[IC] Beginner's DnD 5e Game - Group 2

[Oraculum]

As it could have been foreseen, the green tiefling had not accomplished anything useful in conversing with the dragonborn, in spite of his advice, and it was only when the paladin - Talionis, was it not? - arrived to unsubtly threaten the orator that something was finally achieved. As he glanced over the parchment that the doom-crier had proffered, Ulor slowly nodded in satisfaction. The indication that some sort of ritual, presumably connected with the goals he was pursuing, was to be held in a cathedral promised much - after all, who knew better than himself what secrets a religious order might conceal, knowingly or not? Once already he had been set upon the path of wisdom by partaking in what was to be a holy rite; it could very well be this might occur again. Noticing that the octopus was vacuously peering at the manuscript, likely incapable of deciphering it, he let the awareness of what he had learned flow through the aether-suspended river of thoughts and into the creature's consciousness, the information nebulously coalescing into indistinct visions within its awareness, until he felt that it knew. For now, they could let the matter rest - the ceremony, whatever it was, would not be held anytime soon in the day, and presently they could devote themselves to finding this general they had been directed to converse with.

It so happened that this errand was more easily accomplished than Ulor might have thought, if only in a literal sense. Anon, the group had reached the path of the parade, and a military commander, matching the description of their contact they had been given, came riding at the head of his resplendent troops and the exultant populace. He was, however, unattainable, being separated from the group by the thick of the festivities. And what festivities these were. Blades flashing, arrows flying, mages squandering their art - or the favour of their divine masters, no less - on conjuring tricks, townsfolk cheering, and all manner of other nuisances. Wincing and grinding his teeth together, Ulor brought a half-clenched hand to his forehead, as though afflicted by a headache. And he might as well have been. The dusty winds of insubstantial revelry, celebrating fleeting constructions of temporal insubstantiality, were howling and screeching around him, at him. The wrath! What were they celebrating, after all? Their independence - no, the independence of their forebears - from wizards? How could they believe this had any consequence? They were the blind spark of infinitesimal conflagrations.

He felt the octopus tighten its grip upon his shoulder and lightly sway upon it, as though to warn him of something. Recovering his bearings, Ulor saw that the feline creature was holding out towards him one of the parchment-bound arrows. He nodded absently at her as he took it, and, briefly running his eyes through its contents - "Splendid Sundries"? What was that even supposed to be? - slid it into his backpack, arrow and all. Perhaps it, as well, might have been a sign of some sort, and these sundries might have been worth searching. But that would come later. The clouds were dispersing; more and more of the townsfolk disappeared. However, so did the general, who withdrew into some building and inconveniently left part of his retinue to prevent the curious from following him.

As he stood, at some distance, considering how to bypass the sentinels, Ulor noticed the singing imp oddly walking - swaying? - before the rest of the party. Frowning, he exchanged a perplexed gaze with the octopus (who seemed unconcerned by the display). Who was that directed at, now? Yet such idle questions vanished from his mind when he saw that the guards' attention had been drawn to the tiefling as a result of her performance. Inane though they might have been, her motions gave him a perfect opportunity for action. Now the time was right.

Crossing the gap between himself an the guards in a few strides, Ulor reached into a fold of his cloak, fingering some scraps of loose fleece. Words of a language lost to the cold oblivion of infinity came to his mouth as his fingers twisted in ritual gestures of secret potency. N'uraith vuul iyhh... The air behind him seemed to warp and twist in unearthly spasms, then darkened as a horrid sight took shape from emptiness. Over his shoulders there rose to a height of a good ten feet what seemed to be a nimbus of swirling motes of viscous darkness, undulating oozingly as dripping tendrils lashed and grasped blindly all across its surface. Crimson stains that might have been eyes flowed from one shape to another as animated quicksilver, successively engulfed by the shadows yet emerging again and again. All the while, not a sound came from the towering horror.

Now standing before the guards, the hideous vision looming behind his back, Ulor spoke in low accents, laden with crawling menace:

"Step aside, and let us to your master. We come bearing tidings he will wish to hear, and if you delay us..."

He gestured abruptly and uttered a single, almost inhuman sound, and the reverberations of distant thunder could be heard from somewhere behind the dark shape.

"...then dire things may come to pass."

Mechanics

Ulor casts Silent Image to conjure a frightening illusion, and Prestidigitation to evoke the sound of thunder.

Intimidation roll: 21

[Mistiel]

Ceria breathed a barely audible, very unladylike snort. "Yeah, you didn't see me volunteering to talk to him. Just to get his attention," she replied. Her eyes drifted back along the crowd assembled. Oh, and there was their resident songstress right now, looking at....her? Gods above, what does she want NOW?. The tiefling had constantly pestered Ceria ever since they met about seeing if Ceria could sing. While the elf remembered singing by herself on rare occasions, most numerous back in the elvish homeland, she sure as troglodytes wasn't going to perform for other people. The thought gave her jitters, but not today as her mind was focused on the task at hand.

Nay, today, the tiefling's scrutiny seemed different, though Ceria couldn't quite discern why. The intensity of the gaze made her avert her eyes. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that staring's rude?" she muttered quietly. The hypocrisy of that statement smacked her in the face and she momentarily stopped in her tracks and flinched. "Sorry," she breathed even more quietly. Thankfully, she remembered the message arrow in her left hand, looking down at it briefly. Oh, that was why she had garnered the attention of onlookers plus the tiefling. Spots of color appeared high on her cheeks and she let the blunted, useless shaft drop to the ground and stepped on it with force. The resulting crack of shattered wood was very satisfying indeed. Cheapskate fletchers!

But the tiefling had apparently decided to speak in that somehow endearing singsong way of hers. All of a sudden, she found herself walking toward the tent at a fast clip that kept up, surprisingly, with the tiefling's skipping. The girl's song was complete gibberish, probably distracting Ceria's brain enough from Arthera's duly noted reservations about entering the general's quarters. When the current lyrics were something about blowfish and pelicans sitting in a tree, confusion was bound to occur. Strangely enough, once she got past the weirdness of it all, as they entered the building Ceria found herself starting to enjoy the general melody. She inadvertently started humming along for a second, but quit as quickly as she started with a conscious rapid snap of her jaw. Uggh, since when is music this bloody powerful? she grumbled internally, looking about the interior of the building without paying all that much attention. It was hard to notice details considering during her last song, the tiefling seemed to have this weird "look at me" aura that everybody, not just Ceria, was having trouble ignoring. As the tiefling skipped along, the elf couldn't quite stop her eyes from being hypnotized by the vine-like tail.

[The Harbinger of Ferocity]

It was no subtle gesture the sylvan-touched woman's advance ahead of the other company and while it wasn't directed at Arthera or either of the men present, the display was impossible to ignore. Rather, it was silently spoken to Ceria with tremendous clarity in spite of its lack of voice. The elf, in response, could not keep her sourness and had her cheek well with blush in reply, born of seeming frustration and embarrassment, which in turn only earned her more attention from the few onlookers and repeated the cycle until she saw to destroying the arrow she had so captured earlier.

As if that were not enough, Yvah - the cat-woman - had made a tremendous display of procuring several other arrows. The feats themselves were not modest works in the slightest and did require legitimate skill, the entirety of everything about going subtly into the uninitiated masses had been struck clean from the records. There was some safety in obscurity, issues their unusual gathering had to begin with between its characters, but there was no ignoring any of this. Arthera was no fool however, not scoffing at the twist of fates but rather more curious if this was, in some aspect, intentional; that this was how some of these people managed to where they were and life, navigating dangers both of the realm and its people's agendas.

Granted the primalist had kept a steady, unhastened pace in response to the woman that had beckoned her company from her side, but now she paused.

It would seem as though this theory were true, for the odd figure of Ulor Travos acted with a precision that suggested his cunning. In short, he called forth a message both slightly sickening in its disturbing manifestation and not inaccurate, or at least not enough so to suggest he was feigning. The magical ordeal was well preformed, practiced like the others but with keen respects to its own. The real question that begged was how would this expression of purpose mature here on out? The men, selected guardsmen to perform this duty, could have any number of reactions - none of which the outsider knew well which they would go with.

She knew what she would choose, but she was not them and had not been for some time.

[JBRam2002]

((OOC: DM Post))

Subtlety was evidently not this group’s strong suit, as the members of the group began collecting the coupons as if they were hotcakes (although without seeing the store, it’s possible that hotcakes could be on the menu). The kurjian garnered a handful of cross looks from the people she swiped the coupons from, but no one bothered her otherwise.

As the crowds began to thin out, the tiefling made her move, walking seductively in front of the group’s ranger. Although she had only intended to draw the attention of Ceria, the also garnered the attention of nearly every nearby individual who was even slightly interested in female tieflings, including the guards at their posts. One of them in particular seemed to be quite awestruck by her swaying, which made for quite the interesting display when Ulor stepped forward.

The mass of tentacles that arose from behind Ulor was enough to send the majority of the crowd running, including the guard who was just moments before attempting to show his courage and strength to Daisy via a subtly flexed muscle. The captain of the guard that was stationed with the group grabbed the coward by the arm and shouted in his face, “It’s an illusion, you dumbass!” before shoving him back towards the group.

The captain then drew his blade and stepped forward to Ulor. “State your business here. Threats against the General’s handpicked guards are not taken lightly in this city!” Another shorter blade was drawn and he glared at the group behind Ulor as his guard drew up behind him, a couple of them waving sheepishly at Daisy.

[Ms Ravenwinter]

One tentacular display of showmanship later and most of the guard, and most of the pedestrians, were sent either fleeing, screaming or both. This was with the exception of some very stern and hardy ironclad folk who began to bear down on the poor madman at once. Yvah couldn't in good conscience watch the man be terrorized like this, even if he was a smelly octo-whatsit breeder!

Like a true heroine, Yvah stepped between Ulor and his would-be assailant without much thought. "He's just playing tricks, you know how cooky mages are," she said in her most endearing tone, "Ulor is just as harmful as Squiggly here." At this, she points toward the horrid illusion that the Warlock was responsible for (or the empty air where it once was). She then conjured a wily deception that would surely fool the guard captain into allowing the party to pass. And then she blurted out, "We're the General's private companions tonight. We have papers and everything." She motioned to Ulor expectantly, hoping for an illusion of proper documentation.

Roll

Deception of 7.

[Mistiel]

Ceria merely stands held in place, enraptured by the tiefling's tail via the musical spell. She flinches when one guard yells something about an illusion, but cannot seem to look away or remember where she is or what she was doing. The blush is gone and the elf's eyes are glazed over. A listless smile sets upon her lips; the expression almost perfectly matching that of the equally enraptured guard.

Suddenly, Ceria heard at least one sword being drawn. The scrape of metal leaving scabbard wakes her to full alertness. Whipping her bow off her back, Ceria has an arrow nocked but the bow pointed down at the ground as she whirls to observe the spectacle. However, what she sees doesn't seem to make much sense given that the enchanting song has made her feel oddly fuzzy and befuddled (befuzzled if you will). Her face has returned to its usual serious expression, something very close to a killing calm (though not quite since Ceria had never killed another sentient being that was not possessed or transformed in some grotesque fashion).

[Oraculum]

The vision Ulor had conjured had performed well in putting most of those present to flight. Their haste stood testament to how little they knew of the world they knew beyond the minute luminous circles if their lives. They were insignificant islands - no, they all were on a single island, surrounded by the dark ocean of unguessed revelations, where dwelt those things of which the illusion was but the palest shadow. Evidently, even that was too much for them to bear. All the better they should be gone; that parade of their had already gruellingly wasted enough time already. Yet, he noted with some irritation, those whom the image was intended to frighten did not appreciate the urgency of his omen well enough. Their leader had somehow been able to see through the enchantment, and, for some reason, assumed that this invalidated what Ulor had said before. The obtuseness of this man seemed proportionate to the sharpness of his eyes. Sweeping his hand as though to wave aside the guardsman's sword, tugging at the threads of the image with his mental grip to cause it to fade, he began in an impatient tone:

"I do not threaten, I foretell. I said that if we do not speak with your-"

At that point, however, the feline acrobat thought well to interpose herself between him and the obstinate armiger, seemingly attempting some sort of trickery to dismiss his impression of hostility and make him vacate the doorway at last. While he appreciated any attempt to hasten the tedious procedure, he was slightly taken aback when she motioned for him to produce a document to persuade their obstacle. This improvisation seemed to him mighty improbable; however, far be it from him to decline any stratagem to finally enter that building.

Thrusting his hand into the folds of his cloak as though to reach for something he had stored in there, Ulor deftly snatched up the weave of the illusion, which, though no longer visible, had not yet completely dissipated. Swiftly drawing it into his grip, he hastily wove it, his mind scurrying and snapping like a spider, into the likeness of a parchment, somewhat weathered and frayed at the edges, covered in cramped handwriting (all the better, since greater clarity would likely have immediately revealed it to be complete gibberish) and bearing a bright, but oddly indistinct seal. Drawing forth his hand, he deftly held forth the insubstantial document, skilfully following the motions he invisibly directed. Or, at least, he attempted to do so. The result was likely not something any conjurer would have been proud of.

Irrespective of the renewed illusion's efficacy, Ulor would not declare himself defeated just yet. "Here is that safe-conduct. Now, do not tarry further. Your superior will be growing impatient to see us, and the looming calamities that menace us are not about to make themselves disappear."

Mechanics

Ulor reshapes the Silent Image into the form of a supposed document.

Sleight of Hand roll: 7

Deception roll: 18

[JBRam2002]

Ulor’s stealthy display of legerdemain was a bit more obvious than he intended, and despite his magical prowess, the captain was easily able to see through the illusion. With his longsword, he sliced through the air, cutting directly through where the piece of paper was held, the sword phasing directly through the illusory writ.

The captain then sheathed his shortsword and waved off his guards. “Look, I can tell you’re really not capable of hurting us without a damned good reason. I’m not looking to pick fights, but you can’t be out here making giant forms of tentacle monsters in the streets. Now, get out of here. Don’t make me put you in chains.” As he turned away from the group, he noticed the pissant who had started to run earlier was still waving sheepishly at the tiefling. A quick whack to the man’s jaw, and he straightened to attention.

“The General is a busy man,” the captain continued. “Lots of people want to see him. If you tell me why you want to talk to him, perhaps I’ll schedule you in. Toss in a few gold pieces, and I might bump you up the appointment list. What do you say?”

[The Harbinger of Ferocity]

This display was getting them nowhere and worse yet, further from where it was they needed to be.

Arthera began up the steps at a pace of purpose but not aggression, enough that she knew the man and his company should not come to blows. Receiving the attention of many wary eyes, especially given her immense stature and preference to shroud herself with her earthborn hood, she could not blame them for any skepticism they held further at this point; the entire endeavor had crumbled under its own weight spectacularly as a parody of itself. It had become such a mockery that the captain was now extorting wealth from them, or at least doing his best to. She stopped upon her approach, passing a step beyond the odd duo that had formed from her own group when they tried to leverage a lie and glared at them with a sense of unmistakable irritation.

She drew back her hood and then spoke plainly.

"We have news from Fellmire, one related perhaps in part to some of the doomsayers your city harbors." The woman's unusual golden eyes narrowed slightly as she recalled that town and what had become of it, washing over each of the guardsmen she looked upon.

She continued thereafter, "Your commander, Aengus Cavanaugh, summoned us on matters private. What I say or know beyond this, I cannot tell you lest I breach his trust... but what can be said is that we were the ones asked to be here, regardless of some... unusualities."

Arthera's towering figure turned away slightly from the soldiers once more, looking over her company again and seeming to urge them with a soft motion of her head in their direction to cease making a scene. Anyone who was still here in the wake of the parade seemed to be paying some attention given the display as the captain himself noted, barring the drunkards of course who were too busy staggering to the next place of celebration and revelry. Whatever sensitive matters the general wished to speak on, especially in a city that seemed to have the enemy already rooted in it, this was among the least reasonable of things they could have done.

When she returned, presence again forward, she produced the letter of summons from inside her robe and held it. Outstretched as it was, it revealed further her hand, which was marked by the blood of the wild; they were thick, almost pawed. They were just as unusual as the rest of her, that of which was something not quite human anymore.

"You may call me Arthera, captain... and my personal intent is to do this the correct way."

Effects

Arthera will attempt to leverage her All Eyes on Me ability to distract from the other instances, while also seeing herself and the party into the general's company. She attempts to support her oddity and address with the general's letter and word of sensitive news from Fellmire that might affect Bourgund.

[Ermine]

Despite the counterproductive nature of the behaviors of her allies, Daisy is amused by their actions, and disappointed they had to end it. One of them was even trying to actually continue. She supposed it was better than being kicked out of the town for annoying the guards, but if they hadn't been so bad at what they did, that wouldn't even have come up. She could have just waltzed right in, with only a small interruption from the guard captain.

An idea came to her mind, though, that would provide just what she thought this group needed: a lone fly buzzing right next to the guard captain's ear that only he could hear. Or she could try to calm down the cultist she'd so far only annoyed. Maybe even motivate him to go in and seek the general. But then what if he brought it up? And the guard captain being like he is would probably realize it was an illusion planted in his mind. So many things that wouldn't be productive! She settled on making one of the guards hear a siren song lead him away. Whether it led him away or not didn't matter so much, as he the other guards and the captain were still there, but it could distract the captain and make him redirect his frustration (or anger? She wasn't sure) at the other guard instead. Besides, she wanted to see if the primalist actually got them in so she wouldn't have to use her own leverage.

Effects

Using Delusion to make the guard who's watching her hear the song coming from the direction of the port for the next minute.

[JBRam2002]

The captain reached out towards the paper offered by Athera. At least this one looked real. He began to glance it over as one of his men seemed distracted by something off in the distance. The captain sighed and shoved the letter at the distracted soldier. "Go get Loxim," he ordered, "then take the day off. You're useless today." The guard stammered a yes sir, then ran back towards the building.

The captain shook his head. "New kid on the job," he explained. "If he's gonna keep acting like that, he won't last another week. Next time you need to see the General, just ask. A 'please' wouldn't hurt either."

Soon after, the gnome that the group had seen during the parade exited the building and waved at the group as he jogged up. The door behind him opened again, and the guard exited with much less spunk, slinking off with a somber look on his face in the direction of the docks.

"Greetings, and well met!" the gnome called out cheerfully. "The name's Loxim! I'm what you might call the General's assistant. Keep his books, get him tea, all that fun stuff. Now, this here letter..." Loxim waved the letter in the air. "We were expecting your patrons to join us. Instead they sent you... not that I'm complainin', or nothing! Just expected someone different."

Loxim waved off the captain, then motioned for the group to join him. "Come on inside. We've got some important matters to discuss. Something fishy's been going on, if you pardon the pun." He waited for the party to enter the building and closed the door behind him. "Welcome to Aengus's barracks!" he proclaimed joyfully.

The inside of the building was decorated sparsely. There were a couple of city flags behind a desk on the right, and a threadbare rug covered the wooden floor. Towards the far end of the room were a couple of jail cells, both currently empty. On the wall was a weapon rack with various swords, spears, and other martial weaponry, some of which looked fairly expensive. To the left was a smaller desk with a stack of papers scattered around a teapot. In front of the larger desk stood a middle-aged bearded man with a dour expression that was now easily recognizable as General Aengus Cavanaugh. He was clad in the same ceremonial plate mail he wore during the parade, although he had removed the gauntlets and pauldrons already and was in the process of removing his chestplate. Under his armor was a simple white shirt that appeared to be stained with use. He looked up as the group entered, and his expression softened for a moment.

"Hail, friends," Cavanaugh spoke up, his deep voice reverberating through the room. "I wish I could bring good tidings. Despite the festivities outside, there is little to celebrate today. I had sent a message to your benefactors asking if they could assist us, but evidently they are indisposed at the moment. Not to worry, however. I am sure you will be able to help, if the news of your defeat of the sea hag rings true." He set the chest piece he had removed on the floor and ran a hand through his hair. "Damn armor gets hot in that sun. Never liked the pomp that came with this job."

Loxim reached into a drawer in the small desk and produced a half dozen teacups, which he then began to fill with tea. "Hope you don't mind a simple brew. We were expecting your patrons to show, but didn't realize you would be coming this soon."

Cavanaugh nodded, taking up a cup himself. "Please, take a drink. Ask your questions. Relax a moment. We can commence business discussions shortly."

[Mistiel]

Upon entering the general's quarters, Ceria barely stifled a laugh that such a masculine guy was drinking tea out of something so delicate as tea cups. She had pictured him as more of a flask man, or even a large metal pitcher. Oh well, appearances were most certainly not everything. "But certainly, General, you're used to wearing armor in the sun by this point, hm?" she ventured cautiously, seating herself on the edge of a chair in front of the general's mahogany desk, as close to the door as possible. "Not that I would know of course," she added hastily, glancing down at her own light, supple leather gear that hugged the contours of her body a bit too well. Not that there were many contours there to begin with much to the wood elf's usual displeasure.

With a delicateness that was quite out of character, Ceria reached for a teacup. Sadly, no one had told her how to properly hold one so her grip on the object was rather ham-fisted and was cause for embarrassment if anyone chose to call her on it. For the first few seconds at least, the elf sat obliviously on the edge of the chair, those gray-green eyes admiring the war trophies that adorned the walls. "Anyways," Ceria continued, surprised that the general had gotten so many words out of her. Maybe it was an aftereffect of that damn enchantress's song. She made a mental note to either buy or make earplugs later before she was sung into jumping off a waterfall or something. "Yes, it is unfortunately true that we uhh..." she glanced around at each of her companions in turn, "...disposed of that poor village. I, for one, am not particularly proud of it, but if I ever meet that stupid hag again, she should pay." Her fingers squeezed the empty tea cup, knuckles whitening, face pinched with anger before settling into a more neutral expression.

[The Harbinger of Ferocity]

The primalist, if only for now, held her tongue as she followed her company in suit.

The stone room they were led to bore an eclectic tone of decoration, one that seemed to be the subject of interest to both her and Ceria, the latter of which sat herself upon one of the seats before the broad desk whereas Arthera by contrast stood beside her. Despite the ordeal not long ago General Cavanaugh seemed no worse in demeanor for it, by fortune's favor not even made aware of it perhaps, rather more content to admit in light the inanity of the ceremonial display in the midst of a greater threat. The tall, blonde figure could not agree more in those regards nodding quietly to herself no matter if the man paid her any heed; the time for attention was best suited elsewhere, not on celebrations of events done by the works of men long old.

As Ceria's commentary grew more tense, Arthera lifted a hand and beckoned one of the cups Loxim had said out for them all, waiting after the general had filled them all. While doing so, her animal attentiveness did not leave him, nor did it peer aggressively. The display was not a game of show or an effort of force, but a foundation for her comment that was born after the elf relaxed some again.

"Better they died free souls than slaves of a witch, something I am sure those of the city of Bourgund can appreciate." She said, all the while not breaking her gaze from across the table, "But... as our host has said, there is time to discuss that coming."

The cup, now having found itself a resting place in Arthera's surprisingly large palm, was held gingerly at the handle with a sense of refinement she remembered from that old life a time ago. She sipped upon its contents quietly, then placed it deliberately just beside her, this time without the aid of her talent. She pressed on with question thereafter as the man had opened an unofficial forum, so why not oblige him? He certainly had the authority to do so, making this a rare opportunity for all present, or so the woman thought.

"Does your city often have speakers of doom preaching to the masses on days of celebration, General?" Arthera attempted to pique his interest, both to find answers she and her cohorts sought earlier, and to infer their meeting was perhaps more important than they all at first new.

She was uncertain if such an instinctual notion was accurate, but it seemed too uncanny for comfort, and if anyone was to reasonably know then it would be this man.

[Oraculum]

As he passed by the guardsmen and into the building, Ulor threw a sinister glance at the captain, briefly reshaping his lingering illusion into three pairs of hovering, eye-like spheres of darkness and green flame which gazed malignantly at him before fading. This tiresome man had proved a nuisance for long enough, and it was much to his good fortune that the primal invoker had stepped forth with a credible document. His unsubtle attempt at soliciting bribery, irritatingly pointless as it was, would have yielded him something very different from gold. But, at last, his power to provide an obstacle had ceased, and he could be consigned to the inchoate abyss of oblivion. The path was clear, and the transterrene quest beckoned.

Having followed the vexingly enthusiastic gnome and stepped into the chamber within, he rapidly appraised his surroundings with an indifferent sweeping look, briefly fixating on the General's figure and the surface of the desk before reverting to his usual vacuous stare as he stood leaning upon his staff. He appeared oblivious to the greetings, as though having sunken into a new chasm of darkling meditation. However, he abruptly returned to animation as soon as he noticed the teacups being filled, deftly lifting one of them and withdrawing with it. As though divining his thoughts, the octopus contracted its tentacles, then stretched them out to its full length, propelling itself up from Ulor's shoulder. Strikingly, however, it did not arce downwards and collapse to the floor in a viscid mound, but remained preternaturally suspended in the air, slightly waving its limbs, akin to one of its mollusc kin afloat in the oceanic waters. It careened over forwards, bringing itself into a horizontal position, and writhed forth a few steps, seemingly swimming through the air as though it were liquid.

Transferring the hold on the cup to two of the fingers otherwise clutched around the staff, Ulor reached out with his now free hand and, seizing a hold of his familiar's globular body, gently turned it over at a sharp angle, in such a manner as to place it with its head downwards, its tentacles still oscillating with their tips towards the ceiling. Then, holding the cup over the creature, he carefully poured its contents into the latter's beak. The octopus seemed to swell as it drew in the tea, though that could just as well have been an illusion caused by its vibrating motions; then, once the transferral was complete, it redressed itself and floated upwards, to the higher end of one of the walls, where it attached itself to the stone surface and remained watching the room from its newfound vantage position.

After having thus employed the time other members of the party had spent questioning the General, Ulor turned to the official himself, speaking out in a harsh half-whisper.

"Pillars that whisper appear from the night unending. Strange forces are at work, and they must be sounded. But first... What divine orders do there reside in this city?" As he awaited the General's reply, he prepared to delve into his memory, evoking the remembrance of his days as an acolyte of the god and the knowledge on religious sects he had learned in the gloomy halls and libraries of his youth. It might have been they could prove useful to him presently, after all.

[Turbowraith]

Perhaps it was the inexplicable exhaustion, or the accumulated anger that forced Lex to remain unresponsive as the festivities raged around him, and simply cringe bitterly at the sight of his associates failing time after time to reach an understanding with that guard captain, before finally being let through to continue their business. Speaking of that one, Lex was not at all pleased with his eagerness to receive gold, and made his thoughts clear with a fleeting glare before he followed the rest towards the building's interior.

If the rambling gnome irritated the paladin, he did not let it show as he proceeded wordlessly into the building. A slight smoothing of the brow indicated that Talionis was not unpleasantly surprised with the interior. In the place of grandiose decorations there lay only the bare necessities. Basic furniture and armament racks. Approaching the general, he gave a nod, bordering on a bow, with utmost solemnity, and awaited for the others to be seated, placing his palms against the tip of his hammer's hilt, its' head resting against the stone floor. The general's demeanor, the few words he shared so far, and the state of what could very well be his usual dwelling did not disagree with Lex.

In a rare display of acknowledgement, the paladin subtly faced Ceria as she spoke of the group's deeds in that thrice-cursed place and responded to her glance with a deep, somber gaze, as best as he could manage at least. So many needlessly lost, and for what nefarious reason? They knew but fragments so far. It was then that the feral woman, the one wielding strange magic, first spoke of this matter. And conveniently enough, she brought up the doomsayer incident. Once she had finished speaking, the paladin added a few more words, never straying too far from his usual tone.

"And how are they being dealt with?"

[JBRam2002]

The general raised an eyebrow at Ceria’s comment about his armor. “Certainly when I was your age, I was more used to long days in the sun. My job now is mostly behind a desk or training others who wear the armor for me. More strategy and organization than actual combat, although I can certainly hold my own.” Aengus chuckled slightly before taking a sip of the tea. “And yes, we of Bourgund hold freedom as a very high ideal. That is, after all, what today’s celebration is about. The irony is that bureaucracy holds little freedom for any in its clutches, whether they are ruler or citizen.”

As the discussion moved towards those in the streets, Cavanaugh leaned forward, seeming to pay a bit more attention. “Normally, we pay little mind to doomsayers. Although that sort of speech is something I personally have little stomach for, our laws dictate that our citizens may say what they will, providing they do not bring harm to others. This law, in fact, is what draws such a wide citizenry to our walls, and thus brings clergy from nearly every order in the West.” The General directed this last statement towards Ulor. “However, if you seek a strong mage, whether of arcane or divine origin, your best bet is Bemmea in the Magocracy. Those of high attunement to their craft typically travel there, as they can find better profit or causes to work for. The clergy here simply serves the common folk.”

The General set down his tea and approached the group, looking with some intrigue at the octopus and its companions. His gaze finally came to rest on the paladin. “Your question, good sir, is what I have called you here to discuss. As I said, normally religions are free to spout whatever nonsense they wish, provided no one gets hurt. However, rumors have arisen of a cult that follows Zehir. We believe that this cult may be organized, extending beyond these walls, and perhaps connected in some way to what transpired in the Fellmire. Their methods are subtle and cunning, and we have been unable to find either their base of operations or their next plans. We would like you to locate and infiltrate them, if possible, and determine whether any action should be taken against them.”

Loxim spoke up at this, although his interruption did not seem to annoy the General. “Be aware that we are not deputizing you for this mission,” he cautioned. “You still do not have authority to apprehend or mete justice, although we would expect you to defend yourselves, of course. Should you return successfully, a reward will be dispensed in accordance with the value of the information you bring.” He wrote as he spoke, his quill fluttering across his desk, and he didn’t even bother to make eye contact with the group. “Our best lead is a new representative from Allain: a half-orc artificer who set up shop a few blocks hence. Once she arrived, we began receiving complaints and started to find poisoned bodies in the streets. Thus far, we have no evidence against her, and anything we have heard could simply be coincidence, but it might be a good starting place.”

[The Harbinger of Ferocity]

The woman's cunning eyes shifted from the general as he drew near to the secretive acolyte and his otherworldly companion, the latter of which seemed to enjoy the refreshment before excusing itself to a point of observation. Arthera's mind immediately drew to the thought of whatever Talionis and Travos had managed out of the dragonborn with the tiefling's aid next; they had secured something, but what exactly it had been, she knew not. If anything General Cavanaugh's point came across as more permission to do what they had already been seeing themselves into, a promising prospect at that, even if the city was not willing to cast in its lot with them officially. The worst she reasoned could come of it was having the lesser guardsmen incarcerate them for their dabblings or on suspicion they were up to the same no good as their actual targets.

Loxim, scribing hastily as he was with practiced grace, added to what was already assumed at that point, but delved more deeply into strange matters. Another outsider, akin to those present in a way, had arrived before them and was put under their scrutiny for the reason of unusual deaths; poison was an oddly specific choice, let alone finding the dead just left out in the muddied streets. The primalist was not the investigative sort outside of texts, be them scrolls or tomes now, but this was reasonable cause for interest, even if it was ill placed.

"Intriguing..." Arthera said, her expression becoming entranced in thought for a moment as she was unsure what role a foreigner from the Magocracy could have in a cult related to the poisoner Zehir. She reasoned the artificer might have been educated enough in the realm's lore to pursue such a god, but not much else presented itself immediately in mind.

"And you believe they might be related? The escaped witch, the craftswoman and a potential cult made up of Venomers? I find myself curious as to why."

The fine details of her ever so slightly animal smile played out.

She was still willing to engage in a give and take conversation with the man; she was not toying with him, a foolish notion that would be, but the exchange of knowledge was not going to be without a price. If Bourgund truly did wish their assistance, enough for them to be dispatched here and before this man in his official quarters, they needed more than what was being said. Anything and everything at this point, even if it were only circumstantial, was more than grasping at the shadows these people kept to.

"Granted of course that is why we are here, but my companions and I would like to know whatever it is you are willing to share on the matter, General." She continued a breath later, "Even if it is only your opinion."

Rolls

Arthera rolls a 14 for her knowledge on an Intelligence (Religion) check to know the basics of Zehir and his cult. She recalls him to be a deity of poison, darkness, serpents and secrecy, with no seeming relation to the Magocracy of Allain.

[Ermine]

So much fumbling of words. Common folk from this backwater island with no culture and a language to match. Not that she thought herself better than them by any means, but she did hold her homeland in high regard. And the one she'd pestered on the way to this city, oh, what could she say to make him seem civilized and...not insane? There was only so much she could do. The best option was to ignore that particular elephant (or octopus, as the case may be) in the room and distract everyone from the real issues (because the cult wasn't going to be an issue much longer, with any luck, and at the moment...octopus. And a man who didn't seem to see the problem with creating otherworldly entities, even if they were illusions, in front of the guards of a prominent general. So at the moment, they were the real issue in her mind).

With a dramatic sigh (with a hint of annoyance because it meant having to switch back to focusing on Mantle of Joy), Daisy knew it was her who had to step in, not realizing she was having the same thoughts as the other woman. "So, you're telling us to do what we already started doing? And you're not going to pay us for it?"

She stepped closer to the general.

"I won't deny that it's for the greater good. Obviously it's for the greater good, and you're already considering giving us more information, but see, we're just starting out on this mission of yours," a gesture of camaraderie with her hand on the general's shoulder, "and I don't think it would hurt you too much to offer us just a little bit of money for supplies, too. If you have potions handy, we could use them, if you didn't have the money to spare -or in addition to the money, if you're feeling particularly gregarious- but this seems to be a pretty busy city with a lot of confidence in its military, so I would hate to think their confidence was ill-placed."

A nearly flirtatious smile.

"And we could use anything you would be willing to offer to fight back any poisons that may be forced into our bodies..." A wink, followed by the drawing out of her clothing a map. "After all, we already have a pretty strong suspicion of where they may be already, we just need a little bit of extra money or other aid you can offer to prepare for what we may encounter."

The Stuff

Mantle of Joy is beneficial to the point of being annoying to have to keep switching back to it. However, in this particular case, it's probably not helpful enough.
12 (I mean, it's better than the 8 I would have had, so no real complaints)

[Mistiel]

Ceria had so far traveled through several lands from her former elvish home. Thus, she had met quite a few who flouted religious beliefs in this deity or that primal force. Rubbish, the lot of it! was her opinion. The elf had yet to obtain any visual - or factual to boot - proof that such beings or forces existed. She saw no reason whatsoever to give credence to Zehir, let alone even this Great Old One someone in her party apparently worshipped or drew power from. To this particular wood elf, she could not deny the existence of magic for the fairest hint of nature magic sang through her own veins, but there was a line between magic and bullshit deities who MIGHT wield godlike powers.

Her reverie was broken yet again by Daisy, a recurring theme it seemed. This time, the tiefling seemed to be attempting to shake down their esteemed host for money and supplies. Ceria stood up abruptly, attempting to whack the other woman's tail with a backhand that wasn't meant to hurt, only to draw attention. "Daisy! Just ask where the bloody shops are! Don't extort the man!" Spots of color appeared high on her cheeks and those usually muted dark green eyes burned with a bright, angry flame. Her mouth set in an expression of distasteful shock mixed with horror. She turned her attention to the general. "I'm sorry general! Might you point us to some of the best value shops in the vicinity? I'll admit that my own gear could use some upgrading soon." Her thumb absentmindedly stroked her old homemade bow which she had forgotten to sling across her back ever since the incident with the guard captain. Thank goodness she had at least had the sense to return the nocked arrow to its quiver before she had entered the building.

___________________________________________________________________
((If you'd like me to roll for something (like the slappage or speech), I'll put it here. Me needst sleeps. Zzzzzz))

[JBRam2002]

As Arthera spoke, the General seemed to eye her a little closer as if he were attempting to size her up. Daisy's comment drew his attention next, despite being rebuked by Ceria. "Although I do not have anything of value for you at this time, perhaps we could find you some manner of protection from poison? I believe Loxim would have a suggestion for where you could look."

At this, Loxim's pen stopped moving and he looked up to the group with a grin on his face. "Of course! My sister is the proprietor of a sundries store. Perhaps you have heard of Pilly? Most of her goods are not exactly magical, but she has been known to tinker around with some interesting things." Out came the pen again, and Loxim held out a piece of paper to the group. "Here, this is a writ saying I sent you and that the City will pay for a few potions to aid you. She should be able to acquire them."

During this time, the General was looking among the group, his eyes drifting over each individual. Once the paper was retrieved, he spoke up once again, this time with a hushed air of importance tied to his words. "Perhaps you are trustworthy enough for this information. Word of this does not extend beyond these walls, understood?"

Aengus nodded to Loxim who stood from his books and walked over the doorway, drawing the deadbolt and standing in its path. "Forgive the secrecy, but the Venomers have been known to attempt to infiltrate our guard," Loxim said. "It is tough to know who should not be overhearing information."

The General cleared his throat and continued. "This information is not exactly our most closely-guarded secrets, but it is better to be safe. We have captured an individual that we believe to be a member of the cult. Normally, we would allow them to leave without any legal reasons to hold them, but this man appeared to be somewhat..."

"Wacko?" Loxim offered helpfully. "Loose a few bolts? A pork-and-cheese sandwich short of a full picnic lunch? Out to sea? Gone fishing?"

"Yes. One of those." Cavanaugh sighed, although a small smile appeared on his lips. "Either way, we detained him as he appeared to be in no condition to wander the streets, and we were afraid someone might get hurt. He then began babbling about Fellmire and how the Serpent will join the Sea to crush the Worm. His babbling then fell to incoherence, and we could never get more information out of him. He is currently being held in our jails. Since you have an idea of where to look, perhaps you have little need of his dubious advice. Either way, I would suggest seeing Loxim's sister first." The General nodded to his aide who then unbolted the door. "And that is essentially all we know. We were hoping to get ahead of this issue before too many bodies were found in the streets. I appreciate your haste in this matter."