Chapter 3: The Enemy Within

[mike]

Torhak kicks the creature's fallen body. "Feh. You were not a worthy opponent, strange beast. I'd hoped for better." He wipes some blood from his face with the back of his hand.

He looks up at Ralsor and Grafth. Slinging his axe back into its sheath, he takes a corner of the tarp, and helps the two place the creature's body upon it.

"This gnome had better wake up soon," he mutters. "I have many questions to ask of her."

[Jeff]

Goran is able to recover both of his arrows. The one that hit the wall needs sharpening, but it's still good.

Ralsor, with Torhak's and Grafth's help, slides the creature onto the tarp, wraps it up, and hauls it up to the top deck. He returns, grumbling, to wipe up the greasy substance with soap and water. "Just meet me back at breakfast. Eat up, or you'll insult Misha. And she, well, likes to be insulted." To Torhak he grins, "Welcome aboard, I say again, sir. Feel free to eat up, if you're hungry, and once our Zil companion wakes up, we'll see if we can get some answers, all right?"

Ralsor looks a bit nervous, despite his ease. He returns to the storage room to check on the other crates and to secure them.

The red-scaled pseudodragon flies belowdecks (it's the first time anyone's seen him do so) and finds where everyone has gone. His telepathic voice projects into everyone's heads. If my memory serves me correct—and it always does—the halflings of the eastern Talenta Plains called those creatures 'boggles.' I've only seen one before, quite some time ago. They're subterranean dwelling. I can't imagine what one is doing aboard an airship.

Greetings, Mrorian, the tiny dragon says, looking pointedly at Torhak. I am Matheurynivorak, preeminent sage and arcane scholar. I have chosen to accompany this airship for an indeterminate amount of time. It is my understanding, based on the evidence, that you were encased within—or perhaps were yourself—stone. I would very much like to hear more about that experience as I've never been.

The gnome is still unconscious. Will Streko (or anyone) move her?

[Joe]

Streko shakes his head. From the sounds of things, the battle is over and he hopes, fervently, not to have to use up ANOTHER healing spell so early in the day.

Looking down at the gnome, still shaking his head, Streko picks her up and carries her back to the room that is being shared by his two comatose friends.

"Misery loves company, they say..."

As he passes Grafth in the hallway, he tells the shifter where he is headed.

[Josh]

"Yes, let's return to what's important— food." The shifter heads eagerly off to finish breakfast. "Kalarian, perhaps you're right... let's let Ralsor know about the book." He looks back toward the mess left by the boggle, "Any more of this, without full disclosure, and I'll start to feel guilty."

[Jeff]

Streko lifts the gnome up and carries her up to the "sickroom." There he finds both Amal and Pel sleeping soundly. By Streko's estimation, Amal should be waking sometime during the day. A short while later, Ralsor comes up from the cargo deck and enters the room.

He looks at the gnome silently for a moment, then reaches into her cloak and withdraws the wooden case housing her identification papers. He flips it open, stares for a moment, then snaps it shut and tucks it under his arm. "All right. Master Streko, hold onto that wand of hers, all right? You can leave her here for a moment. Come with me."

He heads out the door and enters the dining area again. An aromatic breakfast is the last thing Torhak expected to see again so soon.

Within this room and its assortment of foods, Torhak sees a dark-haired woman—Karrnathi, he's certain—looking back at him.

"Wonderful," she mutters to Ralsor. "Now who's this?"

"A new passenger," the Lyrandar captain says with a smile. "Isn't it great?"

She flashes him a look of annoyance. Ralsor, meanwhile, waits for everyone to gather.

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By the way, since Streko's room is the "sick bay" of the ship for now, the warforged, Mist, has been laid there as well....until such time as she can be repaired.

[Joe]

He looks at the gnome silently for a moment, then reaches into her cloak and withdraws the wooden case housing her identification papers. He flips it open, stares for a moment, then snaps it shut and tucks it under his arm. "All right. Master Streko, hold onto that wand of hers, all right? You can leave her here for a moment. Come with me."

Streko frowns, but nods his head. He then follows Ralsor out into the dining area, where the aroma of good food assaults his senses. His stomach rumbles as he stores the wand in his haversack.

Streko makes his way to the food trays and takes several items with a nod and a smile to their surly cook.

[mike]

Torhak grunts at the dark-haired woman, barely looking up at her. He piles a tray or plate high with food, and wanders over to a table. He eats with his hands, tossing bones on the floor as he digs into his meal. Occasionally, he dabs at his wounds with whatever cloth he can find - linen napkins, tablecloths, and the like - but the dwarf does seem terribly concerned about his wounds.

"Where is the little dragon?" he asks Streko. "The beast said it had questions for me."

[Darren]

On his way to the dining area, Kalarian stops and looks in on Amal and Pel. He stands in the doorway for a moment, staring at the two of them silently. Then he moves to where the others are gathered, leaving the door open.

"Streko," Kalarian says, leaning close to the halfling and speaking in a low voice, "I do not trust that gnome and would not have her be alone with our brave and trusted allies. Perhaps we could house her...elsewhere?"

His concerns voice, Kalarian's mind returns to the present, and the pretty girl in the room. He once again studies her with an approving gaze, then gives his attention to the new addition to their group. As he speaks, he relaxes and loosens the sleeves of his shirt, pushing them up to reveal a dragonmark on his right forearm. "Tell us your story, dwarf. You fight well, and as a Kaarn and heir of House Deneith, I can appreciate that, so you've earned my respect. It'll take a little more to earn my trust."

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Y'know, Jeff, you'd think that Kalarian would have recognized when someone comes from the same place as him. Would have been valuable information in earlier flirting attempts.

[Jeff]

Darren (and anyone else): click here.

[mike]

Torhak looks up at Kalarian. " 'Tis not much to tell, good sir. My misfortune cam during a raid on the accursed Toldorath clan. They live without honor, those lot."

"My cousin Roresht learned that a Toldorath priest named Werreg—who she believed worshipped the Shadow—had discovered a hidden vault where an ancient Droranath metal helm was hidden. As Roresht told me, this helm could transform its wearer into a dwarf, and give them some of the secrets of the Droranath clan. I know not how such magic works, but Roresht's words were always truth." He looks down at his plate, a wistful look in his eyes.

"Aye, I wish we had some dwarven spirits on this ship ..."

He clears his throat. "My pardon. Roresht and I went with our brothers of war to this hidden vault, to stop Werreg from entering and taking the helm. I took us many days to get there. As we reached the vault ... well, there was someone - or something - already there. This man - on whatever he was - rode a giant beast, scaly and cruel. The beast tore two of my brothers apart, and then ... its cold eyes turned Roresht into stone. She meant to protect me from it, she did ..."

Torhak grunts, and turns back to his food. "You know the rest as well as I do. I tried to avenge Roresht, and I fail. The beast turned me into stone as well. And then ... I found myself here. Alone. Roresht and my other clansmen - gone."

[Darren]

Kalarian grunts slightly as Torhak finishes his story. "Well, you fight well, and we seem to be getting into a lot of fights lately, so we're glad to have you along with us for as long as your fortunes intertwine with ours. It's been an interesting few days, and there's too much to explain it all, but keep your eyes and ears open, and we'll fill you in on anything you need to know. For now what you need to know is that when something attacks us, I want your axe on the front line."

Finished with the dwarf for now, Kalarian uncrosses his arms and moves to a chair. "Goran," he says to the half-elf, "let's show our host the reason we're in this mess. Bring out the book."

[Jeff]

At Torhak's story, Ralsor strokes his stubbled chin. "That's quite a tale. I don't think any of us has any reason to doubt it."

He stands up and starts to pace around the room. "You should know," he begins, looking to Torhak again, "That you're aboard the airship Thunderhead, which has been in my possession for a year now but is technically still owned by my house. We're currently above the Duskwood, just north of Passage. I...take it you were still in the Mror mountains when last you remember things?"

"This is Kalarian," he says, pointing to the Deneith noble. "And that's his dog." He indicates the long-coated shifter, who's already returned to the morning meal. "That's....umm, Grafth." He points to the halfling in black and grey vestments. "Streko d'Jorasco, our healer and, incidentally, a priest. So watch what you say around him." Ralsor winks.

Misha scowls visibly at mention of a priest.

Ralsor indicates the only other half-elf aboard, who's garbed in hunting leathers. "That's Goran, our Eldeen ranger. I just met them all last night, if you can believe it, but after a nasty run-in with some mysterious assailants, we had to fly from Passage quickly. We may even be considered at large. I hope that doesn't bother you?"

"I don't suppose anyone would like to have a stab at explaining to Torhak who our enemies are?" he asks the rest. "If you help us fight them, Master Dwarf, I'll give you the same deal I'm giving them: free fare aboard this ship. I can even take you back to the Mror Holds once we've sort everything out. There's no way faster."

"Oh yes—and that gnome? I don't know her full story yet. She's the one who released you from your prison of stone when the rest of us weren't looking. I thought you—and everything else in those crates—were part of an art collection I was paid to transport. Obviously, I was mistaken. I think you've been caught up in some sort of 'creature smuggling' scheme and I aim to find out why."

Ralsor holds up the identification papers he'd swiped from the gnome's pocket. "It seems our gnome friend is Fherina Heartsvale, investigative chronicler* with the Korranberg Chronicle."

________________________-

* chronicler = reporter

[Joe]

"Oh yes—and that gnome? I don't know her full story yet. She's the one who released you from your prison of stone when the rest of us weren't looking. I thought you—and everything else in those crates—were part of an art collection I was paid to transport. Obviously, I was mistaken. I think you've been caught up in some sort of 'creature smuggling' scheme and I aim to find out why."

Ralsor holds up the identification papers he'd swiped from the gnome's pocket. "It seems our gnome friend is Fherina Heartsvale, investigative chronicler* with the Korranberg Chronicle."

Streko arches an eyebrow. "A chronicler, eh? Interesting. A gnome chronicler with a magical wand that seems to have the ability to transform stone to flesh..."

He turns to the Torhak. "Did you say the man you saw in the vault rode a scaled beast of some type that was able to transform flesh to stone with but a look? Sounds to me as if you and your friends ran afoul of a basilisk. Nasty creatures, them. Fortunately, you are back among the living." Glancing at Ralsor, Streko asks, "Do you have a manifest of the statuary items down below? Perhaps there are more of dwarves down there, or creatures that may be better off getting dropped from an airship, if you don't mind the suggestion."

He stands with a plate of food and bows slightly to Misha. "Thank you, milady, for the nourishment. It is truly delicious. I will take this down to the healing room, as I am hoping Amal will awaken soon and he will no doubt be ravenous. I will also guard our little want-to-be-inquisitive and keep her...shall we say...in place. If anyone needs me, you'll know where to find me. And if anyone wishes to question our guest, I'd advise coming down in about a bell or so."

Streko leaves the dining area with the food and returns to the sickbay.

Once inside, he places the food down, removes the silk rope from his haversack and proceeds to tie the gnome down to the bed. "You might wish to get up and explore some more...and until you have answered some questions, my lovely lady, I cannot allow that to happen, for the safety of myself, my friends and this ship. I'm sure you'll understand."

[Josh]

Streko arches an eyebrow. "A chronicler, eh? Interesting. A gnome chronicler with a magical wand that seems to have the ability to transform stone to flesh..."

Grafth swallows the remainder of his breakfast, quite satisfied. "Yes, you may remember Fherina from the lightning rail station, yesterday morning. She was the one asking rather pointed questions about the rail accident." He pauses to sift from a mug, "I didn't recognize her until after the dragonhawk attack, and had a hunch that it was more than a coincidence that she was aboard.

"Either we were tailed, a prospect I find fairly likely given our lack of subtlety, or she has an ulterior motive for being here that is separate from our troubles."

The shifter glances as Kalarian, "I thought that it might work to our advantage to have her around for a while... I don't know how wise it is to tell the chronicler everything about what we're up to, but if we had an opportunity to put any information in the public eye, that may prove to be strategically helpful."

[Jeff]

Ralsor considers Grafth for a moment. "An excellent point. She lied to me about who she was. She was...very convincing. She's a crafty gno...she's a typical bloody Zil. But yes, we can use her. Of course, once we touch ground again...we have to watch her closely. No matter what deal we make with her. Of course, there's still the matter of her messing with my cargo."

"No offense, Torhak," he adds. "I'm, umm, glad she did, for your sake."

"So what's this about a book?" He looks between Grafth and Kal.

[Darren]

"It was a good idea, Grafth, but I think that ship has sailed," he glances at Ralsor, "if you'll pardon the pun. The gnome is a bit too intertwined for us to feed her misinformation without her KNOWING it is misinformation. We'll keep her around to find out what she knows, but then we'll have to decide how useful she is to us. It might be better to get her away before she finds out anything more."

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Sorry. I don't really want to deal with the book until I know for certain that Goran is taking it out. I was giving him a chance to chime in.

[Josh]

"Misinformation... perhaps. I was thinking, rather, that by being more selective about what we share with her, the proper story might present itself. No matter, we've not yet come to that."

Grafth turns to Torhak and Ralsor, "As for the book..."

The shifter recounts the story of how they obtained the book, and the perils that have befallen them as a result, including the situation in Phorem's tower. Presenting the slip of paper for the captain's opinion, he says, "This fell out of the book. With Matheu's help, we've come to the conclusion that it is referring to Whisper Woods, in the Aundarian north, but beyond that, well... we've not had much time to consider it."

He pauses, "There are too many unknowns, and very few leads. We've come in contact with people only to lose them not even a day later..." He seems somewhat saddened by his last statement.

"The bottom line is that the book is quite dangerous, and that's why it's pursuer is so desperate for it. In the wrong hands, it will cause immense destruction. That's why Aldronivus led us here—so that does not happen."

[Jeff]

Mike: Of course, for Torhak's benefit, much of what Grafth recounts can be found here.
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Over the course of Grafth's description of the past few days, he makes mention of the dates involved: Mol (Monday), the 2nd day of the month of Rhaan (August), was the day of the lightning rail explosion. And today is Zor (Thursday), the 5th of Rhaan. Yet according to Torhak, it should be much earlier in the year. It dawns on him that he has no clue how long he's been suspended in stone.

Matheu has drifted into the room and now perches on the wall, his tiny taloned claws clinging to the frame of the porthole. He seems equally at ease on vertical surfaces, reemphasizing his catlike movements. When Grafth passes around the slip of paper with its map, he says, Whisper Woods. Very good, shifter.

Ralsor runs out and returns moments later with a map of Aundair. It's a bit shoddily drawn, but basically lays out the cities, towns, and geographical features as seen here:

"The western cleft is probably this shape here," Ralsor says, pressing his finger to the indentation along the northwest-southeast-running border of Whisper Wood. "It sounds like this is an important place for whatever this book is, right? Meaning it's a place we either need to go....or make sure no one ever goes there."

"What about your promise?" the dark-haired woman, Misha, interjects.

Ralsor sighs. "Right. Well, we'll still go, but....I think this is very important. Do you remember when I told you about Aldronivus?"

"Crazy old prophet," she says irritably.

"No, not really. I don't know where he is. But he told me, the last time I saw him, that when I saw that dragonshard—the big Siberys shard that Grafth here showed me just last night—that I would be needed. That I needed to pay attention, that things would be happening."

"So last night," he continues. "We're attacked by some....thing on a freakish dragonhawk and now I'm—we're—wanted by the Passage authorities. I think this qualifies as things....happening."

________________________________

Mike (or ANYONE): if you have any questions about past events or need some clarification, you have but to ask. If there's something you're not clear on, speak up, don't wait.

[Darren]

Kalarian stands looking at the scrap of paper and the book, studying them as if he were studying an enemy. Snapping back to reality, he says, "Goran, put the book away. We do not want to leave it out too long." By way of explanation, he says to Ralsor, "The book has some sort of enchantment on it that allows our enemies to track it. The lead box our friend carries shield the book from prying eyes."

As he has done in the past, Kalarian places his arms behind his back and being to pace the room. "It seems as if we have no choice but to head to Whisper Woods. We have so few leads, and I believe we must follow this one. Let's stop for supplies and head there with as little delay as we can manage."

[Jeremy]

Goran looks at Kal for a moment, as if asking and answering a question in his head, then slides the tome back into his pack.

"I don't think I need to remind anyone, but I will anyway. The news of this book, even that we carry a book, and who is carrying it, must NOT be shared with anyone not in our deepest confidence."

Goran double-checks the pack is secured and slips it on his back again, where it always stays.

"Now, not to downplay all this intense conversation...but I'm a bit peckish. Anyone else hungry? Some tea, at least, would be a gift worthy of my sincerest gratitude. I will of course recompense you, Ralsor, if your stores are running short." Goran adds the last sentence politely.

"Oh, and I think you said something about a few arrows? At least until we can stop somewhere...maybe a fly-through weaponry?"
The half-elf chuckles. A weak joke, perhaps, but he felt a laugh was needed.

[mike]

Torhak sits at the table, arms folded across his chest, white-hot fire burning in his eyes.

"Many of your words are so familiar," he says, "but many ... many are different, or wrong, to me. I fear I do not belong in this place, but I am here just the same."

"Tell me," he says to Goran and Kalarian, "what is the date? What is the year?"

[Darren]

"It is the 5th of Rhaan, dwarf. How long have you been encased in stone?"

[Josh]

Grafth looks up, curious. "Perhaps, Kalarian, your mind has been adversely affected by our travails thus far... or you missed a few sessions with your childhood tutors?" Turning to Torhak, he says, "It is Year of the Kingdom 998."

[Jeff]

Goran finds that a great assortment of breakfast foods (originally described here on page 1) are arrayed across the table in front of him. Grafth has already partaken of his share, and perhaps a little more.

Ralsor nods to the ranger. "No fly-through weaponries, I fear, but yes, I'll see what I can find for you. I've more crossbow bolts than arrows, but I know I've seen some. After breakfast, then?"

Just down the hall in Streko's room, Amal stirs. He opens his eyes, looks over at the halfling, and shuts his eyes again. "I hope, at least, that someone among the bad guys is also waking up feeling like this?" He winces from the movement.

[Joe]

Streko chuckles gently and steps over to the recovering warrior. "Few among the bad guys are waking up at all, my friend. Welcome back to us. I have brought food for you. I am sure you will wish to report to Kalarian and catch up on events as soon as possible, but I advise a little more rest. You will notice Pel is alive and well and your other roommate is a travelling gnome chronicler who is here unwittingly and has already caused some problems aboard ship...hence her bindings."

Satisfied that the warrior's wounds are healing, he brings a plate of the procured food over to him. "Now, don't eat too quickly, as it might come up even quicker. As soon as you're finished, I'll alert Kal that you wish to see him."

He steps over to Pel then, ensuring that she, too, is recuperating and then to the gnome to inspect his bindings...making sure the is unable to escape should he need to leave the room for whatever reason.

[mike]

"The Year of the Kingdom 998," Torhak says softly. "So, eighteen ... eighteen long years have passed me by."

He looks up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

[Jeremy]

Goran munches on some food, grateful for the nosh. Any tea in sight is greedily drunk by the famished ranger.

Also, any arrows he can glean from the Thunderhead's stores are gratefully accepted.

"Your generosity is appreciated, nonetheless I should like to replenish your arrow stock once we get the chance." Goran fumbles through his remaining coins, doing a little math.

Goran, once finished, will approach Kal.

"We should probably be planning our next move, in detail if possible."

[Jeff]

In the Galley

"Twelve moons," Ralsor mutters. "Are you serious? A lot, Torhak, has changed. "

In Sick Bay

"Where are we, Streko?" Amal asks. He looks around. "We're...on the ship, aren't we....and we're, not docked."

[Joe]

Streko nods. "Indeed, we are on the Lyrander airship, fleeing Passage and, no doubt, numerous authorities intent upon arresting us for numerous crimes, none of which we intentionally committed. As to where we are, I am not sure exactly, so I will let Kalarian provide you with that information once you are feeling a little better. You came close to dying, my friend, and it was touch and go for a while once we stabilized you. But, you have my word that you will be as good as new soon. In the meantime, eat and rest. I will tell Kal that you are awake and would like to speak with him. Agreed?"

[mike]

"I would not joke about such a matter," says Torhak. "Eighteen years, I've slept in stone."

He takes a whetstone out of a belt pouch, and rubs it slowly between his hands. "Fate is strange. Why was I awakened? And how? For what purpose ... ?"

He looks up at Ralsor. "I do not believe in random chance. I will accompany you to this place, the Whisper Woods. I will smite your enemies, and make them cry bitter tears of defeat before they die. For I suspect the answers I seek may be found there."

"I may not be sure of many things anymore," Torhak says, getting up from the table, "but I am sure of this, my new friends. Our fates are intertwined."