you're telling the truth now." He stands, takes up the last piece of fish he didn't eat, and tosses it to Tangat. "We need to go back to my ship. Now."

With that, he withdraws another galifar and gives both to the waitress in payment for the meals.

[Darren]

Kalarian stares at the shard as it glows, seeming to want to touch it, but not moving his hand. He shakes his head slightly as it is put away, clearing the image from his mind. He rises as the half-elf does. "Something we need to know about?"

[Jeremy]

Goran looks around the crowd one last time, keeping his eye peeled for anything that seems...amiss.

"Maybe if I knew what the hells I was looking for..." he mutters under his breath.

He'll let Streko drift almost out of sight before following him and the...lady.

[Josh]

"Let's go; we can talk as we head back." The shifter places the shard into his pack once more and moves with the rest of the group back toward the docking tower.

Grafth steps alongside Kalarian as they walk. His voice as low as possible, he breathes, "Should we tell him about the others now? And about the meeting? We still need to keep everything under control."

[Joe]

Streko nods politely at the girly warforged.

"Of course. And it is not our intent to do so. However, we WOULD like to know if this airship will be leaving sometim this evening and, if so, how we might procure passage?"

Streko winks at the gnome and then nods at Goran, attempting to ensure that Goran keeps an eye on Pel and the scholar while he stays near the gnome and warforged.

[Darren]

Kalarian shakes his head slightly, the high collar of his jacket brushing against his cheek as he turns his head slightly to glance at the shifter. "Not yet," he whispers, turning his eyes to the back of the retreating Lyrander half-elf. "We don't really know if this is all tied together. Best not to get him mixed up in it if we don't need to. Of course, his airship might prove useful if we need to chase a rider on a dragonhawk...." Kal lets the thought linger between them.

[Jeff]

Outside the Lyrandar Docking Tower

Ralsor walks swiftly, preoccupied with his thoughts, heedless of the last question posed to him. As he, Kal, Grafth, and Tangat approach the base of the Lyrandar tower, he says aloud, "Have you ever had that dream where you're flying into 'port' and there's a big receiving party at the platform with Queen Aurala herself in attendance....and you realize you're at the helm utterly naked?"

Within the Lyrandar Docking Tower

The warforged Mist looks back at Streko. "I do not know with certainty when the airship will depart, though I hope it will be tonight. Nor do I know the cost of passage. My inquiries, however, suggest airship flights are expensive. You will likely need a great deal of gold."

At the center of the docking level, the commander-that-is-Pel stands up from the bench and walks toward the northern platform (where there is no airship). The blond scholar follows 'him,' continuing their discussion in quiet tones.

[Joe]

Out of the corner of his eye, Streko notices Pel and the scholar stand and head toward the empty docking area. His stomach lurches slightly, as he dislikes the idea of them being that near the edge to what could be an extremely painful, if not deadly, fall.

As non-chalantly as possible, he motions to Goran to move toward, trusting the half-elf's ability to remain inconspicuous. Streko will continue to cover Goran's back, while keeping tabs of the gnome.

As a cleric of Olladra, Streko does NOT believe in coincidence. "Luck shines on those who have made contingencies, not on those who would rely on her fickle nature," he mumbles under his breath.

This gnome and this warforged could simply be random individuals..."but Olladra whispers only what she wants known...and she's telling me to keep close," he whispers.

[Jeff]

Pel and the scholar move out onto the platform, beyond sight and beyond hearing.

The gnome beside Streko catches his eye for a moment, aware that his attention is diverted to others in the room. She shifts uncomfortably. "Is...is there something wrong?" Mist's hand raises slightly, as if ready to reach for the scimitar strapped to her back.

Down at the base of the spiral stair, Ralsor leads Kal and Grafth on. He says nothing more, lost in his thoughts.

[Joe]

"Why, my dear gnome, there is nothing at all wrong, except that you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name and House affiliation, but I haven't had the fortune of learning your name yet and I would most assuredly be pleased to do so."

Streko turns his full attention to the gnome whose name he does not know and smiles his warmest smile, hoping that it helps the warforged to relax somewhat as well and further hoping that Goran will keep a close eye on Pel and the scholar.

[Jeremy]

Goran motions, ever so slightly, back to Streko, and melts into any shadows or, if more effective, any nearby crowd, to keep an eye (and a ready bow, if necessary) on Pel and the scholar.

The half-elf from the Reaches is making every effort to stay nonchalant, but his senses are on highest alert. He will cast an eye on the tower and, more specifically, the Warforged, whenever possible.