...I about choked on my after work libation at the "I fell through a roof" bit.

I've done that, myself... ahhh the memories of when I was a "young rogue."

For she's a jolly good game world,

For she's a jolly good game world,

For she's a jolly good game world,

That, nobody can denyyyyyyyy!!!

Consider my Capasha contributions an "early" birthday present, boss! It's been my distinct pleasure to expand that little corner of such a rich and intriguing setting! I've loved every minute of it!  

...say what you will about Kraken Bree, but I like her pretty good, too!

...!!!

P.S. Your NPCs have been added to the post on Pg 1.

I figured as much... just wanted to clarify as I had originally intended to write it into the post but forgot. Old man brain, you know?

@ "too lucid"

Yeah, maybe so... but I'm sure there's enough of Ch'dau blood left hither and yon about her estate that she might be able to salvage a cup or so without having to resort to window licking.

Brom actually introduced me to Roll20 some time back - we were playing his "Bring Me That Horizon" game, actually.

I wouldn't call myself a "frequent user"  by any means, but, following my first experience with it (which was way more enjoyable than I had imagined it would be), I gained an appreciation for it that I hadn't expected. There's a bit of a "learning curve" involved, I think, but once you get past figuring out how everything works and such, I found it a very entertaining and useful forum for playing "live" or even simply as a supplemental sort of tool for PbP.

There we go... a look at the goings on at Adedre's.

Expect our necromantic slitch to have "eyes and ears" in the city, discretely seeking out her fugitives, at this point... and, of course, a decently expanded troupe of skeletons in residence when/if our trio gets back to the estate. 

Also, a point I failed to address in that post but can be assumed; any newly appointed gate-guard at Adedre's is under orders to forbid entry to anyone the witch doesn't personally approve.

~They're pointy eared and furry,

And now they're in a hurry,

Their lines a little blurry,

The Sylzari Family!~

Flanked by a pair of attendants and encircled by a retinue of guards, Adedre Undolithe trod the halls of her manor-house, surveying the damage that had been done in the wake of the kazari’s escape from her dungeons. The vaults, themselves, had fared well if one didn’t count the sheer amount of blood, bile, and bone that painted the walls and floors. The worst of it, of course, had been centered on the cage in which she had kept the cat-beast but there were others, too. Some further in, near the sumps and storerooms, killed in a neater fashion than the kazari would have done, and concealed, too…

The accomplice, the witch surmised, the thief who stole my prize.

…Others, guardsmen and skeleton soldiers alike, were found closer to where the oubliette’s corridors connected to the manse above. A number of those bore unmistakable signs of the cat-man having ended them, but nearly as many showed that their deaths had been granted in a more precise (and mayhap merciful) fashion. Given that the kazari had escaped – or, more accurately, been freed – the carnage in her dungeons was to be expected, Adedre supposed. The destruction wrought in the halls of her home, though, was another matter entirely.

The guards posted at the dungeon’s door had been a predictable enough loss, as were those that may have found themselves between the dungeon and the manor’s entryway. That the path of devastation had led to the second floor of her abode, though, was a curiosity. If the thief’s goal had simply been to liberate the kazari, an escape could have been easily enough made through the front doors. That such an exit had been passed by in favor of breaching the upper floors told her that the Silver Cat or, possibly, the thief had other designs beyond simple escape. Had it been the kazari’s idea, Adedre imagined, the goal most certainly would have been retribution – the beast had threatened her with it more than once in the time that she held him – but what could the faceless thief’s motivation have been? What presumed prize might have coaxed a sticky-fingered footpad into risking his or her life (and whatever may come after) by coming here?

“Reckless,” the witch hissed, gliding to a stop between the splintered remains of a bedchamber door and the broken panes of the window on the opposite side of the hallway. Wan, yellow eyes flicked toward the room, occupied now by a rather impressive spider-like conjoining of skeletons, then tracked toward the jagged shards of glass that still hung in the ruined casement. A sigh, dry as grave dust and cold as the autumn air that stirred in the gardens below, whispered over her blackened lips as she paced closer to the shattered window. Taking note of a rivulet of blood that snaked along the ragged edge of a glass shard, she dragged a finger through it, then touched the salvaged ichor to her tongue, and shuddered at the taste of it. “The kazari’s blood has made me reckless,” she whispered, continuing her thought as she peered at the sprawl of the courtyard beyond the window, “Emboldened me so that I failed to properly contain my creations. Emboldened me so that I gave no consideration to what else my power might have drawn in…”

The witch sighed, again, heavier this time, and tickled another dribbling of kazari blood from the window frame. “You’re certain that it was a bladesinger that came to the aide of the beast,” she asked her newly appointed guard captain.

“I believe so, mistress,” the man replied, trying not to watch as Adedre stroked her blood-tipped finger along her tongue, “She was a Syl, for certain, and gained entry by claiming to be with the city watch. Once inside, though, and from all reports, she didn’t fight like any normal city-guard and the sounds that accompanied her could only have been bladesong.”

“And the guard who granted her entry?”

“Dead, mistress; along with a couple more who were assigned to the gatehouse.”

“Good,” the witch nodded before ruefully surveying the decimated hallway, once again.

“Gather the fallen and have them await my attentions in the dungeons,” she commanded, waving a dismissive hand even as she turned to stride away with her attendants in tow, “Then summon my whisperers to attend me in the library…”

“It will be done,” the guard captain bowed dutifully to Adedre’s back. “Uh… mistress? What about the… uh… skeletons?”

“All of the fallen, Captain,” the witch hissed, not bothering to give so much as a backward glance, “Flesh on their bones or otherwise.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the guard returned.

“And, Captain…”

“Ma’am?”

“…It goes without saying that I expect this mess to be tended to, as well.”

“Of course, Mistress Undolethe.”

“Very good. Be quick about getting those whisperers here,” the witch purred, her voice fading as she and her attendants ascended the stairs, “I’d like to have them in the streets before the kazari manages to find a way out of the city.”

Huzzah for our very own voice of reason!

That did it!

Notifications are flowing once more!

WhooooHOOOO!!!

Not sure what's what, here, but it seems PM notifications have stopped working as of some time last night. Not sure if the same is true of notifications for posts (none of those I am subscribed to have updated recently). Could this have something to do with the new firewall and/or securty software, maybe?

Edit: Thread notifications are also on the fritz, it seems.

SonOfEdit: E-mail service restarted. We now return you to your regularly scheduled notifications, already in progress.

...pretty well.

Haven't seen the site down since last night.

Always a pleasure to aide a lady in need of it, kibibi!

Nose-spit that coffee!!! Let "Facilities" clean off the keyboard!

They make more than we do, anyway!

Can't react to a bad story that way. right?

Not on the same level, anyway.

So glad we finally made it this far in!

...better safe than sober.

Chewin up ghoulies!

Kithy, I'm with ya!

I came to get down!

I came to get down!

Get off my friend and jump around!

Jump around!

Jump Around!

...and I'll hook you up with a bottle of The Kraken! A BIIIIIG one!

I can dig it!

Why, oh why, do I get the sense that you and I have a Kith/Ch'dau relationship behind the scenes as much as we do "in game"?

Also... leg-sleeves! 

P.S. HC posted.... here comes Adedre!

Even in the dark, Ch’dau and Gib worked well together as a team. The priest’s discipline and the kazari’s savagery went a fair way to holding the giggler that approached from the party’s rear at bay, even if putting it down wasn’t quite entirely accomplished until the light returned. The pleasure that Ch’dau found in seeing the ghouls vanquished in the Solanis’ light was short-lived, though. It was the scant two beatings of his heart following the light’s return in which Garn’s anguished shout echoed along the hall and, from the front of the line, Aranwen’s angry words murmured through the dank air…

“Not. Again.”

Something in the tone of the Bladesinger’s voice… something in the way the sounds wafted to his ears as if uttered from behind clenched teeth… bid the Kazari to turn and, in the same instant, warned him against doing so. He did, of course, and, at first, only registered the distraught Garn lamenting the apparent loss of Devena. The blonde woman was nowhere to be seen. Then, as if a single blink had clarified the picture he now viewed, Ch’dau realized that Kithran, too, was missing from the party’s formation.

“No…” He growled, the sound deep and low in his chest, to being with. Then, louder, even as Therassor’s cleric pressed a hand into the fur of the Kazari’s chest in an attempt to restrain him. “NOOOOO!!! KITHRAN!!!”

Had it been anyone other than Gib (or, perhaps, Aranwen) who had attempted to restrain him in that moment, the Silver Cat might have mindlessly torn through them in order to charge off in search of his missing friend. As it was, though, the Kazari found himself held back by the solid bracing of Moreno’s shield pressed to his chest, the soft words and promises of satisfaction uttered by the priest, and, of course, the determination that now burned in Ara’s eyes. The cool, burnished gold of her gaze now molten and angry…

The Bladesinger trod the length of the fetid corridor between the vanguard and Cedric, motioning aside the priest whose call upon his Lord had saved what remained of them. As the young man stepped away, Aranwen clanged the flat of her blade against one wall and then the other, searching, perhaps, for any sign of the passageways which might have granted passage of the third giggler to the troupe’s heart. Finding no such sign, the Syl woman drew in a deliberate breath and, with scarcely a glance needed in the kazari’s direction, turned back to survey the passageway ahead, refusing to sheathe her blade.

“We move,” she said, not bothering to offer up the plan for debate or deliberation, “No poinht in trying to hide our movements now. We will catch up with them. Be ready to fight.”

Ch’dau’s response, at first, came in more of a snarling Kazari dialect than it did one of intelligible Apanonese but, as the Bladesinger stalked back to her position at the front of the line, the big cat managed a few words. “Ara,” he growled, using the foreshortening of her name for the first time in this company, “give me the fore and I swear by Rrowl’s tooth and claw that nothing will stop me until we find her…” his narrowed gaze flicked briefly to Garn, then, and back to Aranwen just as quickly and he amended… “THEM…” Still blocked by Gib’s shield, the Silver Cat’s features softened (if only a bit) from demanding to imploring. “Please, Khatun,” he growled, a fraction softer now, “I promised her… you know this…”

((OOC: Okay… there’s the kitty offering himself up as the meat-shield going forward. Up to Aranwen (and the rest) as to whether or not this happens, of course. Just felt appropriate that he would at least ask. Also, minor liberties taken with Gib, here… If he’d have done otherwise, I trust Brom to let me know and will edit as needed.))

Are you trying to tease me?

Vanadia's Runyacath (and En'Aranthea) and your Aranwen are most certainly of the same breed of Bladesinger, O' Butterfly!  Likely why Ch'dau has such respect for Ara in recent tales... the honor and integrity displayed by these characters is impeccable.

I was lucky enough to have joined up when stories like "Meanwhile" were still on the boards. Great reading, that! Same goes for other long-gone installments like "War Drums of Sendria" and such, as well. Those were epic, well written/played adventures!

Between you, me, and the fencepost, I think Runya was the first Syl I ever had a crush on.

I love this idea... and have a few nominations of my own, actually. I'll see if I can't get a list together and work on some entries after I've managed to catch up with my game post obligations!

Also - feel free to delete this post for organizations sake in need be. Just couldn't let this go without a comment. I'm a chatty li'l booger, after all.

“… It has been my experience, since arriving on your shores, that most do not appreciate or tolerate monsters inside their walls, let alone walking their streets. My presence is apt to bring much unwanted attention and interference.”

"Odd, I trusted you immediately," Kith tugged at the cloak around her neck, "I could let you bor-"

The faint snort of a chuckle escaped the Kazari at Kith’s quip. Whatever reply he might have made, though, and whatever she might have planned to say next, was lost to the interruption of a door creaking open and an unfamiliar name being called…

“Oh,” Kith jumped to her feet, “That’s me. I mean it's one of the names I . . . I’ll be right back. Don’t talk about me when I’m gone.”

…Ch’dau watched the girl hobble toward the steps and couldn’t help but wonder if Kithran or Ikhari, either one, was her true name. Was she only Kithran to he and the Bladesinger; Ikhari just to the folk who apparently resided upstairs? How many names did the shadow-girl have? How many of them were real? And did she, herself, even know which was which?

“She wears different personae like clothing as a seasoned performer,” Aranwen’s voice drew his attentions from the stairway, “and her skills with her daggers are also no small feat…”

“Mmm,” Ch’dau rumbled quietly, “She does fight well for one who has chosen such an occupation.”

“And she is so young...” the Bladesinger paused, “Hmm, perhaps that is unfair. In my eyes, she appears as a child, but... I have no knowledge on how quickly a half-Syl grows,” she gave a wry smile, “Probably too quickly.”

“Probably,” the Kazari chuffed in agreement, his ears flicking, “I have no knowledge of these things, myself.”

Aranwen’s golden eyes turned to regard him then, the ghost of her sardonic smile still on her lips. She seemed to study him for a moment; then, as if a thought had just occurred to her, she said; “I've a black cloak in my bag I wore while I was travelling.” Her assessing gaze danced over him, again. “I fear you'd find its size lacking, however. It's tailored to the shape of a Sylvari.”

“Your offer is appreciated, rrow’ka,” he returned, his own gaze appraising her, now, “but you are right; I am far from Sylvari shaped.”

The smile she offered, then, was as demure as her eyes were daring. “Can you tell me more of yourself, Ch'dau?” she asked, “I fear you have me at a disadvantage if you already know of bladesingers, and if we are to find ourselves with blades ready side by side, I'd like to know of your blade's style. Or do you fight by claws?”

“I fight with whatever I have, Aranwen,” the big cat answered, something that looked like it might be a smile tugging at the corners of his feline mouth. “This blade,” he continued, lifting the dagger Kith had gifted to him, “is a bit smaller than those I am accustomed to, and I prefer a pair when possible, but I have not seen my own blades in…” He offered an uncertain shrug, “…I do not know how long.

As to style; mine is not as graceful and elegant as I have seen in your kind,” Ch’dau offered with another chuffing chuckle. “I had a friend in the Wyverns who described it as… how did he say… ‘scream and leap,’ yes? They liked to put me at the front where I could tear holes in the enemy’s lines; cause panic and disorder, and diminish their numbers as best I could.” If it was possible for a kazari face to emote such things, the expression that flitted across the feline features in that moment might have been seen as disappointment or, perhaps, sadness. “It was a tactic that served us well until recently…”

((OOC: Anything else here as you see fit, Butterfly))

“…you stay safe as will, Ikhari.”

“I always do.”

The voices and the creaking of door hinges drew both Syl and Kazari eyes back to the stairs where Kith had reappeared, minus the exaggerated limp and pained hunching of posture. The shadow-girl veritably skipped across the floor, now, carrying a plate of food in one hand and a broad bundle of fabric in the other. “Old bread and cheese for the lady,” Kith quipped, setting the food down before Aranwen, “and a very large pair of trousers for the r-rawr-kah?”

“Rrow’ka,” Ch’dau corrected as he took the proffered bundle.

“The best Sendria has to offer,” Kith grinned mischievously.

“I am sure,” the kazari chuffed, unfurling the borrowed trousers and eyeing them skeptically, “My thanks, Kithran.”

As he got to his feet, still apparently dumbfounded by the concept of the trousers, Kith looked him up and down; then, after a moment, deftly untied the strings that held her cloak. “I suppose I can lend you this, as well,” she said, shrugging the black fabric from her shoulders and giving it a rather fond pat before handing it over. “I took it off a very wealthy dead man,” she added, “so I will want it back.

As far as more weapons,” Kith continued as the kazari nodded his appreciation, “that will take me a little longer, but, if you like, I am sure I can find those for you, as well.”

“A pair of short swords would not go amiss,” Ch’dau answered as he stepped away.

 He only half listened to the conversation that continued on between Aranwen and Kith, then, but most of his attention was given over to making sense of how to don the trousers the thief had procured for him. It took a moment but, soon enough, he was able to figure out where his legs were meant to go. That part was simple enough. The rest, though, was an exercise in frustration as he wrestled with trying to fit himself into the things…

The conversation at his back was interrupted with a sigh that he wasn’t sure was born of amusement, exasperation, or both. “Ch’dau,” Kith called, prompting the kazari to glance back over his shoulder, “just untie the knot and re-tie it so that it’s tighter around your waist. Have you never worn pants before?”

“I have not,” the Silver Cat snorted. “How do monkey-folk move in these leg sleeves,” he snarled softly, “let alone fight?” He fidgeted the knot loose and, once more attempted to get the trousers set comfortably about his waist. “And where in seven hells is my tail supposed to go?” The appendage in question lashed at the air, punctuating the frustration in his voice. After another attempt or two, though, Ch’dau finally resorted to cutting a hole, just below the waistband of the borrowed garment, which would accommodate his tail and, at last, managed to get the trousers situated properly.

“Uncomfortable,” he grumbled, even as he draped the rich, dead man’s cloak over his shoulders, “but still better than that, I suppose.” He disdainfully kicked the discarded loincloth away as he secured the cloak about his neck, then returned to join Kith and Aranwen.

((OOC: I'll stop there... room for interjections/interatctions throughout, of course... Off to do something about HC, then I'll be back with Adedre.))