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[Hanzoku]

((It's a 'the next morning...' jump at first. The next week or two in game will be lower key then the festival, and you'll get to do your own things and get roped into some minor things by the townsfolk.))

[Sirus]

((Sounds alright to me.))

[Hanzoku]

Aloisturm

As the construct sank into the reverie of low power mode, its body carried out a variety of much needed minor repairs and adjustments that its former Master had unknowingly denied it the opportunity to handle. As Aloisturm attempted to review the events since its awakening, one of those repairs completed, and the construct’s thoughts tumbled and whirled as a flood of images and sounds washed over it.

It became conscious of the scorched earth under its feet, and the presence of its brothers all around it. They marched, a perfect, silver legion, feed hammering the ground in time with metronome precision. Faceless, featureless, there was no individual identity, for they were one and the same.

Its thoughts hummed with strange sensations. Something vaster and colder then the irritation it felt towards some of the meatbags. Colder then its feeling towards the meatbags designated ‘goblins’, that had attempted to impair its function. It shared this feelng with its brothers. They were Legion.

They were not alone. Ahead rose a vast tower, a swirling globe of fire crowning it, fire spewing outward from it to land with volcanic fury. Meatbags in robes chanted and prayed around an alter of standing stones, while creatures of infernal nature stalked around them, adding their own blasphemies to their chants.

To either side of the Legion, meatbags marched, rode and flew. Overhead, a massive airship growled as fire and water elementals fought for primacy, the steam of their vicious battles powering ingenious mechanisms. The ground shook as several weapons aboard the ship fired into the distance, and the army around the Legion howled with bloodlust.

Ahead of the  Legion strode a tall man, his scalp shaved and adorned with mystic tattoos. He was dressed in the robes and carried a staff of one of the mystical meatbags, and was flanked by a massive devil, one with a vicious metallic, barbed beard, and carrying a glaive taller then it.

“Why do you bring these constructs with us? They do not understand the purity of our cause!” it was arguging, glancing back at the Legion with rage seething across its features.

“I bring them because it is Runelord Alaznist’s wish that we determine their effectiveness in combat.” The man grated, voice tight with leashed anger. “Our most wise Runelord understands the value of all forms of anger. The structured anger of devils, the chaotic rage of demons, the frothing madness of berserkers. These constructs add a new note to the song that we compose.”

The army stopped at the base of the tower. Meatbags shifted and shied as flames landed all around them, but the Legion was unconcerned. They never wavered, even as flames landed in their ranks. Ahead of them, an army approached. Resplendent armor, chased in gold and silver covered their forms. Mortal pikemen and archers, knights and men at arms were complemented by squads of massive, tattooed giants and legions of infernal monsters. Overhead soared a trio of airships, smaller than the one accompanying their force, and just as gaudily decorated as the men below. One of the airships sported blackened scars across its side and listed as the crew fought to douse the last fires.

“Come, children of Wrath! Come, scions of Rage! See the lackeys of Shalast as they seek to enter our domain! See their grasping greed for what is ours!” The wizard ahead roared, finally giving vent to the seething rage within him.

“Show them, my children! Show them our rage, our wrath. We serve the Runelord of Wrath, let them  NEVER FORGET THAT!”

The army roared, and the Legion raised their voices together in a single expression of the cold, precise wrath that only a construct could give voice to.

Without orders, without need for them, the army charged, and behind them, the tower began to vent swaths of fire across the battlefield, the clerics and sorcerers struggling to focus the Hellstorm Flume across the correct figures below.

And then the memories whirled away as the repair cycle completed, and Aloisturm awakened. They could once again be accessed, but they were only a fragment of the construct’s past.

Etoile
Etoile grunted as he lifted his pack and took it with him upstairs. Perhaps it was the long day, but it seemed heavier then he was used to. He put it out of mind as he admired the luxurious room he had been granted. He lived rather simply, his house mostly devoted to his many books, with little thought to his own comfort. However, the soft bed called to him, and he was out light a light almost as soon as he crawled beneath the covers and placed his head on the pillow.

In the early light of the dawn, some sensation caused the young man to rouse. He opened his eyes sleepily, to see two draconic eyes watching him intently from the foot of the bed, reflecting the dim light from the mostly covered window. Etoile’s heart stopped in fear as the creature saw the he was awake and bared sharp teeth at him.

”Master Etoile, this one remembers who you are!” it chirped at him cheerfully.

Steven
Steven slept well, his night undisturbed by dreams. His morning was less pleasant, and he groaned as head and body alike protested his existence. Muscles, pulled from exertion during the day and the fights of the evening tried to compete with his hangover, and he was left to judge it a tie as to which hurt more.

Kal
Unlike Steven, Kal woke up feeling fresh and relaxed, his body mended from the day before. It was a bright, beautiful morning, and the day was just beginning.

((As I stated, you now have some time to pursue your own goals. Locals may come and bother you with requests and tasks. If there’s a lack of interest in this section, then we can end up timeskipping from one event to another. I’m not sure how this section translates from the tabletop to a play by post game, so we’ll play it by ear.))

[apiks]

Etoile remembers that Aloisturm mentioned the library, though which he isn't sure, so he assists him with that.

[Sirus]

Aloisturm contemplated the memories it had accessed during its downtime. So, there apparently was - or had been - more of its kind. That was good to know, but the memories were frustratingly incomplete. There was no knowledge of time or location, just some mentioned names. Irritating. It filed the terms "Runelord Alaznist" and "Shalast" away for future reference.

The construct spends some of its free time over the next few days at the monk's library, primarily focusing on maps and history texts so it can try to figure out where (and when) in the planes it was.

[highmax28]

Steven gets up from his bed and hits the floor from his legs failing to function properly from over-exertion from the barrow run. Using his bed to hoist himself up, he crawls back onto the bed, head pounding from the hangover. Steven rolls back into bed and tries to rest his head for a bit; he had to lay low anyway, so why not?

With what felt like hours (which was only a few seconds), the pounding in his head was amplified by the sound of Rusty's heavy, metal footsteps. While normally it's a little more audible than normal footsteps, this morning, they sounded like cannons firing right next to him, jumping him awake, head in his hands from the beating of his head.

Steven put his holster on, threw on his coat and put on his hat as he grabbed his gear to follow the iron-clad figure.

"Might as well go and keep myself on the move..." he says to himself as he hobbles towards the construct, using the wall as a support when his legs start to buckle.

Steven stumbles to follow Rusty

[TD1]

Kal stretches, feeling unusually relaxed. The events of the past day creep slowly into his consciousness, and he sits up with a groan. Why couldn't he ever have a peaceful life? Because that wouldn't help you get a clean conscience a nagging voice whispers. Speaking of which....

Kal leaves the hotel, hastily picking up his spear and using it as a crude walking staff on his way out. He begins looking for the sorcerer his Master mentioned....

[Hanzoku]

Aloisturm, Steven, Etoile and Zeretuu

Once the dawn peeked over the horizon, the construct stirred from its brooding as it waited for the inefficient meatbag to finish their far longer rest and repair cycles. Its heavy footfalls roused Steven from his slumber, and he shambled after the construct, lacking a better use for his time. Etoile, who had gotten over his fright had remembered the construct talk about a library and filled with curiosity, followed him as well. Zeratuu loyally followed after her master, bundled up in her cloak against the early morning’s chill.

Downstairs, the inn’s staff was stoking the fires and preparing porridge and bread for breakfast, while sausages sizzled on a skillet. Surprised to see the group up so early, the staff offer the group cheerful waves. An elderly halfling who is overseeing the others hands the living members of the group fresh bread on their way out the door, still warm from the oven.

Outside, the group stops a fisherman heading towards the docks for directions to where Sabyl Sorn lives, and he offers quick directions, politely omitting half of his normal amount of profanity. They find their way towards the Glassworks, one of the largest industries in the town. Next to it is the more modest stone structure of the House of Blue Stones. Despite the early hour, smoke rises from a single chimney, and the door is answered by a bald-headed young man dressed in simple robes. He quickly summons Sabyl Sorn, and she smiles a little as she sees Aloisturm and his companions.

“Ah. I had half expected that annoying gnome to appear with you, but he is nowhere to be seen. Good. I’ll be glad to turn him away – again – if he should come calling. You wish access to the library, yes? It is down the stairs over there. You may study what you wish, I only ask that you not disturb the students as they go about their chores and lessons.”

After directing the group in the direction of the library, Sabyl returns to teaching the young man and four other young people, another man and three women, one of them a half-elf or full blooded elf, to judge by her ears.

Down below, the library is well lit and dry, with the musty smell of books and scrolls filling the air. Aloisturm carefully begins indexing the books with Etoile’s help, the librarian finding the system quite similar to his own, and the two begin their work in earnest. Steven is free to recover from his headache in a relatively quiet environment and to help or watch as he pleases. One attempt to smoke in the library is greeted with such furious outrage from the normally quiet scholar at the presence of fire around precious tomes that the wanderer quickly decides that any smoke breaks are better taken outside.

Zereatuu quickly grows bored of poking around the books, finding that they are almost invariably written in Common. She figures that her Master is safe and sound down below, and creeps upstairs to watch Sabyl Sorn train the young apprentice monks. She watches with great curiosity as they practice with slow precision, and the kobold quietly begins to apt the lessons.

Kal

Waking up a little later then the others, Kal discovers the rest of his companions the night before had already departed. He shrugs in response and enjoys a generous meal with the other travelers, enjoying the good-natured attention from the others at breakfast before asking where he could find Madam Mavashti.

She turns out to be close by. Leaving the inn, he walks through the early morning market in the market square before turning up the road towards the cathedral. On the left rises the impressive bulk of the Sandpoint Theater, and next to it is a depilated and old manor house. It looks to be well loved and lived in, but lacking in basic maintenance and day to day repairs. Swallowing his trepidation, he knocks on the front door. After a short while, a short, pretty woman in the simple habit of a cleric of Desna opens the door and frowns up at him. “Yes? What can I do for you?”

Explaining his old master’s instructions to visit Madam Mavashti changes her attitude, and she smiles sunnily in response, an expression that looks far more natural on her face. “Ah yes, of course. Please, come in, and I’ll go get Mother. She’s in the garden out back, tending to the plants.”

Inside, the manor looks much better, the rooms neat and clean, though the furniture is as well worn as it is well cared for. The woman returns, accompanied and discreetly supporting an old, old woman. Her fine hair is white as snow and bound back in a simple bun, and her clothing is simple, but filled with bright colors. The knees of her pants and the cuffs of her shirt are dusted with dirt and grass stains, and the fingers wrapped around the curiously flowing wood of her staff are likewise stained green and brown, and firmly calloused as she takes Kal’s hand.

“So, you’re the young man that young Josef has taken under his wing! He’s written about you, you know.” Despite her age, the old woman’s voice is strong and musical, and her impish smile reveals a full set of white teeth. “Please, sit and talk with an old woman, and knowing my daughter, she hasn’t introduced herself yet. This is Koya, a fine cleric of Desna at the cathedral.”

As they take their seats in the living room, Madam Mavashti nods. “Now, why don’t you tell me what has brought you to old Mavashti?”

((Aloisturm has indicated what he’s researching at the House of Blue Stones. The archives there allow you to make Knowledge: History and Knowledge: The Planes checks untrained and with a +4 bonus. If Steven or Etoile wish to aid Aloisturm or research another topic today, feel free to say so.))

[TD1]

Kal smiles easily in reply, inwardly chuckling at the idea of Josef as 'young.'

He nods politely as Koya is introduced, then responds to Mavashti's question by showing her his claws. I want to know about these....about what they mean. I know that I have bad blood, and I struggle every day not to sink into despair under the weight of it. Even doing the right thing sometimes feels pointless under that burden. Have you any...wisdom to impart on my heritage? Kal's hands move absently at his sides.

[Sirus]

((If it comes down to a choice, I'd rather test Knowledge: Geography than Knowledge: History. But if there isn't a limit I'll test all three.))

[apiks]

Etoile aids the construct in his research.

[highmax28]

Steven helps rusty, knowing that while in here, he's safe from being found, and at least owes the construct a hand for letting him in

"Remind me... What are you looking for?"

[Sirus]

The construct finished the page it was on before answering.

"Intel. I have no data on my current location, and the length of time I spent in stasis is unknown. Before any long-term plans can be made, more information must be acquired. I do not know if this library will provide what I seek, but it is a start."

[TD1]

((I have to compliment you on your convincing portrayal of a construct, Sirus. Not speaking specifically of the last post, more in general.))

[highmax28]

The construct finished the page it was on before answering.

"Intel. I have no data on my current location, and the length of time I spent in stasis is unknown. Before any long-term plans can be made, more information must be acquired. I do not know if this library will provide what I seek, but it is a start."

"What was the last day you remember then? It couldn't have been that long, could it?"