RP: Liberating the Sandy Boi

Part of the Lies Within Us Arc

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

Summary: Iintahquohae, Rilla, and Gevurah meet with Lanlan and Valrae to steal back the sandy boi and the Archmage's book. Both are kept by Haladavar in the Mage's tower! They use furry disguises to infiltrate and interrupt Haladadong's laser light show, and then steal the sad sandy boi!

The Mage's Tower, Xalious

Lanlan has illusions draped all around his dilapidated castle making it look clean and pristine. The reality is different, as he and Gevie know. The room they occupy now is the war room. The main features are real, four walls, floor, ceiling, and a table with chairs. “Fingolfin is expecting a delivery of vermin and other tiny semi-sentient creatures, and needs a new delivery person after his old one didn’t show up for work.” Cut to the ball room where a young man in traveling clothes is waltzing in circles by himself, seemingly having the time of his life. Back to Lanlan. “Rilla, you’ve been hired! Congratulations, it’s C.O.D.! Here’s your package.” From behind, one of the mage’s apprentices brings an empty wooden crate with breathing holes. The carriage is waiting outside. “Once we’re all ready, you can take us in. Make the delivery, and fine somewhere nearby to hide.” Lanlan gestures with his ruby capped cane to Valrae. “Once we’re all ready, Valrae will prepare us for transport.” What this means is very mysterious to most people probably, but that’s part of making sure everyone doesn’t disagree.

Valrae arrived on time, something so rare that it could be considered a good omen for the ragtag group that had assembled in Lanlan’s mysterious castle. Her emerald skull hummed at her side, a welcome source of power and comfort in her large bag. She’d worn black. Her nicest, most form fitting black cotton pants and a loose black tunic. Her cloak was dark, her boots were tall and laced for action. She’d been vain enough to throw a glamour around herself as well, to hide the purple bruising beneath her eyes that came from stress and hours of missing sleep. After Hallow’s Eve, Cenril had been literally and figuratively on fire. But Valrae had become an old hand at compartmentalizing the disasters of her life and so she was here and ready to do whatever it would take to see Odhranos free. She stepped forward when Lan announced she would be preparing the group for travel. This next part would be tricky. Tucking her hand into her bag, the witch brushed her fingertips against the smooth surface of the emerald skull and drew power from it. “When I complete this spell, we’ll be taking the form of some small animal. Something that won’t draw attention, hopefully. It will be tricky, because this magic is wild and has a will of its own.” Her eyes move around the room. “If we’re all ready then…” Valrae waits only a heartbeat before moving swiftly around the room, dusting each person with a foul smelling powder as she whispers. Power thickened the air, crouched in the room like a storm. Finally, she pauses and dusts herself. Several silent moments followed, the minutes spinning out until finally the transformation began. For Valrae, it started as a tingling sensation in her ears. Eventually, it covered her body. There was a moment of pain and a heartbeat of darkness, but eventually the witch’s form vanished. In her place was a small, perfectly normal mouse with mischievous emerald eyes.

Gevurah is here primarily at the behest of Lanlan and Valrae, and secondarily as a political maneuver. While the coup of the little magic club does not disturb the matron, it is nonetheless advantageous for her if allies like Odhranos, Valrae, Kasyr, and Khitti retain control of the tower. In the castle in Cenril, she remained silent, letting Lanlan take the lead as difficult as it may be for the matron to do. Following orders isn’t her strong suit, but the polymorph idea was a genuinely good one and she had no reason to suspect a double cross (drow nobles devote some portion of their attention to 24/7 double-cross threat assessment). Lanlan was wise to tell Gevurah the plan before Valrae attempted to cast a spell on the priestess. As Valrae polymorphs the group, Gevurah amplifiesthe signa of Lanlan’s anti-undead gris gris talisman. This will protect Rilla from aggroing the Cenril zombies. Rilla will be invisible to all undead (even herself??? Inception? Look, Lanlan didn’t know Rilla is a vampire. It protects Rilla from other undead. Done!) Polymorphed Gevurah is a black tarantula with red marking on her back in the shape of a skull.

Iintahquohae is hovering near Rilla, as she tends to do whenever the two of them are with a group of people. The seamstress has decided the other vampire is not just a friend, but also her accountibilibuddy. S'erok's golden cage is fastened her hip. She adopts a stance that wants to be read as nonchalant after setting a box on the table for Lanlan, but her face says it all. She's anxious. Not about the jerkin she had finally completed for Lanlan, because what better time to deliver completed clothing than now, but the state Odhranos may be in. The anxiety wanes once she observes the others transform and transforms herself, turning into a brilliant red cardinal.

Rilla was glad for one thing and one thing only. By virtue of being the new kid on the block no one knew her face, she didn’t need a disguise which meant she didn’t have to deal with being magically ‘prepared’ as Lanlan put it. She sat backwards on a chair, facing the table. A thin form in all black. Did she own any other colours? Apparently, she’d been seen in navy blue once, but that could very well have been a rumour. Black leggings were tucked into matching boots, the toes scuffed and worn in, daggers were hidden within them, one on each side. A machete and a length of rope hang from her belt, a tight-fitting black shirt tucked in. A strap across her chest is partially hidden by her open leather jacket, hiding throwing knives, and with a handy-dandy not-leather hood for sneaking purposes. There was no helping the bow and arrow, but even a delivery person needed to eat and they didn’t need to know that what Rilla liked to eat wasn’t best hunted that way. Hanging with Inks was one of She nods at Lanlan as he speaks, “a delivery for Fingolfin of creatures magic and otherwise,” Rilla repeats and shrugs. “It’s a tough job but someone has to do it.” She glanced between Valrae and the others as one by one they turned into animals in front of her eyes. With a sigh, she stood and one by one began to gather them up and gently deposit them into the wooden crate; presumably, that meant they were ready to go, but this is Lanlan’s show.

Lanlan has done this transforming thing a couple times, some of them even on purpose! The transition is quite smooth for him. He curls into himself, twists around, and then explodes into a mist of dust! Tiny (yet large for bugs) wing beats disturb the dust cloud while Lanlan haphazardly flutters over toward the cage. When he finally settles, sticky legs clinging to the side of the tiny container, massive glaring red eyes, printed on his wings, stare into the souls of everyone who looks at him, suggesting great danger. In fact there is no danger, this species of moth isn’t even poisonous. Ialantha joins last, taking the form of a tiny dinosaur. A compsagnuthus. A compy! She makes several leaps and bounces into the cage beside the rest. Once everyone’s in the crate, a diminutive dark elf puts a lid on it. It fits snugly. “There’s a carriage just out here,” the apprentice says to Rilla. And he leads her to the locked, wrought iron gates before the city’s streets. Gevurah’s enchantment will allow Rilla to leave Cenril without getting harassed by the undead, but it won’t spare her from the imagery. Once outside the gates they might enter Pandemonium.

Lanlan ::ialantha is Lanlan’s teacher, and many of the other apprentices at the discombobulated Mage’s Guild. She’s an ancient elf, preserved in magical amber until recently. She also happens to be Haladavar’s wife, and has been helpful in understanding his motives, as well as his methods. Which is why she’s coming here today.

Valrae , now a small white mouse, takes a moment to acclimate to her new body. Everything was too big and too loud and actually terrifying. The witch resisted the mouse’s instinct to scurry into somewhere dark and safe. It was a herculean effort. Her ears twitched with the effort, a small squeak of concern releasing as Gevurah’s spider form appeared. Iintahquohae’s transformation is less alarming and even still Valrae feels anxiety rush through her. Her heart nearly exploded when Rilla lifted her from the spot she’d been rooted to on the floor and it would continue to beat wildly throughout the journey to the Mage’s tower. She pressed herself into the farthest corner of the box and took advantage of her new eyes to keep a close watch on the other occupants of the box. Though she felt fairly certain she could take on moth Lan, if she had too.

Gevurah resists the urge to eat the mouse or moth, and keeps her distance from the tiny carnivorous dinosaur. For once, Gevurah isn’t at the top of the food chain. Maybe this polymorphing idea wasn’t so great after all…

Iintahquohae gives her newly acquired wings an experimental flap and flies forward a foot or so on the ground before being deposited into the crate. She wanted nothing more than to fly immediately back out of it, and began tweeting in slight panic. There weren't any branches to perch on in here. She flits about the tiny space trying to find an exit during the trek to Xalious.

Rilla nodded to the elf assisted her, carefully carrying her box of allies out to the carriage. Although Rilla wasn’t looking forward to hanging out with Cenril’s zombies, she’d already seen it first hand. She drew a breath and deposited the box into the back of the carriage covering it with a cloak from in her bag on all but one side in an effort to keep them as comfortable as she could. With that, she got into front of the carriage and took up the reins in one hand, machete firmly grasped in the other. Although the zombies ignored her, it didn’t stop her from watching them (and occasionally swiping at some that were unknowingly too close - one less zombie to purge and all.) “Out of here in no time,” she called back to them and hurried their horse forward out of the burning city, steering around bodies as best they could although it was briefly a bumpy ride. Once the obstacles were nixed the whole process was both smoother and faster and in no time the brigade was approaching the gates. She slowed, scanning the treeline for whatever they’re always using to keep watch. With a slow breath, Rilla lowers her shoulders, softening her body language in anticipation of a confrontation. Still, she rode ahead.

Lanlan had annoying buggy instincts. Some were telling him to panic, every single thing here might want to eat him. They could all be predators. His other instincts told him to use his wings to glare intimidatingly with their intimidating facade. That seemed to be working. Everyone gave him a wide berth, because he intimidated them so fiercely. Ialantha felt a profound sense of loneliness, compy’s are meant to travel in packs, clans even! Where was hers? Gone. Yet for her, this was nothing new. Elf form or compy form she felt the same, just now, like this, she was aware of how much she needed her tribe. She crouched in a corner and peered through a crack. Total blackness, thanks to Rilla’s cloak. Good. The anxious critters didn’t need the chaos of Cenril to inflame their feelings. Rilla navigated them through Cenril, that was the first hurdle, and Gevurah made it easy for her. Beyond that was Kelay, a gentle night ride. If only it could’ve lasted longer. Near the entrance to Xalious they were stopped. A pair of people in white robes and blank masks stands before Rilla, with one holding the horse by the reins. “Business in Xalious,” the other demands, “and how long do you plan to stay.” Their blank masks give nothing away, but the tones imply something about boredom, probably daring her to defy them in some way.

Rilla was not privy to the inner thoughts of the people-turned-creatures in her care, but she could only assume it was an experience for them. She slowed to a stop as she approached the men in masks. The horse was uneasy with their presence, but Rilla fixed her face into an easy smile in greeting. “Fingolfin is expecting a package from my boss.” Rilla explained calmly, eyeing the men top to toe instinctively as she stood. “Pardon me, I’m armed but we’re coming from Cenril which is still overrun with those zombies,” she rubbed the back of her neck both hands very much in plain view as she hopped down to the ground and rounded to the boxes in her carriage. She tossed her cloak off of the box with her companions inside, covering up her bow and arrow in the process. “I’m just staying long enough to drop off these and collect payment. But it’s a long journey back so I may spend the night unless the town has been locked down?” Rilla questioned, the normally reserved woman momentarily offering a friendly, overall non-threatening presence. Still, with that she’d hop back into the carriage and take the reins back in both hands, waiting for the go-ahead with metaphorically bated breath.

Lanlan the moth wanted to flap his wings and fly away in fright when the cloak was lift ed, but he kepts strong, and stoicly stared out into the men’s blank mask defiantly. To them he was just a moth. But there was something else he saw while Rilla explained her business to the patrolpeople. Towering obelisks, so big you couldn’t see the top of them without flying very high. And carved into them were vast matrices of runes, big enough to press your entire thorax AND abdomen into, if you wanted to for some reason. Of course to a human, they weren’t so imposing. The moth and the compy shared a knowing look. Then, when the guard cracked the lid on the crate to inspect and confirm, Lanlan made a move. He fluttered daringly under the man’s arm and clung to his elbow, almost invisibly. When the person in a white robe walked back to the front of the carriage, he confirmed Rilla’s cargo with the other, and let her past. Lanlan stuck to a horse and crawled to its belly. He’s clearly within Rilla’s vision now and he communicates her, transforming the image his wings reveal from a pair of scary eyes, to a thumb pointing up. They can keep going.

Lanlan ::Once they get to the Mage’s tower, they find that the mysterious robed people have communicated with those at the tower. A second pair of guards is waiting. They expected Rilla. Still, they go through the motions, and reinspect her cargo. As expected. But they don’t let her go this time. “Why are you so late?” Their faceless masks refuse to let anything slide. But their tones imply lack of patience.

Rilla smiled and thanked the guards when they okayed her passage. She nodded to Lanlan, though the guards likely expected it was them rather than the very intelligent moth that was now hitching a ride. Her smile dropped as soon as she was past them, “what in the name of …” she muttered to herself, eyeing the obelisks that had been erected seemingly overnight. Rilla made good time along the way, but she wasn’t surprised to see that she had company as she pulled up to the massive tower. Running one hand through her hair she smiled at them too, though the act brought bile to the back of her throat. Don’t talk to her like that, nameless guards, she’s not always this nice. “Ah, I apologize. The usual delivery boy didn’t show up to work.” Rilla explained with a broad smile, “I’m new in town, I got lost along the way. But all the same …” Once more she jumped out of the carriage, “I’m sure Fingolfin wouldn’t want you to keep his fantastic beasts from him any longer than needed.” Rilla gathered the box, holding it out to the guards. “Once I’ve gotten my payment I’ll be out of your hair.” She suggested, doing her best to be charming while resisting the urge to openly case the place. Too high to climb, and no way to jump. Her jaw tightened very slightly and then released. “No time to wait, you know. They’re temperature sensitive, you’ve got to keep them somewhere warm.” Rilla urged. “If you won’t let me in, at least take them.”

Lanlan has returned to the box, and stares up at the faceless guards. One takes the box from her and inspects. The same one who demanded her to excuse her tardiness. Upon looking inside, his tone shifts from mild annoyance to disappointment. “Nothing good, as usual. Come up with better familiars or be replaced.” Lanlan’s wings shift once again, to a bloody dagger. He was the best damn critter anyone’s ever seen, how dare this idiot imply that better quality could be found elsewhere? But he remains still, committed to the mission, and his willpower is endless. The white robed cultist passes the box along, it’ll be delivered to Fingolfin. Fingolfin, opens the door to his emporium, receives the expected box, and passes along the money to pay for it. Yet the amount of gold Fin gives to the middleman, is not the amount of gold the middleman gives to Rilla.

Valrae huddled in her corner and nervously ran her small hands over her muzzle as the dark ride spun around them. It had felt like several small lifetimes before she sensed they’d reached their destination. The wagon stopped. There were voices, loud but muffled all the same. The light from the guards inspection was terrifying to her, caused her tiny body to tremble, but was over soon enough as well. They were passed off. There was some sense of gold being exchanged. Valrae waited with her heart beating loudly in her chest for some signal that it was time to release her hold on the magic that bound them to their new animal forms… But the magic was, as she’d warned them, fickle. A combination of her new, animal nervousness and the strangeness of the magic had surely lead to what happened next. Again, the tingling started in her ears. Before long, it was spreading to the rest of her body. She opened her mouth the warn the others and there was only one small, shrill squeak before power released around them. The magic slowly unraveled itself then. In only a few heartbeats, they would all be human again.

Lanlan was probably the most accustomed to being turned into an animal against his will and then suddenly being thrust into humanity again. That being said, he was still amazingly unaccustomed. Just a little better off than everyone else except maybe Valrae, who as a witch, was always half beast. Or so says the propaganda. The door was closed, they were in private. Behind them was Fingolfin, who was keeping an eye on the door. Not that door, the other door. The -secret- door. “Now that we’re all people again, do you all remember why we’re here? Hmm?” he looks from person to person, like they’re babies, making sure they’re all with it enough to remember. “We’re going to split up into two teams. Valrae, ialantha, and myself will get the archmage’s book. The rest of you will try to get Odhranos.” He shows them a thumbs up, and then gradually he, Valrae, and ialantha vanishes into thin air, with his invisibility spell. His upward thumb disappears last. “Wait,” it’s ialantha’s voice. Her unplaceable accent, inherited from her ancient elven dialect. “We passed some stone towers on the way in,” says her disembodied voice. “I can’t be sure...but if we aren’t gone from here by dawn...We have to be out of here by dawn.” Conclusive.

Rilla ’s smile only tightened for a moment when the guard spoke of her shipment, gritted her teeth and nodded submissively. A real feat for the young vampire who was absolutely certain she could have taken him. Never would have seen it coming. He shorted her and she knew it, but money wasn’t the object this time and her shipment wasn’t going to stick around for very long. She pocketed the money and drove her cart away, leaving it outside of the inn and rushing back to find an entrance she’d been promised was hidden, just not well enough to walk everyone through. Through the trees she spotted it, eyeing the guards before she silently slipped into the hidden pathway into the darkness of a narrow hallway. She didn’t bother knocking on the door at the end of it, just turned the knob and strolled right in to catch the end of their instructions. Arms crossed over her chest, she shook her hood off and flashed a grin at her humanoid-again allies. “Inks, you’ve got that tracking thing, right?” Rilla questioned with an upward nod towards the other vampire.

Iintahquohae returned to normal mid flight as the cardinal in the crate, so the squawk her beak emitted transformed into a partial swear, and her flight toward one of the breathing holes in effort to escape their tiny prison became an awkward hop that made her collide with one of the crate's sides. Her body finds its way to the floor after rolling into other people and probably knocking whatever furniture may be in her path over by accident. Uncomfortably positioned on the floor, partially propped up by S'erok's cage, the seamstress's lips purse to whistle a reply to Lanlan, but she pauses midway. Realizing that she is not a bird anymore, she blinks and begins to refocus. “eep-! Odhranos.” A grimace at the half whistle. “..I'm here to get Odhranos back,” Inks replies. Her hands begin patting down her pockets for the tracking scarab given to her by Karasu, and shooting Rilla a glance and a quick nod. Freeing it from her pocket, she quickly hands it to Rilla. “All yeep-! -er. Yours. All yours, Rilla.” Please wear off soon, bird brain.

Gevurah doesn’t polymorph often (only once before in her five-plus decades on the planet) and gags into the back of her hand as she regains her drow shape. Her head spins and vision tunnels for a moment, she tastes bile at the back of her throat but manages to stop just short of embarrassing herself. She meets Lanlan’s condescension with a glower from behind her knuckles which are still pressed against her lips, just in case. Lanlan, Valrae and Ialantha disappear. The matron stares at Iintahquohae as they await Rilla’s return. She’s met each woman exactly once before, and her loyalty to them is quite thin. Inks leads the plan and Gevurah will follow to her a point. The drow has a get-out-of-dodge card up her sleeve should things take an unexpected turn for the worse, and her escape route only provides passage for one. But for now things are moving smoothly and she’ll do her best to keep these surfacers alive, for Lanlan’s sake and her own.

After Rilla and Iintaquohae activate the beetle, it starts trying to walk to find its master. It crawls under Fingolfin’s non-secret door, through that tiny gap, and is so small and ponderously slow that it’s able to ascend the steps up to the main floor of the Mage’s Guild. But just outside Fingolfin’s door, is a gargoyle. A magic detecting gargoyle posted like dormant, yet ever-alert security, installed by Haladavar to keep an eye on Fingolfin’s movements. The beetle plods past, slight enough to escape its watchful eyes. But that won’t be the end of the struggles, because at the top of the stairs are two wizards clad in white robes and white faceless masks. You can blame Fingolfin for these personal guards, his shady behavior has been noticed. But without it, you wouldn’t have this opportunity. Ultimately you will be led up a second set of stairs to the meditation room. But then the beetle will be stopped.

Rilla does not have time for someone sneaking around squeaking. Her brow furrowed, but she nodded, considering her options on ending that particular inconvenience. Another step and she takes the scarab, turning it over in her hands pensively. “When was the last time you saw a white rabbit?” She asked suddenly, a seemingly random question intended to get her brain working like a human(ish) again. “Really think about it.” With that she released the beetle, watching it with a tilted head as it disappeared underneath the door. Turning to Iintaquohae and Gevurah, Rilla drew a breath and raised a finger to her lips with a loose grin, more comfortable breaking into things than having a nice, normal conversation. With a slow turn of her wrist she opened the door a crack, peering out and up the stairs. She closed the door once more and turned to the women. “There are guards, two of them, and if none of you are attached to them, I think an knife or two will dispatch them in no time. What else there is out there? No clue, weird taste in furnishings though. Who puts gargoyles inside?” Slender shoulders shrugged, and as long as there were, in fact, no objections Rilla would produce a pair of black, smooth handled knives, and crouching in the doorway with the heel of her boot propping one door open, she would throw one knife and then the other in quick succession into the backs of the posted wizards. If there was one? Rilla doesn’t *have* to kill them, but it seemed like the easiest way.

Iintahquohae didn't come in with much of a plan, as stealth was definitely not her strong suit. Waiting in silence would be a wonderful way for worry to creep its way in. What if they were too late? What if Odhranos was dead? What if- Thank the gods for S'erok. The ancient dragon that accompanied her within the sand cage quickly cut into those thoughts. Their goal was to find Odhranos and bring him home. “Kill 'em,” replied to Rilla's explanation of what stood out beyond the door. The gargoyle though? She looks to Gevurah, then gives S'erok's cage at her hip a hesitant pat. “I could hit it with some sand and try to knock it over unless you have something less noisy.”

Gevurah ‘s only objection to Rilla’s plan is that is may draw attention if the mages cry out in pain or fall with a clatter. She holds up a finger for Rilla to wait before throwing the knives. Unsure of what the gargoyles are for, the Matron prays to her god for quick guidance, a simple feeling of yes/no. The barely traceable, intensely private divine prayer should hopefully slip past the gargoyle’s arcane watch. She asks Vakmatharas, can I cast a silence spell now? Hell no! The drow lifts the hood of her enchanted piwafwi over her head and instantly melds into the shadows of the room and doorway. The shadow looks a little unnatural, but only a little and provide enough cover for some quick stealth. With the practiced, noiseless gait native to the drow, Gevurah slips down the hallway just past the gargoyles’ gaze and suddenly her god encourages her plan of action. From a distance, and behind the gargoyles’ backs, she casts an area of silence around the mages. They will quickly notice that they cannot hear anything, and that confusion should be Rilla’s cue to strike.

Rilla paused when Gevurah raised a finger to her, watching cautiously out of the cracked door until she realized what was going on. She stifled a laugh and with practiced ease, she wound back her right arm, crystalline gaze flicking up and down as she did the mental calculations, so to speak. With an exhale she threw the first blade, letting it slip from her grasp with a gentle flick of her fingers against the smooth hilt to send it spinning up towards one guard and then the other. She aimed for the base of their necks, though the first hit low, causing the guard to silently cry out (thank goodness of Gevurah’s quick thinking) while his partner was brought silently to his knees. There was no way she was leaving Iintahquohae to go last, so the red-head turned to the other vampire with raised brows and a smile. “I’ve got your back, keep an ear on me.” She did her best to be encouraging, but it did not come easily.

Iintahquohae takes the drow matron's instruction for silence before she melds into the shadows to mean...well, she isn't entirely sure really. Surely it at least means that problems are being solved outside of the room they're in. She grins at the redhead and how quickly she takes care of the pair of guards, then steps out of the room and approaches the gargoyle. Unaware of the noise-nullifying spell that Gevurah has cast, she decides blasting sand at the thing would probably not be wise. Instead, she grabs it around its middle and lifts it from the floor. Straining a bit, since it's still fairly heavy even with her vampiric strength, she turns on her heel and chucks it into the room they walked out of. Fingolfin can deal with it, right? Inks hurries to the door and holds it shut, pressing her back against it just in case. She adopts a calmer demeanor than before because fake it until you make it in situations like this. “Where to next, friends?”

The gargoyle attempted to cause a ruckus once it landed in Fingolfin’s office. But Fingolfin’s Fantastic Familiars were upon it in a swarm, because Fingolfin was the first person the familiars ever bonded to. After a brief calamity, it was nibbled by a mouse, axe-chipped by an imp minion, and then clawed, yanked, and dropped by a big owl. It landed and dissolved into a acidic gelatinous cube colored like a translucent stomach bile. The beetle plods onward! It ascends to the top of the stairs and pauses where the guards once stood and now they lie. It takes a dozen micro-steps, spiraling to the top of a bloody dagger buried in some dead guy’s neck. A crossroads. Unencumbered by guilt or any need to cover its tracks, the lifeless construct seems to ponder. Will it go forward? Into the main hall of the mage’s guild? Or will it continue up the winding staircase into the meditation chamber? With a clear conscience, and clear directive, it decides. Up! Toward the meditation chamber!

But once at the top it pauses, because it does have an instinct for self preservation. There’s a strange bit of bustle here! Many white robed, faceless masked people cross past each other. Many more just linger and chat. Yes, this is the room where many of their offices lie. Lanlan and Odhranos and also for some reason Valrae had an office on this floor. It’s become a place of many huddles now. Cliques. Factions. People raring to rise in their ranks. How will you get past them without being noticed, this strange criss-cross of people all wearing the exact same thing. Anyone in different clothes would instantly be noticed! And yet the beetle continues away from the staircase, across a hallway, toward the meditation chamber in the middle.

Rilla is out the door as soon as the other vampire is, flashing a smile and shaking her head. “Nice.” She breathes, nodding her head towards the beetle. “We’ve gotta see where it goes, only one way to do that right?” Not even waiting for an answer, Rilla raises a finger to her lips and starts off up the stairs, pausing before rounding the corner to check that the coast was clear before she moved one body and then the next onto the steps and out of plain sight, tugging the daggers out of their necks and pocketing them as she had many times before. Silently she crept forward, not even breathing as she climbs higher into the tower. The sound of them alerted her first, freezing in her tracks (regardless of who might be behind her) to listen. Cursing under her breath she moves forward all the same, staying low and well behind the beetle who was seemingly stumped itself. Her brow furrows, considering their options as she turned back. “The guards.” She hissed, the idea amusing in and of itself. “We need their robes.”

Iintahquohae briefly presses her ear against the door after chucking the gargoyle inside. She decides it may be for the best to stick to Rilla and do her best to not be loud and follow. Going up the steps two at a time as they climb the tower, she nearly collides with the other vampire once she stops mid-step, instinctively grabbing for a handrail to prevent herself from falling down the stairs. Catching a glimpse of the guards clad in white, she frowns, wishing she had brought along disguises for them to try blending in. If there weren't so many, she would absolutely be willing to try killing and or taking a bite out of a few of them. “We're fast enough, right?” she whispers to both Rilla and Gevurah. “Couldn't we just...grab one for each of us, get rid of them and steal their clothes?”

Gevurah smiles toothlessly at Iintahquohae’s suggestion and shakes her head dismissively at the idea. She glances over her shoulder at the two dead guards on the landing far behind them. Their white robes are stained with blood. Useless as a disguise, the blood will invite questions. Plan B. The priestess looks ahead at the bustling hall and spies three white-robed figures (two humans and a gnome) deep in conversation. Gevurah whispers a quick spell and lances it invisibly across the hall to settle over the three mages’ heads like a net. The magic ensnares them with fe/ Gevurar and she focuses their fear to drive them towards Iintahquohae and Rilla like a collie snaps at sheep to herd them into a pen. The spooked mages suddenly look this way and that, look at each other through startled eyes, then rush towards the trap: a duo of vampires. “Take care not to stain the robes,” Gevurah whispers to her vampiric allies.

The trio of work-shirkers is suddenly enveloped in a bout of shared paranoia. The deep gnome interrupts his comrade’s whining tirade about how none of this was what he was promised, the risks far outweigh the benefits, even Ky’Loriel responded to their needs faster than Haladavar etc. The gnome interrupts, saying “Hey we’ve been slacking for too long without anyone noticing. I’ve got a bad feeling…” One humanoid nods, and speaks in a feminine voice. “Yeah let’s go downstairs at least.” The other humanoid concurs. They already live in a toxic work environment, pushing them to fear for consequences of taking a break, even at this late hour, was effective. They happen upon two vampires and a drow priestess. “Oh.” Says one, as the alert shocks his senses and dispels the magic. He realizes they’ve walked into an ambush. It might be too late, but he throws two hands down by his hips, one becomes saturated with magical water, the other crackles and pops with electricity. One more moment and he’ll have the three trespassers soaked and shocked.

Rilla had never let a little blood stop her before, but they were both right; white robes were not forgiving. Who wears all white (questions the woman in head-to-toe black)? Crystalline eyes flash between Iintahquohae and Gevurah, nodding her agreement with the assessment. They were not nearly fast enough. Stiffening as the mages approach, Rilla eyes Gevurah skeptically. That was too easy. Edging around them and moving at full tilt - though her footfalls are not nearly as silent as they should be, it was surely better than a commotion - Rilla pounces at the electric mage. Magic isn’t her thing, it probably never will be, but what Rilla lacks in magical ability she makes up for with willingness to get hands-on. Jumping onto his back, she wraps her legs around his torso, her hands around his head. And then she holds and twists to break his neck with an audible crack - the sound of a joint cracking but turned up to 11 - and hops right back off hopefully before they both hit the floor or anyone got electrocuted. Iintahquohae is quick to mirror Rilla, pouncing to snap the neck of the second white-robed figure. Getting her hands on the corpse's white robes to begin undressing the body, she visibly flinches. “How in the world can they wear something that feels -this- cheap!?” she explains with a hiss. “Goodness.” Soon she is dressed in the white robes and mask, obscured face twisted into one of disgust at the improperly hemmed sleeve. She casts a glance at Gevurah. “I make better clothes than this. Promise.”

Gevurah takes on the third mage, the gnome. Her nails extend into black, razor-sharp claws as she swiftly walks up to the gnome, grabs him by the forehead, and impale him clean through the eyes and skull with the freshly grown talons. She pushes the gnome quickly onto his back to prevent any blood from staining the robe. Aw drats, she stained the hood a little. The drow dons the smelly gnome’s robe, which is a little short even for her. To Iinathquohae she signals the hem and the small blood-stain. “Can you fix this?” Lanlan, the man with no plan :: The beetle, meanwhile, was continuing its journey toward its creator, and slipped under two massive double doors into the meditation room. If it could still be called such. Once it was a place of serenity and peace and quiet. Now just beyond the doors actively exuded disruptive energy; sounds of whirring machinery and bright flashing lights appear at the threshold in different colors. Someone approached while they were gawking. “What are you doing.” The person addressed Gevurah directly, demanding she explain herself. “What. Are those.” A gloved hand appeared and gestured sharply at Gevurah’s ankles, which were visible because of the shortness of her robe. “Do you think you’re special? We wear these sacred uniforms for a reason. Fix it. Or I’ll take you straight to Haladavar and let him deal with you.” Clearly Gevurah wouldn’t like that. Nobody would like that. Rilla did her best to blend in, pulling the robes over her head, and her hair back, hiding it from view. Being smaller than the mage her robes were slightly too long, she walked on her toes to hide the difference just slightly. Not waiting for her companions, but keeping them within earshot, she moves calmly through the crowd head just slightly down to shade her face from view and to better find the path of the beetle that would do them no good if no one saw it. Crystalline gaze follows it under a doorway, but a sound calls her back, steps slowing to a near halt to listen to the upcoming scuffle. Iintahquohae wants to rip her skin off. This robe is disgusting. When Gevurah signals for her, she reluctantly stops fussing over her new outfit and squints at the bloodstain and hem. The bloodstain would be a no, but the hem would be easy enough. She reached into the pocket of her jacket beneath the robe, retrieving a thin, hooked needle. “We can just rip the seam out and that should make it look longer. Shabbier than these things already look, but it'll at least sort of obscure the blood,” she explains in a whisper, approaching to begin doing so. Scrambling for an idea to better explain the stain should someone ask, she chews on her lip and frowns. A fang bites down a bit too hard, drawing blood. Aha! Pocketing the seam ripper once she has finished, she looks to the matron. “How about you uh...punch me in the side of my face? We could say we got into a fight, you won, so that explains the blood, and if anybody looks at my face I guess I'd bruise, right?” Do vampires bruise? Did Kasyr ever tell her that? “...dammit, Kas,” the seamstress frowns, then looks over to Rilla. “Do we bruise if we get hit real hard?”

Two people speak to Gevurah at the same time: Iintahquohae and the OO uniform police (aka Ned the Fashionable Feline). In an inspired moment of guile and improvisation, Gevurah replies to Ned, "Yes." Her voice hisses. Upon hearing her own tone of voice, the matron realizes that her usual snarl won't do. What would Lanlan do? This entire playacting problem-solving is his strongsuit, not hers. Channeling her best Lanlan, she falsely stammers and continues sweetly, "Y-yes, s-sir, my colleague here," she nods at Iintahquohae, "just punched me in the nose and scolded me for my uniform. I'm on my way to fix it." Pause. "Sir." She attempts something akin to a smile, a grimace that is unconvincing and lifeless. She hates her sweet voice, this smile, and Lanlan for putting her in a situation where guilde would win the day, and herself for agreeing to this nonsense. Ned moves on and Gevurah leads the trio into the meditation room. She opens the door slowly, just in case there's any more booby traps.

Ned the fashionable Feline looks from Gevurah to Inks, unaware that Rilla is standing just a few steps away ready to intervene. Luckily there was no need, because Gevurah did something she never does. Grovel. “You shouldn’t have left your room,” says Ned, cutting her off. He was a little too proud. Under this oppressive regime, people were looking for little bits of authority wherever they could. “Away with you,” he says as he shoulders past. The beetle goes under the door to the meditation room, and the three infiltrators follow. Once inside you find...The meditation room no longer exists. That’s what should’ve been beyond these double doors, but instead there was a light show, and the sound of a thousand burning torches Snapping and crackling all at once. A massive network of lasers crisscrossed each other overhead. No, not a network of lasers. It was one laser, being refined a hundred times through standing structures strewn all over the room. It’s been converted into a laboratory. Bouncing off carefully angled standing mirrors and shining through massive quartz lenses, atop poles like street lamps, the laser become ever finer. Ever -hotter-. Until it sizzled into a great stone slab, a monolith, standing upright in the center of the room. The laser burned squiggles and symbols into the monolith continuously, illuminating the room in a sickly chartreuse light. Then? It stops. The room is suddenly dark. A massive globe of water, hovering over the monolith empties itself on the slab, cooling it and creating a cloud of steam.Your eyes adjust. The light’s gone from the room. Almost. Now it comes from a single source. At the opposite end from the double doors, bronze abs glow brightly, lit from the god-power within them, commanding your attention to him. The face connected to them speaks to the backside of the monolith. “What are you protecting? The Mage’s Guild is gone. Scattered. The only reason your alive is because I’m in a rush, but you must know. With or without you I -will- find the proper source.” No response from the monolithic stone. Haladavar, from his great stone throne, raises a glowing hand to his team of runesmiths. They delicately turn hand cranks at the base of the mirrors, adjusting them very slightly. And the source. A small piece of yellow quartz on an unassuming reflective plate, is removed and swapped for a purple crystal. The lightshow begins again, with a burning amethyst laser.

Rilla’s hesitation proves needless as Inks and Gevurah find their way out of the situation on their own, her only contribution a quick shrug in response to the question. Without turning and acknowledging the pair she continues her easy pass through the crowd to the meditation room and waiting a beat for them to catch up before pulling open the door only to be greeted by - magic? Technology? Her moment of hesitation seems to be unnoticed thus far, and Rilla nods to the women silently, trying her best not to stare at the spectacle that should have been perfectly ordinary were they a part of this strange cult. Looking ahead, she hisses, “I’m guessing we just act cool, but I don’t know jack about any of this.” An admission that this was no longer her element as her pace slows to buy them time before they’d be immediately overheard. Still, as they approach she falls into the group once more, lingering close to Iintaquohae as the light show starts once more. Her eyes instead fixed on Haldavar and his throne - that guy had bad vibes written all over him - for a moment too long before resuming her search for a man she’s never met before.

Iintahquohae blinks at the shift in Gevurah's tone when Fashionable Ned addresses her. She keeps quiet, partially due to her inability to lie well and partially because well, she kinda felt bad for the matron. Stinky robes -plus- pretending to have been punched by her? Inks already wanted to make her some clothes, but now she felt like she owed Gev. Wordlessly, she follows behind the drow matron and Rilla, adjusting her robes along the way once she realized (a bit late to realize this, really) that carrying S'erok's cage around visibly might look bad. Entering what once was the meditation room leaves Iintahquohae dumbfounded. The entire scene puts her on edge, and she can feel the cage hidden beneath her robes rattle with anticipation. Haladavar's voice causes her jaw to clench while she comes to a stop next to Rilla. Where's Odhranos? She wants to start tearing the place apart, but she can't do anything like she did at the ball long ago. They're outnumbered here. Where'd the beetle go? “...I'm going to kill that guy,” she whispers to the other vampire. “Just tell me when to move.” Gevurah takes a mental note to hunt down and kill Ned when this is over. It doesn't matter that Ned has no idea he disrespected Matron Gevurah D'Artes. Gevurah knows, and that's enough. In the meditation room, the drow winces and shields her eyes from the light show. She stumbles onto her back foot as the photosensitivity racks her brain for a split second. Then the room grows dark and her glowing red eyes quickly adjust to a more comfortable and familiar environment. The great thing about evil villains is their penchant for monologue (Gevurah would know). Haladavar reveals his hand and Gevurah preemptively throws up a warding spell, summoning a semi-transluscent gray sphere around her. When Inks announces she's going to kill Haladavar, Gevurah claps a hand on the young vampire's shoulder to stop her. "Wait," she hisses. "Focus on the mission. Let's find out who he is talking to." Haladavar said he's in a rush. Maybe he's leaving? Gevurah moves carefully along the perimeter of the room, avoiding the amethyst lasers and keeping to the shadows to see if she can get a better look at the opposite side of the monolith.

Lanlan:: As infiltrators begin to move along the perimeter, they get better looks at the operation. There’s one cloaked and masked person for every mirror, making very slight, calculated movements on a handcrank. The mirrors adjust their angles very slightly, and a new rune is burned onto the monolith. They’re an orchestra, making planned movements in time. Then they see Odhranos. Blindfolded. Strapped flat by the wrists against the backside of the monolith while the laser heats it up. He only wriggles slightly, meaning it doesn’t hurt that much of course. Or that he hasn’t the energy. Then the laser stops. Odhranos relaxes, and seems to drift off again, to sleep. Until the globe of water empties itself on him again, and he sputters awake. Haladavar takes a signal from his minion examining the writing on the slab. Negative. “What’s that Odhranos? Keep trying?” Suddenly something jolts him. A signal. He stops and takes a step toward the monolith. “Do you hear that? Looks like someone’s here for you. But they’re on the wrong floor! Anything to say before I find them and kill them?” The answer, or lack thereof, couldn’t have been satisfying. Because Halavar grumpily turns to his team again, sharply waves his hand, motioning the recommencement. Then he disappears in a bronze flash. All at once the tension in the room subsides. One guy pulls up his mask to light a cigarette. Chatter erupts all around. Haladavar just left. His minions are left wondering where he went, hoping he won’t return soon. They’ve been working fruitlessly for days and could certainly use a break. The smoker, a human man, stands up from his post and moves away from it nonchalantly with a few words for the Matron of the underdark. “Cover me. I’m gonna hit the head.” Something in his demeanor, his sudden lack of code, leads one to believe that he’s gone after this. And while she can’t abide taking orders from a worker bee, nor can she let the opportunity slip by. Every one of the rescuers sees the chance before them. Gevurah takes the controls in hand, a serious of levers and cranks, and finds a cheat sheet at her new cubicle. A guide to her new role in the machine of magical industry. She reads it, understands it, and promptly ignores it. Meanwhile, the amethyst gem is replaced by an emerald. The laser shines through, sprays green light into a mirror that reflects it through a refining lens. It bounces, gets magnified, refined, everything as usual. Until it gets to Gevurah’s mirrors. She nonchalantly spins a crank like the wheel at the helm of a ship, sending a powerful laser bouncing wildly all over the room. The sheer heat of it pierces one robed figure through their sternum, cracking their ribcage like a superheated lance. The unfortunate minion is dead, but their body remains skewered on the peculiar arcane beam, which begins glowing brighter. Inks capitalizes on the chaos, using her mastery of elemental water to wrest control of the massive cooling globe of water suspended over the monolith and Odhranos. Magically, she pulverizes it and creates an all obscuring mist. “Stop the experiment!” “What’s happening!” “Where are the tongs!” The cult panics. Rilla, under cover of mist, begins to move toward Odhranos, acrobatically slipping over and under the superhot laser beam, then using the obelisk as cover from it. Her nimble fingers work the lock. Clink! One arm free. Iintahquohae moves like an angry giraffe, knocking over contraptions that impede her path toward the middle of the room. In the midst of the chaos, the skewered minions body convulses. From their chest, golden light is wrenched forth, dragged through the beam of light which suddenly, inexplicably, tears itself across the room, burning a swathe through the wall as it is drawn towards the obelisk. The light splatters against the tortured stone, then seeps into it, causing it to glow from within. Rilla slides the rake over the wrench, applies just the right amount of pressure and… Pop! The second lock cracks open, and the limp bundle of Odhranos falls, disappearing into the mist. Rilla follows suit, and as the rescuers in the mist lose sight of one another, chaos reigns. Until a beacon shines a golden amber light, commanding attention as if to wayward ships in the foggy night. “Your two distractions are dead!” Says Haladavar to the tumultuous nothingness. Then he waves his hand, and gathers the mist again, coagulating it into a swirling eddy. Everyone is able to see him levitating in the center of the room. Just like everyone is able to see the trespassers making their way through the chaos toward the exit with Odhranos resting safely, limply across Inks’s arms. In the blink of an eye, Haladavar whips the stream of water at them. Only to have it slither past and freeze solid into a wall several inches think, plastered against the only point of egress. He scans his ruined lab, his melted minions, and his newly enchanted obelisk. It is here that his attention is commanded above all. “How? What have you done?” He floats with agility, peering at the burning, glowing marks made by this newest rendition of his laser experiment. While he begins to trace the reaction back to its source, Gevurah uses her borrowed pyromancy to open an escape in the wall of ice, and they pour through, escaping while the madman sorts through the mess. As they flee the tower, Haladavar’s exultant, bellowing laughter tears through the town of Xalious. The rescuers speed East, careful to stay off the roads. Moving as fast as they can to beat the mysterious consequences suggested by Lanlan about the carved obelisks, newly darting the village and surrounding hills. They know they have til dawn. But they must temper their speed! Patrols watch their way. As much as they know they could probably handle themselves in a fight against the patrols, Odhranos is in no shape to fight. Inks must carry him. So they must check their speed with stealth, and a vigilance that borders on paranoia. Ahead, the first rays of light creep over the mountains, picking out the dark looming silhouettes of the obelisk that ring Xalious. As the sunlight touches the upper reaches of the stone spires, the runes there begin drawing in the light, and a veil of amber light begins weaving itself between the pillars. Letter by letter, the spell is cast, and when each rune burns with energy, it erupts from the obelisk. With every pounding step, the border comes closer, but with every passing second, the sun rises higher, drawing the net that threatens their escape. In this final stretch, they seek to outrun the dawn itself. Rescuers and the rescued alike run headlong through the waning darkness. As the last few metres of stone and dirt blaze past, the full strength of the dawn light hits their eyes, and just as Rilla's boot crushes the last foot of gravel behind her heel, the magical wall of solid amber light seals itself behind her. As the new day dawns on Xalious, the Ossian Wall emerges right there on the path to Xalious, barring your entrance into the village. Back in Cenril, they regroup with Valrae, Lanlan, and ialantha. Where they discover they’ve come up short of stealing the book but have a new plan anyways. The book is magically attached to whatever place is home to the Mage’s Guild. They can change the Home with a complicated ritual and the authority of the Archmage. The former should be simple. The latter is techincally impossible. Oh well.