Nights of Steel and Fire (D&D)

[Comrade Tortoise]

"She is young yet my friend... if she does not get herself killed, she will be all the wiser and less foolhardy from the experience... Now I must go pack."

With that, Astinius took leave of his friends and went about packing his needed belongings.

He also changed into more utilitarian garb. He would be less gaudy for this trip than a deranged magpie. He had to make an impression on several individuals of import to do what he needed to do.

He got into his footlocker removed a set of utilitarian breaches and a nice tunic that laced up the front. He put those on, as well as a nice set of traveling boots. He put on his cloak, and kept the one magical glove, the ring, and circlet on. He then put on an overcoat that hung down almost to the floor, but not quite. He then attached his belt, which contained his spell components, and holsters for his wands, and a sheath for his daggers. Several of which were collected from the previous fight. He clipped on and chained his sword and scabbard, and slung his bow and quiver on his back.

A broad rimmed hat completed the ensemble, as did the pack that stored his traveling spellbooks, and his coinpurse

When he returned to his friends to say his boodbyes, he looked halfway respectable.

[Rogue 9]

"I hope you're right about her, Astinius," Gaheris said with a shallow smile as the wizard turned to go to his quarters.

When Astinius returned, the paladin was sharpening one of his many daggers with a whetstone. He stood to face the elf, but didn't offer his hand, having long since learned better.

"Farewell, Astinius," he said as he inclined his head towards his friend. "Be safe, and come back soon." [And don't forget to try discern location. ]

[Comrade Tortoise]

"I shall." with those final words, Astinius uttered the verbal initiators of his teleportation spell, and imagined the road on the edge of Silverymoon's Mythal, just where he would be able to teleport.

He traced the necessary symbols in the air was soon gone.

[Cynical Cat]

Astinius reapered on the road outside of Silverymoon and was immediately buffeted by a gust of cold northern air. Autumn in the north was not the most pleasant of coimates. Before him stretched the great jewel of the northern wilderness, a city of men, elves, and dwarves built by sure determination and made as close to paradise as mortals could achieve in these harsh conditions.

[Rogue 9]

Gaheris inclined his head as Astinius vanished. "Well, no sense putting it off," he said to no one in particular. "Best go see what Krelben plans on doing now." He turned and went to his quarters to clean off the rest of his disguise before seeking out the man who was now head of the Abbey's forces.

[LadyTevar]

There are songs in draconic about the freedom of flight, of the wind rattling wing pinions, of the joy in catching a thermal and riding it high above the lesser races below.

The city of Westgate had its own thermals, built of sunlight off roofs and smoke from multiple chimneys. These billowed in Torma's wings, and she let them carry her up higher and higher over the city, until she would seem no more than a shiny bird in the sky above. Yet even that freedom could not take her mind off the problem below.

Somehow there had to be a way to find those responsible for the attack on the temple. Astinius wanted to try magic, as always. Gar was trusting in his network of contacts across the city. That left Malkamar and herself with ... what?

Torma thought hard as she soared above the city, using the quiet to puzzle out the problem. She knew she stood out in the city, rightfully so, yet it also meant that she did not have the connections to the people Gar did. She did not have the magic Astinius did. She did not even have the stealth natural to Malkamar's people. How could she get the information they needed?

She banked over the surrounding farmlands that fed the city, her eyes absently scanning the landscape as her thoughts continued eating at her. A Red would simply land in the center of town, snatch up a townsperson, and torture the information out of them. A Silver would shapechange into an inoffensive form and spy. An older Copper would have the illusion skills to cajole the information out, by trickery, intimidation, or bribery.

Bribery. There was a thought. She banked, dropping lower as she turned back towards the city. She had her horde, and while it hurt to think about parting with even a copper from it, she could pay for information. Gar would know whom to speak with to get the word out she was offering to pay for information. He and Malkamar could screen the responses, since Torma knew human greed would bring out false informants.

She smiled as she flew over the city, twenty-five feet above the highest rooftop. Yes, that was what she should do. Offer a reward for information. But while she was up here, she could try to get a mental map of the city. Besides, it was fun to see how many people would actually look up to see what cast the shadow that darted over them. Who knows, she might spot the man that was following them when they first arrived.

((Search Pattern over the city, and I'll roll Spot/Search if the DM thinks Torma will see more than just a couple yokels looking up in awe/fear as she flies overhead.
Spot 21+15= 36 Search 23+13= 36 ))

[Cynical Cat]

Torma was treated with an aerial view of human daily life. Shopping, trading, arguing, squabbling over right of way, drinking, eating, hauling heavy things, shouting, fighting, alleyway sex with a street walker, pickpocketing, and a purse cutting. Lots of activity, nothing unusual by Westgate's standards.

[Comrade Tortoise]

Astinius took in a breath of the cold air as it buffeted him. It was not comfortable, but oddly pleasant nonetheless. Partially because it was a change from Westgate, and there was the hope of gleaning information from the libraries here,but also because he secretly liked the cold.

He did prudently wrap his cloak around himself though, and continued forward toward the city gates.

*Provisional on reaching the gate without incident*

Upon reaching the gate, the mage studied the guards while continuing on his way, not knowing how they would respond to an armed and battle-ready archmage who hadn't visited for some time, at their gates.

[Cynical Cat]

The guards payed Astinius no mind and waved him through. Why would they care? Elves were far from unknown in Silverymoon and any sensible traveller in the Silver Marches was prepared for trouble.

[Comrade Tortoise]

He passed on through the gate without any fuss. It had been a while since someone didnt care what he was in a city for, legitimate authority or otherwise. It was rather refreshing. Still, he had to make haste to the vault of sages. He would probably have to pay stiff fees to get the information he needed, but that was the price he would have to pay. If all else failed, he could talk to one of the Spellguard, and attempt through one of them to gain a audience with either Alustriel, Jorus, or Taern Hornblade, but that would be...especially difficult to manage in all likelihood

[Cynical Cat]

Astinius passed elves, dwarves, gnomes, halflings, and men on his way through Silverymoon's streets. He saw elven tree houses built on top of sunken dwarven holdings. He saw the rods with their iron shod short staves patrolling the streets and even members of the famous Spellguard. His skin prickled as he passed through different layers of the famous Mythal and at last he came to the great U shaped Vault of Sages. Stern guards watched him pass, but did not bar him.

A young dwarf woman with blonde hair in neat braids and a smooth face greated him. She wore a robe of light blue wool shot through with gold threads. "Welcome to the Vault of Sages, master elf. I am Girda."

[Rogue 9]

Gaheris washed the tan skin coloration off of his face and arms and rinsed the dyes out of his red hair before pulling on fresh clothing and girding on his sword belt. He then got into the chest at the foot of his bed, unlocked it, and after some short rummaging around came up with something he did not often wear: His badge of office, a brooch in the form of two silver swords crossed over the hammer and scales of Tyr, marking him a warrior lord of the church. This he used to attach his cloak in place of his more usual plain iron clasp as he checked his appearance in the small mirror he usually used to ensure that his disguises were thorough. Then he sighed and set out for the temple building, in search of the Justiciar.

[Cynical Cat]

Krelben's clothes were stained with ash and soot. The justicar was washing his bloody hands in a bowl of water when Gaheris walked into the remains of the nave. "What are your still doing here?" Krelben rasped.

[Rogue 9]

"I've been out and come back," Gaheris said calmly. "I can hardly search the city door to door, and if there's somewhere else I need to be other than here, I'm afraid I forgot the appointment." He rolled up his own sleeves. "Have you sent for Acoros? His healers would be better at this than any of us," he continued. He'd already spent a large portion of his healing for the day in the immediate aftermath of the battle, but would do what he could in the meantime.

[Cynical Cat]

"They Ilmatarans are handling the worst burn cases. Why haven't you grabbed one of the books from the library and gotten your pet wizard to send you to Candle Keep?"

[Rogue 9]

"Astinius has gone to Silverymoon's Vault of Sages himself," Gaheris replied, trying to conceal his irritation. "I've already been out in the city getting started on trying to find out who, if anyone, here is responsible, and now I've come to help with the wounded and at least try to coordinate efforts." He walked back towards the improvised hospital as he spoke, blue light already starting to flicker across his hands. "Powerful scrying on Abbot Khazar was unsuccessful. His captors have some sort of shield going to block divinations. There are a few other spells to try, but if those fail we'll have to investigate without magic and hope they weren't summoned by a mage halfway across the continent."

He stopped and cast a discerning eye around the room of burned men, looking to see who was in most need of aid. His gaze lit upon a charred form whose arm was badly mangled and he took three quick steps and fell to one knee next to him.

"Hold still. This will ease the pain," he said in a quiet but firm voice as his eyes began to glow a watery blue while the same radiance flowed through his outstretched hand into the man's arm.

[5 points of lay on hands spent, 22 remaining for the day.]

[Comrade Tortoise]

Astinius passed elves, dwarves, gnomes, halflings, and men on his way through Silverymoon's streets. He saw elven tree houses built on top of sunken dwarven holdings. He saw the rods with their iron shod short staves patrolling the streets and even members of the famous Spellguard. His skin prickled as he passed through different layers of the famous Mythal and at last he came to the great U shaped Vault of Sages. Stern guards watched him pass, but did not bar him.

A young dwarf woman with blonde hair in neat braids and a smooth face greated him. She wore a robe of light blue wool shot through with gold threads. "Welcome to the Vault of Sages, master elf. I am Girda."

"Greetings Girda. I am Astinius," he bowed slightly in respect and continued

" I need to consult with certain sages and retrieve books." He paused for a moment, mulling over what to say, how much he should say, more aptly.

"I seek information on cults, specifically those who may worship Mak Thuum Ngatha, the 'Way Made Flesh'. Do you have a sage who specializes in such things?"

[Cynical Cat]

"The name is unknown to me," replied Girda, "which means the lore in question must be quite esoteric. Please follow me." She lead the elf down a long book lined corridor and up a set of stairs. Another long corridor followed and a pair of lantern archons passed them on the way. She stopped at an iron door and grasped the gargoyle head knocker and banged sharpled on the door.

"Enter," came a voice.

Inside was a cozy study lit by several globes of continual light hanging from the ceiling. An elderly human mail wearing a fur lined dark robe robe was sitting in a heavily upholstered chair and studying a heavy tome on his desk. A pair of quills floated in mid air and were making notes. He looked up.

"Trantos, this is Astinius. He has a question on an obscure subject." She bowed and withdrew.

[Rogue 9]

Gaheris stood. The man was still burned and sported a chewed-up arm, but he'd last. "You'll be all right now," he said in as reassuring a voice as he could muster, having not heard many reassuring voices in his life.

He looked around, looking for someone in charge of the efforts, and his gaze, to his relief, lit upon Father Acoros, the Master Healer of the House of Ilmater. He moved among the rows of wounded to stand behind the old cleric, waiting for him to finish ministering to his current patient before speaking.

"Father Acoros, many thanks for coming," he said quietly as the priest rose. "I would have been here sooner, but there were matters that required my immediate attention. Who needs help the most," he asked summarily, not wishing to waste anyone's time.

[Cynical Cat]

"According the Krelbin's arrangement, everyone in this section. These are the worst cases, but they have been stabilized. They're burn victims, of course."

[Rogue 9]

He inclined his head and set to work, eyes and hands shimmering blue for a short while before channeling the power drained him. Not stopping, he switched to working bandages and started in on treating other wounds. His distraction caused some clumsiness with the bandages, but he got the job done.

[Heal check 5+13=18]

[Cynical Cat]

As Gaheris struggled through properly treating the wounded, Justicar Krelben sewed up another patient with deft strokes of a needle and thread.

[Rogue 9]

Gaheris paid him absolutely no mind, focusing on the patients.

[That's better. Let's try 19+13=32, shall we? ]

[Comrade Tortoise]

"The name is unknown to me," replied Girda, "which means the lore in question must be quite esoteric. Please follow me." She lead the elf down a long book lined corridor and up a set of stairs. Another long corridor followed and a pair of lantern archons passed them on the way. She stopped at an iron door and grasped the gargoyle head knocker and banged sharpled on the door.

"Enter," came a voice.

Inside was a cozy study lit by several globes of continual light hanging from the ceiling. An elderly human mail wearing a fur lined dark robe robe was sitting in a heavily upholstered chair and studying a heavy tome on his desk. A pair of quills floated in mid air and were making notes. He looked up.

"Trantos, this is Astinius. He has a question on an obscure subject." She bowed and withdrew.

"thank you for seeing me Trantos" the mage said with a polite bow.

"I suppose I should give you background information" Astinius said, before beginning to relay the information gleaned from the Speak With Dead spell, and what little he could glean from the attack on the abbey, including the power of the summoner needed to create wards which even Mystra would have difficulty breaking

After finishing the background information he asked his question.

'So, do you know of any sources we, or I could turn to for additional information? Tomes, other scholars? We have to track whoever did this devoid of magical assistance unless a Discern Location spell turns something up, which I doubt it will. Any assistance you can offer will help greatly"

[Cynical Cat]

"To find the fiends you must find their names, so you can track them through the Hells," said the elderly sage. "No other method that I know of will avail you. As for the entity called Mak Thuum Ngatha, there are no references to it at all in the Vault of Sages. I am inclined to believe that it or its minions have only recently been active on Faerun."