Tipping the Scales

[Standur]

TIME UNWINDS PT. 4


He signed the letter Vigilantly yours, Ryland Padant, sat it aside to dry and then crossed another day off his calendar. The last couple of days had flown past while he stocked and readied his supplies. Scrolls and potions had been packed carefully away for quick retrieval. His armor had been mended, cleaned, checked and rechecked. The blade had been securely wrapped to help insure the sealed wards would not be accidently broken. His backup weapon had been sharpened and well oiled. A healthy sum of stags had been left with the proprietor to hold his room along with written instruction for any personal possessions remaining in the room to be turned over to Abbot Proskus or his proxy before the room was rented if the stags ran out. A detailed listing of all of his personal possessions had been left with the Abbot along with personal letters to Nana Fren and his father that were to be sent back to Waterdeep should he not return. He had bid farewell to the Abbot and his fellow Helmites requesting their prayers for his safe return. All that remained was to place Emiliana’s letter under her door and then to wait. He picked up the letter blowing on it as he read it over again.

Dear Emmi,

I didn’t want to leave word of my departure in this manner but neither could I go without at least letting you know I have missed you. I know our last words before your mission or reassignment or whatever it was that called you away were hasty and interrupted. I regret that we could not speak again in person rather than trying to convey in this pitiful attempt that you have been a boon to my soul. Thank you for all that you have done to better me during my short days in Sundren. You have been a true friend. I hope if I return we will have the chance to sit down and truly talk. I miss your advice, your friendship and your smile. If I do not return know that I am better for having met you.

Vigilantly yours,
Ryland Padant

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Ryland entered Sundren through the front gate and slowly picked his way through the streets to the Sundren Comfort and up the stairs. When he reached the second floor he paused for a moment to fish the letter from his satchel before continuing on to Emiliana’s door where he noticed a sliver of light reaching out from under the door into the hallway. A bolt of excitement shot through him as he started to knock and then stopped before his knuckles met the door. He frowned looking from the door to the letter and then back to the door before stuffing the letter back into his satchel and rapping softly on the door.

“Who is it,” Emiliana’s voice chimed from the other side of the door.

It had been so long since she had replied to his knock that he was almost startled to hear her answer but managed to reply, “It is Ryland Padant of the Padant’s that failed to attend your promotion ceremony.”

He heard her feet shuffling in his direction and with an amused voice she replied just before opening the door, “Oh that, Ryland Padant.”

The door swung open and she motioned him into the room and closed it behind him. He entered and turned taking in the sight of her before greeting her. She looked a bit travel worn but she was a welcome sight to his eyes.

[Standur]

Reflections

Ryland entered the designated meeting place at the Second Wind hours ahead of the agreed upon time but he had nowhere else to go and there was no one else he needed to see. Not anymore at least. The others would arrive eventually but for now he assumed his customary seat at the head of the table surrounded by his customary companions. Empty chairs resumed their customary accusatory glares. Failure, rejection, loneliness and disappointment were the hallmarks of his existence. For two days he allowed himself to believe he had found the missing piece of his soul that would bring him joy and happiness. Once again he failed to live up to expectations and the rejection had been a bitter pill to swallow. Nana Fren had tried to comfort him on many occasions during his youth by explaining that all gifts came with a price. He hadn’t believed her words or at least he hadn’t wanted to believe them but now as he sat looking back over the threads that weaved the tapestry of his life he thought for the first time that maybe she was right. Maybe the price of being touched by the hand of Helm was loneliness.

His first bitter taste of loneliness came at a young age. He couldn’t remember how young he was when he first realized he had no mother. He had Nana Fren of course and he loved her in his own way. She was his friend and nanny. She taught him and cared for him in ways that went beyond what most nannies did for children but she was not his mother. It didn’t escape his notice when a mother would brush the tear away from their child’s face and smooth their hair and comfort them by telling them their pain wouldn’t last or when a mother swept their child from the feet and hugged them like they were the most precious thing in the world. He saw those things and longed for them but Nana Fren could not give him those things. She instilled a sense of responsibility in him and chided him when he became involved in tomfoolery but she was not his mother.

He watched from behind the cast iron fenced cell of his father’s villa as the other children ran the streets laughing and playing games. He longed for that but he could not have it. Funny things sometimes happened when he played with the other children. Things he could not control. Adults called him touched but the children shunned him and called him a freak. Regardless of what people said he knew that words could hurt you and that loneliness stung.

As he grew older and his gift became more pronounced he was for a time sent away to study at a nearby abbey. Some teachings came easy to him but there were a great many he simply couldn’t master no matter how hard he tried. He heard the whispers and the names. He more commonly heard himself referred to as Tool than by his own name. They called him undisciplined and said the gods used up and threw away men like him. Nana Fren told him they were just jealous of his gift but that did nothing to ease the loneliness.

He saw other young men work side by side with their fathers learning the family craft or trade. He longed to see a look of pride in his father’s eyes that he saw in others when their sons achieved some rank or station or mastery in their chosen field. He longed to see his father standing at the dock waving him good-bye and giving him well wishes as his ship was ferried out into the wide potential of a new life. Instead he only saw Nana Fren and it did not fill the emptiness.

He listened as Faucon and Presea shared their vows and watched as they exchanged their rings. He noticed during dinner when Faucon would fill her plate before his own and she would keep Faucon’s glass full without being asked. He heard when they sometimes shared the same thoughts aloud at nearly the same moment. He longed for that and for a brief moment he held it in his hands before it slipped through his fingers. That door for now seemed closed to him and the hour felt dark and lonely. For a moment he wondered what the gods did with those that paid their price but had nothing left to give.

[Standur]

Reflections Pt. II

Ryland waived the waitress away refusing to allow her to fill the empty mug with the nectar that would dull both his senses and his emotions. Time was short and he needed to be sharp and alert when the hour came to depart. He glared back at the accusatory chairs with defiance. This mess wasn’t entirely his fault. Not this time he told them in his mind. He was certain he had been both reasonable and honest in his words and emotions but he couldn’t keep his mind from dissecting the last two days one more time.

The door had opened and the sight of his missing friend had provoked a strong response within him. He was elated to see her and relieved to have the opportunity to speak with her. They sat and talked and shared a glass of wine just as they had on numerous other occasions. It was a talk between friends as usual with nothing out of the ordinary. They shared information and stories and then she asked what had happened during her absence. It was in response to that question that he told her about his imminent departure from Sundren. It was in the seconds after he finished that statement that his world began to spin on a different axis.

He had expected some friendly encouragement and hoped for some sage advice on how to handle himself against the shadow kin that would certainly be his foe but never had he expected this. Whatever this was! At first she seemed irritated with him and then to his shock and dismay she seemed extremely disappointed in him. Her response hit him like a hammer blow. No that wasn’t right it wasn’t like a hammer blow. He knew how to defend himself and recover from hammer blows. From this he felt completely helpless. There was no defense from her response to his departure. All he could do was listen, watch and respond to her statements.

The mood and the tempo of the conversation changed with rapidity. It almost had the feel a of timed chess match and then something unexpected happened. She hesitated and that caught him completely off guard. He had never seen her hesitate before. “Oh by the gods what did that mean? What did she realize while she was gone? You can’t just stop midsentence like that. That’s not fair,” he screamed inside his head. “Hold on. Why are her eyes glassy? Oh now you’ve gone and done it you idiot you’ve nearly made her cry. Wait! What did I do and what does that mean? What does she mean I have to promise to come back to her? OH!”

His head was spinning as the axis of his world violently shifted. Thoughts were forming in his mind unbidden. Did she mean what he thought she meant? He didn’t know. He hoped so but surely not. This was a woman of rank, stature and power. She was strong and independent and he admired her for those qualities. She was his friend and she had been untouchable in his mind. She had, she had just kissed him! He froze not knowing what to do. Well he knew what to do, sort of. “You moron! You should have kissed her better than that she is not Nana Fren.” He tried to catch his breath and he looked at her speechless. “Say something you idiot!” He grasped at a comprehensible statement and said the first coherent words that formed in his mind, “Emmi, you have turned my world upside down.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

His mind refocused on the empty ale mug, “Oh no, you just couldn’t leave well enough alone could you Ryland Padant. If the stupid departure hadn’t been delayed you would be somewhere in Sigil believing there was someone back here waiting for you but no you have to try and be honest,” he thought before continuing the argument with himself. “Yes, I had to be honest. It would have been much worse if I had not been honest with her. Really, how could it be worse than this?" He continued his staring match with the mug without an answer to that last question.

The departure had been delayed and he knew he had to speak to Emmi again. He was not thinking clearly that night. She would understand and it was always best to be honest. No true relationship should begin in dishonesty. He would tell her about Miyu before someone else did so she would not get the wrong idea. Miyu had been his friend and his lover but he did not feel the stirring emotions for her that he felt for Emmi. He could not stand the thought of Emmi getting things all jumbled up and that could happen if she heard about Miyu from someone else. “Honesty is essential,” he told himself.

[Standur]

Reflections Pt. III

What word was he looking for? He had already shot down stupid, moron, simple-minded and impaired. Naïve wasn’t right but it was close. Finally he thought, “Idealistic.” Yes that was it. He had been overly idealistic to expect this conversation to go as smoothly as any other exchange of information they had previously shared.

“No, wonder you told me I turned your world upside down,”Emiliana chastised him with her words if not with her tone.

At that moment he would have felt more assured fighting a raging bull with a butter knife and spoon than engaging in this particular conversation. “For the love of all that is holy why doesn’t she understand that I am just trying to be honest? Miyu had appreciated my honesty why doesn’t she?” Something in his gut told him to not pursue that course of argument.“That is not what I meant at all. I meant that you turned my life upside down in a good way,” he said sincerely and a little defensively. The conversation went on in that manner with a question and an answer followed by a statement and a rebuttal. “My word is my bond,” he thought. “I didn’t want to hurt anybody. That was the whole point of this conversation.”

Her eyes flitted up toward him, “Does she love you? Did you ever decide if you loved her?”

At the question his eyes began to water a bit. Those questions stung. They stung not because of his feelings for Miyu. He didn’t love her he was sure of that and in his heart he did not believe she harbored any such feelings for him. They had shared a night. It had been a wonderful night and one he would never forget but it had been nothing more than just one night. What pained him was that Emiliana thought he could betray another person he cared about in such a manner but he pressed forward and answered her question. “Not that she confessed and I already told you I never considered whether or not I loved her.”

She reposed the question in a slightly different manner before swirling what was left of her wine around in her glass with a melancholy sigh.

“I have not seen her for days and I gave it no thought but you …” his voice trails off as he digs through his pockets retrieving the letter and attempting to hand it to her, “I wrote this for you. I never quit thinking about you Emmi and I never will.”

The conversation only spiraled downward from there. She accused him of trying to make her feel guilty and blamed him for attempting to make her the other woman. Actions he knew he would not and could not intentionally inflict upon her but somehow he had succeeded in making her believe he was nothing more than a base creature out to use her. In the end all he could do was apologize for failing her so miserably. He tried to say more but she stared into the fire and wouldn’t look at him and he couldn’t summon any more words. He did the only noble thing he could think of at the moment. He left.

^^^^^^^^^^

Eventually his mental fatigue turned into physical fatigue and the empty mug won the staring match as Ryland’s eye lids drooped and closed several times before finally just staying closed in peaceful slumber.

The scrape of wooden chair legs on the wooden floor startled him from his sleep. He expected to open the eyes and find the innkeeper shooing him out the door but instead he saw, “Emiliana?”

Her face was red and she was breathing hard as if she had been running and she shoved a letter into his hands as she sat down next to him. “Read it and tell me you can be that man.”

He looked at her for a moment half wondering if he was dreaming before opening the parchment and reading the letter she had insistently pressed into his hands. He read through it once quickly and then a second time to insure he understood every word. He smiled as he finished reading the letter the second time through and declared, “I can be that man.”

[Standur]

Entering Sigil

((Full credit on this post goes to Grinning Death for the storyline and color along with Poltergeist for the color he added. This post is essentially my painting of their scenery. Thanks to Satoshi, Xalbrus, Tamha and Dragor for filling out the fun.))

All thoughts of dignity were parted from Ryland’s consciousness as he tumbled forward from the barrel onto the grime ridden, slime covered alleyway. After picking himself up and wiping his befouled hands on his cloak he began taking in the details of the place. The air was thick and tasted ashy. A large number of huge smokestacks bellowed clouds of thick, black smoke into the air. A vile looking creature stood nearby picking gods knows what from its hideous tusk like teeth. The tall sinewy being stood there like it was perfectly at home. It stood there like its menacingly glowing eyes, taloned claws and huge bat like wings were nothing out of the ordinary. Ryland clenched and unclenched his fists trying to suppress his inner urgings. He did not doubt that if this had been Sundren he and that thing would already be engaged in combat to the death if Faucon didn’t beat him to the kill first.

A voice interrupted his thoughts when Eirimil proclaimed, "We are here, the Cage. If my research serves correctly, this is one of the worst places to be wandering around,” he paused before giving a sudden warning. “Keep your thoughts controlled, do not hum or whistle...," his warning cut short by the wet sounds behind him.

Eirimil stated the Hand contact would meet them at a bar called the Bloody Berk and they finally began moving. Ryland’s feet followed the others and his introduction to the city unfolded like a three dimensional nightmare as the chaotic sights and sounds of the city came into greater focus. Several slaughtered bodies lay in the alley surrounded by tentacled creatures that appeared to be feeding on the remains. Huge water elementals worked to scrub clean smear marks that might have been blood stains. Talk of Bloodclaws and the Bloody Four was pushed from his mind by the calls of tiefling hookers offering their services boldly on a nearby street corner. “Whatever you want” and “three for one deals” were shouted to passersby including himself. “You know she'd kill you. Just keep moving,” he thought. “Keep moving and keep your head down.”

He relaxed as they headed away from the rough and tumble back alley toward the familiar sight of a market square. His breaths came a bit easier and his stride more assured until the sounds of vendors hawking their goods filled his ears and his eyes suddenly popped wide.

“Brains, get your fresh brains here. Goblins, gnolls, gumbursnarfs we got’em or we’ll get’em.”

“Fresh limbs! No back street dealings here. All our goods are collected fairly after death.”

“Magical trinkets,” a devil shouted before pointing to Presea, “hey pretty lady how about a silver ring?” Presea quickly declined without looking at the salesman but Faucon’s eyes held the promise of death as he walked past.

“Incoming,” someone shouted and the group scattered before a winged creature crashed where they had been standing near the devil’s stall.

"By the Lady," the half-celestial groaned and with Bren's assistance picked himself up as the devil stared greedily at his wings. “Sorry, sorry. I never got that whole landing bit,” he apologized before pointing a finger at the salesman. "Watch it, Erritu. You've been banned from Angelic Couriers after that last run in with my predecessor."

"Jozr cangk,” the devil replied in a language that Ryland could not understand.

The half-celestial on the other hand didn’t bat a lash before sniping back, "Poor gal hasn't quite recovered after all of her feathers were plucked. You got handsy."

The devil held up his palms with a fangy smile, "It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, I assure you. Besides, I couldn't help myself! And you wouldn't believe how fast they sold. People will buy anything made from celestials. Wanna spit in a cup for me? Four silver. "

The half-celestial flipped a very unangelic finger towards the devil but before he could take off again Eirimil got his attention. "We're looking for the Bloody Berk on the west side of the district.” Presea chirped in, "Yes, perhaps you could tell us which direction is west?"

The half-celestial turned and pointed off to their right, "The Berk? Ol' Bones still runs that place. Just head down that street, and follow it until you hit the treant. Not literally, mind you, but...Well, you get the idea." Without waiting another beat the half-celestial took to the air again.

"Wings must be useful,”Ryland thought as the half-celestial took flight. He fell in line behind the others heading off toward the west and the Bloody Berk. The walk was filled with the continued clamoring of the market around them with very few taking any notice of the half-celestial’s spectacularly awkward landing and subsequent take-off.

“Human horn!” a merchant shouted.

Two demons could be overheard, "Now, remember. We don't pay more than fifty demon scales for anything. Ok?”

Business continued as usual in Sigil.

[Standur]

The Berk’s Bloody Tear - Same group thanks!

Eirimil gave the pub sign a slightly puzzled look, "Hmmmmm, the Berk's Bloody Tear. It’s not quite what I recall, but very similar."

“Oh wonderful,” Ryland thought! “He’s not even sure about the name of location for the meet. Emiliana and Sir Tornbrook both warned me not to trust the Left Hand but did I listen? No, I jump head first like some fish about to get hooked. He who watches and waits serves also. Skipped that nugget of wisdom didn’t you. A well devised plan defeats rash actions. Um-hmmmm, you might as well scratch that little beauty off the list for this mission if this is any indication.” He strode past Eirimil who was still looking at the sign like it might change to meet his expectations thinking, “His information can’t get much worse from here.”

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A skeleton working behind the bar looked up as the door opened and closed, its jaws rattling. "Oy, look what 'e have here!

The pub quieted down as he spoke until someone made the astute observation, "You said it, Cube. They look like bloody berking Primes. Bones! Another Calim wine!"

Faucon sniffed the air as they filed through the crowd looking disquieted, “Smells like brimstone.”

Eirimil stopped briefly looking around the room before his eyes settled on a figure outfitted in familiar robes seated in a far back corner. He shot a glare at two Illithids between himself and the robed man before walking past them directly toward his intended target.

The fleshless bartender shouted them down, "Come on, kiddies! Have a drink. You gotta order somethin'!"

"What are you selling?" Ryland paused long enough to ask before the robed man intervened.

"Get them a round of Halruaan, Bones. Put it on my tab,” he the robed man ordered while motioning them over. "Magi Gaelazair?"

Ryland made his way through the crowd and settled into an open seat that allowed him to put his back to the wall and hear Eirimil and the man as they spoke. ”The man,” Ryland thought looking around the room, “we’re the oddity here.” He continued surveying the crowd trying to assess any potential dangers. One of the creatures they passed had its tentacles intertwined and seemed to be looking at Eirimil if it was looking at anything at all. “That’s a potential problem,” he made a mental note. A tiefling had ale in one hand and another held by his tail. “That one is likely getting good and drunk,” he assessed as he continued taking note of each patron between himself and the door.

"I am," Eirimil answered the man. "A colorful location for a meeting," he said looking the human over.

The robed man pulled his hood back. "It's a colorful city, if you catch my drift. I'm special agent Umman, of the Hands."

The discussion started with Eirimil questioning the security of the location as he turned to sneer at the tentacled creatures. Umman offered him assurances that this was as safe a location as he could provide in Sigil and that Ol’ Bones who was just bringing the drinks had his back. Eirimil looked doubtful but finally relented on the matter.

"You may want to start," Eirimil prodded.

"Right then, you're looking for the coordinates to the Plane of Shadow. Only problem is, I don't have them."

Even trying to keep his composure and Ryland’s jaw dropped at the news. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better,” he thought.

Faucon picked up one of the drinks and sniffed it before drinking it slowly. Presea looked at him and seemed a bit confounded to Ryland. Faucon shrugged in her direction, “Just ale.”

Eirimil muttered, a hand rising to his forehead, "That's a good start."

Bren kept a cool head and pushed the conversation forward, “Do you know someone who does have the coordinates?”

Umman held up his hands. "Look, I tried to get them. But the deal went sour when the Bloody Four got hipped here a few months back and have been carving a piece of Sigil's action ever since. Since then, it's been a turf war between the Four and Taern Bloodclaw."

Ryland mumbled more to himself than anyone else, "That is about the fourth time I've heard that name mentioned since falling out of the barrel."

"These Bloody Four disrupted your dealings, then?” Eirimil posed and continued without giving Umman a chance to answer. “What have you managed to acquire?"

Umman turned to look at Bren and then back to Eirimil, "What I can do is get you a meeting with either group. I know that Taern has the coordinates at the very least. From there, you might have to do something for the one or the other to get what you want."

Ryland noticed a gelatinous creature nearby jiggle and his fire mephit companion responded, "You said it, boss."

The conversation between Eirimil and Umman continued rapid fire covering information on Taern Bloodclaw, the Bloody Four and whether there had been any increased shadow activity in Sigil until Umman pressed the matter back to getting the coordinates, "Let's put it this way. You can deal with a half-fiend lesbian, her drow lover, her brother, and a werewolf or a tiefling cutthroat." He paused for just a moment before adding, "I'm kidding. Well, mostly kidding."

Ryland had been listening to Eirimil and the agent intently. Doubting that Umman was kidding at all he inwardly snickered. “Another set of wonderfully simple choices.”

"I assume Taern is not the dhaerow then?" Eirimil queried.

"You'd assume correctly."

"That settles that. Get us in contact with Taern Bloodclaw. If you have any spare resources, see if you can find out if there's any activity in the Slums, seepage from the Shadow Plane," Eirimil ordered without a thought for the others opinions.

Umman nodded, "Will do." He motioned for them all to follow him and sat an angel feather down on the bar counter before heading for the door.

"Thanks, boss," the fleshless bartender shouted.

[Standur]

The Bloody Bath - Same group thanks as above

((Thanks agin to Grinning Death for the storyline and color along with Poltergeist for the color he added as well as Satoshi, Xalbrus, Tamha and Dragor for filling out the fun.))

Ryland stood in the narrow dead-end street with his arms crossed glaring at the dark, iron banded wood door like it was an unholy foe standing between him and where he needed to be. Umman had knocked twice only to receive rude implications that they were not welcome. He knocked more insistently the third time, "Umman, here to see Taern on business."

“Right,” a sarcastic reply came from behind the door. “I suppose your little army behind you is here on business too?"

Umman glanced nervously at the door and then turned with an I told you so look plastered across his face. He had warned them against the mages suggestion that they should come to this meeting prepared for trouble. "Army, what army,” was all Umman could muster.

"Come on, cutter. They're spell warded to the teeth. No one talks to Taern without a full disjunction."

“Archmage’s intuition my ass,” Ryland thought as he spat on the ground fuming and without a second thought he ordered, "Then one of us goes in and the rest wait out here."

Umman turned back to the door, "Would that be acceptable?"

After a short pause the reply came "Sure, that works for us."

The ensuing conversation took place in rapid fire order. Ryland offered to enter if no one else volunteered. Bren quickly pulled himself from consideration before doubling back up the street to watch for any trouble that might be following them. Eirimil rather chauvinistically suggested that the woman be sent in to make a good impression. Presea seemed to ignore the elf’s jibes remaining silent and Faucon stood resolutely as he offered, “The task and choice fall to Ryland.”

"Gaining information is the most crucial factor and I am not a negotiator but I will do what I can," Ryland stated starting for the door but Faucon grabbed him by the arm and brought him to a halt. "Is there one better suited to speaking than I that wishes to enter?"

“He’s right,” Faucon agreed before clenching his jaw and turning to whisper in Presea’s ear. Ryland could not hear most of their exchange but Faucon seemed to be pleading with Presea.

The look Presea gave Faucon was mix mirth and doubt. "You flatter me, kind of, but you know you're better than I am," she insisted before grabbing her husband and kissing him firmly.

Ryland looked at each in turn awaiting an answer before receiving confirmation from Faucon, "The decision is made then. Thank you, Faucon.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The removal of a half-fiend lesbian, her drow lover, her brother, and a werewolf were the price Taern required for the coordinates and the key to the Shadow Plane. That was a price Ryland had decided he could easily live with. The decision had been made to hit the place hard, fast and soon shortly after Faucon’s meeting with Taern had ended. There had been some debate about waiting until morning and getting a good night’s sleep but Umman had warned them that he suspected Taern’s circle had been breached and the outcome of Faucon’s meeting would likely be the hot gossip in Sigil come morning. On the back streets rumors were traded like currency and the Bloody Four paid well. Umman’s second warning did not go unheeded like the first.

Umman had given them the bathhouse layout and they had waited until dusk when the streets in the business distract had grown quiet. The front of the place was exactly as Umman had described with a walkway passing directly in front of the bathhouse just a couple of yards from the entrance. Two guards, a vampire and something that seemed to be composed of sewage, were posted outside the door but they were inattentive at best. Ryland guessed they were either lazy, underpaid or the Bloody Four had made such a serious dent in their competition that the guards had grown arrogant. The reasons for their inattentiveness didn’t matter in the end. Whatever the reason for their slackness to vigilance was it cost them their lives. The guards stood no chance. The group was only feet away from them before giving any indication of their intention and the guards were down before they had a chance to respond.

Ryland inhaled and exhaled steeling his nerves as they prepared to plunge through the door. Umman had shared with them that the pair of drow were a bardess and a warrior, the half fiend was a known assassin and that the werewolf known as Hector had been known to tear men limb from limb. Aside from those four Umman could not say what they might face. The group had hoped that by sacrificing rest and striking quickly they would catch the four unprepared. They all knew if they were wrong this would get ugly fast.

When the door to the bathhouse opened they each had a target and for a change things went better than planned. Faucon downed a werewolf attendant with a slash of his blade as he passed by the front desk and the others finished it off as they passed. Presea set upon the bardess who was exposed in one of the tubs. The drow warrior was caught without a weapon in hand and by the time Ryland caught sight of the assassin he was already sprawled lifeless on the floor. Faucon, true to his pledge, had intercepted Hector and carved him nearly at will until the beast lay in a bloody heap upon the floor.

After they violence ended Ryland surveyed their work. The place already reeked of death. Blood splatter and worse covered them all as well as the walls and floors. The bath containing the lifeless bardess rippled red. All in all it had been a blood bath.

[Standur]

((Thanks again to Grinning Death for the storyline and color along with Poltergeist for the color he added as well as Satoshi, Xalbrus, Tamha and Dragor for filling out the fun.))


As the five moved about the bathhouse preparing to leave a tiefling emerged from the shadows near the entrance looking in awe at the bloodshed and letting out a low whistle, "A shame you're Primes."

Bren greeted him with a look that urged the tiefling to pursue a course other than violence, “For your sake sir, I hope you were not aligned with this group?”

"What? No, I'm with Taern. By the Lady, you five did a number on this place. I was told to give you these if you took care of our little issue,” he gave a nod toward the corpses while handing a scroll and a black stone to Bren who in turn passed them along to Eirimil. "The coordinates you requested and the key to the Shadow Plane. Pain knows why you'd want it."

The ever patient Bren added, “It is best that you do not sir. Thank you for the help.”

"Probably," the tiefling agreed saluting them before taking his leave. "You cutters are all right."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Umman was pacing nervously a few yards away from the bathhouse door when they exited, "Hells, I think half the city heard you guys in there. What happened?"

The adrenaline was obviously still running high because everyone tried to speak at once but it must have been Bren’s calm solemnity that drew Umman’s attention when he replied, “It does not matter. The task is done and we have what we need.”

Umman seemed a bit off put by the collective response, "It does matter actually. Now that this turf is free things are going to get a little hectic. Crews may start closing off turf to protect what is theirs which means we may lose access to the departure point you need."

"Indeed. I doubt however that you have had any time to procure information from the slums on such short notice, yes," Eirimil asked striking up a rushed conversation with Umman.

"Actually, I've located the nearest entry into the Shadow Plane. It's on the far side of the district as near to the slums as is safe.”

"Have there been any unusual spikes in planar activity or displays of shadow magic?"

"None that I've noticed but that could change in a moment. Now, we really have to leave this area," Umman stressed as he turned and led them away at a hectic pace pushing through the crowd of onlookers that was beginning to gather. His stride was sure and the crew followed without slowing or pausing through the twisting back streets until the buildings began to look bit run down and Umman came to a full halt.

"Now, let's see..." Umman turned and studied the surroundings frowning. "Magi, may I borrow the stone for a moment?”

Eirimil asked with a raised eyebrow, "What for?"

"I need it to lock onto the exit point. There are literally hundreds of possible portals in a hundred foot radius. Every arch, hoop, entryway, and circle can lead to a possible plane."

With a click of his tongue the elf withdrew the stone and held it up with delicate, frail fingers offering it to Umman.

Umman gingerly accepted the stone and began concentrating on the surrounding area, "Where....ah...excellent. You have my thanks elf.” His eyes flashed as he pointed and a spell shield went up around the group in an instant before a portal began swirling at their feet. Outside the shield Umman’s features shifted and changed, "I admit, this was the tough part. Getting the stone from the tiefling without being noticed would have been, shall we say, unpleasant."

Inside the shield they were all in motion. Eirimil lifted one of his delicate hands incanting a disjunction spell on the shield but the creature that had been Umman flicked a finger counter spelling. Faucon probed the shield with his sword while Ryland prayed and Eirimil tried another spell from his arsenal.”

"Planes, mage. You can't shift to the Astral here without the proper key. This has been fun. I must admit I’ve enjoyed watching you all traipse around like puppets on a string.”

Bren calm and stoic as ever merely asked, “What do you gain by stealing the stone?”

With a smug smirk, “It's time for me to set Ol' King Shadow loose on Sundren and see how that shifts the balance of power and I have all of you to thank. My most gracious thanks, that is."

"Dain is still in the region," Faucon fired back.

"The Judicator of Wrath against an ancient Netherese King powered by Shar? It should be interesting at the very least. It would prove to weaken him, at the very least. Have fun now! I think you'll enjoy where I'm sending you." The creature laughed while murmuring a word and the portal began its inevitable pull toward places unknown.

The last thing Ryland saw was a stoic Bren attempt to take what looked like a step through shadow toward the creature before he was fully engulfed in the pull of the portal.

[Standur]

Thanks to GD, Xalbrus, Tamha & Satoshi

It felt as if he had been falling for an eternity. Twisting and moving in ways that defied his senses and all known logic before finally landing with a thud in a dark, dank, underground grotto. He heard three solid sounding thuds similar to his own landing and something that smelled like rotting meat greeted his nostrils. Ryland looked around trying to blink away the darkness and take in his surroundings. Patches of lichen growing on the sides of the walls of what were possibly tunnels in front of and behind him came quickly into focus. To his relief he caught sight of Eirimil and then Presea who was holding her nose standing near Faucon. Much like Ryland, Faucon was shaking his head and trying to focus on his surroundings.

“What is that odor,” Ryland asked.

"I am not sure we want to know," Faucon responded. "Where is Bren?"

A few heartbeats passed before an ominous squiching sound was heard and a corpse hit the ground with a splatter. The body was mangled and looked as if it had been turned inside out. Ryland felt ill at the sight of it. He hoped against hope that it was not Bren but knew it was when he saw the familiar and now blood speckled Guide to Planar Travel lying next to the mangled form. Eirimil recovered the book as Ryland grasped his holy symbol and knelt next to Bren offering a silent prayer accompanied by a final plea, "Helm guide his steps into your realm."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Voices sounded from some unknown distance up ahead. Perfectly articulate, comprehendible voices were drawing nearer to their position discussing the rotting smell, worms and someone called Grak before the sounds faded away from them again. The now four had a choice to make and they needed information so they trailed the articulate voices until two large goblinoids came into view.

"So I said to him, 'What do you mean? That's my dinner!’"

The other goblinoid snorted a boogey laughing.

The decision having already been made to make contact Ryland stepped out in front of the other three and greeted the goblinoids, "Hello."

The goblinoids were caught unaware but quickly came on guard, "What the hell are those?"

"Think they're humans.”

"Are they peaceful?"

Ryland held up his empty palms, “We would like to be yes.”

The goblinoids seemed to pay little attention to him and kept up their conversation, "As far as I know they rape and pillage the earth searching for resources and destroying anyone and anything that steps into their path."

"Right then, you could have just said they’re our kind of folk."

Finally something was going better than Ryland had expected and of all things it was a conversation with goblinoids. They needed information and he was getting information. So far they had managed to learn that Umman who was not Umman had delivered them into the Feywild. They now knew they currently stood in the Holy Empire of Nachtur and that the empire was not actually holy it was just called the Holy Empire. They managed to discover this particular section of the Feywild was also referred to as the infinite tunnels and was considered the underground domain of High King Grak the Magnificent. The very last piece of information the four managed to obtain from the goblinoids was that the smell of Eldarin caused them to become suddenly and overwhelmingly violent.

One of the goblinoids bared its fanged teeth and ordered the sounding of an alarm. Teeming masses of figures poured from every conceivable nook, cranny and doorway within sight. Ryland who was standing away from the others was quickly isolated and swarmed under by the masses. When he came to it was to the sight of Presea tending his wounds and the corpses of the goblinoids strewn everywhere.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Between Umman’s treachery and these blasted tunnels Ryland was growing weary. Worms, goblinoids, stone lizards, a tunnel collapse and now this! If he was not standing here seeing it with his own eyes he would not believe the story. Here they all stood with the proverbial beggar’s choice. The giant worm had collapsed the tunnel behind them so there was no turning back. Umman who was not Umman was probably already on the Shadow Plane attempting to release the shadows so they could not stand still but to go forward they all had to wager their lives on this Feywind’s game of riddles! He looked at the pile of corpses littering the ground below the mass of bubbling blue and white light as he stepped forward to accept the challenge. One by one the riddles were asked and one by one they were answered. The mischievous fey dematerialized allowing them passage onward.

Ryland led the way into a cavern filled with multicolored lights and two branches. One branch appeared to continue straight and had a glowing wall of force surrounding it and the branch to the right was barred by a solid sheet of stone. He paused for a moment to suggest they attempt the barrier one at a time before stepping toward the passageway himself. As he hit the barrier lights began flashing in a pattern around the passageway and Ryland found himself seated on his buttocks looking at everyone’s backs after being thrown some twenty feet backward.

"Hmm. Activation patterns," Eirimil suggested. "Green, blue, red... what was the last one? Purple? Green? One of the two."

Putting the puzzle together Faucon went and put his hand in a green orb of light which flared followed by Presea who made contact with a blue orb which flashed.

Ryland asked Presea, "Is this purple?"

"Kind of violet, yes, but wait a moment."

Faucon moved to touch the red orb which also flashed.

Eirimil trusting his instinct instructed, "Purple... now."

Ryland reached out and touched the purple orb which flashed bright purple just before wild purple energy flared out rebounding off his wards.

[Standur]

Thanks to GD, Xalbrus, Tamha & Satoshi

Whatever energy source sustained the force barrier blocking the way was spent in the blast that rebounded off Ryland’s wards. The four trudged onward until the sounds of voices echoed from ahead. As the four crept closer a female’s tone became animated and the deeper voice remained cold, confident and brash. The female began using her queen’s name like a weapon that should strike fear into the hearts of all who heard it but the male was unflinching.

"The Queen will destroy you, goblin! No one defies Queen Mab and lives.”

"Even if she does, little ice eldarin you shall never see it."

Ryland and Faucon shared a look and surged around the final bend as if provoked by the same thought but the thought came too late. The female screamed and tried to choke out a plea. Arcane energy swirled around her as her body slumped to the ground. The two were greeted by the sight of the goblin king standing in front of his throne. Grak was huge, easily standing a head taller than Ryland. His hand was raised and death magic leaked from his fingertips. He was strangely handsome and cut a fine, strong figure. His dark red eyes stared at them from underneath a heavy brow laden with an iron crown. A heavily armed and armored honor guard stood just to his side and slightly ahead of Grak.

Ryland and Faucon stood their ground after turning the corner as if there was some invisible line created by the dead eldarin’s body they dared not cross. Grak in turn looked almost amused at their sudden arrival. If he seemed threatened at all he did not show it and his honor guard never so much as twitched a single muscle to protect their king.

“Welcome to the Hunter's Court," Grak laughed slowly and menacingly. "Lost little lambs, you are? Caught in a wolf's teeth," he nonchalantly added as he moved to sit on his throne. He seated himself settling a muscled arm beneath his chin and sat staring at them for a moment allowing the silence to hang before speaking again. "Fascinating creatures you humans and you too eldarin. You'll seek things that perverse the very nature of the universe in order to satisfy your ferocious desires. It's almost goblin-like," he purred as he spoke.

Eirimil scoffed, "You know nothing of my desires."

"Don’t I eldarin? A magus as powerful as you, one who can defeat my minions and figure out my traps, must be seeking something," Grak emphasized the last word. "Perhaps you seek something to increase your already generous amount of magical power," his eyes widened as he looked at Eirimil.

Ryland shared a peek at Eirimil with Presea and Faucon before he felt an urge to bow down to his knees. He clinched his jaw trying to resist the power that Grak exuded. The look on the others faces told him he was not fighting this battle alone. He tried to concentrate on staying upright but failed. As he looked around both he and Faucon were on their knees while Presea and Eirimil stood with a look of sheer resolve burning on their faces.

In a self-satisfied tone Grak continued, "See, they know to kneel before true strength. It’s strength that you might have one day, eldarin.” When his eyes resettled on Eirimil he looked disappointed to see Eirimil was still standing, "Regardless, I know why you are here. You seek a way off this plane, and to the plane of Shadows, yes?"

Eirimil clicked his tongue, not willing to reveal too much before the powerful entity and attempted to counter the magic pressing Ryland and Faucon to their knees.

Grak’s red eyes flickered in amusement and with a wave of his hand he granted them permission to rise while turning his attention to Ryland's sword. “This is so entertaining. So tell me Heroes of the Skybane, what will you give me for my information?”

The four gave each other inquiring looks when he called them the ‘Heroes of Skybane’ each seeming as confused as the next. The banter went on for a while with Grak mostly appearing amused at any route the discourse took before Eirimil pressed the issue, "We have nothing you could want or are willing to part with. Just getting us out of your realm would be worth sending us on our way would it not?"

Grak finally leaned forward on his throne and spoke plainly, "My offer is thus, I seek an artifact of minor worth in the chasm below. There, you’ll find beings of shadow and despair that guard it and the information you seek. Simply leave the artifact where you find it and I shall send a minion to fetch it. A fairer deal than asking for your souls is it not?"

Ryland turned thoughts over in his mind as rapidly as he could while Eirimil tried to pick holes in Grak’s offer. The idea of dealing with Grak was bitter and left a foul taste in his mouth.

Grak pressed the issue, "Do we have an accord? Keep in mind that a deal broken in the feywild is something that has implications beyond your comprehension. But suffice to say, you'd be breaking laws that are older than your plane and as such would have terrible consequences."

Eirimil confirmed Grak’s claim about the consequences and Faucon noted that Grak seemed to be speaking truthfully. Ryland motioned for the others to gather around and lowered his voice, "A lawful contract is a lawful contract even here and we are not spoiled for choice so voice your objections now if you have them." When no objections came he stepped forward, "We will uphold our end of the agreement so long as we find passage to the shadow plane."

"Safe passage," Faucon added.

"Ho, they have some fangs!" Grak chirped. “Agreed and safe passage is granted only so far as you swear to never return. If you come here again your will forfeit your life."

[Standur]

((Thanks to GD, Satoshi, Tamha and Xalbrus))

Faucon had attempted to swear an oath that fell just short of the agreement to never return with the others following his lead. Grak was less than amused. After some mild contention Grak's oath was taken and the deal was struck before the four began making their way through the dark caverns away from the Goblin King and the Hunter's Court with Eirimil carrying the dead eldarin over his shoulder. The road was clear as promised and they walked in silence for some time until, without warning, Eirimil broke down into a raging fit, "Somehow, some way a thousand deaths will be paid back for every eldarin slain by this filth."

Ryland could only gape at the normally stoic elf's outburst while Faucon inquired how far Eirimil intended to bear the body.

"As far as I must." was the hissing return Eirimil offered.

"You probably don't want to take it to the Shadow Plane, Eirimil," Presea quietly offered which met with quick agreement from all but Eirimil.

"I will not leave her here to be meat for the goblins."

The retort received no argument and with a sigh Faucon offered to carry the load but Eirimil ignored him and pressed on bearing the burden himself. As they descended into the depths of the feywild they began to note a faint smell of decay and corruption which eventually turned into a reek. Other than the foul smell darkness seemed to be the only only thing that lie in wait for them until a chill began to grip them. They slowed their pace and then came to a halt as bizarre shapes moved and twisted about up ahead sending shivers down most of their spines. Their hearts collectively began to beat just a little quicker. Faucon was assessing the situation and was about to speak when he was cut off by Eirimil, "Those things again."

"Again," Faucon asked?

The only answer he received was a comment Eirimil directed elsewhere, "Ryland, they look like the wraiths from the Abbadon."

"Yes they do but there is nothing to do but press on."

Faucon gave the two a sideways look, "From the Abbadon if multiplied about five times. What did you awaken down there exactly?"

Ryland shrugged and Eirimil deflected the question, "Less talk, more action. Go smite them or something!"

After a short glare at Eirimil, Faucon strode forward with Ryland at his side, Presea a few steps behind and Eirimil several more behind Presea still bearing the Eldarin over his shoulder. When the incorporeal beings became aware of the four they surged for them in a pack so thick they could not be counted. While Ryland stood his ground striking a fair few blows and Presea offered blessings upon them Faucon went about his business like a man with a purpose. His blade shone brightly and bit home time and time again like a hungry animal that had not been fed in days. Faucon struck and the blade consumed the shadowy foes that dared come within his reach. As the incorporeal evil thinned and temporarily fled Faucon caught sight of Eirimil shuddering and asked, "Are you alright?"

Eirimil nodded, "Fine, just unsettled."

“Good,” Faucon responded, "because more are just ahead.”

It continued that way for a while with throngs of incorporeal resistance pressing them to halt their advance until they fled, regrouped and pressed again. In response Ryland and Presea would hold the tight confines around Faucon while he carved a path deeper and deeper into the fey wild depths until the throng abated entirely and Faucon uttered an all clear. For a short time the four walked in peace before coming to a sight that stopped them all in their tracks. Ryland stood staring upward and uttered, “I have seen giants smaller than that.” He had no idea what it was but it was huge, horned and apparently in no mood to talk.

"Pitiful mortals,” the fiend spat! “Your weapons of the weave cannot harm me."

The challenge was all Faucon needed to begin the dance taking the fiend from the front as Ryland and Presea each flanked it. They moved in harmony with a punch, a cut, a bash with the shield, or perhaps a thrust as they fell into a rhythm of attack and fall back. Slowly each nick and puncture was taking its toll and then it happened. Someone must have caught something vital because the hulking bulk of the creature buckled and when it did Faucon hammered it with a blow that knocked it to the ground. They set upon it intent upon the kill with blows that would have taken down a dire bear but still the brute stirred. Even as the damage mounted it began trying to rise and Ryland shouted to no one in particular, "Why won’t it die!"

In the back of his mind Ryland could hear Eirimil, "No, no, no, you will not have me."

From somewhere ahead in the darkness a voice called out, “It’s horns! Cut its horns!”

Before the fiend could stand Faucon scurried up and over the monstrosity. He struck at its horns as he reached its head just an instant before Ryland thrust his sword into the creature’s chest directly into its heart. With a final twitch and a scream of agony the brute began to rapidly crumble and decay leaving Faucon to leap for the solidity of the ground. He tucked his head and shoulder and turned into an awkward roll that left him staring ahead of the others as he rose. All heard him mutter a mournful, “No!”