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Pushing open the doors to the Sword and Shield tavern, your eyes scan the crowd for any sign of the paladin. You didn't see her by the church or visiting the Circle, nor any of her other usual haunts. So she's either patrolling some part of the city or she's . . . there!

Sitting alone, far from your group's usual spot, sipping a tankard of pure water, Dolah sits dressed in that plain, light blue dress of hers you've seen her wear once before. She makes eye contact with you briefly and graces you with an awkward smile of recognition before returning her gaze to the bottom of her glass.

You make your way over to her booth and sit across from her. It seems your move takes her by surprise a little as her eyes widen in momentary panic before she sits up straighter and gives you a questioning look.

“Is this a bad . . .” you trail off as she shakes her head vigorously.

“No. It's fine. Go ahead Alan. What is it?” she asks, all business.

You clutch the necklace at your throat and lift it up by the chain, letting Dolah get a good look at the object so she can understand immediately the subject of your concern. “I've been attempting to channel my faith since losing my marble, but everything I try seems to sputter and fail.”

“Hmm,” she grunts. “Perhaps it is simply an issue of the object not being a proper holy symbol for you.”

You grimace. “This is all I have to remember Calloway by. I can't think of anything more precious or pertinent to my faith than that. What if the issue is that I simply have displeased The Great Will and am now severed from the source of my powers?”

Dolah chuckles. “I highly doubt that's the case, Alan.”

“I encouraged bringing a foreign God into the most sacred of His sanctuaries here and let Her slay an angel and a priest. That seems rather . . . I don't know, sacrilegious, Dolah.”

Dolah lays a reassuring hand atop your own. “I condoned it as well. And yet I still possess the gifts He granted me. If anyone is to blame for allowing what happened to happen – it would be me. I wish we could have found an alternative, but that did not seem to be the case. Hadraniel refused to listen and nearly killed you. Standing for the tenets of our order means standing for them even when a superior seeks to violate them. The Great Will has not abandoned you.”

You sigh. “And yet I'm still stuck here – powerless – until I find a viable holy symbol to channel my powers through.”

Your companion shrugs. “Maybe it's a sign from the Great Will to move forward instead of retread old ground.”

“Move forward?” you reiterate, confused.

“I don't require the use of a holy symbol,” Dolah reminds you. “So far I seem to be the only one to manifest the particular abilities I possess. But I've given thought to training another capable of following the paladin's path. And, well, Alan, you would – by your very nature – be the easiest to train.”

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“Huh,” you mutter, giving the prospective offer some thought.

“Of course,” Dolah adds a stipulation. “I would expect renewed investment and dedication to the teachings if I were to instruct you. So I would advise reflection on whether your concerns of a floundering connection to your faith are genuine or merely hot air.”

“I'll consider it,” you answer non-committally. You lightly slap the tabletop as you prepare to leave. “Thanks for the chat. I'll leave you to your –”

“Wait!” Dolah calls out as you go to stand up. You halt and look at her, concerned. She licks her lips and nervously taps her glass. “Since you're here anyway . . . there's something I want to ask you.”

“Yeah?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

She opens her mouth to speak but before uttering a question of any short she shuts her mouth. She opens it again and closes it once more, still without speaking. She repeats this process once more before blurting something out.

“Gabby is taller than you!” she declares.

You take a second to process that. “That wasn't a question, Dolah. But, yeah. Gabby is slightly taller than me. Almost imperceptibly.”

“Yes, but . . . do you find the fact that she's taller than you . . . concerning?” Dolah tilts her head as she awaits your answer.

“ . . .No?” you respond, perplexed. “I don't get –”

“Alright,” Dolah continues to prod. “But would you say that part of the reason you find Rowe more sexually appealing is because she has a more reasonable height in relation to your own?”

Dolah seems to be very keen on hearing your answer.

>That has nothing to do with it at all
>A little bit I guess
>Dolah you're fine
>Something else? (write-in)

>>988072
>"You know how when people ask you what's your favorite food or colour but you like so many you just can't choose and if you do its an arbitrary, spur of the moment thing that might as well not be an answer? Most people, me included, are like that with height, unless its truly ridiculous. Dolah you're fine."

>>988072
>>988113
this is the most reasonable answer by far

>>988072
>That has nothing to do with it at all

>>988113
>>988215
I could go with either of these.

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“Wow,” you respond initially. “That . . . uh . . . you know how when people ask you what your favorite food is and you like so many different types of food so you arbitrarily choose one in the spur of the moment and the answer's rather meaningless?”

Dolah furrows her brow at your analogy. “I . . . think I understand.”

“Yeah, well it's like that with height for most people. Certainly for me. Unless, y'know, it's truly ridiculous.”

“What would you consider truly ridiculous?” Dolah asks, concerned.

“Dolah, you're fine,” you answer succinctly. “As long as you aren't sitting here waiting for Bartom . . . or Eve, I think you're –”

“What's up?” Eve interrupts with a squeak.

You startle only slightly as the brightly-complexioned gnome manages to sneak up on your private conversation.

You look her up and down for a moment, instantly recognizing some new reptilian change about her. It takes you a second to realize that the dull red scales on her arms have spread to the back of her hands and the slightly brighter, more vibrant colored scales creeping up her neck have completely covered her ears. She smiles at you, the rows of sharp, white teeth more numerous than ever before.

Your eyes widen as you cast a wary glance to Dolah. She meets it with a bemused look of her own.

Eve suddenly snickers. “Nice dress, Dolah.”

The half-orc sighs out, putting her glass of water down on the table after taking a deep sip. “Thank you, Eve.”

You clear your throat. “What are you doing here, Eve?” Your question does come with a slight amount of trepidation at what the answer is going to be.

“Quissonce sent me to find you,” she replies. “She's scrying Kyra at the moment and she says she can see ships coming in on the horizon.”

Oh! Looks like it's go time then. “Where is Quissonce right now?”

“My room in the Circle.”

You give Dolah a nod goodbye as you get up from the table and take your leave. Eve accompanies you to the exit and you cast one last look over your shoulder as Dolah sits alone once more, draining her glass of its contents.

. . .

Leaning against a table on the sixth floor, Ed offers you a cup of coffee as Quissonce renews her connection to where Kyra is scouting.

The image upon the crystal ball displays your curly-haired thief propped up in the upper branches of a tree, peering out into the horizon where the sky touches the sea. You yourself can make out twenty or so tiny brown blips that must be the oncoming fleet of Roscoli trade ships bearing supplies for your enemies.

“Alright Kyra,” Quissonce speaks into the spherical focus for her spell. “We're back. Alan's here.”

Kyra takes a flask off her hip and unscrews the lid, taking a swig of whatever is within before speaking. “Teleport on me whenever,” she simply says.

Quissonce turns round to look at Ed. “Do you have the quill?”

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Your half-orc friend digs into the breast pocket of his coat and produces a finely-wrought quill with a lustrous blue feather. “I have the quill. Speak the password and it should copy whatever you need onto blank vellum quite quickly.” He hands it over for you to hold for the time being.

Quissonce licks her lips. “Well, Alan. We can do this one of two ways. I think we should teleport on Kyra now and then I can wait for you two to sneak in and out. It will take longer, but I will also be out of the way. Or, as Kyra would like, we let her do most of the work by herself and pop in on the boat when she's already at their navigational charts. It's a lot quicker, but I'm not exactly sneaky. You're the tie-breaker. How should we do this?”

>Teleport now
>Wait until Kyra is in position
>Something else? (write-in)

>>989159
>>Teleport now

>>989159
>Wait until Kyra is in position

>>989159
>>Wait until Kyra is in position

>>989159
>Wait until Kyra is in position

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Rolled 52 (1d100)

“Let's wait until Kyra is in position,” you decide.

Quissonce sighs out. “Fine,” she nods. “But I really don't like boats.” She shudders as you recall way back when the elf had been retching into a bucket the very first day of your journey here. “Do you have an idea when I should scry you again, Kyra?”

“Hour after sunset,” comes the curt reply.

“You sure?” Quissonce probes. “I can only manage doing this once more today.”

Kyra gives a curt nod, still staring out at the approaching ships.

“Alright. See you soon.”

“No you won't,” Kyra counters as the crystal ball returns to its clear, polished and smooth surface, the faint background noise of wind gently rocking unseen leaves disappearing in an instant.

. . .

Ed goes to the window, pulling back the thick, carmine curtains to stare off into the inky blackness that is only kept at bay by the moon and star light above as well as the man-made lamplight below your lofty position

“Well, it's about time,” Ed says near-absentmindedly as he cranes his neck to peer at some point of interest he finds off in the distance. “You think she'll be in place?”

Quissonce retakes her seat at the small central table in the middle of her room where her scrying setup is located. “I hope so,” she mutters. “If not, you'll have to make do and trek from wherever Kyra makes it to to whichever cabin you suspect holds the maps.”

You have a few ideas. You've seen the layout of Roscoli ships before. Unless there has been unusual alterations to the procedure, which there very well could have been, you've got a strong hunch on where the navigator would keep his office.

Quissonce places one open hand on the orb while the other holds a lock of black, curly hair and a grody, well-used toothpick. Her draconic chanting blends into the constant thrum that is always present in the background within these magical headquarters .

An hour passes before the spell succeeds and the creaking noise of an old, wooden ship gently swaying at port fills Eve's chambers.

True to her word, despite scrying the rogue you see neither hide nor hair of her. What you do see is a cluttered ship cabin devoid of any sailors. Laid out on the table is a map you can't quite make the details out on from this distance.

“Kyra? You there?” Quissonce asks, gazing up and down the crystal ball.

“Waiting,” is the simple one word response you receive. A disembodied voice sounding exactly like your ally in the field.

Your resident wizard sighs as she stands up. “I have a sophisticated enough view of where we're traveling to.”

The silver-haired immortal moves to your side and holds out her hand. You take a deep breath before grasping it firmly, bouncing your knees to prepare yourself for the physical sensation of being flung a few dozen miles south of here.

She speaks a few simple words in Draconic and you feel the hairs on your arm stand on end as a tingly sensation runs down your spine.

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Appearing immediately within the room you had previously seen condensed into the small confines of Quissonce's glorified bauble, you quickly spin round, prepared for an ambush despite the raging headache that accompanies such an intense physical upset upon your biology.

Turning around however, you simply see Kyra leaning against the inner wall of the cabin, beside the door that serves as the only entrance or exit besides leaping out the window into the drink. She wears a casual smirk on her features at your arrival.

Quissonce stumbles, much more heavily affected than yourself, and finds herself falling into the cabin's sole chair] for support as she recovers from the side effects of her own spell.

“Is everything alright?” you whisper.

Kyra shrugs. “Navigator is ashore, drinking with Imps. Picked the locks on his trunks. Charts are ready on the table.”

Your elf friend leans forward, flipping through the various pieces of inked cloth. “There are ten different maps here altogether,” she hoarsely utters before needing to cover her mouth with the back of her hand as unsettled air in her stomach seeks to release itself from her throat in the form of a hiccup or burp. “So that will be roughly ten minutes to copy all of them. Give me the quill.” She reaches a hand out behind her after the discomfort passes and you slip the quill out of your pocket and into her clutches. “Didn't realize they would be this large. Did you see any blank pages around here?”

“Under the desk. Blue trunk. Near the bottom,” Kyra relays matter-of-factly.

Quissonce leans down and opens the creaky wooden chest carefully and slowly, more than a little paranoid about causing too much noise.

You listen intently to your surroundings. And while the sound of distant footsteps and laughter is certainly audible to your heightened senses, you can't pick up the sound of anyone right next to the door who would be alarmed at the sound of such a minuscule amount of commotion coming from this cabin.

Quissonce rummages through the trunk before pulling out a ball of crumpled papers, holding them up in a triumphant arm pump. “Got em,” she informs you, laying the cloth out on the table after pushing aside various knick knacks cluttering up the work space.

She smooths out your soon to be copies before raising up the enchanted quill and uttering a quick incantation. The minor magical object glows a bright orange and zips out of her hand, down to the top blank page, quickly scribbling out a perfect replica of the fully detailed map beside it.

“Alright,” Quissonce murmurs, leaning back and relaxing a bit. “I've got a handle on this.”

>Wait patiently until the job is complete
>Search the cabin while you wait
>Peer out the window to see what the port is like
>Something else? (write-in)

>>990155
>>Search the cabin while you wait
try not to disturb anything, or if you do, try to put it back where you found it afterwards.

>Peer out the window to see what the port is like

>>990155
>Search the cabin while you wait

>Search the cabin while you wait

Roll me 2d100, best of 3.

First is a perception check. +20 due to Muffin.

Second is a reflex check. +40

Rolled 86, 48 = 134 (2d100)

>>990243
ROLLINK

Rolled 53, 40 = 93 (2d100)

>>990243

Rolled 13, 49 = 62 (2d100)

>>990243

Rolled 4 (1d5)

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You decide to pass the time looking through the small enclosed space rather than stay still and let the fear of being caught sink into your bones.

Letting Muffin out of his familiar satchel so he can poke his head out and sniff around, you yourself start sifting through the various clutter looking for something particularly valuable, interesting or eye-catching while you let the wizard do her work.

As you shake jugs of alcohol, skim through a variety of books and examine curios galore in a mad dash to stave off boredom, Kyra graces you with her seemingly undivided attention.

“Thought the point was to have no one know we were here?” she ponders.

“I'm not going to take anything,” you assure her as you put the spyglass back where you found it. “I'm just checking out how good Roscoli naval officers on the Kardassian payroll have it.”

“Gave the place a quick once over,” the thief explains. “Not much valuable. Not to us.”

“Hmmm,” you sound out, looking around the cramped quarters. A gut feeling encourages you to doubt the truth to that claim. You walk around, stamping on the ground with your boot as you do. Sure enough, you suddenly hear a dissimilar sound as your feet make contact with one section of floorboard in particular. You lock eyes with Kyra and communicate silently mutual affirmation of a potential discovery.

She strides over and the two of you squat down together. She feels around for where to remove the plywood to reveal the hideyhole. Her eyebrows raise as her fingers find purchase and she lifts up a piece of flooring, gingerly placing it off to the side.

You have to suppress the urge to whistle as you lift the beauty out into the lantern light. The Roscoli sure do know how to make them. The stock is polished to a nice sheen and the navigator's initials seem to be engraved upon the weapon. You examine its firing mechanism as Kyra pulls out a box of cartridges.

“Pellets,” she informs you.

“Good for close quarters,” you admit as you stare down the sights. Definitely don't want to take this thing with you if you want your intrusion to go unnoticed.

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“SHIT!” Quissonce suddenly shouts, much too loud for your comfort or safety.

You and Kyra both glance over to her as the wizard jumps up from her seat. The darkened sky, half-hidden behind the fogged up, opaque window panes, suddenly lights up in a flash as the cabin's view is engulfed by a bright fireball heading straight for you.

“Alan duck!” Muffin chitters at you just in time to snap you out of your panicked confusion. You drop the gun, leap up, grab Quissonce by the sleeve of her aquamarine robe and drag her off of her feet, bringing her along with you as you hit the deck.

BOOM! CRASH!

The windows shatter inwards, peppering you with bits of broken glass as the surging heat from the supernatural flame source licks at the back of your neck. The whole ship lurches from the impact and various items not properly secured in their place slide off desks and shelves. A jug of cheap whiskey falls off a barrel and lands painfully on the arm you're using to cover the back of your neck. That's going to hurt for awhile and will probably develop into a nasty bruise.

The three of you stay lying down on the floor for a long moment as you steel yourselves for another assault. But precious seconds pass and instead of a follow up volley all you hear streaming in through the broken windows with the cool night air are the screams and shouts of soldiers and sailors under attack. Looking up, you spy a rather large hole blown open in the side of the ship, a nasty gash that would take a proper shipwright months to repair. Burning wooden chunks of broken boat litter most of the room and you watch dejectedly as the flaming debris is cast across the top of the desk, the various cloth maps already smoking.

>Salvage what you can
>Search for whoever is attacking
>Get out of this room
>Something else? (write-in)

>>990565
>Salvage what you can
>Something else: prepare to teleport out.

>>990565
>>Salvage what you can
>>Search for whoever is attacking
teleport out

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Leaping up in the blink of an eye you rush towards the desk, swatting away the burning kindling currently ruining your hard work. You jab your hand out and grab the magic quill, thrusting it back into your pocket as you successfully dab out all the segments of cloths trailing smoke. Rolling the seven or so successfully completed charts up, you slide them all effortlessly into a cylindrical container slung over your shoulder specifically for this mission.

As you finish securing the target to your person, a few further explosions erupt in the distance, easily visible with the open view this tear in the ship has granted you. A spectacle of colors – like fireworks accidentally exploding before taking flight – dot themselves in a straight line across the shore. A cacophony of pained screams accompany the vibrant display.

You narrow your eyes, flitting your line of sight this way and that in a hasty search for some easily identifiable cause of the mayhem, panic and slaughter. Not a second passes before your gawking is interrupted by a sudden explosion of lightning above. But instead of arcing straight down from the clouds, the bolt of nature's fury seemingly appears out of nowhere, diagonally scoring its way through a few ships in this moored fleet. Eyes peeled and redirected to scan the sky above, your keen elven eyes spy the darkened silhouette of a man-sized figure floating in place high above the waters.

A magic-user. Probably the one responsible for the fireball that nearly fried you and your friends a few moments earlier.

>Keep your eyes glued to the figure and watch
>Call out to the figure
>Shoot the figure
>Something else? (write-in)

>>993879
>>Keep your eyes glued to the figure and watch
Are we visible to them?

>>993887
you may be.

You can go invisible if you'd wish.

>Go invisible (Y/N)

>>993912
Y

>>993879
>Keep your eyes glued to the figure and watch
>>993912
Y

We're not only visible to the magic-user, but also to any Imperials and Roscoli that look towards this ship.

>>993879
>>Keep your eyes glued to the figure and watch
>>993912
y

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Practically whispering the incantation as you quickly make the proper gestures, you feel the tingling sensation of your invisible shroud dribble down from the top of your head to the tips of your toes in a few short seconds. Crouching low even so, you feel secure – content to wait and watch this mysterious source of mystical devastation.

You fix your eyes to figure, focusing intently in case it is capable of flying at incredibly fast speeds. You are slightly alarmed at how it seems to just float there, unmoving for what feels like a long time due to the adrenaline pumping through your veins. In reality, it has most likely only been a scant few seconds. But there is just something uncanny about its stationary position – like the creature, if it truly is one, is simply judging the chaotic landscape below it impassively.

“Alan where –”

“Shhhh,” you interrupt Quissonce's question, hushing her so you can maintain your focus while still assuring her you're there. She seems content, from what little you can see out of your peripheries, to lie still on the floor to avoid being spotted. You can't even detect Kyra but you figure she has her shit together to not need your supervision.

“Intruders!” an unfamiliar voice faintly barks somewhere in the distance. “Release the pidgeons! Get word to the Baron – GAH!” The final utterance sounds much more like an involuntary physical reaction than a gasp of surprise. Vocal chords already in motion quickly silenced or separated from the necessary brain waves to shape the sounds into something resembling communication. More garishly colored explosions light up the nearby beach.

Suddenly the figure in the sky shifts position, the slight shimmer of movement barely visible enough for you to track. It soars gracefully through the sky at a constant rate before coming to an immediate halt.

KRA KOOM

Another flash of lightning erupts from the being, aimed close enough in your direction to alarm you as you can practically feel the bolt bore its way through the ship you're dwelling inside.

Despite that too close for comfort moment, the spell itself proves to provide much clearer context to the situation you're currently smack dab in the middle of.

Light, originating right near the source of the caster, brightens the sky for the briefest of moments – allowing you to glimpse the true visage of this extreme complication of your mission.

And although it is but a glimpse – lasting no more than half a second – the features and details of his face persist long enough, especially in your mind's eye, to be sure of who it is above you reigning down death and destruction via the evocation school of magic.

A familiar face to be sure.

Azdor.

You sigh out, your mind already racing to find the suitable explanations for the other phenomena you've been witnessing. You have a few guesses as to the cause. Six guesses, in fact.

. . .

Shit.

The ship's sinking.

>Get up to the top deck
>Dive out into the water from here
>Get Quissonce to cast fly on you both
>Something else? (write-in)

>>994788
>>Get up to the top deck

>>994789
>Something else?
Teleport out?

>>994789
>>Something else? (write-in)
can we also grab that gun from earlier?

>>994830
teleport out after we get it.

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You turn round and retreat towards the back of the room to where Quissonce has raised up into a crouching position of her own.

You gently tap her on the knee so she knows you're there. You look around for Kyra, but don't seem to spot her.

“Kyra!” you call, loud enough for her to hear if she's somehow gone incognito herself through some magical means or merely through extremyl proficient stealth. You wait a few seconds as no response comes. “Kyra!” you call once more, uttering her name sharply with serious urgency.

Still more silence. You inwardly groan as you look for her futilely, unwilling to raise your voice any louder for fear of attracting unwanted attention. In your search you note where the shotgun still lays, the box of pellets Kyra was rifling through having fallen into the smuggler's hole in the cabin floor.

“Quissonce, what happened to Kyra?” you are eventually reduced to inquiring, your only avenue of investigation remaining.

She shrugs, eyes frantic. “I have no idea!” she declares in a muted, but forceful whisper. “I saw the fireball, fell to the floor and I haven't seen her since I popped my head up. What's going on? Who's attacking The Imperials?!” she urges, much more in the dark right now than you are.

You gulp, keenly aware you're on a shrinking time limit as long as you're on this boat. “Azdor is the one firing off spells around our position.”

“Azdor?!” she repeats, cocking her head in incredulity. “Why's he here?”

You give her a similar shrug. “I don't know but I'm relatively confident the rest of Irontide's crew is here as well. I think they're raiding the port.”

She frowns. “Do they know we're here?”

You shake your head, indicating your ignorance. “If they don't then this is one major coincidental fuck up. If they do, then, I don't know. I don't think he's seen us yet though.”

“So what are we doing?” the elf asks.

“I'd like to just teleport out of here, but since I have no clue where Kyra is . . .”

“Should we leave her?” Quissonce half-heartedly suggests. “She can make it back on her own, right?”

You bite your lip. A few more bright explosions go off as you consider your next move.

>Let's teleport, we'll scry her later
>We need to find Kyra
>I'd like to find out what exactly is going on right now
>Something else? (write-in)

>>996444
>>We need to find Kyra

then find out what the hell is going on.

>>996444
>Something else?
Quissonce should teleport out.

Alan, with Muffin, will find Kyra and make our own exit.
Once Quissonce's spells are refreshed, she can scry us and teleport us out.

This is the safest way to do this.

>>996456
second.

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“Quissonce, teleport out of here,” you decide. “I'll find Kyra.”

“What?! No way!” she disagrees emphatically upon hearing your suggestion. “I'm not leaving you behind.”

“You said it yourself. You aren't suited for sneaking around. I have the best chance of staying incognito and finding wherever Kyra has skulked off to on my own. Head back to base, refresh your stores of arcane power and scry me in the morning if I still haven't made it back.”

“The last time you were abandoned behind enemy lines Gabby and Rowe nearly killed each other. I don't really want that energy aimed at me!”

“You're not abandoning me," you promise, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I've got Kyra, wherever she is. We'll come back together, I promise.”

Quissonce frowns for a long moment thinking hard before sighing out. She taps you on the shoulder, bestowing the fly spell upon you.

Then she wraps her arms around you in a quick hug before leaning back to rest on her haunches. “Good luck and stay safe.”

She disappears before your eyes, leaving you alone on a sinking ship. You look out through the hole in the side of the veesel as one more crescendo of human screams draws your attention to the raging massacre that must be occurring on the shore only a few hundred feet away.

>Fly out the through the hole
>Go up to the top deck
>Something else? (write-in)

AND

>Grab the shotgun? (Y/N)

Now to enjoy a New Year's Eve party. Hopefully one or two more updates tonight.

>>996586
>>Something else? (write-in)
does muffin have a better sense of smell than us? We could use him to try and track Kyra.

grab shotty

go through the hole

>>996586
>Fly out the through the hole

>Grab the shotgun?
N
I'm afraid that when they search the hull of the ship (the navigator will likely try to recover the gun given its value), it missing will tip them off that their charts have been compromised.

>>996661
alternatively, he could just chalk it off to being destroyed or something.

And the fact that they've already been compromised by Irontide's group blatant intrusion, we might as well take it.

>>996676
>they've already been compromised by Irontide's group blatant intrusion
True, but the shotgun was hidden in a compartment in the room's floor, and the room itself did survive (since we are still alive), so it's reasonable to assume that the shotgun would have survived as well.

If during the salvage operation they find the hidden compartment pried open, or worse, the hidden compartment closed but the shotgun missing, then they'll know that someone did actually get the nav charts instead of chalking the attack up as just a raid.

That might put more impetus for the Roscoli to change their routes.

I will admit, however, that changing your secret supply routes after a major security breach such as a major raid on your hidden port/supply depot, is only prudent and reasonable, and hopefully the combination of sunken Roscoli ships at the bottom of this harbor and Republic privateers being able to intercept supply ships that are already at sea and that wouldn't know their routes have been compromised, will be enough to weaken the Imperials so that we can crush them before another wave of reinforcements can arrive.

>>996753
Well, if this ship is going down, we could cause additional damage to make it seem like the gun powder storage got hit and exploded. Use that as an excuse for why this room is blasted and the gun is missing.

>>996586
I'd say grab the shotgun, and go through the hole

Writing!

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Moving quickly to maximize the most out of the time you have remaining on your invisibility and fly buffs, you stoop down to scoop up the Roscoli 'mutiny buster' as these models are often fondly referred to. You dump the contents of the ammunition box into your efficient quiver, resolving to count the specific number of cartridges when you're not pressed for time. A rapid check of the tube confirms the weapon is loaded and with all your affairs in the room settled – maps on your back, quill in your uniform's breast pocket – you glide out of the boat and into the starlit night.

You steadily glide up higher into the sky at a reasonable pace as the ship you were just on – the largest one in the fleet – continues its slow descent to the bottom of the sea. Spending a moment to spin slowly in a circle so you can take in your surroundings, you notice a fair bit.

The two dozen or so Roscoli ships are all tied to three large wooden docks that jut out from the beachhead. A few hundred feet from the shoreline is a reasonably sized fort comprised primarily out of stone. All of the Imperials' logistical setup here falls in line with the information Etriarch gave you.

You see no immediate signs of Kyra, primarily because there are rarely any signs that Kyra is in the vicinity. Instead what you see is the ongoing carnage that is only starting to die down. Emphasis on die.

The entrance to one of the docks is lit completely on fire, barring passage to and from a full third of the fleet. A second of the three docks is covered in a low rolling bank of fog that slowly inches its way towards the end. Judging from the gas's yellowish green color and the multitudes of dead and dying sailors within it, convulsing and choking before finally going limp, you'd hazard a guess that the gas was both poisonous and magical in nature.

The only stretch of man made platform that might offer an avenue of escape is also laden with a growing pile of corpses dressed in the various styles of dress you saw Roscoli naval types wear while visiting Basye in your early youth. However, unlike those simply forced to choke and die on the deadly perverted air, these individuals look emaciated. Like they were drained of their blood and inner organs, rib cages crushed.

Amidst the bodies stands a man vaguely familiar to you. You've seen him once or twice in passing and his somber look was as distinctively off putting then as it is now. Long flowing brunette locks flanking a stern, almost sickly visage made even more reminiscent of someone suffering from a fatal sickness by the black warpaint that emphasizes the sunken aspect of his eyes. Ferrek the cleric, as Bartom has awkwardly rhymed in the past, an awkward note of fear in the plump halfling's follow-up chuckle whenever he mentioned the figure in passing over drinks at the Sword and Shield.

“Man looks like he hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in the last ten years,” you vaguely recall the piemaker saying.

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Despite wearing ornate armor and hefting a two-handed mace, he does not fight any of his oncoming 'assailants'. Although perhaps victims would be a better term. He simply stands in the middle of the dock, as if waiting in line to purchase grain, barring the path to their ships.

Someone fires a shot at him from a flintlock pistol, but the shot sails wide. Two of the braver sailors brandishing swords rush the man, perhaps hoping to merely brush past him. But like all those who must have failed before, once they enter within a certain radius of him, they fall to the ground, quickly becoming shriveled husks as they fall, their weapons clattering to the deck.

At this point, the fifteen or so men still left facing this immovable obstacle jump into the water, opting to swim towards their means of escape from this place that no doubt seems from their perspective a horrific tale from the Ancient Times.

It seems a few Roscoli must have either remained on their ships or earlier slipped past Ferrek somehow, as one of the vessels starts to sail out to sea, the ropes mooring it down simply cut off by sharp implements hastily, rather than untied, as is the usual procedure.

Unfortunately the boat's shot at freedom is dashed to pieces as you watch Azdor fly out in front of the vessel and effortlessly erect a wall of fire that sprawls hundreds of feet across the water in defiance of every law of nature these men have ever known. They do not have the time and most likely not the manpower to stop themselves or get out of the way. Their doom is almost as assured as those left swimming past the wrecked hulls of the no longer seaworthy ships Azdor ruined moments earlier. They will either swim until exhaustion takes them, drowning far out to sea. Or return to the Island and face the doom that awaits them there.

Even from where you float, dozens if not hundreds of feet from the shore, the sounds of high-pitched cackling and deep bellowing laughter – both products of pure, unadulterated glee in their own discordant fashion – combine forebodingly with the burning bonfires, that you guess were originally crates stacked upon crates of supplies, and the shrieking screams of pain, to warn all of the fate that awaits them if the sailors dare return to land.

This is no battle.

This is butchery.

>Block it out, focus all your efforts solely on discerning Kyra's position
>Approach Azdor
>Approach Ferrek
>Approach the shore and see what's happening there
>Approach fleeing Roscoli sailors
>Something else? (write-in)

>>999203
>Something else? (write-in)
take a moment to consider what the great will would do.

see about finding Kyra.

>>999203
>Block it out, focus all your efforts solely on discerning Kyra's position
We are in the middle of a war. This entire island is one giant black op, not a normal battlefield with two sides easily and properly uniformed.

>>999203
Wait, changing >>999237
to
>Approach Azdor
I suggest we leave wounded but still alive soldiers and sailors.
With their supply ships destroyed and their food levels in jeopardy, having more mouths to feed that can't assist in labor or tasks due to injuries will bring about the fall of the Imperial fort faster.

And since it's likely that the General will find some way to eliminate those wounded as supplies run down, it will negatively impact Imperial troops, especially their mercs and adventurers who might think that the General is beginning to see them as expendable.

Finally, among the Roscoli, they didn't sign up for this. They will create friction with the Imperials because this was supposed to be a resupply contract, and they weren't being paid to fight.
And if they somehow make it back to Roscol, then their merchant houses are going to demand higher fees, which will put more pressure on the Imperial treasury, and potentially hasten the collapse of their economy and therefore their ability to effectively supply their military.

>>999256
if this is the case, I think we should approach Ferrek first and convince him to show mercy. He does keep the others in line, right?

>>999256
>>999260

and then later, we can ask him to help us find kyra.

>>999260
Naah Irontide, the dwarf, is their leader

>>999263
but Ferrek is the moral compass, isn't he? or was that someone else?

>>999266
That was Ashe. You haven't seen him yet. He's a monk.

>>999269
shit. Ok, then let's just approach Azdor.

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You take a deep breath and block it all out, pushing the details of the scene to the back of your mind. You've been here before. Hell, you've done this before. Its hard to stomach the nerve to condemn, when it would so acutely remind you of your own litany of battlefield 'deeds'. Instead you feel yourself slip a bit back into your old skin – a cavalry captain riding through a battlefield where your side is clearly claiming victory.


You calmly glide over towards Azdor's position, your vision as focused as it can be on his form. Unfortunately, with the eyes of an elven ranger and the superhuman instincts you now possess, you can't help but notice the background. The wizard stares down at the Roscoli as all the lucky sailors aware of what fate is about to befall them if they remain on that ship dive into the water to avoid burning alive.

Only once the ship has fully passed through the wall of flame, emerging a burning wooden beacon of light on the other side, does Azdor's intense concentration on the scene let up.

You utilize that as your moment to make your presence known. You start simply with a cough and once he quickly spins around, hands at the ready to blast apart foes, do you force yourself into uncloaking so he can see exactly who is flying through the night behind him.

He recoils slightly, his body still rigid and prepared to start slinging spells at a moment's notice even as he starts to process who you are.

“Magister Alan?!” he asks incredulously. “What are you doing here?!”

You roll your eyes. He sounds like you just showed up uninvited to a party or something.

“What are you doing here?” you retort, trying your best to suppress the anger in your tone. “We were doing reconnaissance for Blackburn. And things were going well for once until you nearly brought a fireball down on our heads!”

His eyes widen as his mouth drops open. “You were hiding on one of their vessels?”

“Yes,” you spit darkly. “ I'm assuming from your tone you didn't know.”

“Of course not!” he replies defensively, holding your gaze confidently.

“Did Blackburn sanction this . . . raid, of yours?” you eventually decide to label it.

“Uhhhhh,” he stutters out, less sure of his answer. “I'm not sure.”

You exhale, exhausted. “Did someone in your group inform him you were coming here tonight?”

He shrugs, physically pleading ignorance. “I don't know. I wasn't privy to any meeting with the Overseer.”

“Well what is your plan? Why are you doing this?” you hold yourself back less and less with the mounting frustration.

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“I DON'T KNOW!” he practically shouts at you in response to your needling. “Irontide informed us we were slaying four birds with one stone. Swindle a dragon's hoard, Impede the Kardas Empire, Attain glory and Allow Kroll an opportunity to let off steam. I am simply ensuring none of the Roscoli vessels return to whichever isle they originate from intact. I believe my associates are ensuring there will be no survivors able to inform the remaining Imperial forces and their pet dragon of our deeds tonight until we are safely back in our beds, behind the walls of Seaside. If anyone spoke with the Overseer about our plan it would be Irontide or Dart. Now if you don't mind I have a task to finish.”

>I need your help to find Kyra
>Convince Azdor to spare some of the sailors CHOOSE YOUR REASON: (Pragmatism/Mercy)
>Don't you think robbing a dragon might be a stupid idea!?
>One of your friends is trying to kill me and my team
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1001145
>Convince Azdor to spare some of the sailors
>Pragmatism
I would like to note that unless there's some other group on the island that has it in for the Imperials and can mount a raid like this, AND Irontide is planting evidence of just such a group, AND the Imperials don't have a magic user that can cast a spell to speak with the dead (potentially, Alan doesn't know if such a spell exists but can extrapolate that one might), then the Imperials will just happily assume that we (the Republic, the nation they are currently at war with and want to wipe out) are behind this raid and prepare for a counter-strike because now they need to strike with all they have while they can.

>>1001145
>>Convince Azdor to spare some of the sailors
pragmatism

>I need your help to find Kyra

>>1001402
Instead of helping us find Kyra, shouldn't Azdor be trying to convince Irontide to let the surviving Roscoli live?
Or what about a tactical response from the main fort and the Imperial adventurers who would be just as magically powerful as Azdor and the rest of his crew?

I mean, their attacks are centered on the docks, right?
Is anyone keeping runners, messengers, and spellcasters from the supply fort from getting a distress call out to the main fort?
I assume that Irontide is competent and he's got something in mind to keep Imperial reinforcements from arriving.

>>1001416
well, we could ask that he convince Irontide to leave them alone while we look for Kyra. maybe get his assistance after he's convinced irontide to stand down.

>>1001402
seconding

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“You do realize the Imperials will find out who's responsible eventually, right?” you pester him as he flies off towards another section of ships he's yet to destroy.

Following on his tail, the older man scoffs at your leading question. “Of course they will. The point of the matter is to delay their discovery of our actions for as long as possible.”

Another lightning bolt arcs out of his hand, skewering three ships lined next to each other, scuttling them. “There will be consequences for this. A counter strike certainly.”

Azdor chuckles. “Good. They will throw themselves at our position and break upon our bulwarks.”

“They have a dragon, Azdor!” you remind the blond wizard.

“Who they will no longer be able to pay. The Merchant Houses will not find this situation tenable once they learn of this financial setback. No ships, no gold, no dragon, no supplies.”

“You don't have to kill all of their men, though.”

“Correct. I don't have to because that isn't my task for the night. I simply have to disable their vessels. If you came here to reconnoiter I suggest you do as you were bid or leave, Alan.”

Sighing out, you simmer at his obstinance. “Listen Azdor. Irontide's plan of just wiping the whole fort out isn't the way you should be handling this.”

Azdor gives a derisive laugh as he summons a storm of ice to rain down hard upon a smaller boat, causing it to capsize. “Yes yes, your moral objection have been noted, Alan.” He shakes his head. “Just when I thought we could go one night without this type of prattle,” he mutters under his breath.

You shake your head, floating in front of the wizard, blocking his vision of his next target. He lowers his outstretched hand, letting the forming magical aura surrounding it to drop as he awaits your next outburst in annoyance. “That isn't what I'm talking about,” you emphasize. “Leave some of the soldiers and sailors living, but incapacitated among the wreckage. When the relief forces arrive they'll be forced to tend to their wounded rather than pursue you as you retreat. Plus, the more mouths they have to feed who are physically unable to assist in gathering supplies will cause their remaining stockpile of food to dwindle even faster. If this General is the type of man I believe him to be, he'll dispose of any 'burdens' or let them starve which will sap their morale.”

“Finally, the men you've just attacked are being paid to resupply a fort out in the boonies – not participate in our war. The more of them left to complain and cause friction about being stranded, the more disorganized and chaotic things are going to be. Hell, if some of them manage to make it back to their Merchant Houses with a few irate words about doing business with Imperials and we could be talking about a permanent souring of relationships between their nations.”

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A silence persists for a few moments after you finish your spiel.

“Huh,” Azdor eventually responds. “That was . . . uncharacteristically brutal of you, Alan. I didn't realize you could be so . . . cold.”

You shrug. “I fought in the Muller Mountains. Thinking like that is what you had to do to survive.”

“Well,” Azdor replies. “Your logic is sound enough. I'll find the survivors treading water and merely wound as many as I can find.”

“Before you do that,” you interrupt as he goes to leave. “I need your help to find Kyra.”

His brow furrows and he frowns. “What happened to her?”

“I don't know. One moment she was beside me. The next she was gone.”

“Hmmmmm,” Azdor hums as he ponders. “Was she wearing any magical gear on her person?”

You take a moment to think about it before nodding. “Yeah. Her armor definitely and I think she has a few other items on her as well.”

“Well then she should possess an aura. I'm not much help in finding hidden objects, but if you scour the area while concentrating on detecting magic I don't believe there are currently too many false positives in the area. Obviously ignore my own aura as of that of my compatriots and if she's still here you should be able to pinpoint her location to an accurate enough degree that if you swing wildly you may just hit her.” He coughs awkwardly afterwards. “I am speaking from experience when I suggest that.

>Search for Kyra using detect magic
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1004524
>>Search for Kyra using detect magic

>>1004524
>>Search for Kyra using detect magic

>>1004524
>Search for Kyra using detect magic

Roll me 1d100 + 20, best of 3.

This is a perception check.

>>1005471
>!xLNcEzcubj9

that aint my trip. Hmmm

Rolled 100 + 25 (1d100 + 25)

>>1005471

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>>1005474

Its really me even if i'm a retard who can't remember his trip correctly.

>>1005476

Nice.

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>>1005476

Rolled 20 + 25 (1d100 + 25)

>>1005471
Just for completeness sake.

>>1005476
Good job.

Rolled 55 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>1005471
third for completeness

>>1005476
Alan sees everything everywhere
Skill gained: see invisible stuff as if it was visible

Shit when was the last time you rolled a 100 in this quest?

Hmmmmm

>>1006334
want me to look?

>>1006394
I think it was on a defense roll in thread 37 while facing a blood golem in The Circle during the assault on the city by The Master's forces.

>>1006401
yeah, i think that was the last time.

Took me a while to figure out exactly what happens and unfortunately I am busy tonight so no updates for until much later tonight.

But I think you'll like the way you look from now on. I guarantee it.

>>1006602
i'm scared.

As a side note, you have a relatively powerful hard counter to magic invisibility from now on.

>>1006602
>>1006635
Nice!

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“Alright then,” you speak, acknowledging his advice before turning round to look out over the battlefield. Much of the noise has died down and now the moans of dying men and the sounds of ships buckling under the weight of their own weakened hulls outshines that of screams emanating from one-sided combat. You spy that ship you initially teleported into, still drifting into the abyss that is the vast sea that boxes in your secluded, fantastical playground.

Taking a deep breath, you figure the best place to start looking for the elusive rogue would be around where you last saw her. Since Detect Magic is such a basic spell you can practically keep it active for the rest of the night if you wished and nowhere near exhaust your reservoir of arcane power. With how little strain it will put on your body and mental faculties at your level of mastery you doubt you'll even feel it add to your level of exhaustion even after extended, continuous use.

So you make the decision to utter the incantation and gesture for the spell right here and now before you go off and search for your companion.

As the spell's effects seep into your eyeballs, you realize you –

NEED MORE POWER

Your eyes vibrate as you feel the magic within your form suddenly ignite like a lit torch tossed upon a pile of gunpowder.

Shutting them instinctively in response to the immediate discomfort from such an alien physical reaction to a bog standard spell, you also can't help but add your own pained scream to the nighttime chorus as a splitting migraine rocks itself through your skull, so fiercely intense you feel like your head just might explode.

Doubling over in mid-air with your hands clamped over your eyes in a futile attempt to soothe the immense pain and slowly drifting towards the earth as you fail to maintain your focus on where you're going for the moment, Azdor simultaneously utters a confused gasp from somewhere behind you.

“Alan are you alright?” you hear him ask as the horrid sensation subsides, eventually passing away completely. You wait a few tense moments for the pain to randomly reemerge with bated breath. Finally believing yourself in the clear of whatever extreme mishap just occurred, you drop your hands and open your eyes to discover that you definitely are not in the clear of whatever the fuck just happened.

Instead of seeing the oddly serene, post-battle, docks area, a dozen different colors dance before your vision. Wispy trails of bright, unnatural colors spin, shift and dissipate as you struggle to squint in the vain hope the disorienting effect will end and your vision goes back to your much more usual way of viewing the world around you.

The various intensities and distances of the distracting light show causes discombobulation, effectively blinding you.

You're fast encroaching towards absolute despair as all you seem to see is the flashing and weaving – this nasty result showing no signs of letting up.

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“Alan, what is the issue?” your fellow wizard inquires, genuinely concerned at your outburst.

You turn towards the sound of the voice to respond in an almost involuntary reaction. You immediately regret your body's natural inclinations as the bright, luminescent being composed of an infinite number of twinkling blue stars takes center stage in your view. The outline is vaguely Azdor-shaped, but the shiny alien seems composed of immaterial space dust as opposed to some primitive sack of flesh.

“Oh . . .” it comments, perhaps drinking in the state of your form as intricately as your own studies. “Arcane sight.”

“Arcane sight?” you ask the figure, it's voice either Azdor's or a masterful imitation of it.

“Is this your first time casting it?” he interrogates, the mere movements of his lips setting his twinkling star body to shine and blare brighter momentarily much to your uncomfortable chagrin. “The spell draws upon too much power for my taste when Detect Magic is perfectly serviceable in most situations. The change in viewpoint is disorienting and distracting to say the least. It requires some getting used to. If you actually had taken the time to read my treatise on the subject in full you would have noticed I mention that testing it on the battlefield was ill-advised. Look straight down Alan. Towards the ocean.”

You do as you are ordered, relieved and grateful when almost all the lights disappear, the inky blackness below slowly but steadily melting away. First it dissolves into an oddly undulating series of black swirls until finally you think what you see below you is water, the choppy nature of the sea reintroducing dimensionality to your eyesight. You take in a deep breath as you blink. Some notion of normalcy returning.

“What does this arcane sight do, exactly?” you probe.

Azdor above, the man made of lights, scoffs at your ignorance. “If you have no idea what the spell does . . . where exactly did you . . . did you just assimilate some of my powers?” He sounds slightly offended as his brain quickly connects the dots to the most likely explanation for this scene.

“I wasn't trying to,” you honestly admit. “I was casting Detect Magic.”

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Your fellow magister clears his throat as he delves into clinical explanation. “Well the aim of Arcane Sight is in the same realm as Detect Magic. Only Arcane Sight has a much longer range and is much more effective. With a quick glance you can gleam a rough sense of the various magical auras in your vicinity. These auras emanate off of items, spells and individuals with magical prowess. Each unique signature leaves its own lingering trail as it passes that will dissipate in conjunction with the signature's relative strength. Intensity of the light is indicative of the signature's strength. Each unique signature possesses its own specific hue. The most damning hindrance of Arcane Sight is its effectiveness and tendency to overwhelm the user with an overload of sensory input. I would not suggest utilizing the spell within the Circle. Not until you've adjusted to its presence.”

“Can I turn it off?” you ask.

“Yes. Simply will it away as any other spell.”

You furrow your brow and will quite emphatically before looking back up and seeing no change in Azdor's current costume of star shavings.

“I don't think it's going away,” you bring up.

“Hmmm, that's odd.”

You shake your head, deciding to leverage the current predicament to solving the other current predicament. You gaze away from Azdor and look from the blurry, unemphasized dock to the blurry, unemphasized ship sinking into the sea.

While the rest of the details are currently hazy, a trio of purple colored clouds seem to drift up from where you last saw Kyra. They trail up and over the top of the ship, onto the nearby dock and head in a straight line onto the shore – moving past and into the fort.

That's where your thief is.

>Pursue Kyra
>Help incapacitate Roscoli sailors
>Approach Ferrek
>Look for Dart
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1008155
>>Something else? (write-in)
ask that Azdor persuade the others to follow on with our plan (let the Roscoli sailors go)

Also, have Azdor demolish the ship that we used to be on, so no one can discover that we broke in.

>Pursue Kyra

>>1008155
>Something else?
Ask Azdor to try to convince the rest of his group of the merits of leaving soldiers and sailors wounded but alive.
>Pursue Kyra

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“Hey Azdor,” you call out to the wizard, refusing to look at his form while still under the effects of this spell, lest you want the pain rising in the back of your skull to flare up once more.

“Yes Alan?” he asks.

“Persuade the rest of your group to spare the sailors if you could.”

He sighs. “I'll certainly try. I doubt Irontide or Kroll have left any survivors, but Ferrek and Predipus should be open-minded enough. On subsequent castings of the spell you should improve at blending the sight of the material world with that of the mystical energies pervading the Island.” You hear the faint rustling of his carmine cape as he flies away, concluding your interaction with those words of wisdom.

You yourself follow the glowing purple trail of lights that Kyra's equipment left in her wake, keeping your vision aimed towards the ground and trying your best to avoid sensory overload from the various other auras that Irontide and company have muddled the area with.

You glide over the shore, where burning piles of imported equipment blaze like bonfires upon the beach. Off in the distance your eyes can't help but spy a rainbow swirl of colors streaming off of a single, small humanoid figure waddling down the coastline.

You float into the courtyard of the small fort, noticing the glowing purple trail scales its walls in an unbroken line, informing you of Kyra's exact path here.

Your eyes follow the easy tracks until you watch the trail end in a much more vibrant clump of violet radiance, roughly humanoid-sized. You squint your eyes as you try desperately to shift your vision to detect the much more physical background of the Imperial fort's interior, now much more relevant to your interests and a pressing concern.

You can make out the faint outline of Kyra, pressed up against an overturned wagon, hiding from something.

Upon scanning the rest of the area you notice the court is littered with corpses. Blood stains the dirt and grass. Many of the bodies have been bisected to some degree. Men in full plate cut clean in half at the waist. Various limbs – some without obvious owners – are scattered about. A few decapitated heads lay gruesomely under the open sky, their eyes wide open, frozen in terror at the moment of their death.

In the middle of this gruesome art piece stands the only two living figures left other than yourself and Kyra.

Kroll and Irontide, both of them covered in copious amounts of blood and gore. The latter dips a fully armored arm, awash with red, deep into an opened crate, swishing the limb around as the noise of clinking coins rings lightly in your ears.

Kroll, dressed in much more revealing attire, simply cleans his blade of viscera in silence as Irontide bellows in mirth.

“Don't think the night can get much better than this,” the dwarf announces to his ally in that gravelly voice of his, his gaze transfixed on the opulent contents of the crate.

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Kroll casually looks up from his careful, meticulous task and his eyes quickly flit to your form as he becomes aware of your presence.

At first he looks confused. And then a burning hot rage – so fierce you almost swear it possesses a magical aura of its own – surges to life in his gaze. And then the death glare quickly bleeds away to a level of glee far outstripping the mood of his greedy companion.

The barbarian smiles. “I think it just did.”

Irontide utters a grunt in confusion, before casting a glance over his shoulder to see you floating there as well.

“Oh,” the bearded fellow remarks blankly.

>Irontide, leave the dragon's hoard alone
>Ignore them and go to Kyra
>This plan was stupid!
>Did you know I was here?
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1011118
>Something else?
"I'm just here for documents; is the fort secured?"
Make it as if we're here for the fort commander's ledger.
Give Kyra a chance to tag long with us out of here.

>>1011118
>>Irontide, leave the dragon's hoard alone
because he'll likely come after you in Seaside, and that'll likely be the end of everyone.

>>1011262
No, really, I think this would be the best if we let Irontide take the money.

One, if we tell him to leave it, we'll have to fight him and Kroll right now, and Kroll wants to kill us.
Better that we don't fight them because it's a fighter+barbarian vs multiclass+rogue on an open field. And Irontide's crew could arrive and help them rather than us.

Two, remember that Irontide's crew is far higher level than us; they could potentially be able to take down Burn. Especially with the rest of Seaside's adventurers pitching in.

Three, it's an opportunity to have Irontide and some of his crew get taken out by Burn in a manner that let's us come out with our hands clean.
Sure, we can work with Dart, and Ashe is a good guy, and Azdor may be a prick but he's still a contributing member of the Circle, but the others have a high chance of getting in our way.

>>1011286
I think it's still fair to at least warn them about the consequences of their actions.

>>1011295
But they already know, and harping on it will just annoy them to the point where they'll think to kill us. Kroll and Irontide are pretty Evil.

>>1011302
>>1011262
So, if we're warning him against it, then perhaps we should go with this plan?>>1011141

>>1011307
Yes, don't warn him not to take gold from a dragon.
He already knows he's taking gold from a dragon, he planned to take gold from a dragon, his entire crew signed up for taking gold from a dragon.
Warning him against something he intentionally planned to do from the beginning, with full knowledge of the consequences, would only annoy him.

>>1011118
seconding:
>>1011141
>>>1011118
>>Something else?
>"I'm just here for documents; is the fort secured?"
>Make it as if we're here for the fort commander's ledger.
>Give Kyra a chance to tag long with us out of here.

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“I'm just here for a few documents,” you blurt out, assuring them of your reflexive lie by patting the bottom of the cylindrical container slung over your shoulder. “Is the fort secured?”

“Noone left but corpses, boy,” Kroll spits venomously.

“Dart's been through the place already first,” the dwarf informs you gruffly, turning around completely to face you. “Can't promise she hasn't nabbed any worthwhile shit already, including information.”

You force a grimace, hoping it's believable enough of an expression for them. “You think she took the Fort Commander's ledger?”

“Pretty sure she slit the shit's throat,” Irontide recalls, still gazing up at you with his eyes peeled. “I assume she rifled through his crap and searched the room. Maybe she took it, maybe she didn't. You want to look for it, go ahead.”

He points towards the structure's southeastern corner. “Base captain's office is over there, I think.”

You nod your head. “Thank you.”

>Fly straight there
>Ask Irontide if he knew about your mision here beforehand
>Feign giving up on your task
>Go to Kyra
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1013112
>Fly straight there
Keep up the charade.
And hey, I honestly do want to get the ledger; it'll give us an idea of how much food they were consuming and give us an idea of how many men they have at the main fort.

>>1013112
how out of the way is Kyra? Maybe we could do some looting and brush past her in the process?

File: Fort Layout Specific.jpg (441 KB, 1000x845)

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The blue star is where Alan is floating.

The orange rectangle is the location of Irontide, Kroll and the crates full of riches meant for Burn.

The purple shape is where Kyra is currently hiding.

The red oval is where Irontide gestured towards when he pointed out the Base captain's office.

>>1013266
is there any way we could signal to Kyra and have her follow us?

Can we cast Invisibility on her as we stroll by to the office?

>>1013486
She probably doesn't need it.

Roll me 1d100 + 40, best of 3.

This is a perception check.

Rolled 2 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>1013801

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>1013801

Rolled 4 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>1013801

Rolled 68 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>1013801
These rolls are bullshit!

Shit those rolls are particularly horrendous.

Um, alright.

Roll me 1d100 + 28, Worst of 3.

This is a defense check.

1s and 100s override per usual.

Rolled 48 + 28 (1d100 + 28)

>>1013978

Rolled 67 + 28 (1d100 + 28)

>>1013978
It's fucking Kroll, isn't it.
We're fucked.

Rolled 69 + 28 (1d100 + 28)

>>1013978

File: Imperial Fort Hallway.jpg (39 KB, 736x488)

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Flying to the large building that dominates the compact base's southeast corner, you take a moment to glance in Kyra's direction.

Still hiding behind that wagon, the two of you make deliberate eye contact once you're confident Kroll and Irontide are at an angle where they can only see the back of your head. You give a covert nod over to where you are headed and your friend answers your gesture with a wink of acknowledgment.

You breathe out a sigh of relief, focusing your full attention on your path forward with that future piece of business taken care of. You'll meet up with the rogue in just a bit and find out exactly what she was thinking bailing like that a few minutes earlier.

You float down, feet clacking softly upon the cobblestones. Entering through a wooden door, ripped off its hinges, you find the interior of the structure is much the same as the last Imperial hallway you had to stroll your way through. Thankfully now though you can take a few moments to appreciate the finer details of boring, Kardassian, military architecture without a silent assassin stalking your movements.

Your trip is uneventful, the monotony of your surroundings interrupted every so often by a dead body laying in a pool of its own blood. You peek in through a few doorways you pass, seeing rooms filled with rows of beds and lockers. Blankets are strewn across the floors, most likely a result of the offduty soldiers in the garrison leaping into action in the middle of the night in response to the raid. Maybe after you check out the commander's room you'll swing by and inspect a few of these lockers for something valuable or potentially helpful.

You spy the office you're looking for a fair distance away. True to his word, you can see through the ajar door that the slightly pudgy Imperial officer sits in his chair, balding head craning back against the headrest while his previously pale throat is on display – the deep gash across it visible even from where you currently stand. Bloody business, this night has been. It looks like most of the room has been ransacked, the drawers thrown open and a closet you can barely make out through the opening having been emptied of all its contents.

You lick your lips as you near your destination, resolving to search through Dart's leavings for anything she may have missed or casually discarded as unimportant to her. Maybe you'll look for a hidden compartment similar to –

WHAM

Whatever sledgehammer just smacked into the back of your head sends you sprawling forward, losing your footing entirely as your brain rattles inside your skull. The pain throbs and for a moment you fear your skull might have actually fractured. Landing in a heap, you quickly roll over onto your back and look up at the figure responsible for your burgeoning headache exploding into full on head trauma.

Kroll stands in the middle of the hallway behind you, cracking his knuckles. You can see trails of magic wafting from his belt and boots. His large great sword is not with him, however, as far as you can tell.

He chortles as you lay prone before him, seemingly helpless after having been laid the fuck out.

“Get up,” he simply commands.

>This is not the time for this
>Go Invisible and start teleporting away
>Shoot him
>Get up
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1015741
Go invisible, teleport to an area within earshot of him, and wait to sneak attack the fuck.

>>1015750
>>1015741
or, we could teleport over to Kyra.

>>1015795
...Yep, that's probably best

>>1015741
>>Something else? (write-in)
Ask him why, and why he attacked us. If his answer is bad, teleport-sneakattack.

>>1015894
>why he attacked us
Seriously, what?
Alan knows very well why he attacked us.

>>1015741
>Shoot him

>>1015795
Why would you bring attention to the person who is still effectively stealthed and not detected yet?

>>1015991
Does teleport make any particularly flashy lights or sounds? I was under the assumption that it was fairly subtle and that we could at least teleport into close proximity to Kyra, grab her and then have Quissonce drag us out.

>>1015991
Why did he attacked us again? I forgot some things before the Trick's break?

>>1016314

The short of it is, we NTRd Gabby, our team's monk, from him.

>>1016345
Ooohh yeeahh I member.

>>1016035
Its completely silent. The only major limitation is you can only teleport 15 feet at a time.

Just to make sure we have consensus.

>Invisible, teleport away, find Kyra, leave
>Invisible, teleport away, sneak attack
>Shoot him

>>1017027
>>Invisible, teleport away, find Kyra, leave

>>1017027
>>Invisible, teleport away, find Kyra, leave

>>1017027
>Invisible, teleport away, find Kyra, leave

>>1017027
>Shoot him

File: Map of the Lost Island known.png (323 KB, 760x1620)

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Oh yeah fuck this situation with a rusty spoon. While still lying down on the floor you shroud yourself in invisibility one more time.

Kroll simply snorts instead of a more drastic action like lunging after you. “Coward,” he jeeringly derides at the spot where he mistakenly believes you still are. Unfortunately for him, he is now speaking to absolutely no one as you have already slipped past via a short, sly teleport.

Now on your feet, you blink forward two more large swaths of bland, Imperial hallway so as to put a fair amount of distance between yourself and the spurned barbarian before risking actual, physical movements that do run the minute risk of attracting his attention.

As Kroll continues to berate and emasculate an empty hallway, you find yourself tiptoeing back the way you came. As luck would have it, a person you recognize solely from the bundle of purple light accompanying their form hides nearby in the narrow hallway in front of you.

You grab Kyra by the arm as she slink by – the resulting expression upon her face afterwards the closest thing to 'surprise' you believe she's capable of showing.

“Your eyes are glowing,” she notes, deadpan.

“Yeah,” you reply in a whisper. “It's a new development. A good one though it seems, since you almost gave Quissonce and I the slip. Why did you run off like that?” you ask, a measure of annoyance in your tone at this painful goose chase you've had to embark upon.

“Investigating explosions,” she answers simply. “Why did Kroll just punch you?” she asks in return, arching a curious eyebrow.

“Uhhh,” you stall, thinking about how best to put it. “It's a bit of a long story. We can speak of it later. Right now I'd like to skedaddle.”

“Where to?”

>Further inland to the hills and wait for extraction from Quissonce
>To the beach so I can make sure some of those sailors survived
>Towards the Imperial main base, I want to see what they do
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1017721
>>To the beach so I can make sure some of those sailors survived

Rolled 74 (1d100)

>>1017721
>To the beach so I can make sure some of those sailors survived

How many minutes will Kroll spend berating that empty hallway? Rolling for it

>>1017721
>Towards the Imperial main base, I want to see what they do
We need to be getting recon data, not wasting our time whether Irontide's crew is heeding our strategic advice or not.
We're lower level than them and they don't respect us (aside from Ashe and Azdor) so they're not going to listen to us. Let's do something productive with our time.

>>1017773
I feel that, despite giving a cold calculate rationale for leaving them alive, Alan would still at least try to make sure some of these sailors made it. It feels morally correct, and the Great Will probably would appreciate it.

>>1017795
Maybe for the Roscoli, since they're still technically a neutral nation.

>>1017721
>>Something else? (write-in)
Also, maybe we should tell Kyra not to just up and disappear like that again.

We were worried about her. She could have at least told us what she was going to do.

>>1018408
Seconding. She can do what she wants but we were worried she might have been hit by the explosion.

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“To the beach for now,” you explain. “I want to make sure some of those sailors survived.”

Kyra nods. “Meet you there then.”

“Wait –” before you can finish, the rogue disappears before your eyes, fading quickly into a vague shadowy outline of her previously corporeal form before seemingly drifting away like a trail of smoke suddenly blown away by a sudden gust of wind. You blink once at the display and feel the urge to voice your displeasure at the abrupt abandonment. But you quickly stifle that desire for the sake of pragmatism. Thankfully, your arcane sight lets you watch the much easier to notice path of the magic items spirited away with her. The thick, violet pulsations that quickly begin to fade make the perfect tracks for you to follow.

Exiting back out into the supply base's interior through the same opening you entered from, you spy Dart having now joined Irontide. Together the pair push a crate – filled to the brim with gold coins, chunks of precious metals, jewels, jewelry and a few other expensive luxuries – so it tips over just enough for its contents to stream out at a constant rate like a flowing river of riches. The wealth pours endlessly into a small, cloth sack that should be absolutely overfilled by now if the object wasn't obviously magical – which you can clearly see from the quite vibrant golden light radiating off of the mundane-looking item.

“You think Kroll will kill him?” Dart casually asks her dwarven partner in crime as the duo gradually increase the angle at which the crate is being tipped.

Irontide grunts. “Don't know don't care.”

“Maybe you should. It would be unfortunate if the Imperials found his broken body and interrogated him for information.”

Suddenly the sound of an enraged, animalistic shout erupts from within the building. Seems Kroll finally caught onto your inelegant ruse.

Irontide and Dart merely exchange glances and chuckle before redoubling on their task.

“I'll check it out in a minute,” Dart offers.

They then commit to their money-grubbing task in silence. You float back into the air at this point, keenly aware the time limit on your fly spell is fast approaching. And while you are invisible, your apparently glowing eyes make for the faintest of signs to your presence, based upon Kyra's commentary. You don't want to be found out in the midst of Irontide's group with Kroll still on the prowl.

Continuing your pursuit of Kyra with a bird's-eye view of the magical trail she leaves in her wake leads you towards the beach. You dip down to where you see she has stopped and land beside her on the sandbanks.

A fair distance away, you watch Azdor and Ferrek placidly stand guard on either side of roughly two dozen captives. All of them Roscoli, kneeling in the sand as they pray, cry and plead for mercy.

Despite outnumbering their captors eight to one, it seems these sailors are smart enough to realize the people they're dealing with can pack a wallop that any sign of resistance could spell their doom.

And so they sit, patiently waiting as a goblin laden with magical gear walks between them, applying some sort of substance that looks like spider silk to their wrists, ankles and mouths. As the green-skinned humanoid goes about his task, ensuring your advice has produced tangible results, you turn to Kyra and voice some of your growing concerns.

“Can you not just up and disappear like that?”

She eyes you with a sidelong glance as she frowns. “Said I'd meet you here.”

“I meant earlier on the boat,” you specify. “You just left. I was worried.”

“Sorry, mom,” she replies.

“C'mon Kyra,” you say with a shake of your head. “You could have at least told us what you were going to do.”

“You worry about you. I worry about me.”

>Fair enough
>No, that's dumb
>Why are you acting like this?
>Something else? (write-in)

>>1018787
>>Something else? (write-in)
We're a team, Kyra. We look should look out for one another.

>Why are you acting like this?

>>1018787
>Why are you acting like this?
>Something else?
This conversation can be done much further in the forest, back on the hill that Kyra was using to observe the docks.

It's also farther from Irontide and Kroll, and we won't have to deal with them.

>>1018840
agreed. Let's take a stroll to the forest.

>>1018840
this