The morning sun casts long shadows upon the Square in Tamalchia. Throngs of people, some merely curious, some panicked, some looking for a way to profit from the distraction, or even to profit from the Prince’s seeming weakness, are gathered in the main square of the city before the Prince’s palace, waiting for the Prince to speak. The palace of course has a balcony, and it is be from here that the Prince would be addressing the populace – in this current situation, a riot is not that unlikely a possibility.

The city constabulary – armed guards taken from the army and assigned to policing Tamlachia – are lined up along the doors of the palace and around the fountain in the center of the Square. The Palace stands on the Square’s north side, the great ministries on the east, the Lesser Temples, temples of individual Gods on the west, and on the north side, forming a great turreted arch over the road that leads ultimately to the city gates, stands the now largely-defunct College of the Arts of the Golden Power, for most users of the Golden Power are tutored now instead of studying at an academy.

There are perhaps three hundred people within the Square. The Prince will come and speak an hour after sunrise, so it has been heralded. Elmledir Yugarin, a second-cousin by less noble blood and bodyguard to his master Balador Yugarin, surveys the scene. There has been some hope among the crime-bosses of the Yugarin family in Tamalchia that this time might be a good opportunity to depose the Ecleths. Still, others in the family, especially those with some knowledge of magic, are concerned that Tamalchia itself may be in some danger. “I wonder if he’s going to come out at all,” he mutters, but loud enough for his cousin to hear.

The bell rings – one hour after sunrise. The Prince does not emerge. Some minutes pass. The crowd begins to become agitated. At once a man, Moratani apparently by his face but possibly Mithatani, stands up in the Square on the step above the fountain. His body appears very thin, his hair and beard both long, white, and unkempt, and a madness is in his voice. “People of Tamalchia!” he cries. “Repent of your deeds! The Archmage and the Gods punish us for forgetting our duty! See how the powers of this city have ignored them, and now look upon the danger in which we lie! The Power in the turrets above our heads has faded, and its Golden glory must be rekindled! Stray not from the Golden glory! Heed not the Dragons or the Silver!”

Already people are beginning to gravitate toward the fountain to hear this strange preacher closer, and already the palace guards are rushing toward the fountain. But all is interrupted by a fanfare of trumpets and the beating of drums. The doors high above the street open up upon the palace balcony. Yellow-caped soldiers of the Tamalchian army step forth and line the balcony, and forth steps Prince Mealin, arrayed in his black mantle over his red and gold robes. Yet the raving preacher in the center of the Square ignores the trumpets. The Prince pauses for a moment to survey the scene. “Order!” booms the Prince’s harald from the balcony over the spectacle below. “Hear the words of the Prince!”

But the Prince hesitates, waiting for the constabulary to arrest the raving preacher. “Do not fear!” he announces at last. “The Idol will be found: the Mages are searching for it, and they will find it. For those of us who worry that the Archmage has abandoned us, remember that our walls, too, are Sirendendum’s enchanted walls, and there is no threat that will assail our fair city while they stand! And still we are rich, and the Gods favor us, for our land is fertile and we are many, and the Gods will aid us in our need.”

At this moment, the raving preacher, who has now been seized by the constabulary, screams out “The Gods have forsaken us! We must repent!” before he is dragged off.

As the Prince continues, half of the people in the Square return their attention to the Prince and the other half continue to watch the stereotype be dragged off.

*

Elsewhere in the city, there are people who are less concerned with the Prince. The air of the Golden Chalice is heavy with the scent ale and smoke from the wood-fire. Three voluptuous Moratani women dance upon the stage to a common tavern music played by two Mithatani musicians to the right of the stage. At tables and benches upon the floor, and on longboards braced against the wooden pillars that support the tavern, sit travelers and others in search of news and food and a good drink. The bar behind them, on the wall adjacent to the stage, is well-filled. The heavy, muscular Mithatani bartender talks casually with his patrons as he filles their tankards with another ale. “The Prince? Heh, he don’t know nothing’!” he says loudly to the patrons at the bar. “The Prince ain’t no wizard, he don’t know ‘bout magic and what the magicians want,” he continues. “Sirendendum protects Tamalchia because there is somethin’ in it or about it that he likes, and he don’t care much about the government. The Ecleths didn’t have much help or harm from him in pushin’ out the Yugarins, and the Yugarins didn’t have his help before that, ‘cept protecting the city from other armies of course. It’s da priests and the mages that know what’s goin’ on, if anybody does.”

His remarks are met with cheers and nods of approval from many of the patrons at the bar. Most of the rest of the tavern patrons sit around their own discussions, many of them to a similar venue, except for two tables of tough-looking men of various races (though mostly Moratani and Mithatani) that sit one near the front door and the other still an ale-bottle’s throw away. Most everybody is preoccupied with either about merchanting, the Idol, the relatively cold state of recent relations with Suzaria, or the dancing girls, and nobody seems to notice that there is some kind of rucous in the street outside – though, there is so much ambient noise that it would be hard for anybody to make anything out even if they did.

All of this ends with a loud crash, as a Moratani man dressed in a hooded brown cloak and wearing dignified-looking clothes bearing the badge of the College of the Golden Power bursts in the door, sword drawn and panting. Most of the tavern conversation quiets down suddenly as all eyes turn upon the armed newcomer. The barman reaches below the table for the fabled club, and many of the other patrons, especially the tough-looking men at the two tables near the door, lower their hands to what are also no doubt hidden weapons.

“I don’t know who ya are, but yer welcome in this tavern if ya put yer sword away,” says the bartender pointedly. A pair of bouncers, who had been leaning against the wall next to the bar and opposite the stage, unfold their arms and reach for their heavy clubs, not sharp as swords, perhaps, but still formidable weapons.

Again, the door bursts open, and two more people enter: a man and then a woman, both Calatani. The man in front wears a blue cloak beneath his flowing black hair and over his brown leather clothing, but his two swords, one long and straight and the other short and with a slight curve, hang conspicuously from his waist. Taublin the Blue, his name is known as a wandering swordsman of uncertain repute. But the woman behind him is stranger still: dark brown hair over a flowing blue cloak, much like Taublin’s, her slender body is mostly enclosed by the blue cloth, but the green robe underneath is still visible, as is the hilt of her own long, slender sword. But upon her robe can be seen part of it, and worn on the shoulder of her cloak is a symbol: seven white stars over a mountain over the sea – the emblems of the students of the Starlit Lady, the great Silver Archmage of the Sycamore Coast and, perhaps, one of the few in all of Amlara who could potentially be rivals of Sirendendum.

The two walk in after the first man, who turns to face them, his sword held at ready as he notes both the bouncers and the two Calatani. Taublin and his companion say nothing, but their piercing gaze says more than words could: this man will be brought to justice here.

The woman is the first to respond, as suddenly the men around the two tables rise, maces and long knives in their hands. Her hand immediately drops to her sword and in one sweeping motion draws out the rapier-like blade. Taublin quickly does the same with his swords. The man whom they had been pursuing raises his. The Bartender takes a step back as he realizes that he and his bouncers are out-numbered. “Looks like you’ve stepped into a trap, Taublin,” he says.

“Citizens!” Taublin calls loudly, “for the good of your city! Let not these men succeed in stealing your people’s protection!” The group of armed men begin to close in around Taublin and his companion, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the tavern.

*

The sun’s rays peer through the window of the temple, the great triangular window on the east side of the building, out from under the great dome of the Cathedral, silhouettes the high ridge of Telecorn, looming eighty miles away and nearly four miles above, towering above its nearer foothills. The monks and nuns of the conclave wait and talk softly, sometimes solemnly, about the dangers and the mysteries that belay these times. Erisé, the abbotess, has called them to this meeting to discuss the hidden passages beneath the city. Nobody knows what they contain, what lies below the city. Legend says that it is a treasure beyond the reckoning of mere mortals, a jewel of the earth itself. The Prince keeps them guarded night and day, letting nobody in. Most people think they just lead to the Prince’s treasure vaults, but the Cathedral records speak of the passages, even have maps of them, but the ancient maps are without keys, so while those with the knowledge of the Cathedral records know the passages are there, they do not know what the convoluted labyrinth contains or where it leads.

Of course, not even the monks and nuns all know that they are there. It came as a shock to many of them. Many more were equally shocked by the feeling of foreboding they now all have when they look to the holy Mountains. There is danger, and it is real, and it is coming. The Mountains see this from their glacial heights. But what?

The doors of the sanctum open and abbotess Erisé walks in, flanked by two of her aides, her husband Meridh behind her. There is the clank of metal under her robes as she walks, and her long-handled pick, the weapon that the followers of Thinliara carry when there is need of such things, rests against her belt. The four of them are seated in the wide circle, beneath the carven stained glass ceiling depicting the Dragon Herself, in front of the other followers. As the priestess takes her seat, her aides unfurl a scroll inscribed with a map upon the altar.

“I do not order you to undertake this danger,” she announces as the map is unfurled, looking upon all of her congregation but noting Demiris in particular. “But I ask it. You no doubt all guess that I mean to gain access to the hidden passages beneath the city, and that I am willing to face whatever consequences I must in order to do so. My reason in short is this: there is a reason why Sirendendum built this city, its walls, the Cathedral in which we have spent our lives honoring the Dragon, and the Idol that used to stand upon the Cathedral’s great dome. While we may all believe that the Archmage did this for the good of Tamalchia’s people, it is nonetheless because of its walls that Tamalchia exists, for it is for this reason that its people have chosen to live with the protection of these walls. Sirendendum chose the location of the city, and he chose it because of something that is here, some treasure that only the Gods and the great Archmages can fathom, something that should be beyond the reckoning of mere mortals like us, servants of the Gods though we may be.

“We know the legends, there are those among us who have seen the maps, and those who have not can trust me or not as you choose. to the question of the guardianship of Sirendendum, if he has been defeated by an enemy, if he has forsaken our city, or if the idol is merely a symbol and not truly important, the answer lies beneath the city. Danger is upon us, or will be soon: this we all know. What do we, the servants of the Dragon and the people of Tamalchia, do to avert or avoid this danger? We must know what the danger is. We must plan our strategy, but we must do it soon, for then we must act. Who will stand at my side and act with me?”

[This message has been edited by Beren V (edited 10-30-2005 @ 12:26 PM).]

Thorin looks aroun from his perch...'The prince is in the balcone darn well maybe we can make some money yet." Thorin gives a single to Tarok.

Demiris stepped from among the congregation and saluted the abbess by touching the fingertips of her right hand to her left shoulder. She had a posture that seemed to be somehow both humble and proud, and her dozens of eyes riveted to her instantly. Her black hair swept behind her as she lowered the hood of her outer robe.

"Honored abbess Erisé, I am Demiris, a representative of the conclave of Sapheuel." Demiris turned slightly, her brown-gray robe swirling around her. She spoke slightly louder, speaking to the entire gathering of followers. "I was sent by my superiors to aid our allies under the Dragon Thinliara in any way possible."

Turning again to the abbess, Demiris fell slowly to her knees, her outer robe settling around her. "As a Shaeln of the Dragon of the Underground, I hope that you will be able to utilize my skills." Demiris lowered her head, brilliant green eyes half-closed, speaking quietly. "I am yours to command, body and mind."

IC: At his cousin Elmledir's words, Balador indulged himself with a small grin. The Ecleth must show himself, he thought. What choice does he have? The towering man threw a glance around the crowd, his imposing height giving him a better vantage point than most of the people filling the square. The Yugarin rapped the bottom of his solid cane against the dirtied flagstones with an impatient exhalation. So, my Lord Father sends me here to wait on the Ecleth prince. Why? He must be plotting something; he always was a wily spider. Perhaps he's finally found a way to get rid of me so he can marry poor Maelin off to that fat hog of a man, Elnan, and capture the last of the Davistal heirs. He always was bitter that Gadhwen and Calana failed to capture the better of the Davistal sons; too much Gethwine blood to compete with Mirali's Ecleth charm. The Darondhel and Senethon estates are poor consolation. Well, the game may be against the old man, this time, for once. Balador ran a caressing hand over the golden head of his cane. He had prepared many spells of appraising and unravelling secrets; seeing that which the unaided eye could not. Perhaps he could discover something that the prince would rather keep unknown.

For the moment, Balador simply stood where he was, watching his nemesis with an absorbed expression.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Adhelenna had never been within a tavern before, but she liked the Chalice. The lithe Calatani was relaxing alone at the bar in her leather tunic and pants, having left her furs and other things up in her room. She had spoken with several of the other women frequenting the place, earlier, learning something of Tamalchia and the curious disappearance of the Idol. She also received her first contact with a foreign culture, and the young woman found the odd, or sometimes strangely familiar, accents of the locals, and the talk of lords and ladies and knights all to be fascinating. In her family's home, all had been equal under the sun and stars, living in harmony with the animals and plants - although none of them would have put the sentiment into words. It was simply the way things were for them. Here, everything was different - or were they the same? Sometimes, particularly when she had not worried about it for a long time, Adhelenna got the peculiar feeling that she was looking at the world with someone else's eyes; someone to whom the concepts of nobility and chivalry and politics were as familiar and welcome as the smell of the trees in spring or the cool of a winter morning were to Adhelenna. It was while Adhelenna tried to push the confusion from her mind with a gulp of ale that Taublin the Blue entered the Tavern of the Golden Chalice, and the sound of his attackers rising from their tables en masse drew her keen senses.

At the sight of the armed men advancing towards the strangers, Adhelenna wanted to relax and stay out of the way. She wanted to finish her ale and then go take a nap and forget the past that lay behind her. But a will of iron seemed to seize her suddenly quivering limbs and she jerked herself upright, a song of the Silver Power that had never passed her lips before erupting from the depths of her heart - or someone else's heart, full of cold thoughts that seized her gift and made it into a weapon. A song of anger and the will to do harm filled her mind, as she approached the strangers' assailants with fleet strides, the Silver Power gathering within her, all as if it was happening to someone else and she could only watch helplessly.

Gale Mases had entered the city only earlier today, but he could tell the city was seemed ill at ease, and he did not catch why.

The Black One wants me to find a Tavern of the Golden Chalice . . . and do what? Convert people. But how? What advantages does the worship of the Black One hold? . . . I should know, I suppose, being his prophet, he had thought, with a slight smile. I guess the Black One will let me know what to do, when I need to know.

He had passed a Moratani in the street, and asked where the Tavern of the Golden Chalice was.

"You're new to the city, eh?" The Moratani eyed him critically. What information he gleaned from this Gale could not guess -- it was just one of those things you did as a suspicious townsperson, he supposed.

"Well, I suppose I can aid a man," said the Moratani. He gave Gale directions to the tavern, and was on his way.

Gale found his way to the tavern, finally, after a mistaken street or two. He'd never been in a city before, which is a bad state to be in while wandering around one.

Sitting down at a table, he ordered a drink of ice water and watched. No one in the tavern jumped out at him as someone who would want to join a new order of religious worshippers of a dark, secretive god. But you never could tell.

I guess I'll wait. The Black One said its best to wait for the enemy to come to you. All the better advice when you don't know who the enemy is, or if there even is one, he thought, settling in his chair.

-:-

An hour had passed since he had sat down at his table, yet nothing had happened.

Then,

I leave you to choose, my prophet.

Those seven words were all the Black One had to say.

Choose what? There's nothing to choose, is there? he thought.

Just as he was wondering that, a Moratani came bursting into the tavern, panting.

Gale knew he'd soon need to do something. What he had to do, he had no idea, but both instinct and (through hinting speech) the Black One insisted on it.

He waited, just a little longer.

When two Calatani, a man and a woman, came in and began closing in on the Moratani, he suddenly knew this was when to act.

I need this Moratani on the Black One's side, he thought. Why do I need him? I've no clue. But I'm going to find out.

"Kish asan seilaas . . . " he whispered carefully. It meant awake the hidden, in the common tongue. I appeared to have incorrect grammar when translated, for what the ritual did was render one invisible.

Cloaked in the dark veils of the Black One's Gift, the air seemed to be lit with dark blue light.

Since everyone watching the strangers and the conflict that was about to occur, they hardly noticed that a Moratani in the back was apparently fading out of existance.

Walking quietly to the behind the two Calatani, Gale whispered again.

"Gesan asan vejel, kish asan caras, af asan acaras warn.*"

A menacing dark, writhing cloud snapped into existance between the Calatani and the Moratani with a clashing sound.

"Take the Black One's cover, and run, Moratani! But remember a debt must be repaid . . . " he shouted at the cloaked Moratani.

He stepped quickly out the tavern door, looking in a window to make sure the dark cloud remain in place, while waiting to follow the Moratani.

_{*Take the whither, awaken the ethereal, write the ethereal's mind. Again, quite cryptic.}

[This message has been edited by SqueekyDragon (edited 11-01-2005 @ 08:25 PM).]

The tavern explodes into chaos. Men around Adhellena cast themselves upon their faces as she passes, her will flexing in power. Instantly the female companion of Taublin the Blue turns her gaze directly upon her, stunned by the shocking appearance of power. One of the thugs rushes at the distracted Calatana with his club, but Taublin makes a fast sword-swipe and deflects the club, the man still being out of his reach. Two of the other men from one of the tables peel off and round upon Adhellena, their clubs in their hands and a maddened terror in their eyes. As the blue-cloaked woman is saved from the rush, Adhellena suddenly feels a flare of power from her as well as the woman ducks a blow and lances one of her assailants through the stomach.

At the same time, a writhing mass of smoke materializes between Taublin and the Moratana he was confronting. He turns for a moment, then adjusts his posture to guard against both a club-wielding thug and a potential threat from the cloud at once. Like his companion, Taublin's strikes and parries are very fast, but there are at least three men now bearing upon him, and he takes a few steps closer to the direction where Adhellena is now moving into.

The two bouncers who had been watching the fight suddenly recoil from the song of magic. The tavern is filled with screams as the song's power strikes the patrons.

The Moratana behind the cloud is stunned and dumbfounded. He is shielded somewhat from the song of anger that reaches the rest of the main room, but he simply takes some steps back and does not make for the door. "Who are you?" he cries, barely audible over the screams of the patrons of the tavern.

*

"I am grateful on Thinliara's behalf, and greatful to Sapheuel that you may join us," Erisé answers Demiris, bowing. "Please rise, for we must first plan our strategy, and in that you may well be wiser than any of us."

As if by cue, most of the rest of the congregation also rise and bow, and walk up to the altar, their robes of white and gray and red draped about them. "I see that most of us are not yet ready should the need for battle arise," Erisé observes. "Let us first speak, then!"

Tolodhor, a tall but thin Mithatana and one of the Abbotess' aides, stands over the map that is now spread upon the altar. He indicates three great sheets of parchment, all containing maps of one form or another, and all drawn in fading ink. One map is familiar to many: it is a street map of Tamalchia, with some of the more ancient and notable locations marked, the Cathedral, the Great Square, and the city gates. The locations of more minor buildings have changed over time, so they are no longer obvious to all. The second map is of a network of roads, or what look to be roads, but there are precious few landmarks of any familiarity. The roads in general seem to circle around a central point, but one road comes off at a 1/8 circle angle toward the northeast, and end somewhere with some sort of structure. The third and final map contains what is at first glance a replica of the second map, but it also has, off to the side, another pattern of roads, seemingly in a loop, but it has many other lines and features, and does not clearly show which lines are roads and which are other features. Upon a closer look, the replica of the second map upon the third is not a perfect replica: a number of connections in the roads are in different locations, and some of the roads that had been dead-ends in the second map are not in the third, and the converse.

All of the maps are inscribed in a script of unfamiliar kind, but the first and second maps contain common inscriptions upon certain locations that presumably correlate locations above and below the surface of the city, the most prominant of these being under the College of the Golden Power on the Great Square.

"We know of nobody who can read this script," announces Tolodhor, as the congregation pours over it. He points three of the locations on the surface map, though not including the Mages' Academy. "We know these to be entrances to the passages below. Most people just call them 'vaults', but we have this map that shows them connecting. Notice that each of these entrances is also labeled on this map, with the same inscription as on the surface map, so we know where they lead, assuming this map," he says, comparing the second to the third, 'is correct. We do not know what any of these underground structures are that are not on the surface, except this," he says, pointing to something next to the Mage Academy, "which is probably the waterworks for the fountain in the Great Square."

Erisé points to the two areas that intrigue her on the second map. "But the Great Square is not where the underground roads converge, even though it is placed here by the symmetry. Also, this road that seems to go off at an angle breaks the symmetry. I wonder where it leads."

"Unless we can find somebody who can decipher the script, we do not know," answers Tolodhor.

Demiris had rose, and was studying the maps intently. She thought the thing of most importance that she saw was the asymmetrical road on the second map. She suspected that a major thing to do would be to invesigate any of the underground structures. If they found something that needed to be watched, they would need a good deal of rope, or a Silver Mage who could communicate telepathically. There were, after all, few reliable communication techniques underground.

Demiris did not speak, but watched, memorizing the second and third maps as best she could. She did idly wonder whether the underground roads were truly roads, and if so, of what kind? Were they merely dirt tunnels, or had someone gone through the efforts of putting down stone roads. It was, Demiris decided, probably both. The Prince may have built roads near the area he was guarding.

Demiris then spoke, posing a question to both the abbess and Tolodhor. "Please, where will we be descending into the tunnels, and how difficult will it be to gain access to that entrance?"

"That is one thing we must decide," answered Erisé.

Tolodhor pointed to three entrances that were labled across the city. "Each of these is guarded night and day by the Prince's soldiers. If we wish to get to the center of the passageways, we would best take this one," he remarked. "This building here," he indicated a structure on the southern side of the city, "is currently the Gethwine family manor, but it is labeled like the Golden Mages' academy, so I wonder if the building was used for something else in the past, or if a new one stands atop it, or if the entrance is still open, if it ever was. The Mages' academy itself is labeled on both maps: probably there is a passage underneath it, too. But that would require a search of the academy. Though the academy itself isn't guarded against all, it might cause problems if we all started searching it: the city guard might take notice."

"What about sending in a few people at a time to scout, and then summoning the rest of use if we find it?" asked a young monk.

"We do not have the time, I fear," Erisé responded. "Danger is coming soon, and we know this. We do not know how long we have, or how long it will take to find out what lies below once we gain access. Moreover, we are not the only ones who know of these passages. Certainly the Prince does, and the followers of other Gods worshipped in this cathedral may also have these maps. Some of those who may know might have less than noble intentions, such as perhaps those who stole the idol itself. The Gethwine family is suspected for their criminal racket. What if they are already searching?"

"And what if other Archmages are also searching for it, whatever it is?" asked a different accolyte, a young nun.

"That I fear may be the greatest danger of all," answered Erisé grimly. "We may have to race them to whatever lies below. May Thinliara help us all if we need to face such an enemy."

He's not moving. I suppose I'll have to go back in there myself, curse it, Gale thought.

"Eseir asan seilaas," Gale whispered, and the sheen of dark blue slithered off the world. He was visible, now -- maybe that would make the Moratani trust him a bit more. Fear of the supernatural, and all that.

Ducking back into the tavern, he unsheathed a knife from his belt, and called over the clash of weapons to the Moratani.

"These Calatani will defeat you, Moratani! You must make your escape, now!" The Moratani seemed uncertain, as anyone would be.

Gale paused, then called out again. "I will even cover for you, but you must run!"

He spoke no more, and simply joined the melee. He ducked a swing of a bouncer's club (Gale didn't think it was aimed at him, but either way he didn't want to be hit by it) and sidestepped a toppled chair or two, running towards the Calatani.

Reaching his aforementioned destination, he made for a low knifestroke at the Calatani man. Sometimes actions speak louder than words.

IC: Adhelenna jerked back from the club-wielding man attacking her, the will that had unleashed the song vanishing in a rush of terror along with the Silver Power. She took a hurried step backwards, foot catching on a chair that had been tossed to the floor, and tripped, crashing over the chair to the floor with a cry of surprise and pain, throwing up her arms against the attacking man and cringing fearfully where she lay.

Demiris spoke up, stroking her cheek as she thought over the situation. "Abbess, would it be possible to get the Gethwine family out of their manor? Whether getting them arrested on criminal charges or having rival criminals evict them would do nicely. It would open up their manor to us, allowing us more time to find and access the tunnel entrance."

Demiris flicked her head, her lustrous hair falling about her shoulders as a sly smile curled the corners of her mouth. "Time is what we need most, is it not?"

[This message has been edited by Lord Grue (edited 11-03-2005 @ 05:00 PM).]

"Repent or be destroyed!" screams the struggling preacher, madness now plain in his voice as he is lifted and carried by the guards. One guard swats him heavily with a batan, and the man goes limp.

A murmur begins to trickle through of the crowd.

"The College of the Golden Mages is at work upon finding the Idol. They are permitted to search the city wherever they feel that the Idol may be found," continues the Prince, trying to ignore the spectacle that has just occurred below him. "The Tamalchia Light Horse are patrolling the highways - even if theieves were able to detatch the Idol from the Cathedral, they could not have carried it far without its being noticed. There is no place that it could be hidden for long. We will find it."

At this, he raises his hands upward. "And behold! In the time that it is missing, we are still a rich and wealthy city! The foresight of this House and of the Temples of the Gods of Good have made our people wealthy, and a great store of all goods and a great strength of men will support the city should some emergency take place in the short time it will take to recover the Idol. And the Gods still favor us! For the power of the Mages still waxes strong, and the Cathedral priests still hear the words of the Gods. Mighty is Tamalchia! Ever shall it stand!"

The Prince lowers his arms. As he does so, Balador notices his staff vibrate and senses a tremor, a brief flash of the Golden Power. He cannot easily pinpoint where it was from, because although Balador was alert and with spells of divining ready upon his staff, the mage had not been actively searching for it. Yet it had nothing to do with the Prince's lowering his arms, that much he could tell.

On the roof behind the square, Thorin feels no tremor, his mind more on money than on magic or on secrets. But both he and Balador see one of the aides behind the Prince stir suddenly, and Thorin sees the man look straight at him, his gaze seeming to pierce into his mind.

*

The two Calatani, beset by multiple armed men, fight as best they can, but it seems difficult to believe that they could escape on their own. But as Gale charged at Taublin, two of the men attacking Taublin turned on him suddenly, one wielding a spiked club and the other a long, heavy knife, like a cleaver. Both take inexpert swings at Gale. In a flurry of blades, Taublin disembowels a third of the four men who had been upon him, the spray of blood landing upon his cloak as the man falls to the floor. The fourth swings a stone hammer at the Calatana, but the blow is parried with Taublin's shorter sword.

As Adhelenna lies helpless on the floor, she feels a new flare of the Silver Power from the female bearing the Starlit Lady's emblems. Impossibly agile and fast, it seems, she lances one of the men who is now set on Adhellena with her blade, who falls upon the chair next to her in a heap. The remaining man takes a swing with his heavy steel pipe at the mage, but she gracefully dodged the blow. Still, there were now two men on her, and even with Adhellena's distraction there is no guarantee that the woman would survive, however fast her spells have made her.

*

"Not to interrupt, but if the police were going to arrest the Gethwine they would have done so already." The voice is Meridh's. "Besides, the city guard would not arrest the entire family: even if they do run a criminal empire, not everyone in the family is going to be involved."

"That is true," responds Erisé, looking back at him.

"Of course another of the families might oust them," suggests one of the brotherhood.

The nun who had spoken earlier then suggests "Suppose we let the Prince know that they have an entrance below their manor? Do you suppose he could remove them?"

"But that would stop us as well, of course," adds Erisé.

"We are of course assuming that there still is a passageway underneath Gethwine manor," Tolodhor comments grimly. "If you look on this old map," he says, motioning to one of the maps of the city, "the place where Gethwine manor is now was occupied by a different building when this map was made. How can we know if there is still an entrance beneath it?"

"How can we find out?" Erisé asks Tolodhor.

Tarok Starts from the back of the crowd walking up behind anyone that he picks and he takes his fist and smashes it against there back then weving away quikly then does it again for about a minute tarok keeps the fighting up and then he walks to the very most back out of the crowd and takes A bottle out of his pocket and throws it in the middle of the crowd and darkness blinds all near.Tarok starts to yell at the top of his lungs any insult that he could think of about the king,town and the people.Tarok starts taking rocks and throing them up so that when they come down the hit whomever."Perfect,just like we planned"

"Who is the leader of the Gethwine clan?" asked Demiris, eyes almost closed in thought. "And who of the family would have the most detailed knowledge of the property's history? I am quite sure that one of them, almost certaintly the latter, will give us information." Demiris glanced about, her sly smile playing about her lips. " Provided we use the proper persuasive measures."

[This message has been edited by Lord Grue (edited 11-07-2005 @ 07:07 PM).]

IC: Balador watched in bemused surprise as a dwarf began running around, punching people from behind, and then blasted part of the crowd with some kind of magical darkness, finally starting to scream at the top of his lungs and throw rocks at those around him. The immense man's gaze soon turned back to the Ecleth prince, considering the meaning of the magical surge he had detected and whether the aide's sudden movement was connected to it, as well as their response to the mad dwarf. He had no fear for his own safety - besides what magical defenses he had put together beforehand, his cousin and a few of the 'Gethwine' household guard stood at hand.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Cursing under her strained breath, Adhelenna jumped upright, knocking the chair she had stumbled over away. She darted out a hand and grabbed up the club dropped by her fallen attacker, with a shudder of revulsion at the feel of his warm, dead flesh, drawing it away. The cudgel gripped tight in her hands, she rushed behind one of the brigands attacking the lady who had saved her, before her bravery deserted her, and cracked it down upon his head from behind with all her desperate strength, eyes darting frenziedly to the blue-cloaked woman's other attacker.

No alien will controlled Adhelenna's limbs, this time, only the knowledge that the swordsman's companion had saved her life and now needed her aid. While she still wanted to do nothing more than run away and get out of danger, she forced herself on for a reason she could not articulate to herself, but which seemed far cleaner than the shadowy purposes of the cold, methodical mind, now vanished, that had seized control of her to bring her to this point.

"The head of the Gethwine estate is the lord Keloden Gethwine," answers Nilicar, the other of Erisé's aides. "But I do not know if he would be the loremaster of the property. I would guess the manager of their estate would know, but we would need to look up who he is."

"In the mean time, we should look into our other options," says Erisé. "The Golden mages' academy seems to be on both maps. Perhaps there is an entrance there as well?"

Thorin finally gets his message across to Tarok and is amused by Tarok's action but it gets the job done. As Tarok is making a fool of him self Thorin begins to conjure a spell. This spell is a Stone into mud spell (transmutation) the ideal is to turn the ground below the crowed into mud then back to stone. "OK well it looks about right but I wonder how large of a radius is the crowed? (Thorin's spell is risky for he has to draw an almost prefect transmutation circle with his piece of coal and then he has to channel the right amount of spiritual power in to the circle as well) Thorin didn't have much time to prep for this spell but he has the just idea.

"Once all's feet are incased by stone pick pocking shall be simple. I only hope Tarok is out of the way."

Thorin will of course turn the people lose again (when he and Tarok his far away) Thorin and Tarok are to split up after pocketing their loot and meet at the Golden Chalice Tavern.

Demiris raised her eyebrows and gestured towards the Golden mages' academy on the map. "Are we sure we want to alert the Golden mages? After all, it is very conceivable that some of them have reached the same conclusions as you, abbess. If so, going to the academy would be futile, even fatal. The mages are a wily and defensive bunch. They probably have wards and traps that would take too great a time to dispell. Still, I know little of the city, not enough of to know the course to take." Demiris face showed her sharp mind, speeding in an effort to solve their problems. She glanced about, hoping something in the Cathedral's room would spark some idea inside her head.

Suddenly, Balador is aware of a great many more things than he had been paying attention to. The fountain before him in the Great Square seems set atop an underground waterworks, and he percieves that there are passages that maintain those waterworks. There is some new sealing (or unsealing) power settled at work in the palace behind the Square. Identifiable to a dwarf standing on the roof of the College of the Golden Power, is a spiritual sense of some kind of rock-alteration spell. Upon the balcony where the Prince stands and behind him, a man begins setting in motion a spell of immobilization. And, somewhere, to the northeast, is something, also seemingly static like the sealing magic inside the palace, but something Balador has not noticed before.

Tarok's punching people in the back and then hurling a bottle of light-quenching magic is answered by the palace guard running across the Square toward him. Several people then break out of the darkness and come toward him, most unarmed but some with daggers or other cutlery knives. The guards of course are more heavily armed, although they are farther away, and Tarok knows he cannot overpower the muscle of a half a dozen men.

The man standing upon the balcony behind the Prince, the one Balador realizes is casting a spell, steps forward and draws a wand. What he says is inaudible at this distance, but his wand is directed first at Tarok and then at Thoren as he shifts the direction of the subject of his spell. Thorin meanwhile frantically tries to complete his spell, but is faced with the dilemma that should he complete it, he may himself fall victim to whatever it is that the mage on the steps is casting at him!

*

There is a solid crack as the flap-jack-wielding man falls to the floor from Adhellena's blow. The cloaked woman parries a strike from the man before her and cuts a slash from his nose over his eye, and he falls back clutching his face, screaming something about his eyes.

Taublin is now facing two opponents, both knife-wielding thugs, and backs up almost into his companion. She quickly takes stock of the situation, glances back at Adhellena and nods to her, before turning to the two thugs assailing Taublin.

The Moratana man, whom Taublin and his companion had chased into the tavern, suddenly decides to take Gale's advice and run for the window, leaping out of it with a crash. Two of the four men left of the ambush party continue to focus their attention on Gale. The bouncers, obviously cowed by the sudden speed and ferocity of the two Calatani fighters and not wanting to be involved in this very deadly fight, remain backed up against the wall.

*

"I do not doubt that they are well aware of the passages," Erisé answers grimly. "Going though them would be costly, at least. The alternative, should Gethwine Manor be impossible, is to go through one of these surface gates. We know these open up to the passages below. But they are always guarded by the city guard. This means that unless the Prince has called the guard off on a more active search for the idol, getting below will almost certainly involve a fight."

"The Golden Mages' Academy is now largely defunct, of course," adds Tolodhor.

"This is true," responds Erisé, "but that does not mean that any traps and defenses have been undone. These are users of the Golden Power, after all."

[This message has been edited by Beren V (edited 11-10-2005 @ 01:42 AM).]

Thorin is in deep...he feels a golden mage's precents on the balcony with the prince. with that in mind and the gaurds attacking his brother Thorin must finish the transmutation spell to save Tarok and Thorin must take the full hit of what ever spell the golden mage on the balcony coungers up.

ooc: In lay mans terms all stone in town square was turn to mud and the secret of the passages underneath town square is reviled.

[This message has been edited by DemosCell (edited 11-11-2005 @ 04:15 PM).]

OOC: I feel that DemosCell's jumping to his spell being fully cast (not to mention that I think it's now ridiculously overpowered for the current 'level' of the characters; but then, I didn't expect the results of Adhelenna's song in the Chalice to be anywhere near what Beren had happen) violates the Guidelines: it forces consequences on my character. I'm going to post what Balador does in reaction to Beren's last post, ignoring DC's post for now, and let Beren decide what all happens.

IC: With a snap of his great wrist, Balador's longsword was in hand. Mere steel couldn't ward off the magic he sensed gathering around the dwarf, but it was a small comfort and aided his focus as he raised his sturdy cane. The noble's mind seized one of the spells he had set within the wood beforehand; a power to resist and ward away magic. It was the best he could do on such short notice, but it would be no help to anyone beside himself; Balador, for once, hoped that the Ecleth prince had appropriate protection in place. Unleashing the spell around him, the wolf's head of his cane shining, Balador held his breath to see the result.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Adhelenna let the club fall from her nerveless fingers, backing away from the prone form of the man she had felled, a numb feeling sinking over her. Her backwards paces carried her away from the Calatani and their assailants, but she knew, somehow, that there would be no escape from the consequences of her actions. Whatever they might be.

The two remaining thugs back up and seemingly yield, but by this time the Moratana man whom Gale had spoken to has escaped out the window. There are at least a half a dozen men lying on the floor, some dead, some badly injured. In the midst of the chaos, a great many of the patrons have also doven out of windows, and others have rushed upstairs to the bedrooms. The bartender is standing in the back of the tavern, looking at the three Calatani intently. At first, nobody says anything.

Then Taublin looks around, trying to find their quarry. "That traitorous mage must have escaped while his ambush should have finished us," he says. He turns to the two thugs, who by now have backed up against the bar. "Alright, thugs, who are you working for?"

The female Calatana speaks to Taublin. "The city soldiers are going to be here in a moment, and though we may be on their side, they do not know it. We cannot stay to question them!" she insists.

"Alright, you two will answer to the constabulary," Taublin continues to the ambushers. "Let's go then!" he says, heading for the door.

"Wait one moment!" cries his companion, who then turns to Adhellena. "I sense that you know not what you have become involved in, but since you most likely saved both mine and my companion's lives, and we can hope the City in which we stand, I will say this: the constable will likely come after you as well, and it may be safer to come with us, but I cannot say if such is so or not."

With that, both she and Taublin leave through the door. With the two Calatani warriors gone, the tavern visibly relaxes and tenses seemingly at once. The two bouncers step forward again, as does the barman, a heavy wooden mallet in his hands. Right now, they seem more intent on the thugs, but a substantial amount of the attention in the room is directed at Adhellena.

*

"It seems an investigation of the Gethwine manor would be our safest bet, then, since if the Golden Mages have come to the same conclusion as we, they will already be far ahead of us and perhaps not worth trying to catch," Tolodhor says. "Do you agree?" he continues, asking the Abbess. She nods silently. "What would be the best way to proceed?"

Erisé looks at Demiris. "You suggested the proper way of persuasion. Have you any ideas of what the proper way would be?"

Demiris nodded, face calm and serious.

"The two persuasive measures would be force and seduction. Force would be more likely to fail, and we do not have time for it. Seduction would also take too much time. Therefore, the proper method would be a combination. I am certain that I would be able to use my skills as Shaeln to get close enough physically to either the leader of the Gethwine or the loremaster of the property. Once I am close enough, I would be able to question the target, either in idle conversation or using interrogative techniques."

Demiris shrugged. "I do not know which one would be easier to seduce, or even to get the chance to seduce, the leader or the loremaster. If the leader took me to his chamber, no one would question his right to have a night with a young woman. But the leader will undoubtedly be well protected, so I may not even get the chance to be noticed. The loremaster, however, will probably ignored for the most part, perhaps enough to allow me time to act."

She let out a breath. "I believe the loremaster would be the better first target, if we can find out who that is."

IC: Shying away from the stares of awe and fear she knew were drawn to her, Adhelenna thought briefly of her things in the room she had rented, upstairs, but furs and a bow would be of little use to her now. Her leathers would be no worse for warding away the threat of a sword's edge than fur, and she doubted that she would be hunting again any time soon. The Calatana woman's words had been sobering. Adhelenna knew little enough of the ways of cities, but she had done violence, and she felt guilty enough for her own sake. Visage pale but now composed, she chased after Taublin and his companion, stepping out of the tavern.

Tarok noticing that all of this is going utterly wrong and everyone wants him.Tarok runs toward the tavern keeping low and trying to avoid attention

The layout of Tamalchia, Tarok knows and Adhellena has probably started to figure out, is that it is a great square city located on a river running through the southern edge of it from east (ultimately northeast) to west (and ultimately south, into Suzaria). The Palace Square is located very near to the center of town, with roads from it going north, west, and east, to the city gates. The major streets connecting these main roads to the rest of the city are square-shaped concentric roads ultimately out to the walls of the city. At this time, there are some slums outside the walls, espeically on the east side, but they are of little consequence. These square roads themselves connect to the smaller streets and alleyways that upon which the various residential and commercial districts are located. The Golden Chalice tavern is on the second-outermost of the great square roads next to the road leading to the north gate.

Balador of course not only knows the city's layout, but why it is so planned and symmetrical: legend has it that Siredendum designed it.

*

Tarok finds himself running under the archway of the Golden Mages' academy toward the north gate, with about four of the townsfolk running behind him, the others apparently either broken off or caught by his brother's spell. Unfortunately for him, the streets are not terribly populated this morning; most of the townspeople on the streets today are in the Palace Square to listen to the Prince, the merchants who would normally line the Great North Road being largely inside, afraid of the omen of the idol's disappearance. There are few places for him to hide, but fortunately, the townsfolk chasing him do not appear to be armed.

*

The spectacle within the Palace Square continues to develop in ways that the Prince is so obviously unable to handle. The circle upon the coal hastily drawn, only the more central region actually has its desired effect, but it manages to bog down most of the people in the area Tarok was, as well as a few of the people chasing him, including the vanguard of the constabulary. The rest of the soldiers coming over to investigate collide with their peers who have gotten stuck in the mud and many of them are bawled over, breaking plates of the rapidly solidifying mud onto their boots. The area around Balador and his bodyguards is unaffected, but there is a squirt of water in their direction as well as a patch of the pavement not far from their feet turns to gravel, due to irregularities in the hastily-drawn circle.

Thorin, meanwhile, feels the left side of his body go numb and slumps to the roof of the Mages' academy upon the roof of which he has been standing (he would have liked a cottage better, but there are no cottages overlooking the Palace Square). At the same time, the mage in back of the Prince himself falls to his knees with a frustrated cry. Thorin quickly identifies whatever was cast at him was a partially misaimed paralysis spell of some kind, and that while the left side of his body is numb, the right side of his body is unaffected. He does not know why the mage who cast it at him seemingly got hit by it as well, especially his feet, but apparently he has.

From where Balador is standing, he can see that the Prince is livid. He points at the dwarf on the roof of the Mages' academy and tells something to one of his escorts, who disappears back inside of the palace. A general panic at the constant interruptions upon the already agitated crowd is beginning to develop, as people flee the area that had been the subject of Thorin's spell. The massive man's bodyguards don't have to do much work however to keep people away from their charge - there is no stampede or riot quite yet.

*

Adhellena finds herself out on one of the square streets in front of the tavern along with several people who have also left the tavern, some of them quite hastily, and are dispersing in all directions, but especially away from the two Calatani fighters. "There he is!" exclaims Taublin, pointing at the Moratani man whom they had chased into the tavern in the first place, who is currently running west down the street toward the Great North Road. Taublin breaks into a run after the man. His companion hesitates for a moment, casts a glance back, notes and acknowledges Adhellena seemingly through their respective minds, but her glance is more focused on what is coming up the east end of the street: a half a dozen of the city soldiers, heading straight for the tavern!

*

"Yes, the loremaster would be a better first target," agrees Erisé. "especially since Lord Gethwine is much less likely to know what we want to find out even so. Now how would we find out who that is, and where would he be?"

"He would be learning what he could at the moment. If he's not in the Cathedral right now himself, I would say the best place to find him would be either at his own library or in the Palace Square, listening to the Prince," suggest's Meridh.

"Who here knows who the members of the Gethwine family look like?" asks Erisé to the congregation. A few of the monks and nuns step forward. "Let some of you head for the Palace Square. Meanwhile, let's see what we can do about the library in Gethwine manor - you're right, Meridh, they must have one. Those of us who are no use in doing that... let's have some of us continue to read the Cathedral records and see what more we can find out. Some teams to watch the three openings that we know about would also be well to have, to see how regularly they are guarded." She begins assigning parties from the groups that stepped forward, with three pairs to watch the three gates. She then turns to Demiris. "I assume you would be like to try finding the Gethwine library and see if the loremaster is there, or am I wrong?"

Thorin stumbels to the window on top of his pearch, (the same window he used to get on the roof) and jumps into an emty room. "Well @#!$ that was pitty fool and nothing went right!" Thorin takes out a tonic from his robe, "I thought this mite come in handy one day I only wished my bro had one." Thoin takes the corck off the bottle and downs the rotten egg smelling tonic. In a matter of secones all of Thorins hair falls off. The tonic was to do that, so now Thorin looks like an over wieght halfling, the tonic is temparary and last only like an hour or two. That should give Thorin time to stumble his way to The Golden Chalice Tavern.

Demiris smiled and, extending an arm, bowed slightly to Erisé. "The abbess is perceptive. Indeed, I wish to go. May our Goddesses aid the mission, and may we succeed with their divine endowment." Demiris slid her eyes among the monks and nuns, studying those who had stepped forward. "Whom among thy people shall I go with?"

IC: Following the woman's glance towards the rapidly approaching watchmen with a resigned feeling, Adhelenna broke into a sprint after Taublin, her fleet stride actually gaining on the swordsman, though she doubted she could keep it up for long. She hoped the two had something smarter in mind than trying to simply run or cut their way out of the city for their escape from the prince's justice. The sight of the soldiers stirred something in her mind, however, a sense of injustice and brooding contempt that felt rotten and unclean to her, and yet she could not dismiss it. The thought and the feeling were inseperable; she was loath to dwell on it long enough to sort it out, whether that would help or not, she could hardly put it into words, but it was a deep resentment. It felt like it was burned into her by whatever madness had seized her back in the tavern, though nothing so strong. This dazed her, almost, but she did not find herself bursting into song or hurling spells of anger and harm; she hardly knew what it meant, and she did not want to think about it. There will be time enough later, she lied in her heart.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Balador held his cane in both hands by the wolf's head and rapped it smartly against the still-firm stones under his feet, displeasure evident on his face. He found no joy in the Ecleth prince's obvious anger, either; the whole purpose of coming here was to learn how the Ecleths planned to assuage the fears of the masses, and this was a poor demonstration. On the one hand, he had been interrupted before he had hardly begun his speech, and on the other, the crowd's fear and consternation were directed at the dwarf's ridiculous magical stunt, so even this near-riot did not harbinger any serious problems for the usurpers.

While Balador had several useful spells still prepared with his cane, and of course what few mean cantrips allowed by the Golden Power that could be cast from scratch, he was in no mood to aid the usurpers' dogs in cleaning the mess up. He had half a mind, in fact, to simply leave. His circle of magical protection would move with him, and the prince's audience was dispersed and distraught; he would be a fool to not give the smallfolk a few days to calm down. More importantly, perhaps, he was not sure just what the dwarf had done, and whether he could cast some other spell that would overwhelm his defenses. Deciding that he would weigh Elmledir's thoughts, the Yugarin noble's bass, cultured tones carried calmly over the noise of the crowd, "So, cousin, what say we leave the good prince's men to their work and go take a bottle of wine in my Lord Father's manor?"

Thorin tumbles into room in the turret of the nearly defunct College of the Golden Power. It is quiet, seeming more like a tomb or a museum of some forgotten time than a place to study for the future of the city. Hanging on the wall is a tapestry depicting the Ancient Devotions of the Golden Power, set by the first Archmages so long ago that most of the races do not remember them. Beneath them are the symbols of the schools, each written in some ancient and unfamiliar script. On the opposite wall is a painting of the plains upon which Tamalchia is now situated, the river running to its south, and a spring with a great stone next to the river. Telecorn, looking no different from how it does today, looms in the distance. The doorway down the stairs that Thorin used to come up is open, and yawns over an empty stairway with equally forgotten tapestries on either sides.

*

There are now about thirty people standing sunk a few inches into the congeled limestone pavement of the Square, about six of them constables. As they begin to realize that they are stuck, the panic truly begins to set in. People in the rest of the Square begin to scatter, leaving by the various roads out of it. The Prince himself steps back inside of his manor, followed by his wand-wielding mage, leaving the harald out on the parapet alone.

"I should agree. It looks as though the Prince himself has decided that this is not a good day for a speech," answers Elemdir. "I believe that the means by which the Prince intends to quell the fear in his subjects is now apparent."

*

The city guards continue to run west along the street, but it soon becomes apparent that it is the tavern, not the steady stream of people fleeing it, to which they are going. Moreover, the three Calatani are moving considerably faster than the guards, anyway. By the time the guards begin to give chase, if they do, their quarry will be so far ahead of them and gaining on them that any sane constable would give up and try some other tactic.

As Adhellena begins to catch up with Taublin and his companion, the female exclaims "He is heading for the Mage academy"! Adhellena then recognizes the sword-carrying Moratani mage who is now on the Great North Road, and who is just turning south on it, into the heart of the city and not out of it. Taublin seems to silently acknowledge her, as it quickly becomes apparent to Adhellena that the two are not thinking of escape from the guards or from the city. Rather, they have resumed chase of the Moratani man whom they persued into the tavern in the first place!

*

One young Mithatani nun stands forward in response to Demiris' question. "I will," she answers. Her blonde hair has been cut short save for a tendril down her back, and her brown eyes belie her quiet excitement. She bows slightly to Demiris. "My name is Morana. I am at your service."