Quest SRQ: Landing on the Isle of Sahova (Syliras/Zeltiva;Paragon)

[Trente]

Trente's eyes remained fixed upon the Nuit's dead speculators, before the threat broke out from concealment. Yes, dignity he had, though not a forceful kind. He would wait to see what decision Farke made, no presumption in mind. Event of this scale were well beyond his comprehension, and he did not try to make them otherwise.

The loud report, however, caused response quite overtly in the man. He was flesh, and blood. He had no armor, no army. His dignity knew enough to allow his feet to quickly moves, with an almost graceful but hasty movement he shifted closer to Hadrian's side, his eyes searching for the origin of the sound, which he imagined could only be magic.

Once safe by Hadrian's side Trente's wits caught up with his eyes. They fixed on Farke. If magic was set upon them Hadrian and the diplomat would need be responsible. Trente put his hand on the hilt of his sword, and glared at Farke. Farke would of course not ogress, but Trente would defend Hadrian while he perceived the true threat if duty demanded such, and skill allowed.

The Syliran Knights would view Trente as free of loyalty, but this was far from true. He was Syliran born just like them, and had a strong sense of duty, and an even keener sense of his word's value. He would protect Hadrian if circumstance demanded such.

None of this even appeared as a question in Trente's mind. What stuck him as odd is when he thought, just for a moment, before hastily dashing the thought from his mind, of his son, still back some distance behind him on the dock. A loud yelp came from the boy as the blast reported. Trente did not look.

[Hadrian]

Eridanus' words nearly made Hadrian sigh. Hadrian had not been present for whatever negotiations the Knights had made with the municipality of Zeltiva, but had been asked by the Regents to go to Sahova with them. What he knew of their agenda was what he had deduced from things overheard. Nobody had spoken to him about strategy, else he would have schooled them on how better to negotiate with the Nuit.

Whereas the Ethaefal had already offended Master Farke, Hadrian had renewed their acquaintance, spoken diplomatically about the object in question, and not received a negative answer to an ill-advised ultimatum. He wondered how Lord Dyers would feel about his representative going in with demands, all but ensuring a measure of violence. He would have to ask him when next he saw him; yes, Hadrian was a representative for the Grandmaster too, even if it wasn't common knowledge. But Hadrian preferred it that way in any case.

But let Eridanus think what he would of Hadrian, and slander him before the rest of them. It might serve to remind Master Farke of Hadrian's previous collaboration. He only smiled at the Nuit's rhetoric, and then startled at the noise from farther up and farther in.

Trente stepped closer, and he wondered whether it was for protection or to protect him. He wondered whether it would have been better to bring Matilis with them, not knowing what dangers might befall the ship. His fingers flexed, but he didn't yet call up energy for shields or the like. One never knew how a Nuit of the Citadel might react.

"Was the the others?" he asked tightly.

[Wrenmae]

Ravens, silent sentinals of the dead island perched from various edges, watching the Sylirans as they milled near the Courtyard. The birds were large, glossy black feathers noting their health. The dead were not shy with their refuse and the carrion had long sustained the black winged creatures that prowled Sahova's coast. The recent battle with the beast of the depths had left several dead in its wake. Their bloated corpses, or at least the ones that made the shore, furthered the well fed appearance of the birds.

Several perched above Master Farke now, clinging to the architecture as if languidly judging the intruders. Still more soared overhead.

One among them, however, kept a sharp eye on the nuit and the new arrivals.

Wrenmae, in the shape of a raven peered curiously down at them from among his like-feathered brethren. Among them he was but one in many, choosing to take this form to sometimes scout the area around Sahova. As the Sylirans grew closer, it was more and more necessary to know the hour of their arrival. Rayage supported him, certainly, but cautioned against causing too much trouble. As a pulser, his limitations were in the fact he had no reputation to lay at stake. Caught a villain, he'd likely be ruined.

So he erred on the side of discretion, bending auristics into his hearing and eyes to focus on conversation. His head pounded the more he shifted gaze and learned of what they said. Enough so that he focused only on Master Farke, Hadrian, and Eridanus...having no ability to otherwise focus his somewhat novice auristic talents.

For now he was content to wait, but the bang alarmed him and several of his companions. They took wing as one and he followed, cursing the sudden distance that put him out of earshot of the words that directly followed. He circled with his brethren for a few moments before alighting again on the roof, followed by the ever watchful ravens of Sahova...silent until needing to speak.

Idly, Wrenmae wondered if any of the other birds were also morphers, watching the performance.

For now, however, his purpose was only to observe....after all, to reshape naked before them now would be rude.

He'd be terribly under-dressed.

[Jason Alexander]

Upon arrival of flagship at the island of Sahova the first thing Jason notice upon moving towards the front of the ship was the lack of movement or sounds coming from the island. He personally had never been to the island but he had heard stories of the dock and harbor. How it would be fully of different types of Golems loading and unloading the different ships that would come to the island. But the Knights and company were seeing a deserted harbor, abandoned of any kind of activity living or not.

As the members of the negotiation team, including members of influence like Hadrian, Trente, and Eridanus, stepped off the ship along with their guards. Jason moved towards the front of the bow where he could at least attempt to help if something went wrong. Watching the procession move towards the harbor, everyone watching as the group moved towards the warehouse collectively held their breath as they watched the doors open and one of the nuits of Sahova walk out.

Time pasted as the members of the campaign spoke to the nuit, who Jason guessed was their representative, about passage into the island. Unknown to any of those who watch from the ship what the exact words that were being spoken nor were they aware of what the most likely outcome would be.

[Eridanus]

While the Zeltivans postured about with their holier-than-thou attitudes and made themselves feel better with their own superior thinking, Eridanus was actually there trying to do something. Granted, he was not the best of diplomats, but he did not sign up for a people's person role. He was supposed to serve in an advisory and support role, so the most he could do was to guess at the Knight's intentions. He was hired to do things, and he did things. What else was he expected to do?

Indeed, it was difficult to blame him for the antagonistic position Farke took considering that the ethaefal had been all but courteous and officious. It was likely the others who put them in such a disadvantageous position. No doubt the brilliant professor and his methods of 'I can do it better than all of you' would have been more useful should he refrained from keeping everything all cloaks-and-daggers. There was no benefit in hiding secrets from one's allies, unless one did not view them as allies. That was something open to consideration.

Eridanus sighed at the stand-offish attitude Farke was portraying. Despite the tension in the air, he was not at all concerned for his personal safety, only that of the mission succeeding or not.

"It is hard to ascertain who is correct: us or the other group," Eridanus told the nuit languidly. "I have to remind you, however, that we come bearing no hostile intentions despite your paranoia. We do not claim jurisdiction over Sahova. I will repeat it again in case you somehow did not hear me: We are here to negotiate a trade for the artifact. It is evident that you have chosen to believe and ally yourselves with those who come earlier. They have chosen to repay your wisdom with that. On the other hand, we come with olive branches and words of peace and fair trade. Look, let's not waste time dawdling here with your dramatic flair and whatnot. It always occurred to me that Sahova has always been rational. Why, then, are you taking up this irrational position?"

His words were inflected with a hint of sarcasm and subtle frustration. The scholar was beginning to lose his cool and patience, dropping some of the stiff and formal decorum in exchange for faster, conversational wit. If he could not peacefully open negotiations, it was likely that the Knights would have to resort to the last resort of laying siege on the citadel. It was either Farke choosing to see reason or choosing to attack them instead.

Either option did not matter to him as long as it was expedited. For if the other were here, time would be very valuable in securing the artifact. And as far as he knew, allowing the other to procure it first would be the disastrous least-wanted result the Knights wanted. Letting it stay in Sahova or destroying it beforehand were all better choices than giving it up to the Rhysol's minions.

[Paragon]

"Oh, I am not paranoid," Farke said, shaking his head with folded arms, "time has a habit of erasing paranoia from the psyche. He stood for a moment, half listening to the man's pleas, but also concerned as to what had caused the explosion near him. They were a little way from the citadel walls, but there were numerous hidden cavern entrances and tunnels from the dock area, all leading into the labyrinthine underground of Sahova. And in those caverns, golems were dormant and waiting to defend the island if necessary. Weapons had been mobilised ever since the Ravokians arrival. It had been a long time since people on such volume had come to their shores. He wondered if a golem had exploded, or malfunctioned. But that strong Nuit sense told him it was impossible. Golems could not malfunction. They just couldn't. Turning back to the matter at hand, he realised it was time to end the little charade. There were two lots of players here, the Sylirans that professed to be here for the "greater good", and the Ravokians, driven by their dark God. But all the same, they were opposing teams. They were enemies. If they came face to face... it would not be long before they killed each other, driven by their own stupidity. The Ravokians had been conditioned already. They knew the Sylirans might come to stop them. The Nuit had made sure of that... "Come then. We will see what you have to offer in the Citadel, though I doubt it will be a worthy trade..." Farke turned on his heels, the golem changing direction too, and began to walk up the beach. Its gait was mechanical and contrived, a juxtaposition to Farke's measured, carried steps. The citadel walls loomed on the horizon. A smile played on his lips once he had turned away from them. They would follow, he knew, and very soon the flagstones of the undead isle would be awash with their blood. ✧ In one of the small caverns, not far from the shore where the men from Syliras and Zeltiva had arrived, a golem had stirred. Strange energies filled the isle. The Windoak's sentience had cast its own ripples, the Sylir fragments reawakening with unholy force. And now even the Nuit were powerless to stop their own creations. The Peacekeeper rose, some part of it exploding violently, smoke filling the darkness. But it was not broken. Crimson eyes peered out to the grey light. Limbs moved, arms moving outwards, weapons engaged. Only one command seemed to drive it forward. Kill. Kill. Kill.

[Hadrian]

This was going to be messy; he could already tell. Eridanus was getting frustrated, which was entirely understandable given the strange ways of the Nuit, especially those in power such as Farke. He wished there had been some discussion as to how this negotiation was to proceed, but perhaps there had been and Hadrian had merely not been invited.

He would not have minded coming here on his own power, but being relegated to tag-along was not pleasing. He ought to have gone ahead with Rayage and Wrenmae. Alas.

But he didn't envy Eridanus the task of representing the Sylirans, and he was surprised they hadn't put a knight in charge. Perhaps they had and that knight was now in the belly of that sea-beast. Perhaps he ought to have flown ahead on his own to beat the Ravokian delegation and at least figure out what the situation was before the ship landed and they received the typical Nuit welcome.

With Matilis as safe as he could make the boy with wards and illusions and the steel of the knights, Hadrian began to follow Farke. There was little other choice.

They hadn't been walking long when Hadrian caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He might not have been the first to see it, but he was the first to say something. "Master Farke..."

The body language of the red-eyed golem was quite the opposite of friendly.

[Trente]

Trente felt as unsettled by the proceeding of the negotiation as everyone else, but he tried to clear his mind of distractions. He was not there to think, or really speak unless out of support of Hadrian's goals. Even these simple objectives were challenging for Trente to keep in mind. Worrying about explosions and what traps may await them inside the citadel were not his concern.

However, the abomination Hadrian motioned toward was certainly difficult to disregard. Trente smelled it first, an unsettling sulfur smell of thick black smoke caught in shore breeze. He he squinted into the obscuring darkness of rising smoke he felt Hadrian's presence with him, not as gentle as usual. Was Hadrian getting nervous?

An inexplicable pressure stretched along is skin, weaving between the hair which stood firmly on end along his entire body. The sensation was electric, and invasive, yet smooth like glass. Most of all it made Trente feel warm as his own heat began to trap inward to his form, repulsing that which was foreign, his footsteps felt odd as if he were to step too hard the force would just dissipate into his new second skin. As peculiar as it made him feel, the sensation made Trente feel safe. Strong.

Finally the unnatural glow of magic red pierced through the smog and Trente's stomach clenched. Whatever it was it was no friend, and from the look on Farke's stoically trained face Trente assumed this was less than hospitable to them all. Trente naturally assumed the Ravokians were to blame.

Trente stepped even closer to Hadrian's side and spoke low enough so only the most keen around them could hear.

"Professor, I do not believe this is Farke's doing." In truth Trente just thought Farke would make a good hostage if he were. "Perhaps we should work our way a bit more hastily to the citadel gate? Before-" His voice trailed off as he observed the situation grow more dire.

[Ray]

Rayes considered himself a very laid-back kind of man. He didn’t really feel a need for reputation or the facades of alliances and associations, and because of this he observed the tense almost-conversation between Hadrian and Eridanus with a mixture of confusion, incredulity and amusement. Thankfully, he managed to restrain the chuckles that were attempting to make themselves known. His amusement disappeared at the sudden noise, most likely of an explosion, but the false smiles and negotiations continued in spite of it and he forced himself to relax. Still, it remained in his mind. He paid little attention to what was said, but when the overseer turned to march back to the citadel Rayed hopped off his barrel and followed the rest of the group. This was the game of intellectuals, and so he said nothing as he fell into step behind Eridanus. He wasn’t particularly drawn to the diplomat, but neither was be particularly repelled. And Eridanus was powerful, so sticking with him seemed to be a good idea. Then, of course, something had to go wrong. The hairs on the back of Rayes’ neck stood up. His eyes shifted from side to side until he caught sight of Trente speaking softly to Hadrian and looking at something. The brawler followed their gazes, and he too became aware of the ominous-looking red eye looming in the smoke. “Oh, that doesn’t look good…” he said, stopping in his tracks.

[Paragon]

OOCAny further actions or dialogue from Eridanus are being modded with his permission. Farke followed their eyesight slowly, half wondering if it were a trick. But it was no trick. He saw the red eyes through the smoke, emerging from the concealed darkness of a tunnel. It was a golem, he realised, but for now it moved slowly. He would not let these people know this was not part of the plan. One thing he hated was disorganisation. "It is interesting to note, that even when I allow you to follow me to the Citadel, you try to change the game again. It is a golem. Nothing more, nothing less. You will get used to them if you spend any time on our Isle." His words were brisk and sharp, and he wondered if they would notice his quickened steps. He ventured a look back to the smoke. A footman began to emerge, though its steps were lethargic. He couldn't help but wonder what was going on. They walked for a long while, with Farke looking back every so often. The golem had gone out of view, but the men still followed. The citadel loomed, but he suddenly came to a very abrupt stop. His personal golem that walked alongside him came to a halt too. It was the humanoid figure, those same crimson eyes, hulking toward them. Another footman. And from the back of its neck somewhere a thin trail of acrid, dark smoke. He turned back uneasily, trying to see if the first one they had seen was approaching. The one in front moved quicker, and was inexorably headed straight towards them. This was not normal. This was far from normal. It felt most unnatural to him, admitting to his fears in front of these men. "It seems we have a little problem." He looked to his personal golem too and recoiled in horror. The blades slid from under his nails a little, preparing a defence. Those scarlet eyes again. They watched so coldly. He stepped back, trying not to stumble, as three golems began to close in on them.