Chapter 2: Rites of Passage

[Darren]

Kalarian continues at a dead run, his eyes firmly fixed on the figure he believes to be Malov. His leg buckles briefly, but he seems to not notice it, as if it is a normal occurence for him. He barely breaks his stride when it happens.

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Kal is continuing his run. If it is possible this turn to attack the rider, Kal will try to attack him with the sharrash for non-lethal damage.

[Joe]

"Blast!" Streko looks up and struggles to keep from cowering in fear. "Khyber's breath...but that thing is big!"

Streko sees the creature, whatever it is, crawling toward Grafth. Before it gets TOO close, Streko will fling a dart at the beast, hoping he doesn't hit his friend in the process.

[Josh]

As the shifter's eyes meet those of the rider, his hand moves from its grip on the dragonhawk to his belt, grasping the handaxe. His grip on Pel tightens in response.

"Kill him!" He shouts down to the others. "I must get Pel free!"

Grafth takes a swing at the dragonhawk's foot once again, putting all his might behind the weapon.

[Jeremy]

As it flies over, Goran is less displeased with his missed shot than with the unhappy aroma emanating from the underside of the hawk.

Goran knows there's little more he can do that keep shooting until he runs out of arrows. Point blank shot (?)

---

Jeff, any chance we could roll to see if the arrow that skipped off the hawk might've landed on the deck of the ship?

[Jeff]

ROUND 12

18 = Kal
16 = Grafth
14 = dragonhawk
12 = gnome
10 = Ralsor / Mist
6 = Goran/ rider / Streko / Tangat

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Kal moves just below the dragonhawk, his sharash ready. With a grunt and the necessary two-handed grip, he sweeps the war scythe at the climbing rider, its crescent blade facing the opposite direction so that it is not aimed to kill. But the angle is bad and the wood frame rebounds off the dragonhawk's hide instead.

Grafth, axe firmly in hand, takes care to swing at a portion of the dragonhawk's legs where there is no danger of hitting Pel—satisfied that the creature has no chance to evade his attack. Only the thickness of its scaly talons...

He grins as the blade bites into its leg, but it is remarkably bloodless. When he wrenches the blade free again, Grafth is dismayed to see the wound close instantly. So far only the blue flame seems to have harmed it, and it is all gone out. The dragonhawk merely squawks at the nick of Grafth's axe, nothing more.

At that moment, Goran and Streko both notice the gnome woman peering from around the forecastle at the frantic scene. Her face is white with fear, but she holds in her hand the same wand she used to reveal the "stevedores" back at the Lyrandar tower. She waves her hand in the direction of the dragonhawk. There is a flash at its tip, then a brief wash of white light across Grafth's field of vision...

The dragonhawk bucks wildly...

Goran sees another good moment, loosing an arrow at very close range. The arrow rebounds from its hide again, but this arrow skitters back to the deck (so it's recoverable).

The rider in the ash-gray cloak climbs, his body completely upside down, to where Grafth is, and leaps at the shifter!

The rider's mass hits Grafth—who wasn't ready for the impact—and dislodges him entirely. The agile shifter attempts to turn his drop into a catlike landing, but the angle is all wrong...he hits the deck of the Thunderhead hip first, then shoulders and legs, feeling numbing pain race through his body. He's feeling battered, and his head hurts. But he looks up...

To see the cloaked rider fall only seconds after Grafth does, clinging to Pel as if her slack body could stop him.

Both the rider and Pel crash to the deck mere feet from Grafth. Both appear to be out cold, entwined. The arrow in the rider's back has gone in deeper, and blood pools on the deck.

The dragonhawk—suddenly free from its burden!—lets out a screech that's half dragon's roar. Its wings spread to their limit and the whole thing wheels sideways...quickly vanishing into the gloom.

Streko is left standing there with a dart in each hand...and no moving enemies to hit.

Refresh your page!

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• Kal's attack: 6 +2 -4 (attempting to deal nonlethal damage) = 4 (miss)
  
• Grafth's attack: 13 +4 = 17 / damage is 2 + 2 = 4 to the dragonhawk
  
• Goran's attack: 4 + 6 + 1 (Point Blank) = 11 (miss)
  
• Grafth's Reflex save = 8 (failure), Grafth's Strength check = 14 (failure) / Grafth takes 3 damage
  
• Rider's grapple check: 21 (success, 3 nonlethal damage to Pel)

Sorry, Jeremy. I determined a 10% chance of recovering the previous arrow, then rolled for it. No dice. Needed a 1-10 on a roll of 100, but you got a 26. We tried!

And now we are OUT of turn-based mode...

[Josh]

Grafth, bewildered and exhausted, remains collapsed on the deck.

"Tell Ralsor... get us... away... Phorem..."

[Joe]

Streko rushes immediately to Pel's side and inspects the nasty wounds left behind by the dragonhawk's talons. He reaches back and removes a second healer's kit from his backpack and proceeds to make sure that Pel is stabilized before going over to Grafth and inspecting him.

He looks at the shifter and shakes his head, a grin on his otherwise stoic face. "You crazy fool! You must have the blood of Olladra herself running through your veins!"

Streko tenderly administers what aid he can, painfully aware that he can't ask for Olladra's blessing to heal his friends. He stands up and turns to Kal.

"Kalarian, if we are indeed going to Phorem's as Grafth wisely suggests, then, if possible, we should summon at least two Jorasco healers immediately. Practically all of us are wounded to some degree. I will offer to pay for thier services."

Streko cautiously makes his way to the man who called himself Malov. "As for this...person... he should be gagged and bound immediately." He kneels down to inspect the damage done by Goran's arrow. "I'm sorely tempted to let him stew in his pain...but...if you think it is best..." He turns to the half-elf. "...I will remove the arrow and attempt to staunch the bleeding. It will stabilize him, certainly, but as your arrow brought him down, I leave the decision in your hands."

If the rider is near death, Streko will not wax philosophic, but instead do what he needs to do to keep him alive until they can get to Phorem's.

[Darren]

Kalarian walks up to Grafth, a huge grin on his face. He claps him hard on both shoulders and laughs. "Well done! Magnificent!" Kalarian is still smiling as he turns towards Malov, but then his smile turns to one of malovolence. Retrieving some rope, Kalarian ties the robed form up tight, not caring if the rope cuts into him and seeming to take extra care to make sure it hurts. "Make sure he lives," he says curtly to Streko.

Kalarian begins to pace, as the others have seen him do many times before while thinking of a plan. "You are right, Master Streko," he says, returning to his typical manner of addressing the halfling. "We definitely need the services of the healers." Kalarian looks towards Amal. His eyes narrow at the sight of the Blademark's charred armor. "Will he live?" he asks.

Turning away from the sight, he continues, "I agree that Phorem's tower is the best place to go, although I will not put the old man in danger by bringing this thing," he waves his hand towards Malov, "into his tower unless he gives us permission. I will ask Ralsor to dock us at Phorem's tower, and then we will go speak with the wizard and see what he thinks." Kal stops short in his pacing, a though occuring to him. "Where is Taymra? She never met us at the docking tower. Or maybe she never had a chance. Hmm...." Kalarian continues to muse that as he strides to Ralsor.

"Brilliant piloting, Lyrander! Brilliant!" he shouts as he reaches the wheelhouse. "I may have underestimated you, but never again. You have a friend inside of House Deneith, if ever you need. I am in your debt." Kalarian makes as if to bow, but seems to think better of it and instead offers his hand to the half-elf pilot. "I imagine you will be in trouble with your house for this incident. I promise to help you in any way I can with that." Without hesitating, Kalarian continues, "Unfortunately, I first have another favor to ask of you. Do you know the tower of Phorem the wizard? Can you take us there?"

[Josh]

Grafth, managing eventually to stand, thanks Streko for his help. Beginning to realize that he's in quite a sorry state, he removes his jacket to inspect his body's damage. Looking at the once-again tattered coat, he asks the halfling, earnestly, "Perhaps... when we return to the tower, you could repair this again? I'd be grateful." He folds it messily over his arm as he tries to get his bearing.

His eyes land on their captive. "I know little of magic, but should we gag this man? I heard him speaking an incantation before he fell..."

Aching, and with a severe limp, he makes his way toward the gnome. "Thank you for your help back there— I thought all was lost for a moment. My name is Grafth... what is yours?"

[Jeremy]

Goran looks at the wounded man, thinking of Streko's words...but also of recovering his arrow!

---

What are the odds?

---

Goran nods to the halfling. "Yes, Streko. Let's try and keep him alive if possible. Do what you can, and perhaps I can do a little more if it's necessary. But don't break the arrow unless there's no other way."

Goran walks over to Grafth and pats him (not too hard!) on the shoulder.

"Well done, friend. That must've been a helluva ride! Glad I didn't pin you once or twice. Do you need healing right now, or can it wait until Phorem's?"

Goran will pace about and recover what arrow(s) he can.

[Jeff]

Streko tends to Pel, finding that she is already stabilized and safe for the time being, but he makes sure she is as comfortable as possible at the moment. He also disentangles the Malov-thing from Pel's body.

As Grafth climbs to his feet, the gnome nods her head. She holds her hood up, partially concealing her face from the wind—which isn't cold or unpleasant.

"Thank you for your help back there— I thought all was lost for a moment. My name is Grafth... what is yours?"

Just as Grafth finishes speaking, she speaks a sudden stream of words that sound more like a singsongy limerick than a spell. She reaches out with her hand and touches Grafth on the arm, and suddenly the worst of his hurts fades away. He's still battered and aching, but feels a good deal stronger again.

Grafth, Goran, and Streko all recognize the sound of a healing spell, the variety employed by true bards. The paleness of the gnome's face fades away now that the danger has passed. She seems greatly relieved.

"Grafth, is it?" she says, then repeating it as if memorizing it. "My name is Narfieh Valetreash, sir. And you're very welcome, sir. That was quite an amazing thing you just did! That would make quite a good s...song. Were you afraid you might fall?"

In that moment, Grafth—and only Grafth—realizes where he's seen and heard the gnome before.

The figure in the ash-gray cloak looks almost dead, and its skin is cool to the touch. For a moment, Streko get the sickening feeling that it's undead but he can see it drawing breath like a living man just barely. He has the stink of illness about him.

When Goran pulls the arrow from the man's back, he finds the steel arrowhead bent too much to salvage.

Up in the wheelhouse, Ralsor only nods absently at Kal but his eyes are fixed outside one of the windows into the night, or beyond. He stands utterly still, hands still at the helm. "Is the shifter all right?" he asks with borderline apathy. "Make sure he still has the shard..."

The Thunderhead drifts through the night air. Ralsor seems lost in a thought.

Mist remains still on the deck; it's difficult to tell when a warforged is dead or merely inert. Unless the damage is obvious and severe, it would require an artificer's expertise to tell the difference. Amal is stable, but obviously in bad shape.

____________________________

The gnome heals Grafth 8 hit points.

[Josh]

"My name is Narfieh Valetreash, sir. And you're very welcome, sir..."

"Which is it... Narfieh or Fherina?" Grafth asks, low enough to keep the conversation between only the two of them. His eyes are serious and unwavering as he looks at the gnome. "If you are honest with me, I will be honest with you; if you are good at what you do, you should be able to tell that I will keep my word.

"The weight of our situation is heavier than you know... though I suspect you've started to feel this for yourself. Indeed, I could see this making for a great 'song', and I am starting to believe that it's a song that must be sung... in time." The shifter gives the gnome a moment to understand what he's implying. "For now, we must all find safety, and rest. If you want to join us in this, you must be reticent about everything you've seen so far."

[Joe]

Streko stabilizes the Malov-thing as best he can. He goes over to Kal.

"Amal will live if we can get him healed in time. He teeters at death's door, my friend. That creature that isn't Malov...could it be a changeling, like Pel? He is also gravely wounded, but I"m not sure it is all our doing. He is rotting from within...some illness I can smell. Until I investigate further, I can't tell exactly what it may be. Pel is stable...and your knee is worse than you're letting on. Grafth seems to have found a friend who has helped him greatly...speaking of healing..."

Streko turns to Goran. "If you have any healing spells left, Amal's family would certainly praise you with kindness if you would see fit to help him."

He looks back at Kal. "Until then, I think we will be fine, as long as House Jorasco can assist us in completing our healing."

Streko steps over to Grafth and the gnome. "I apologize for the intrusion, but I wished to personally thank our dear gnome for her assistance in this affair." He takes her hand and kisses it. "You helped save the lives of my friends, dear lady, and for that I am in your debt."

He glances over at Grafth. "Sadly, my friend, any mending will have to wait until morning. My communion with dear Olladra is spent for tonight and my sewing skills are dreadful, at best."

He takes Grafth's hand and shakes it solemnly. "Thank the Sovereign Host you're still with us, my friend. The blessings of Olladra are indeed with you!"

Finally, Streko manages to make his way to Mist, the inert warforged. He sits next to her. "I will find a way to make you better, dear warforged. You are a fine example of your race and I am honored to fight by your side. If you can speak, let me know if there is anything I can do to assist you."

[Jeff]

The gnome meets Grafth's eyes and nods almost imperceptibly. "A song for another day, then, sir. I came to inquire about the cost of passage aboard this ship, but it seems fate has forced me to disembark sooner than expected. I hope that the captain will offer a hefty discount for the premature flight. Which of you is captain, sirs?"

"I apologize for the intrusion, but I wished to personally thank our dear gnome for her assistance in this affair." He takes her hand and kisses it. "You helped save the lives of my friends, dear lady, and for that I am in your debt."

"You are most welcome, Master Streko," Narfieh says with a demure smile—Grafth is marveled to see how well she fakes a blush. "Your goddess has chosen her disciple well, from what I saw in that...nasty fight."

The Thunderhead drifts smoothly now, continuing a northward course away from the city. Ralsor shuffles down from the wheelhouse (leading Kal back down with him) to join the rest of the group. He looks to Pel and Amal, to Mist and the Malov-thing in its cloak.

"All things change, I suppose," he says. He lets out a sigh.

Most interesting, a cultured and familiar voice speaks directly into your brain, I briefly thought to myself, 'the appearance of those devilish lemures in the wizard's tower earlier today is arguably the most interesting thing I've seen in the last week,' but I was mistaken. Even from a distance, an airship and a dragonhawk appeared to be contending with one another. That is not an everyday occurrence in Aundair, at least not since the Last War's end.

The pseudodragon, Matheu, suddenly lights upon the railing of the airship, looking upon your group.

Where is our next destination?

[Joe]

Mathieu's arrival brings a warm smile. "Mathieu!" he calls out, running toward the pseudodragon.

"Might I ask a favor, dear dragon. My friends are wounded, some of us near death. Would it be possible to ensure a couple Jorasco healers be summoned immediately? I will pay for their services of course and I wouldn't burden you if the situation weren't so dire. And perhaps you might assist us in identifying THAT!"

He points at the Malov-creature. "It was identified as Malov. I believe it is not only lying, but that it might also be infected with some kind of disease. My own ability to identify both the creature and the disease is limited. Before bringing it into Phorem's home, I would rather know what we are up against...and if you can't assist us, no one can." He bows to the psuedodragon.

[Jeremy]

Goran is pacing around the deck, searching for arrows that aren't there. The half-elf is muttering something about having to buy some more as soon as possible...

"...if things continue as they are."

He nods respectfully to Matheu, and heads over to Ralsor.

"Why don't we aim this thing south, find a nice beach...bake under the sun. Maybe procure a few cases of Eldeen wine, find some nice company..."

His tone is convivial and, yet, seems to dare Ralsor to be indignant.

[Darren]

Before leaving the wheelhouse, Kalarian punches Ralsor lightly in the arm. "By the gods, man! Can't you take any joy in the battle we have just won? Sure, the war is far from over, but if my time on The Plains taught me anything, it was to celebrate after every victory, for the next battle might be your last."

Once he is back out on the deck, Kalarian's mood finally sombers and becomes more serious. He is, it seems, ready for the next battle.

When Matheu's voice penetrates his head, Kalarian leans casually on his sharrash. "Little dragon," he says warmly but with the sarcasm that he knows will annoy the psuedodragon, "it is good to see you again. The halfling is right. We could use your help fetching the Jorasco healers and identifying this thing." Kal grins. He clearly enjoys irritating Matheu. He becomes very serious before speaking again. "We wish to return to Phorem's tower, and we want to bring this thing there to question it once it recovers. I will not, however, bring danger into your master's home without his permission. Would you return and ask him if we are welcome?"

Again, a thought occurs to Kal. It's not certain, but there seems to be genuine concern in his voice as he ask, "What of Taymra, Matheu? She did not meet us at the docking tower..."

[Jeff]

At Kal's prodding, Ralsor cracks only a ghost of a smile...and it's grim. "You celebrate a victory because you've evidently had to fight a lot recently. But this is probably going to be the one that sets me down a path of...more fighting."

Ralsor comes out of his numbness a bit to pay attention to what's being said. He gives Goran a funny look at his jesting recommendation. When Matheu arrives, Ralsor just stares at him. But he doesn't seem too surprised.

"Might I ask a favor, dear dragon. My friends are wounded, some of us near death. Would it be possible to ensure a couple Jorasco healers be summoned immediately? ...
...Before bringing it into Phorem's home, I would rather know what we are up against...and if you can't assist us, no one can."

Matheu inclines his head at Streko, accepting his respectful tone and flattery.

I will not, however, bring danger into your master's home without his permission.

Matheu fixes his tiny, draconic eyes upon Kal. He says nothing about Taymra.

Your perception is gravely erred, human. Phorem is not my master!

I am obviously not a barrister of these human-prevaling lands, but I do not recommend your return to Passage at all. The excited Khoravar*in the docking tower are screaming for justice. Evidently, an aristocrat named Krenstaff ir'Vorem—a close friend to Baron Kwanti d'Orien—was found dead at the base of the tower. Another man—currently unidentified—was found dead near him. A Lyrandar maintenance artificer was found murdered in the tower. And oh yes, extensive damage to the docking tower itself. It is their understanding that the guilty party fled in an airship known as the Thunderhead—[/i][/color]

Matheu snakes his head sideways to regard the stylized name of the ship along its hull.

—which is registered to be in the possession of Lord Ralsor d'Lyrandar.

Ralsor shakes his head angrily. "Pits of Khyber!"

He walks over to Grafth. "The last time I saw Aldronivus—'A'—he held out that dragonshard in front of me and told me that the next time I saw it, I would be needed. That I should make all haste to a certain location and bring the shard with me. Well, you've brought it, so we're going. Because Aldronivus—damn him—doesn't jest very often.

"And because the moment we return to Passage, we'll all be locked up for days before we sort this mess out and try to prove our innocence. If that man, the mage, was a close friend of the baron of House Orien...then we won't be going anywhere anytime soon. Orien is the most influential power in Passage; the authorities will cooperate with them.

"And we need to take that dragonshard somewhere. It's probably more important."

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*Khoravar is the formal name of half-elves, established by House Lyrandar long ago. Some half-elves are insulted by the name (most are not), but the term Khoravar is a more proper one. Khoravar is both an adjective and a noun. Here's more about it, if you're interested.

[Darren]

"Dammit," Kalarian mutters. "Alright," he says, raising his voice, "Ralsor has proven himself to be more than trustworthy and a valuable ally, so we will follow him on this one." Looking over the railing of the ship at the ground below, he adds in a lighthearted voice, "Not that we have much choice, anyway."

"Matheu, if you would be so kind as to inform your master," he says, purposefully ignoring the psuedodragon's admonishion (sp?), "that we have left Passage and we appreciate his hospitality, we would be grateful."

Kalarian's coat swirls about him as he turns to once again face Ralsor. "Regardless of where we go, everyone on this ship needs rest and healing. Can you get us to a safe place where we can acquire that before we do anything else?"

Again, Kalarian's mind is pulled back. "Dammit, little dragon, what of Taymra?"

[Josh]

"Finding out more about the shard would definitely help us find the answers we seek, but I'm reluctant to go too much further until we... deal with our captive." He looks at Kalarian, "Having him, the shard, and Goran's item together in the same location does not seem like a suitable condition to put ourselves in. Do you agree?"

Looking to Ralsor, the shifter asks, "We should probably move our prisoner off the deck- do you have a place we can take him while we travel?"

Sliding his gaze to Goran, he says, "First thing's first... we need to find out what use the rider is to us, if any. You seem to have a way with this sort of thing; care to do the honors?"

[Jeremy]

Goran looks in genuine curiosity at Grafth.

"Do what, questions? Magic? I'm not sure what you mean."

[Josh]

"Find out what he knows, if anything. If he was just a puppet, like the man in Fairhaven, he may know nothing... or, conversely, he may be easier for you to coerce."

[Jeff]

Matheu pointedly ignores Kal. As Ralsor has been staring at the pseudodragon, Matheu finally looks back at him. Lyrandar, I will be accompanying you for an indeterminate amount of time. I do not consider myself a passenger, however, as I possess the option of bearing my own weight aloft through the sky, and therefore you should not consider payment necessary. But I may opt to rest from time to time aboard this ship.

"I...see," Ralsor says, almost bewildered.

Near Goran, Grafth, and Streko, the Malov-thing begins to stir. They rush to stand over him, ready to silence him or bind him. It's difficult to tell what he might have looked like prior to illness, as his normally human skin has a graying cast to it and is heavily swollen and mottled with skin scales. He coughs, and his eyes open, then he starts to laugh--a pained laugh through a punctured lung.

"Still...you persist in keeping what rightfully belongs to me. Very...well....I shall see you....again.....soon...."

He gives a final gasp for air, then a death-rattle escapes his ashen lips and he lies still.

Ralsor walks over. "I want to get this...thing...off my ship."

[Jeremy]

Goran looks at the corpse and smirks.

"Glad I could help."

[Darren]

"Damn it to all the hells," Kalarian shouts. He kicks the corpse as he bends down to remove the rope that he tied around it earlier. Kal's tone becomes short again as he turns to Streko. "Make sure she's alright," he says, pointing at Pel. "Get her belowdecks, and get her warm. She's the only one who has any information, now."

Kalarian stalks angrily towards Matheu. "I asked you a question. I expect an answer. Where is Taymra?"

[Jeff]

Matheu projects his telepathic voice to Grafth, Streko, and Goran only. As to the Lady Taymra, she was on her way to the Lyrandar tower at the time of your colorful skirmish. She remains unassociated with what occurred there, but she and Lord Phorem will, no doubt, be the only House Orien members who could possibly speak in your defense, should the authorities at some point require an explanation. Of course, if she speaks up at all, she will be detained by the courts for some time.

It becomes evident as Kal strides up to the pseudodragon that he was not included. Matheu turns to face the dwindling lights of Passage--a patch of light in the darkness of the Aundairian nightscape. I will deliver a single message to Phorem, and the Lady Taymra, if you will appreciate it. Then I will return and go no more to Passage. My studies in Passage have concluded. I wish to see more of Khorvaire before I return home.

[Darren]

Kalarian scowls at the dragon. He stares at him for a moment, then whirls around, exasperated, and says to Streko, "You deal with him," as he walks off towards the wheelhouse.

[Josh]

The edge of Grafth's mouth turns in what could be considered by some to be a smile. "Of course," he intones to Matheu, "that seems appropriate."

Looking around to the others, he asks, "Is there anything specific you want to mention to them? Otherwise, I believe we should ask Matheu to convey our apologies for the trouble, and our thanks to Phorem for his help and hospitality. If Taymra ever needs to join us in the future, it is my hope that she will find us."

He pauses, still unsure of what he has just been through. "And to you, Matheu— you have my gratitude. To act as a mere steward to aid in our affairs, and to save the lives of my friends earlier this day... you have shown a level of compassion and patience that will not be forgotten."

[Joe]

Streko sighs and looks down at the body. "We had best burn the body. It is diseased and we have all now been close enough for it to worry me."

He looks around the deck, suddenly cold and not a little afraid.

"Grafth, my friend, would you take Pel below decks and keep her warm? I think Goran should remain as a lookout, in case any more surprises come our way and someone should also look to the health of the warfroged who helped us.'

He turns to the pseudodragon. "Matheu, your company is most welcomed. Advise Phorem of our condition and thank him for all his assistance. If there is anything I can do to assist you on your return, I am at your service. Please do not hesitate to ask."

He bows to Matheu and as he's about to go to the warforged, he sees Amal lying by himself. "Goran, my friend, please help me with Amal. He needs healing or he will die before Jorasco even catches word of our request for help and I have depleted every healing spell Olladra might see fit to provide me!"

[Jeremy]

Goran agrees with Streko's request and will provide whatever healing he can.