Chapter 2: Rites of Passage

[Darren]

"Yes," says Kal, smiling at Taymra, "we can go to the Lyrander tower AFTER I see if there is word from Lady Korvine. For now, let's go see this crazy old magician."

[Josh]

"Agreed," nods Grafth, "if Lady Korvine has found anything else out, I'm sure she will have sent word. That would be of help to us."

Once everyone has inspected the dragonshard, Grafth will return it to its pouch, and then back to the pack.

[Jeremy]

Goran is still looking down at the tiny little people below, and grinning a broad grin. He looks like a child.

Some might fear that an expectoration is imminent.

[Jeff]

"Of course, Kalarian," Taymra says, nodding. "I'm sorry. I rather like the idea of assistance from both your house and mine. That's who've our enemies have hurt the most. And, of course, innocents."

Taymra approaches the pilot, points to Phorem's tower, and the skycoach slowly pivots in the air. She returns to her seat, then looks to Pellorien and Dhaz.
_________________________________

Giving anyone else a chance to weigh in before moving on again.

[Lara]

The stranger nods as the plan starts to come together.

"The order of things matters little to me, save we ensure that this object is safe from detection as soon as possible. I worry that we expose anyone who tries to help us, wittingly or not, to the same dangers that we have encountered."

He pauses for a moment, then says, "Gurend's death is something I cannot take lightly, nor the possibility that his book and his knowledge may have led to the deaths of so many others. He was one of my people."

[Jeff]

As the skycoach changes direction, Taymra points to a wide, squat building flushed to one side of the city. "That's the Deneith enclave, Kal."

Dhaz fidgets from where he sits at the floor of the skycoach. "Passage, Sentinel, and Healing," he says with a silly grin. "Humans, halflings, and mutable friends. Are we going to add any other dragonmarked or perhaps a dwarf or gnome to our merry band?"

Phorem's tower grows closer. Taymra tells the Lyrandar pilot that your group may need to be picked up again shortly, and to keep an eye out. She gives him an extra galifar for the trouble. The skycoach hoves over to a lip of stone steps that juts out from a pair of double doors near the top of the red-roofed tower.

Once everyone has stepped out onto the stone steps, the skycoach drifts away, leaving you standing on the steps well over 100 feet from the ground. If you were to fall, you'd probably hit one of the towers nearby thirty or forty feet down. There's a stone railing on each side of the wide steps, but nothing at all at the farthest point.

Taymra steps up to the double doors—solid mohagony reinforced with metal—and lifts one of the knockers. Before she can even let it drop, a jarring sound—like a gong, but sharper—sounds out.

The wind whistles over the group. Dhaz sits himself down on the steps and tries not to look out or down, while Tangat continues to press against Kal's leg. Only Streko, who's spent enough time in Sharn, doesn't seem particularly bothered by the height or open air.

[Joe]

Streko revels in the sights, takes a deep lungful of air, and awaits the next steps on their journey. He makes sure to note any visible landmarks around them, but otherwise, enjoys the moments of peace.
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Heh...put the short guy near the ledge....GREAT.....

[Jeremy]

Goran is only marginally fazed. More than once he's clung to the top of a tall, tall, tree waving back and forth in a heavy wind back in the Reaches.

---

Put the guy with the spitting problem right near the edge too...?

[Jeff]

Several long moments pass. Taymra looks puzzled. There is a sharp, but quiet, trilling in the air overhead somewhere along the red conical roof atop the next story. Goran recognizes the sound as the mating call of an Eldeen condor—not something he'd expect to hear in a city in Aundair!

____________________________

Streko and Goran will stay right there near the edge and like it!

[Jeremy]

Goran's attention is immediately drawn to the beautiful condor, and he ponders what its presence might mean.

"Probably just some rich fop's pet..." he growls under his breath. "Hunting rats in the alleyways. Tsk tsk, I hope not."

---

eh, looks like Streko and Goran like it anyway!

[Jeff]

Goran cranes his neck but can't quite see the condor, and he's not too willing to creep out to the edge of the stone ledge to get a better view.

Then there comes the curious cooing of a quail—perhaps even more odd, since quail typically nest and remain near the ground. Even Grafth and Streko recognize this one. But still none can actually see the bird...

Tayma gives them a look. "What is that?"

[Lara]

A grin passes across the stranger's face just before he starts to laugh.

Catching his breath, he says, "Oh, I think Goran's got it right. But I bet it's not at all the kind of pet he thinks it is!"

He succumbs to the laughter again.

[Jeremy]

Goran looks at "the stranger" for a moment, then nods.

"That's a relief then."

Goran's guess is these animals are well-treated.

"It seems someone has a penchant for exotic creatures. Maybe we're next."

[Jeff]

At last the double doors open—inward, you're pleased to note—and the daylight spills into the dark confines of the room beyond. Taymra steps through first. Immediately her sword, a dagger on her belt, and a ring on her right hand glows with a reddish light.

At this point you notice an array of orange and red dragonshards inlaid into the stonework of the threshhold. "It's all right," she says, looking back at you. "It's harmless. Just there to make sure nothing terribly dangerous is entering."

[Lara]

The stranger nods.

"Let's go, then."

[Jeremy]

Goran will follow, staying behind all the others.

[Josh]

At Pellorien's words, the shifter seems to scrutinize her "disguise" more thoroughly.

Taking in all around him, Grafth watches as Taymra enters the building. He seems glad to be momentarily outside, but perhaps a bit uncomfortable with the height.

"This should be interesting..." he mumbles, stepping through the doorway.

[Jeff]

When Grafth inspect's Pellorien's form, he's amazed to find it...very good. It's difficult for him to believe it's her in there at all. Pellorien, on the hand, feels she did a rushed job of this one.

Pellorien, the stranger, leads the way after Taymra.

As soon as you've passed through, everything on your person that possesses magic glows softly with a reddish light. Grafth's fingerless gloves, Kal's dragonshard ring, Streko's haversack, something in Pellorien's pack, and Goran's boots each glow under the divination of the doorway. The dagger Lady Korvine gave you glows brightly.

Even Kal's and Taymra's dragonmarks light up, and the crimson light of Streko's shines pink through the fabric of his clothes. Dhaz's and Grafth's whole bodies glow very faintly—a reaction of their shifter blood which, like their lycanthrope forebears, is inherently magical. Even red light shines from the "stranger's" skin.

Darkness fills the hall beyond, but even as the red lights fade again, a purer white light shines out from a crystal at the center of the room. You find yourself looking into a lavish foyer hall, with a low, vaulted ceiling, gilt wall sconces (their candles unlit), and several niches cut into the wall with the busts of various men and women carved in white marble.

An elderly human stands at the center of the room. He is of average height, though his posture is stooped and his body lean. His wizened face is framed by shoulder-length grey hair and a short beard.

Beyond the beard and staff, very little about this man suggests he is a mage. His clothing is middle-class Aundairian—a gold-brocaded burgundy vest, white-ruffle shirt, dark brown pants with a matching burgundy stripe, and black books—but the staff he carries and the look of this tower suggest anything but. You see no dragonmarks.

His face looks troubled and serious, but he breaks into a smile when he sees Taymra. "Taymi, is that you?"

"Yes, Uncle. I'm here." She offers a bow.

"Would it have troubled you at all, young lady, to visit this tower-bound old fossil once or twice?"

"I am sorry," she replies. "I've been out of Aundair for the better part of a year, Uncle. And now that I'm back, well, there are some things going on that I need your help with. My fath—"

"Yes, yes, don't go invoking him again. There's no need, you know I'll help you. Let's see who've you brought to me...quite a collection, indeed!"

Taymra turns around and gestures to your group. "This is Kalarian d'Deneith...Streko d'Jorasco...Grafth, Goran, and Dhaz. The dog is Tangat, a well-behaved companion of Kalarian's."

Phorem raises his eyebrows, impressed. "Two shifters, two dragonmarked, an Eldeen ranger, and a..." His gaze lingers on Pellorien's traveler form. The glow is still fading from his/her body.

"My...my." Phorem leans on his staff as he approaches. "It's been a long while since one of your race has entered my tower. A long time, indeed."

Taymra looks back at Pellorien, a bit of shock in her eyes. "You mean he, that is, she...?"

Phorem studies the form Pellorien wears, then meets his/her eyes. "My wife was a changeling, too," he says softly, wistfully, his old eyes misting over. "May I....may I ask you to wear your true form here? This tower is in dire need of fairer faces."

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Grafth's Spot check = 12
Pellorien's Disguise check = 13

[Jeremy]

Goran cannot help his reaction, which he secretly considers a little childish: he is truly pleased when anyone recognizes his origins, the true mark of where he came from. He feels a deep respect for this man, and perhaps a touch of compassion. A powerful, shrewd mage (?) with a keen insight no doubt borne of many, many years of study and the wisdom to match.

Goran knew someone like him once, his grandmother. And he knows, too, the loneliness that such people suffer as a price for their knowledge.

He studies the man's eyes and face. Then he gives a slight bow, and speaks in an even tone.

"Thank you for accepting us into your home. Your keen eyes miss nothing, and you can call me friend, if you wish."

[Lara]

The stranger/Pellorien pauses for a moment, seeming to cease all motion, even breathing. Then he smiles slightly and bows toward Phorem.

"It has been some time. I would, with pleasure, assume my natural form."

Raising his head, he looks about the room for a dark corner, curtain or screen where he might find some privacy. "Is there a space where I can take a moment...?"

Moments later, a changeling in female form joins the group. Her hair hangs past her shoulders, loose save for a few thin braids bound together. Her eyes are luminous and, like her hair, are the pure white that is characteristic of her race. A hint of purple tints her eyes. Her shape is supple yet firm, a suggestion of muscle and fitness to it with curves at hip and chest that emphasize her femaleness.

She wears leggings and a tunic, unbuttoned so that the undershirt shows through. At first glance, the outfit appears to be cut of a soft black material, but when she steps out of shadows into some light, it is a rich, dark blue. She carries the fine leather pack that the others have seen in Pellorien's hands.

Stepping towards Phorem and carefully avoiding the eyes of any of her fellow travelers, she again bows her head before him.

"I am Pel," she says.

[Jeff]

A genuine and long waited smile curves Phorem's lips. "Thank you, my dear. It does these old eyes a wonder to look upon you like this. Your heritage is a noble one, far misunderstood in this age of mistrust of simmering hatred."

The rest of you know that Phorem speaks truly, though your own experience with changelings is limited. They are most numerous in Breland—arguably the most tolerant of the Five Nations—but no matter where you go, changelings are usually present in some small number. But there is generally so little trust for them that they do not commonly wear their true forms.

As shifters are a race that mingled human and lycanthropic blood, so changelings are the distant progeny of humans and doppelgangers. But where doppelgangers are genderless creatures of evil mind and powerful shapechanging ability, changelings are more like the more common humanoid races—they are mortal, they have two sexes, they procreate, and each makes his or her own choices regardless of origin. Changeling features are softer, almost muted, compared to a human's: eyes blank white, lips thin, nose shallower, skin various shades of gray and white, hair almost the same. Theirs is an alien beauty, and you can see that in Pel.

Another commonly known bit of changeling lore: changeling culture produces short, one syllable names; by no means a rule, but certainly common.

Dhaz looks on without expression. Taymra watches, fascinated, but there is a hint of something else in her expression.

[Joe]

"I am Pel," she says.

"...and I am in a bit of shock..." Streko mumbles. He glances with new-found respect for all his companions. "It is no wonder there have been so many differences of opinion among us...we are such very different people. I don't think it really dawned on me until this moment."

He turns to Phorem. "I am honored to meet you, sir. I would echo the sentiments of my Ranger friend and thank you for such a wonderful welcome to your home. Such welcomes have been few and far between for us of late."

Streko bows low and then steps back so that others may approach and honor the man appropriately.

[Josh]

"Pel... I see," says Grafth, putting the pieces together. "I had wondered what about Gurend had been so important to you..."

He shakes off a tangential thought and turns to the elderly man. "Phorem, it is good to meet you. I'm sure you would like to know the reason Taymra has brought all of us here. Perhaps you are wondering what has brought us all together in the first place. The sooner we discuss our problem, the safer we will all be."

[Lara]

"Thank you for your kindness, sir. It is not often that I have felt welcome to reveal my true form. But as my companion says, Taymra has brought us here for a purpose, and we need to turn our attention to this matter. I am afraid carrying this" -- she pulls Gurend's book from her bag -- "unshielded from scrying or other types of location spells, places us all in danger. Can you help us hide it?"

[Jeremy]

Goran catches himself staring at Pel. Not in a leering manner, but more like someone caught in an ancient dream. Words, barely more than a whisper, finally come out.

"You...I mean, your eyes..." he shakes himself and stares at the floor, ashamed of his all-too-visible emotions.

"There is a light...within you, I can see it. I can feel it." his voices grows in strength as he speaks.

"It reminds me of someone, a noble spirit. She was, well...she's gone now." A flicker of anger, no more than a sliver of silent lightning, flashes in his eyes.

Then he smiles at Pel.

"I had a feeling you were, well, something other than quiet, guarded Pellorien. I guess we all did. But your silent power was ever hidden from us."

"I welcome you, again, to our dysfunctional family!" he says in his clumsy joking voice.

Goran fingers the dagger of Lady Korvine absentmindedly, lingering in a distant fragment of memory, a place he is never far away from.

[Darren]

Kalarian places a hand in front of his mouth, covering a yawn. He is clearly unimpressed with all the theatrics. He leans heavily on his sharash. "Listen, friend. I appreciate you letting us into your home, as I'm sure we all do. Unfortunately, the longer we stand around like this, the more likely it is that people who want us dead are going to track us to here. I don't want to draw any trouble here. Not to someone who is willing to help us. So the short version is that we need a way to shield the book that Pel's carrying. We were thinking some sort of lead box, but I know your knowledge of the arcane exceeds mine, so if you've got a better suggestion, my ears are even more open than my half-elf friend's."

[Jeff]

Phorem smiles at Streko's words. "If you are friends, colleagues, or professional acquaintances to young Taymi, you are indeed welcome indeed to my home, Master Streeko."

"And you, Graft," he says at the shifter's words. "Yes, I would like to know more. I need a distraction from my own troubles."

Phorem's eyes linger on Pel, but he glances quickly down at the book in her hand. Pel doesn't get a creepy vibe from him; but his stare only seems half on her, and half in a memory.

"Uncle Phorem," Taymra says, stepping closer to catch his attention again. "What Pellor...Pel is saying is, we've gained some...enemies and they've been using this book as the target of some sort of location spell. We don't think they're close enough to find it right now, but we need to ensure they can't hone in on it again."

After Kal's words, he shakes his head.

"Enemies, eh?" He looks out at the double doors through which you entered, and flicks his left hand. The doors slam shut, and the candles along the walls flare to life, offering a somewhat dim but perfectly clear ambient light. "That should be simple enough, Kanarian. I have—"

Just then, a dark red shape detaches from the shadows in the vaulted ceiling and slinks down a curtain hanging from the wall: a sleek dragonlike form with shiny scales, bat-like wings, and a very long tail that ends with a wicked barb—like a scorpion's. All told, its body is slightly smaller than a house cat's. It leaps from the wall and glides gracefully to the ground near Phorem, then folds up its wings and strikes a pose like a miniature sphinx.

The mage gestures to the miniature drake. "Matheu, I believe you've met our guests?"

Yes, the tiny dragon says, and you realize that its voice is a soft, meticulous voice in your minds. I observed your arrival and made my acquaintance, though you may not have understood me at the time. His lizardlike lips draw back into a mischievous smile, then opens his mouth and lets out a string of chirps. Goran recognizes the sound as yet another Eldeen spieces—a grouse, if he's not mistaken. Matheu winks at Goran.

Phorem says, "Matheu is my...doorkeeper and friend. A pseudodragon, if you've never seen the like."

Not a familiar, as guests often assume, the tiny dragon adds.

[Joe]

Streko grins and squats down to get eye-level with Matheu. "Not at all. I'm sure Lord Kalarian would no doubt recognize you as what we all do, a companion and friend to those whom you choose to associate with."

He stands up and, seeing Tangat sitting quietly next to him, pats his hindquarters, then reaches into his backpack and removes a pastry. He tears it in half and offers part to the wolfhound. The other part, he stretches out toward Matheu. "Don't consider this a bribe, please, but an offer of friendship."

After providing food to the companions, Streko rises once again and addresses the mage. "My friend Kal speaks truthfully, Phorem, if not with a lack of tact. The sooner we "hide" this little gem of a book from scrying eyes, the better off we will all be. Sadly, the history of this party is replete with bodies strewn here and there, some even disappearing from sight. Regardless of your power, we would not wish you to be afflicted with such, instability."

[Darren]

Kalarian absent-mindedly reaches down to scratch Tangat behind the ears. "Yes, that is very impressive, I agree." His tone suggests he's anything but impressed. "But isn't it always when we feel most secure that those who wish to harm us find a way to do so? I just want to get this book secured as soon as possible. Then I'm sure we'd all be glad of your hospitality."

[Jeff]

Matheu snakes his head up, tall and proud, a gesture of pride. Baked goods do not agree with my delicate appetite, he says. The offer is noted.

Tangat, on the other hand, wolfs the proferred pastry down in the span of three seconds, as if mindful that it could be retracted again.