Episode 1: Branded

Benobo wrote:

"This one looks a bit more dangerous, though. We should try to avoid it while crossing. Maybe I could throw my jacket across it and hope it covers it up?"

"That is an excellent suggestion. If you care for that jacket, we could cut a section of blanket, and fill it with silt and small rocks.  It might take a few tries, but I am certain that we could plug the hole, and cross this body of water.  If either of you have a bit of rope, we might even be able to remove the plug afterwards and allow the water to continue to drain."

Izar looks at the water a bit exasperated and waits to see whether they need to undo the work they had just done to tighten their pack in order to take out the aforementioned blanket.

Kho'nan looked startled for a moment, then held back a chuckle.

O'course the fuckin' table talks...

~~~ And we cannot even tasssste it.... unlessssss.... hmmm ~~~

The Beast inside hissed within his mind, hungry. Always hungry. Truth be told, Kho'nan had no idea if this thing could be digested. If it could and things turned out poorly, he assumed they would find out together.

"Had yer trap worked, I reckon' I wouldn'a liked it very much, eh? Trade seems a much better bet. What can ye'offer? What do ye'fancy?"

He had his hands on the ends of the Dorn Dergar that hung around his neck. It looked casual, but if he needed to he would smash this table to splinters.

Oraam looks at his jacket fondly. "My mentor did get me this, so the blanket would be much appreciated."

Oraam starts foraging around for nice sized rocks and things to shove in the blanket to plug the hole.

A pseudopod slithers out of the table and squelches over the hilt of the pickaxe, rattling the head over the stone as it raises it into the air. The tentacle then gently waves the tool before you, as if to grant an offer. One word creaks from the table's boards, "MEAT." Slow and earthy, the voice echoes through the cavern.

Kho'nan grunted. It could have been a laugh. It could have been annoyance. He watched the pseudopod closely.

"Easy 'nuff, but what's special 'bout yer'pick there? Need t'be mighty fine to risk m'hide fer a simple tool fer diggin'."

He knew there was more here than met the eye, and he wanted it spelled out.

~~~ MEAT ~~~ The Beast echoed in his mind. Kho'nan shut him up so he could listen. Assuming it was explained to him, he continues:

"Plenty o'meat to be had. Bet ye know wherein I might find it, no? Which vein o'the mine will yield quickest results?"

Oraam slowly crosses the now-plugged pool using his trident as a walking stick, and (assuming nothing happens) will help the others cross. Being familiar with water, he's not offput by the now completely soaked clothing he is wearing.

"Let's try to hurry, who knows what Kho'nan's going through."

Helden, when asked about his reasons, had raised his hammer.

“War. Fighting. It is my worship.”

He smiled.

*******

Keeping the light up as they crossed the water, he continued to check behind them as moved towards their missing companion.

Muttering softly about cities, water, and the payout of their current venture, Izar checks their gear one last time, and then gingerly crosses the water. On the otherside of their aqueous obstacle, they satisfy themself that their pack hasn't taken on any water, and then prestidigitates themself dry.

"Well done us; we have vanquished a very large puddle. Let us see what further nuisance or peril awaits."  The bard waves to the artificer and the cleric, disinterested as to which of the two takes the lead, so long as one of them did.

The table drops the pickaxe and repeats itself in a sweet, effeminate, shaky, and frightened voice "Back away... Back away... Back Away..."

Meanwhile, Izar, Oraam, and Helden drip with water as they resurface from the small whirlpool. There's a short tunnel of rough stone thereafter which connects to a room with a table - and a familiar large dwarf.

Izar preforms a final, quite unnecessary, casting of prestidigitation on themself before they are satisfied with their state of dress.  They may have learned the cantrip in order to season meals, but had grown to enjoy its many practical applications.  Finally! Now, to find Kho'nan and get out of this mine.

The bard is sweeping their hand through the air to send a message to the dwarf, when they emerge from the rough stone tunnel along with Helden and Oraam to find Kho'nan standing in an largely empty room.  Izar finishes the motion, imbuing it with magic.

《Excellent, you're not dead. Let's leave.》

Kho'nan casts a look of hmph at the table's less than helpful response.

He only casts the slightest of glances when Izar and the rest make their appearance. "Walk louder than an ogre takin' a shite, the lot of you. Just makin' a deal wi'the table here. Reckon no one go an'touch it les y'wanna lose a hand. Hell of a set'o teeth on it. Oi! Fuckin' talkin' table - deal still on or no?"

He involuntarily flexes his oversized forearms and biceps around the dorn dergar at his neck. If the deal was off, then a talking table at their back wouldn't be good for business.

Oraam pats himself dry as he walks down the hallway, muttering to himself about how he wished he had prepare prestidigitation today. As he rounds the corner, his face lights up at the sight of their once-seperated party member. The relief on Oraam's face when he sees Kho'nan again is quickly replaced by a quizzical and confused raise of the eyebrows as Kho'nan yells at the table. He looks down at the table and apparates his trident in his hand, the butt end in the dirt. "I-Is everything all right, Sir Kho'nan?"

Kho'nan growls back in response.

The mouth on the swirling mass that has engulfed his body opens up on what would have been his torso.

~~~ Pleasssssee Orraaaam - go touch the table. It won't bittteeee ~~~

Kho'nan looked annoyed at the beast but more annoyed at the table. "Oi, prick. Is the fookin'deal still on er'no?"

With the party back together, and no imminent threat - or at least nothing that could not be handled by everyone else - Izar mulls permutations of capability for speech, saw-like outcroppings, legged surfaces while chewing on a piece of dried fruit fished absentmindely from a pocket.

The intrepid party had finally joined their wayward companion. They narrated silently, watching the scene unfold.  To their suprised, Kho'nan claimed to be attempting to negotiate with a talking, toothed table; fat-chewing, fanged furniture...  The bard weighs the merit of precision, concludes that accuracy is a small but valuable sacrifice in the name of word quality when aliterating to pass the time, and continues, a discursive, denticulated dresser, a...

Iron and Metal wrote:

The mouth on the swirling mass that has engulfed his body opens up on what would have been his torso.

Gargantuan, gyrating gestalt... Izar suppresses a shiver, and looks on, not quite daring to hope that they would soon be leaving the mines.

Helden moves in, glancing quickly over Kho’nan and ensuring no injuries before scanning the rest of the room and filling it with light.

“What deal is this?”

Oraam grimaces at the mouth-torso and sighs. "I'd prefer not to." he says shortly.

He maintains his grip on his trident as he continues staring at the table, waiting for it to move. "A strange companion you've chosen here, mister Kho'nan."

"It's becoming a nasty habit." At this Kho'nan turned to look directly at Oraam.

He cranes his neck to one side, cracking the bones. "The ship-shafter wan's meat. Promised reward, but was light on th'details. Figure if we're'n clearin' this system already, why no? Got some rats could drag in here, but I'm s'pectin' there's more. Job's no' done yet, lads."

With the last bit he cast a glance at Izar.

We clear th'mine - then get paid. Yes? He sent mentally to Izar, knowing she could hear him.

Benobo wrote:

"A strange companion you've chosen here, mister Kho'nan."

Iron and Metal wrote:

"It's becoming a nasty habit."

It was not a very funny exchange and yet Izar could not dislodge the smirk that curled their lips upwards.  There was something wildly amusing about the densely muscled dwarf, every bit the killing machine, taking the time to needle the new kid while in the middle of giving what was admittedly a fairly reasonable explanation as to why he'd not yet killed what was undoubtedly a mimic.  

Chuckling silently, they shift their features away from the severe, angular, tightly wound visage with the equally tightly bound chignon.  In its stead, a rotund, tiefling sporting a riot of curls - from which the tips of a pair of horns are just about visible - barely contained.  Her dark hair is shot through with white in places, as is her burnished red skin.  The depigmentation seems haphazard; it had been for its original bearer, but for Izar every line is chosen with care.

I'll have to include this in my next letter, she muses, the thought of the friend who inspired this look bringing a beatific smile to her face. And when Kho'nan looks her way, Izar considers their options through the lens of only moderate annoyance.

《It's been shit so far, but I guess it'd be more shit to not get paid after all of this》 She sends while having her glamerweave manifest a continous shower of silver coins.

At that, Kho'nan made what could only be described as a smile. Though it was more of a lightening of the furrowed brow than anything else.

Dwarves were known for many things, but the trifecta were: Mines, Money, and Mayhem.

The Beast was in his element.

Under the illumination of Helden's enchanted coin, the party finds themselves in a well lit, dank chamber. On one end, a benched table sits with a half-melted candle atop. A finely crafted pickaxe rests on the floor only an arm's length away.

From the center of the table opened a wide, toothy maw as the symbiote on Kho'nan's stomach showed. "Brother... Slave... Meat... Trade?" An earthy voice rumbles slowly from the object while a pseudopod gently slithers out from an end of the table towards Oraam, and another pushes the pick towards Kho'nan.

"Nay, ye'dimwitted shite. Ye cannae have any'o'them. They're with me. We'll bring ye' some feckin' meat."

~~~And if you betray us, I will be feastin on your bones~~~ came the slithering retort from the Beast on Kho'nan's stomach. With that, he made to move deeper into the dungeon to finish the job.

Not trusting the "table" to honor its agreement in Kho'nan's absence Contracts are only as reliable as they are enforceable, Izar is on the dwarf's heels.

«Let's stick together. We can sort this 'thing' out once the mine is cleared.» She says to both Helden and Oraam in turn via her arts. They could choose to stay of course - she had no doubt that they could hold their own against the creature if it came to that - but it would be nice to keep the group together for more than a minute.

Oraam nods in reply, backing up a bit as the pseudopod reaches out for him before following the two down the hall.

Helden's light illuminates the tunnels as the company travels deeper through the mines. Labyrinthine shafts and caverns threaten to seal the party away, but with careful cartography and a splash of luck, the adventurers map the entire mine without loss. Were-rats, spiders, and strange creatures foreign to Eberron's sun fall to the veteran force. The party came upon a chasm, the walls slick with condensation and small whisps of steam rose from the dark below. Oraam determines through their map that the only way to reconnect with the tunnel Veil took was via a rope ferry across this chasm. Though the cart, if hardly an oversized bucket tied to a rope could be called such, couldn't carry everyone at once, as you began to prepare to move each across individually, a familiar voice speaks speaks into your minds,

<Hope lay on a line, a treacherous reunion, but I have no choice.> the ferry begins to move to the other end, and the nearly imperceptible form of a hooded warforged can be seen drawing the rope. Veil enters the cart with a swift hop, and Kho'nan begins to pull her across the chasm alone. A quarter, one half, three-quarters, Izar holds a hand out to her companion, and Veil can touch her with their fingers as the rope snaps suddenly at the cart's knot. Shouts echo as Veil leaps, only to hang in the air as gravity catches them, throwing the scout into the pits below. Preparing to leap after their companion, Kho'nan feels Helden's hand restrain his shoulder. In silence, a shaking head is all that that was given. Oraam snaps up, "Hold on! We can find them below, there was the same steam at the elevator on the northern edge of the mine!" The careless Ghaal'dar takes off into the empty caves, and Izar gives chase first before the soldiers catch up. Before long, the party is piled into a mineshaft elevator, slowly ratcheting themselves down a bolted iron track into the foggy depths.

As the newfound spelunkers descend, the air here becomes thicker as the steam fills their lungs and clings to the walls in an eerie sheen which glints under Helden's light. Further down, then further, and further still, it seems impossible that a being of flesh would survive, but our friends hold hope that the construct of metal and wood will have a better chance. Finally, the floor can be seen, and soon it is under their feet once more.

Kho'nan needs only a second to know this cavesystem was not a product of the mines. The walls here bear the pits of something far older, something ancient indeed. He turns to Helden and asks him to put out his light. Helden holds his hammer up and the glow flickers for a moment before it fades completely. Your eyes adjust shortly to the dim red glow of Khyber crystals, illuminating the dank tunnel in a soft red glow. Urged by their concern of their friend's safety, the group presses further into the caves. Creatures all to familiar for Kho'nan lurk and toil within. Dolgrim and dolgaunt, the weakest of the Daelkyr's minions, steal the Khyber dragonshards from the caves' walls. They fall quickly to the calculated onslaught of the team.



Further into the mine, the heat and light grow greatly until sweat coats the armor and clothing of the travelers. A soft bubbling can be heard at the end of the tunnel, and the source of the steam finally reveals itself. Seven Dolgaunt chant in an unearthly language as four Dolgrim stare into a growing pit of magma. As you look on, the Dolgaunt begin to throw Khyber dragonshards into the pool, and steam billows out from the pit. As your vision becomes obscured, the magma grows to fill the pit, then explodes in a wash of fire, suddenly blasting all the steam out of the room and into the tunnel where our spectators lie crouched.



Many of the Daelkyr henchmen lay unmoving, though three Dolgaunt move gently and two Dolgrim snap up off the ground. The Dolgaunt look back to the Dolgrim, and passed them, to you. One of them points to Helden and shouts, and the aberrations begin to race to you swiftly.

Izar had not thought it possible to despise her experience of the mines more than she had when they had first arrived. But between the Therianthropes, the giant arachnid, a Khyber-blasted mimic, and now possibly losing Veil… That'll teach me - your expectations can never be low enough.  And, you don't get close to people.  How did you forget that? Must be getting soft. Various covers of that refrain played in the bard's mind as the group made their way forward.

The effect of the dragonshards hitting the magma was a notable exception to the chorus of self-recrimination, as she is both surprised, and curious. "What in the name of Khyber's gaping-" The whispered exclamation is lost in the explosion of heat and steam.

Then the aberrations begin to race towards them. Her laughter, both bitter and just the merest touch shy of hysterical, rings out in clear peals. "Sure!  Why not?! C'mon ya walkin' stacks of shit!"

"Good, I was getting bored o'walkin; LET THEM COME!"

The Beast's inky black form covering Kho'nan ripples as small holes start to open once again. He was making ready to unleash the swarm on the first unlucky bastard to come into range.

The Dorn Dergar hangs loosely in his wide hands, ready to deliver devastation and death.

The group of Daelkyr minions make their way forward as our heroes brace for combat. Three Dolgaunts skip across the ground with measured steps, while the Dolgrim stumble forward, seemingly worse for wear from the magma blast. They close with Helden and Kho'nan, the Dolgrim moving to Melee while the Dolgaunt stay a few paces behind. The Dolgrim fire crossbows and swing crude weaponry into the party, but are easily deflected by the seasoned fighters. Tentacles snake out from the Dolgaunts, lashing the two soldiers in front and constricting them, each strike sucking blood through their carapace and armor.

Izar slips away from the closest aberration, which was suddenly far too close for comfort. While the creatures were not pleasant to look at, she figured that her best move would be to try and make them easier to see."Bright as the night sky" The Bard intones, evoking the soft glow of starlight in a clear sky. The two Dolgaunt shudder away from the blast, but the Dolgrim are not so fast, now limned in blue light. Oraam hurls his Ghaal'shaarat through the team, impaling the Dolgaunt attack Kho'nan and making it crumple under the force of the blow. As the Trident blinks back into Oraam's hands, Kho'nan roars, and so too did the beast. He throws his arms up, breaking the grapple as his skin hardens and the barely controlled madness takes him. His roar is culminated with a sudden, brutal swing of his Dorn Dergar which blew the aberration back onto the ground. Tentacles writhed like worms in death throes as the creature struggled to get back on its feet. Helden tears the tentacles holding him free and brings his hammer up in one motion, summoning a glowing duplicate near one of the creatures, but the glowing hammer misses completely. With a grunt of displeasure, he swings his own hammer.

A barrage of points and bludgeons swing and stab at Helden, threatening to pierce his armor or shatter his shield, but the warrior holds strong against the attacks. As he raises his shield to guard a blow, a more clever Dolgaunt latched on to his arm and chest with a tendril, constricting the air from his lungs before he torethe tendril off his body.
Oraam charges forward, trident lowered to deliver a stab to the gut. He yells "For the Ghaal'dar!" before he impales the daelkyr in the chest. The creature crumples under the force of the blow.
Drawing on reserves of magic and of spite from the time spent within the mines, Izar taunts one of the Dolgaunts, “Crawl back up the slack arse you dropped out of.” It was satisfying, if not necessarily effective. There is laughter from Kho'nan's amorphous black belly as the Beast emerges. Dozens of holes open up on Kho'nan's left arm and a cloud of insects rushes forth toward his intended victim. Whether unphased at the attempt or too focused on the biting insects, the Dolgaunt makes no regard to Izar's magically infused comments, but instead groans and uses its free appendages to slap away Kho'nan's bugs.
Helden focuses oh his enemy, the glow illuminating them guiding his hand as he brings the hammer down, simultaneously focusing and swinging down with the glowing hammer. The strike from his hammer left the malformed creature dazed, it stumbled for only a moment before the spiritual hammer smashed the Dolgrim's head to pieces.

The tentacles flew recklessly from the Dolgaunt in sharp snaps, held at bay by the chains of Kho'nan's Dorn Dergar. One snakes past Helden's guard and rakes ribbons of blood across Oraam's chest and arms, steaming as the blood touches the hot earth. Kho'nan responds in kind, the weight of his Dorn Dergar flying out to the far Dolgaunt, who looks at him in surprise as the blow strikes it in the stomach.

The ringing crash of weapons and armor against the Dolgaunts' claws is an angry treble, punctuated by the heavy thudding of tentacle strikes. The cacophonic accompaniment serves as a warp to Izar's harshly whispered weft; a coarse auditory tapestry made to rub the mind raw. The Dolgaunt looks looks at .them in disbelief and runs quickly away, up to the edge of the magma, crouching and gripping it's head "Eaaaaaaat shiiiiiiit!" Izar cries out as the Dolgaunt attempts to close with Helden again, who throws claws at Helden's shield with little effect.

Battered by the Dolgaunt's slashes, Oraam hastily stabs back, hoping to strike a killing blow once more. The creature deftly ducks the blow, slapping the shaft of the trident high with the back of it's palm. "Is everyone alright?" he says over the sound of battle. The bard is just able to make out Oraam's question to the group over the din of combat; the answer, and what Oraam does with it will be of interest.

Helden grins as the things get smashed and go down, yelling out he swings again, the glowing spiritual weapon swinging in time with his own swings. The Dolgaunt attempts to duck and dodge the blows, but the quick buffets prove effective, smashing the Dolgaunt repeatedly across the back and chest.

Kho'nan saw the enemy trying to slip away and swung heavily in the air, out and around, bringing the heavy steel of the Dorn Dergar crashing down. His foe is flattened instantly, blood gushing from its mangled corpse. With that done, he shifted his stance and repeated the action, basking in the wet-crunch that each hit resulted in. The final blow strikes the earth as the Dolgaunt slides forward at the last possible second, and odd and unnatural movement, but nonetheless effective. Oraam, still yelling but this time a grumble of what sounds to be a mixture of both gnomish and goblin curses, furiously stabs into the dolgaunt, impaling the creature through it's skull as it ducks to avoid the heavy chain of the Dorn Dergar.

The bard mutters an invective, flinging the magically infused barb at the closest dolgaunt. It shudders from the Arcane infusion, stumbling through a few claw swipes before finding purchase with a tendril. Helden swings with hammer and faith strike a tempo, alternating with each swing and hit.
Although there is blood dripping from his wounds, his face is one of religious fanaticism.

"COME! WE WORSHIP AT THE ALTAR OF WAR!!" The creature yells back "YESSSSS" as it constricts your arm, ripping and soaking up blood from your bursting veins.

Private to Oraam and Kho'nan:

---ROUND 5---

The Dolgaunt's tendrils snake about Helden, causing the priest to shed red tears from his eyes and ears as his skin darkens from the constricting force. Countless small probes sprout forth from the tendrils, boring deep into Helden's skin, leaving rivulets of blood as they pry open veins and arteries. The creature breathes deeply as it drains it's victim, leaving Helden on the ground with both tendrils hungrily drying him out. Seeing the Warpriest go down, Oraam rushes to his side and places a hand on him, sending a wave of healing energy through him. He then rushes behind the Dolgaunt and says "The magma's acting weird!" The Dolgaunt swipes at Oraam as he passes by, dragging a jagged cut across his arm. It'ssss looking like pure Khyberrrr hisses the fanged mouth on Kho'nan's stomach. Kho'nan focuses on the remaining enemy, closing in for the kill. As the last orison of Helden's bloody lithurgy rings through the air, it is met with the opening notes of a dirge. Drawing a deep breath, Izar hurls their magic at the cleric, punctuating the spell with the throw of a dagger; a fitting bit of flair for a priest of war that would punctuate the retelling of this fight quite nicely.

The blade whips through the sweltering air and connects with a satisfying thud; if only it had hit the last living Dolgaunt, rather than the corpse of one of its fallen brethren. Those with keen hearing can pick out from amid the fray, the bard's frustrated muttering. "Khyber's tits! This is why I don't play darts..."

Kho'nan was on the verge of being lost in his rage. The enemy was still alive. The Beast needed blood. He roared and swung his Dorn Dergar in a full 360 circle above his head, twisting his body for the most leverage before bringing it crashing down - catching the filthy squid between heavy steel and volcanic rock.

There were two thuds that happened nearly simultaneously. The first was a crack, and the second was a crunch. Only those with the keenest of ears heard the difference as the Dolgaunt's head burst open against the deep, sharp rock.

"Bring the'rest o'them ou'now, ye fuckers!" He roared. His breathing was heavy but slightly calming as a mouth opened near his foot and began crunching into the meat of the downed enemy. The Beast was hungry, and he would feed.

Not seeing any further threats, Kho'nan began to take control back.

"Eat what ye'need, Beast. Remember tha' we're feedin' a table too. Deal's a deal."

He looked at the others. It was quick. And it was to ensure they were OK, whether or not they recognized that. He knew they would see to Helden. With that, he stood ready for more to come out of the shadows.

Seeing that the fight is finally over, Izar exhales sharply in relief, and the last of the faerie fire's light winks out.  "There had better be butt loads of silver in these mines," she mutters.

For a time, she is content to watch Kho'nan "tidy up" as there is something deeply satisfying to knowing that the miserable pieces of shit would have such a fitting end.
The caves were dangerous, but at least they had proven to be more dangerous.  Although... hadn't Oraam mentioned something about the lava being weird?

While seeing what aid Helden and Oraam needed to be in fighting form, she gently nudges the latter "You said something about the lava being fuc- ahem, anomalous? What exactly?"

"Th'color," Kho'nan responds before Oraam has a chance. "It's nae like lava. Looks th'color o'pure Khyber."

As the Symbiont continues to devour the last dolgaunt at rapid speed, Kho'nan jerks his head toward the flowing magma to emphasize his point. He didn't know what it meant, but it was important enough. He knew that for sure.

"Any ideas abou'it?"

"Yeah, what Mr. Kho'nan said. It looks funky." Oraam walks up to the edge of it, grabbing a Dolgrim's weapon and prodding it. "Never seen anything like it before. Granted, I've not actually seen much lava besides in labs back in school, but this is definitely not normal. Plus the fact that there were a bunch of evil dudes near it? Something's fishy."

Private to Oraam:

The party begins to look on as the hue from the magma begins to radiate. In a moment, the colors begin to pour over the walls and floor of the cave, drawing scintillating purple and red veins across the cavern stone. Bright shafts of Khyber-light explode from the molten surface, multiplying rapidly until they fill the cavern and drown out everyone's vision.

The color fades, leaving an after image to blink yourselves back into the mines. Having mapped the routes in the lower chasm, the team finds their last path snakes around until it dead ends in a familiar scene. A shattered bucket ferry rests on the ground. The remains of your warforged friend, Veil, lay strewn about the chasm floor. You all collect the remains as Helden recites the Sovereign Host's rites. With the mission completed, the adventurers solemnly return to the surface.

As the first shafts of sunlight hit your eyes, your eyes quickly adjust to see the faces of the supporting squad you had separated with this morning. They turn from their work building fortifications and repairing the mining equipment to receive you all. There are no cheers amidst your fallen comrade. A few clasp symbols of the Sovereign Host and make silent prayers at the sight. Half a squad is given leave to silently escort you back to the main camp as the rest finish their duties. Veil wasn't the only warforged among the True Aundarians, and to lose a soul built for combat shakes the metal hearts of those that look on.

A man dressed in humble robes approaches you all as you near your tents. He is accompanied by a the familiar face of Belinda, clad in her dull armor, even as the night peaks. Belinda waves you down, "I heard word from the support squad that came back with you. I brought a man of the cloth to help pass on their remains. Please meet Treitz, preacher of the sovereign host, and all that passes for health and joy around here. Debrief is after breakfast, enjoy what rest you find." The man gently says, "The greatest honor a soldier can give... if we bothered to romance with death. If you'll relinquish the remains, I'll see to it that your friend is given a proper burial. And if any of you are in need of healing, I give what magical means I have after daybreak. The gods shed much light on our affairs, but I do have my limits. I am always in the medical tents, should any of you seek counsel. Please follow me to the medical quarter if you have more pressing injuries." He gives a smile of comfort as he holds his hands for Veil's corpse.

Kho'nan had taken his time to collect Veil dilligently and with respect. To be honest, aside from the elf Galinndan, Veil had been his closest friend. Inside his heart ached, but he stuffed it down. It would do no good to let those feelings out. Not now.

The Symbiont remained quiet for a moment. Full and satisfied as it was on its most recent feast. Then, like centipedes crawling along a stone floor, it slithered into his brain. Slowly, but surely it pushed words into his mind.

~~~ Usssssse the feeling. Ussssse the darknessss. Allow the sadnesssss to become hhhhhhhatred. The next enemies we encounter will beg for death before we ssssset them freeee. ~~~

Kho'nan didn't have the energy to tell it to shut the hell up. Maybe it had a point.

He was careful in removing the heads of their downed enemies - especially the wererats. He would have a word with Hagen about the claim that the mine was free of Therianthropes. It may even call for a renegotiation, but at the very least the camp needed to know.

As they made their way out, he made his way into the chamber with the Mimic. He tossed a Dolgaunt's body in front of it, and one of the lesser creatures after that.

"Deal's a deal," he says matter-of-factly.

+++

He stands with his shoulders back as Belinda and the newcomer approach. Heads of enemies hang from his triple-thick leather belt, mimicking the screaming bronze Dwarf that acted as a buckle. His electric blue mohawk and beard shone brightly in the light. The tattoos of his face seemed to shy away from it, slowly. They were dwarven runes of course and the sun wasn't exactly their best friend.

"Appreciate yer kind words, Treitz. Y'may honor Veil here with a prayer and a blessin' as ye see fit, but he won'be buried. He'll be honored an' looked after fer as long as it takes to bring him back."

Kho'nan was polite and not aggressive, but it is very clear that this was not a negotiation.

Gently, Kho'nan lays the Warforged - his companion and friend - on the Earth and waits.

Though finally out of the mines, the sweetness of the crisp, fresh air did little to lift Izar's spirits. Likewise, the dazzling and curious display of Khyber-light, which would eventually be carefully documented both for future tellings and for posterity, seemed a trifling, petty thing. More than anything, Izar is tired. She slips out of her gear and steadies it, not quite able to simply let it fall where it may. When she straightens, she holds only her viol and its bow. For the first time in weeks, if not months, she has also sloughed off most of the trappings of other appearances. It is not quite her actual face, but it is the closest that it has been in a long time.  Wide, jet black eyes shine brightly from behind lush silvery hair; the eyes of a young person who has seen way too much, far too soon.

She picks out a sad theme, softly singing vocalise. When a recognisable chorus comes around a second time, she brings the bow to the viol, finally adding lyrics for the verse.

You're ever at our side
Silent steps, a glide
Didn't need to see you 'round,
To know you'd stood your ground
Silent, resonant
Words unsaid, but well received

Echoes ring through my mind
Host be with you, quiet friend
This will not be your time
Host be with you, quiet friend

Not having to draw on any magics, all of her attention is put to her craft. Her voice is a clear, lilting mezzo-soprano, heavy with a grief that she wants the entire camp to feel deep in their bones. I hope this was worth it she wants to scream at them, but instead she sings; silver arrows of her glammerweave arcing around her like a silent armed salute.

The song ends with vocalise reminiscent of wailing, fading into the night.

"It's not quite finished, but I didn't want to wait," she says, as much to herself as to anyone who is within earshot of the softly spoken words. In the back of her mind, the fact that she had taken the time to eulogize Veil and not… was shoved back down where it belonged.

Izar stretches, and in so doing adjusts his appearance to that of the strapping young human with thick black hair and an easy smile.  Surely it would be a welcome change of pace to incarnate this handsome, carefree, layabout. It'll all be easier if nothing really matters, right?  The bard isn't convinced, but he's determined to try.

Oraam is visibly shaken at the death of Veil. Being stuck in the mail booth he didn't see much combat first hand, and though his comrades had perished before, this was the first he had truly fought alongside. The trip back up was silent from Oraam, eyes focused on the ground ahead of him.  

Once they emerge from the cave, Oraam straps his Ghall'Shaarat to his back, taking in a breath of fresh air. Izar's song brings visible tears to his eyes, and he hangs his head in shame. "If only I was smarter." He thinks to himself before shaking the idea out of his head. Like Kho'nan said, Veil could be brought back. That idea brings some sort of peace to Oraam's hyperactive mind, and he waits quietly.

Kho'nan waits for the priest to do his thing. When he has a moment, he approaches Oraam.

He stands for there a moment, easily a head shorter but somehow staring into the kid's eyes as though they were the same height. The Beast was fully contained for the moment, so right now it was just the Dwarf Berserker and his slowly moving, lifelike tattoos.

Finally, he says, "You fought very well in there, lad." Before Oraam could feel any joy, he adds, "So tell me, was'it o'fluke? Or was that the'best of ye?"

It was an honest question, but very likely felt like an examination. Was there a wrong answer?

Oraam's eyes widen much like they did back when his professors would call on him when he wasn't paying attention. Though, he quickly regained composure, not wanting to look weak in front of Mr. Kho'nan. His eyes wander to the airspace above Kho'nan, deep in thought. Finally, when he thinks he's crafted the unbeatable answer, he responds in an shaky voice

"W-Well we'll have to do some more tests for a more conclusive answer? I wouldn't say that was my strongest, but if I learned anything at Wynarn it was that practice makes progress and progress makes perfect practice and perfect practice makes... well, better. So.... What do you think?"

Oraam's voice steadily rose in pitch until it was almost unrecognizable from what he started his rambling with. After saying his piece, he looks at Kho'nan expectantly and with a small, nervous smile on his face.

Kho'nan didn't blink. He listened very intently. For a second, Oraam may have seen a runic tattoo form a question mark on the side of Kho'nan's head. Maybe that was just his imagination.

"I think y'talk too much. But yer'no completely full'o'shite. I've a feelin' there'll plenty more killin'ta go'round."

He slams a fist unexpectedly against Oraam's chest. It wasn't to strike or hurt the Artificer, but as a sign of recognition. With that he walked away to gather Veil and get to the encampment.

+++++

When he had a second alone, he made sure to visit Izar. He didn't know why he felt the need to comfort the Bard. They had held their own during all the battles up to this point, but something in the Dwarf told him to check in.

Probably that feckin' song about Veil, he thought.

"Princess," he said when he found them. He made sure he was allowed into their tent before proceeding. The Beast very likely would have barged in, but Kho'nan was built different. At least, that's what he constantly told himself.

"How're ye'holdin' up?"

The priest seems uneasy, but nods, not willing to press the religious implications in a time of suffering. "Very well. May he be kept from the greedy clutches of the Keeper, to travel swiftly from his life to Dolurrh. Veil, may you be remembered in death as you were in life, by those that carry your heart in them." He gestures the Celestial Crown, symbol of the Sovereign Host, and gives one final touch to the body. "I needn't tell you of the risks involved in pulling a soul from Dolurrh. Do not linger, lest you pull what remains." He says to Kho'nan quietly. After a pat on the shoulder, the priest turns and walks away.

Iron and Metal wrote:

When he had a second alone, he made sure to visit Izar. He didn't know why he felt the need to comfort the Bard. They had held their own during all the battles up to this point, but something in the Dwarf told him to check in.

Probably that feckin' song about Veil, he thought.

The song wasn’t perfect, but Izar knew where he was taking it.  It was as if, for the first time, it was possible to recognize his own grief without being utterly consumed by it. It was confusing, but ultimately felt good; even if Veil was not a close friend, it was important to mark their passing - they were a part of something together.

Hiya you lot,

After performing, Izar had sat down to write; a practice that up until that very moment had been a grounding experience. Now, every sentence was worthless trash and accompanied by a suffocating feeling of guilt.

Look, you always hated sad music

Epistolary journaling had been the cornerstone of Izar’s life as a bard since the Mourning, before which it had simply been the act of keeping those closest to his heart apprised of the trials and tribulations of life.

I never really had the words


To struggle to do it now was like losing a piece of himself - a vital and vibrant piece of himself - all over again. In a desperate bid to stave off panic, he tries to seek comfort in routine; unpacking and repacking his gear despite shaking hands, and a rapidly increasing sense of breathlessness.

“Princess,” Izar picks out the rumbling tones of Kho’nan’s voice over the pulsing beat in his ears; an audience.


The twice-orphaned changeling from Cyre throws his shoulders back, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and wills himself to embody the appearance that he is manifesting. Zair, regardless of gender, is a carefree layabout, the life of the party - the bardic stereotype who is great at parties, but incredible at wakes oh, and weddings! Especially weddings!.

Izar calls for the dwarf to enter, and gives Kho’nan a warm smile. The bard’s uncharacteristically nonchalant demeanor is at odds with the tent, which is neurotically tidy, save an ink stained sheaf of paper that seems to have been balled up and smoothed out a number of times.

“You shouldn’t be worrying about me. I should be worrying about you! You and Veil came up together, no?  How about we find ourselves a pint or four, and you can tell me all about him!” Izar chuckles warmly, striking the balance between jocular and respectful; they were nothing if not a consummate performer.

Kho'nan was about to respond when he, quite suddenly, felt himself too choked up to speak. He didn't cry. But he felt like he needed to. So rather than giving in, he shoved that down to a place deeper than where the Symbiont dwelled and simply nodded.

Four pints sounded fucking lovely at that moment.

Izar recognises the swell of grief in its brief flickering across Kho'nan's face as well as in his silence, and it takes a conscious, noticeable effort not to get pulled under. Posturing and self-preservation aside, he had meant it when he said that the focus should be on the grieving dwarf.

 "The beer'll help... So'll hitting things. Have you ever tried hitting things? Therapeutically, I mean," He is being glib, but also manages to be charming.

With a gentle, earnest smile and arms held slightly away from his body, as if to invite a hug, Izar scales the very heights of hypocrisy to say "It doesn't have to be now, but you'll have to let yourself feel it eventually."

Kho'nan gets a grip on himself and nods, even giving a small chuckle. "It's'nae like I knew Veil'well. No'like we had deep talks or anythin'. Just a good lad. Good companion. Fought well. To die fallin' from a rock, washed away, after all we'd been through. Gah. Let's drink."

They walked to the nearest watering hole - whatever accounted for a pub in the encampment and got set up. Upon tasting his first sip, Kho'nan sighs.

"Right, well, we'll have to fix that." He finished his beer without another word in two gulps and orders another. If Izar was still interested in helping and watching with the brewing process, Kho'nan would be thrilled to get started.

"We need to speak with Hagen about the 'no Theranthropes in the mine," and potentially renegotiate our contract. Don't mind clearin' them out, bu'that was jus'bad intel. Also need t'start shorin' up th'defenses here. Maybe I could help 'em lay some strong, stone foundations."

He eagerly awaited the stereotypical Dwarf-Beer-Stone joke and gave Izar a moment to catch up and speak plainly.

"Yes, let's!" Izar exclaims in response to the proposal that they go drink. He was ready to set about ignoring everything about the past few hours, weeks, life even.


"To good lads," he begins, taking a healthy swig of beer. "Who've done nothing to deserve this. He gesticulates with glass, laughing. "Keep suffering through it, I'll be right back."  He leaves the table, returning with a pitcher over which a cantrip has been cast three times in quick succession. The beer poured from it is cold, and pretty tasty. Kho'nan may have had better, but it is definitely an improvement from the first beer. "Until you can come up with something better," The statement is punctuated with a wink and another healthy swig.

When Kho'nan mentions Hagen, Izar feigns neutrality and nods along. He's not in the mood to vent all of his frustration with Khyber forsaken death trap of a mission which is only going to get worse with time.

Not one to let down an audience, the bard quips "They better be stout fortifications! If they use timber, you might have to get more lagers for the job... Ha!"

At this point, terrible jokes, talk about brewing, and lots of beer seems like a good to end a miserable night.

"Now that's a hell'uv a trick." Kho'nan smiles and, rather than slamming the beer as he had done the first, takes his time with it. It was clear that he was actually enjoying it.

Kho'nan was silent for two seconds after the puns, but then erupted in laughter as though it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. He legitimately wipes a tear from one eye and then slaps Izar on the back.

As the moment naturally trailed off, he had to ask, "So, the'fuck are we gon'do about Veil? Priest seemed t'think our idea was shite. Cryptic, he was. Dinnae like it."

Once Kho'nan turned to leave, Oraam let himself breathe once more and a sigh of relief exited his body. I think he likes me! he thinks to himself as he briefly visits the mail room again, seeing if theres anything new for him to send.

Once he does those duties he'll head to the bar as well, and, surprised to see Kho'nan and Izar - he will duck back out of the bar, slick his hair back and make sure he looks all nice and tidy before heading back in and towards them. "Crazy seeing you two here!"