Today there was a series of massive explosions on the trackless a few knots off of kohls shores, a single frigate being pushed along by a red dragon no less was seen skimmy along the waves with a giant hole in it crashing into the shore by the salandran temple.

One inquireing for more details to the explosions are told to seek out some of the kohl defenders.

//cmon you guys it was a four hour event i want people to post ^.~ lets hear it from your chars perspective!

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"I'm going to spend all my money on ale and whores." "Okay roll for whores." "That's 1d4 whores right?"

Christophan Warrick's personal log: (written).

We were able to confirm two shipments which were suspected to have the powders which wiped out sections of Kohlingen, Brogdenstein and Cordor's temples. With the Everguard Captain and a number of Defenders, we set out to investigate the first vessel.

The sailors of the first vessel acted suspiciously and refused to let us inspect the bottom decks of their vessel, and with good reason. After subduing the sailors of the ship proper and taking a prisoner we went below decks. Searching the vessel we found men who fought with duel blades and when slain self immolated. By the time we got to the cargo section, one of them had lay on the explosives, starting to set them off. We were forced to escape as the explosives detonated.

Returning to Kohlingen to drop off our prisoner and some of our crew to take on new personnel, we made for the second ship, which at the discretion of the Kohlingen Everguard Captain and myself we decided to sink. Wagnard and myself took to Dragon form and capsized the vessel with it's cargo aboard while the others did battle above deck. It was fierce but by the time it was all over, many were wounded and sick but still alive. We were forced to make for the Temple of Salandra, crashing ourselves on shore and badly injuring the Captain as he was flung clear of the ship. He is currently in recovery at the Temple's recovery ward, and I have visited his son to advise him to have a tidy room per his request when I returned to Kohlingen.

My interview with the prisoner was brief, and while he was shot by an assassin I did get out of him the mention of Waterdeep.

Floriane or, Flori as she prefers be called seems to know more about these 'Twelve' responsible for the attacks. Speaking with her, she explained that this group known as the 'Twelve' presses the suicide bombers into doing this through threats to their family. They are all humans with a racist slant in their beliefs, worshipping gods unknown even to Floraine.

Considered course of action: Currently classified information, restricted to Justicar's eyes only.

~~~~

Journal entry for Kaatje(Written outside the Cordor Temple)

Well, today was interesting. Got to go on a ship for the first time in a long time. I had forgotten how good it was to have the ocean spray in my face. I'm glad the Captain of Waves was smiling on us today, for if he hadn't been I'd surely be dead.

Anyway, we were fighting another ship. I’m not sure who they were really, or why we were fighting, but they were all wearing black so they must have been evil.

I went overboard when the dragons capsized the boat, but luckily they saved me, and everyone else. I just wish I could have done more... I was pretty useless, which is never good.

Oh, it looks like goldenpants is back, I’m going to go see if he has any purple dye yet.

OOC: Oh alright, here’s mine. It contains a bit of violence, just so you know.

Part One

******

Within the meeting room of the Halls of Defenders, was a group, some from the Defenders themselves, some from other nations willing to help. They had been called to discuss a recently discovered threat – the ‘Twelve’ were bringing in two shipments of bombs via boat, to bring more terror upon the cities that had suffered so much from bombings already.

“We will set out in two boats, and will find those bombing shipments before they land! We heavily outman them, but beware – their boats are far faster than ours, they are built around out-manuvering their enemies. We go under the cover of night. Await at the docks for further instructions!”

And thus, the briefing of the Defenders ended, and the people headed out the door to the docks. Behind a pillar watching however, was a familiar pair of elven eyes…

“The Twelve again? I’m coming along, whether they like it or not.” Floriane thought to herself.

The boat brought up its sail, starting to leave port once the Defenders had boarded it. Just as it left port, a lithe figure leaped from land and grabbed silently onto the mast of the boat, and there she stayed as the sight of the boat vanished from Kohlingen’s port.

The young elven looked over the unusual crew: there was Christophan Warrick, the commander of the Defenders, Rias the elven sorcerer, two human females she hadn’t met before; Thundra and Mila, seemingly a mage and cleric, a human male whom she had not heard of named Grim Brighthammer; a cleric or paladin of some holy purpose. Oh, and Varent Draconis... “Bah, what a jerk,” she mused to herself.

“Fire the ballista!” cried the Everguard as the first boat approached, and Warrick let loose with a bolt attached to a chain, to board the boat. The bolt hit its target, and the boat’s confused and alarmed crew came out from under the deck, to inspect what had happened.

“What do ye want? Why in the hells are ye firing upon us?” asked one of the sailors.

After repeated denial of letting Warrick’s crew down below the deck, Grim brought out his weapon, and with one strike, three of the sailors fell to the ground dead. Floriane tilted her head at the ease of their deaths, smirking. Thundra chanted, and from her palm she brought out a spell to bind the last sailor. Varent tied and gagged the sailor, and brought him back to Warrick’s boat for later questioning. Warrick’s crew crept down to the deck they had been denied access to leaving behind Thundra and Grim, with the elven female following them silently.

Floriane looked upon her surroundings; a dusty, empty large room made of wood, with some worthless possessions. A locked door led into a corridor. With one mighty kick, the locked door’s hinges were smashed thanks to Varent, and Warrick’s crew crept onward. Floriane stalked behind, looking around her cautiously.

Two doors swung open and out came two hooded men, duel-wielding short swords that dripped with vile poison.

“Shadows take you!” They cried, before attacking.

The first came at Varent with a swipe of his short sword, however, the mighty half-dragon warrior ducked, the blow missing its mark. Varent thrust with his scimitar, slicing open the belly of the hooded man. The next came at Rias, but with but a gesture of the elf’s hand, a barrage of magic missiles broke apart the bones in the hooded man’s body. They pressed on, to the door at the end of the corridor.

Floriane crept along following them, and looking behind her briefly. With a loud female scream alerting her, she looked forward once more. Mila had fallen to another three hooded men within moments – these ones meant business, and they were taking no prisoners.

Varent charged with a growl, slicing vertically with his scimitar at one hooded man. But within the blink of an eye, the man had dodged his blow, and thrust both swords into Varent’s chest. With a loud roar, Varent fell to the ground, lifeless. Rias gestured again to bring forth another swarm of missiles, but before the spell could be completed, a leg tripped him over, and he was plunged with multiple short swords, dying within an instant, lying in a pool of his own blood. Warrick was the last survivor – but not for long. Like the rest, he was cut to ribbons by three, falling to the ground with but a groan.

At that point, Floriane leaped out of the shadows in a somersault, rapier and short sword unsheathed. She looked at the bloody mess of her crew, thinking to herself: “Better late than never.”

She rushed at the first hooded one, with swiftness and grace outmatching his. The man swiped fruitlessly with his sword, and within the blink of an eye, he fell to the ground, his lungs punctured and ripped apart by the elf’s deadly rapier. She stepped back with a sly smile, back into the shadows of the boat.

“Find her!”

“I can’t see her!”

Out she leapt again, her silver eyes gleaming in amusement as the next hooded man came at her. As he thrust with his swords, she rolled under his legs, and in one fluid motion, she kicked out his legs, plunging both blades deep into his chest, twisting them as he breathed his last.

She turned to face the last hooded human, and they locked eyes. From a quick appraisal, she determined he was the leader of the group, and was going to be trickier than the others. The lock of their eyes soon become a lock of their blades as each swiped at the same time; sparks and acid spit off their intertwined blades of electric and acid, face to face they glared at each other. Floriane broke the lock with a backwards somersault, and came at him, with a swift thrust of her rapier. He sidestepped, and she quickly rolled under a counterattack of his, narrowly avoiding her death. She took back a couple of steps up the wall, as the man grinned under his hood.

“Certain death comes for you!” he cried victoriously, as he brought forth both blades. Floriane leaped into the air as both blades sunk into the wood of the boat, missing their mark. She landed with both feet upon either of the man’s blade, and took out her bow as she balanced, quickly firing two arrows. Both arrows reached their mark at point blank range, and the hooded man grunted as he stepped back, bleeding profusely from both arrows sunk into his lower chest. She stepped off the blades that were still sunk into the wall, spinning out her own blades with her palms. As she sliced horizontally with her short sword, the hooded man uttered a command word, and stepped into the ethereal via a greater sanctuary spell.

“By Aerdrie, I lost him!”

She decided to forget about him for the moment, and looked around at the bodies that scattered the room. She sighed, pulling out a pack of raise dead scrolls.

“I knew you guys would need my help.”

******

OOC: Edited to rewrite some parts and correct typos.

_________________

"Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words."

Part Two

******

“Did you get everyone?” asked Warrick, now alive after a handy raise dead scroll brought him back to life.

Floriane shook her head. “One escaped,” she sighed.

They continued into the final room, where the three hooded men had previously come from. Floriane peered in, and her eyes widened at what she saw – the man whom got away earlier was lying slumped on the barrels full of explosives, breathing still. He looked up, with a sick grin he said “I’m taking all of you to hell with me.”

He uttered a command word, and his armor began to combust, and soon the heat would explode the bombs!

“RUN!”

Everyone turned on their heels, and ran as fast as their feet could carry them. Floriane ran through room after corridor after room, swiftly climbed up the ladder leading out back to the deck, as the boat exploded behind her. She leaped off the boat, landing on Warrick’s ship on her feet, knees bent. She took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from her brow as she lent back against the mast wearily, glad to be safe with her crew.

******

They finally reached Kohlingen port once more, and two more people came aboard to help – Roslefusio Kross; a demented winged bard, and Wagnard Hilstad, a “shadowmancer,” as he called himself.

“We go once more, for the second boat!”

And so they left once more, exhausted and drained from the first trip.

******

“There they are! We’ve found them! And… they’re coming to us, quickly! To your arms, men!”

The second ship approached the exhausted heroes, and five hooded men were on deck. One stepped forth, the leader seemingly:

“Come then, if you wish to meet your death!”

For a brief moment, the two groups of heroes and villains eyed each other. Warrick; short bow ready, Varent; determined with his scimitar ready, Wagnard; silent awaiting his chance, Roslefusio; rapier gripped within his rotted and twisted hand, Floriane; standing regal, wings outstretched and longbow in hand. Rias stayed back, chanting with all of his might to keep the storms back from striking Warrick’s ship.

With a loud battle cry, Roslefusio and Varent leaped across boat to boat, gliding with their wings. Back to back they fought, slaughtering those that opposed them. Grim jumped across, joining the fray, mighty hammer in hand. Thundra blasted from afar with her spells, Mila quickly climbing across to heal those that needed it. Floriane stood back, arrow after arrow flying across to bite down into the foes flesh, blur after blur.

“Now Wagnard!” Warrick cried, and both of them polymorphed into red dragons, leaping into the deep sea, attempting to capsize the Twelve’s boat while the heroes upon deck fought for time.

Each Twelve fell one by one, but their numbers were limitless. With both a roar and twisted laugh by either warrior, both Varent and Roslefusio were cut down, Mila was ripped apart, Grim stabbed repeatedly. Floriane gritted her teeth pulling out her blades, somersaulting across to fight the Twelve alone in a desperate bid for time. Blades sung and blows flew, as the mistress of the shadows fought for her life and those of her crew. The boat began to tip over to its side as Floriane gasped, realising the boat was about to capsize; Warrick and Wagnard has succeeded!

Swiftly she leaped into the air, and with a dark rift of shadow, she shadow jumped back to Warrick’s boat, back to safety just as the boat capsized. Wagnard and Warrick came back aboard the boat after their work was done, carrying the downed heroes, dropping them as they unpolymorphed back into their natural forms.

Despite Rias’ best efforts to keep the storm away, one bolt of lightning broke through – and struck the Twelve’s boat! With a gust of wind conjured by Thundra, Warrick’s boat sped away as their foe's boat exploded in a shower of flames and wood.

Warrick inspected his exhausted and injured crew, and told the captain:

“We head to the Salandran Temple. Port or not, we need to heal our downed crew.”

Long and painful hours later, they reached their destination, pulling themselves ashore with much complaining and groaning, lying on the grounds of the Saladran Temple, exhausted.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Floriane said, as she brushed the dust from her pants.

******

_________________

"Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words."

He sat hands folded in front of his face, his gaze lowered to the beautiful angel on the bed. Her bluish-black skin shone with sweat as even in the midst of the coma she struggled against the memories in which she was buried.

Rias Lorien, the sixth creation, the Heartborne, had been tending to his lover Donomika for the past three days. Her coma unnatural, none of his healing spells or herbs could bring her ease, and so he awaited word from some who could aid him in this plight. But it was not word of a cure for this coma that came shuffling urgently down the hall to the large room they shared.

"Magus Lorien!" came the stuffy voice from behind the door. "Word from Kohlingen's Defenders! They ask your presence immediately!"

"I already told them I'm not to take part in any training exercises, Archmagus Thoramind," he replied with quiet irritation. "I have more important things to take care of."

"I'm afraid the situation is very real, magus!" Thoramind's wheezy voice came back. "It is the very thing of which you warned us, the cult!"

Rias breathed a heavy sigh, stroking a tousled lock of silver hair away from Donomika's unconscious eyes. "Right," he muttered, and moved to pick up his magestaff from the dresser on which he had temporarily rested it. "Someone will need to see to Donomika while I am away," he called over his shoulder. As if on cue, three apprentices crept into the room quietly as if not to disturb Donomika's rest. He picked up the glittering staff, fiercely ignoring the stabbing pains below his shoulder blades as he picked up his helm and slid it over his handsome visage, his long hair of pure silver spilling out of the back like a Moonshae waterfall.

When Rias had reached the landing, Thoramind had already returned to his post of observing the door. Stepping near the gleaming yellow-white portal, he spared a glance over his shoulder as an apprentice waved and yelled, "Good luck, mister elf!"

Rias decided to spare the apprentice the explanation of his resemblance to an elf, and said simply, "I'm not an elf, but thank you anyway." And he stepped into the center of the swirling color, instantly traversing many miles across the island to the city of Kohlingen...

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

He found it hard to concentrate much on the briefing, his head still rather light from the ritual that had saved Willow's life. The Everguard Captain had explained that two ships were en route to the port, suspected of containing a large shipment of explosives intent for distribution to cult members. About him sat the roguish merchant Zeral, the brooding bard Valtin, Christophan the shifter and commander of the operation, Wagnard the shadowmage, the apprentice Kathy who was Wagnard's adopted daughter, Varent the dragonkin warrior, Mila the cleric, Thundra the Wizardess and oftentimes his colleague at the tower, and several new faces to which he had not yet placed a name.

"... search each ship with the dogs we have provided," Rias heard the Everguard captain say in response to his inquiry. "The powder irritates their noses, it seems.

"The operation will be split into two teams; one commanded by Christophan, the other by myself. We work on a short timetable, for an extremely violent storm is on the horizon."

"I have averted a storm in the past," Rias interjected. "If necessary I can do so again."

"I'll need you on standby with that," Christophan said simply. "Storms like that might be rough enough to set off the explosives."

Rias nodded and, as the briefing was dismissed, made his way to the docks. Zeral had already taken up a spot on the walk, grinning from ear to ear as he usually did. Rias leaned upon his magestaff, watching the sea with anxiety as the sun crept below its waves.

When night fell, the Defenders were boarded onto a small frigate, Christophan selecting the members of his team to include Rias, Mila, and Varent. During the selection Rias could make out the forms of two small cargo ships, their black sails barely visible in the half moonlit sky. With a sigh he muttered, "I have a feeling we're going to have to do this the hard way."

The hard way indeed. The crew on board were unmistakably cultists, their uniforms bearing a small insignia of Twelve. Long blades in each hand dripping with poison and acid, they were obviously prepared to kill or be killed. The crew on deck fell before the blades of the others easily enough that Rias need not have uttered an arcane word, silently thanking the Weave for the respite. It was in the belly of the beast that the resistance became much heavier. One black-clad assassin attempted to slip past Mila and drive his corroded blade into Rias' center, but too late... a word and a gesture, and the fool was blown apart with pure force from the Weave's fury. Other crew members began to pour from the rooms, their acid blades giving an eerie green glow with each fruitless swing they took. Only three of the Twelve cultists remained after many flashes of blade and spell, and by then Mila had reached her limit. She fell, a glowing green dagger embedded in her chest.

Rias did not see the cultist behind him drive his corrupt steel into his back. "Why you..." He drove his palm into the assailant's belly, pure will flowing from his mind into the Weave in a split second, the force of his spell causing the cultist to fly into the wall in bloody pieces. Too hurt to move much, Rias slumped to the wall, out of sight of the remaining cult members. His iridescent, glowing "blood" dripped from his robes, but his wound slowly began to close as its healing properties took over.

He did not see how quickly Varent and Christophan fell, nor did he see the elven female who shot their assailants from the shadows. "I'll make them pay for his act of cowardice," he muttered to himself before seeing the fatally wounded Mila rise by means of a resurrection scroll from the winged elven lass. They found him next, but he stood, waving away Mila's attempted healing spell or any healing kits the elven lady possessed. "I don't need that," he said shortly. He didn't wish to say aloud that he didn't trust Torm or Tyr's followers enough to accept so much as an Orison from them, and he was not quite sure what to make of the winged elf who had appeared so suddenly.

The ladies moved to raise the fallen warriors, while Rias gathered enough of his strength to cast healing spells of his own design, feeling the piercing pain leave him in almost an instant. It wasn't until then that the lot of them noticed a shadowed figure on the floor, creeping toward the kegs in the storage hold...

"Move," Rias said quietly. The entire team looked at him strangely. He turned to each of them, indicating the cloaked figure's rapidly heating armor which happened to be hot to burning... right next to the several hundred kegs of explosives!

"GET OUT!!" he roared, as he dashed back down the hallway. At last he could tell the team members (including the strange elven lady) followed suit, for he heard spells of haste being cast over his shoulder. They clambered up to the deck as the first of the fireworks began to report its departure, its explosion rocking the ship backwards out of pure force. Rias did not see what became of the others, as he cast a spell of speed to aid him in swimming away from the sinking ship's vortex that threatened to pull them all down into the brine with it...

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

What passed for lungs in his simulated body burned madly with each breath he took as he was assisted onto the frigate where the other defenders awaited. He was slumped on the deck as he watched the cargo ship explode in the mother of all explosions, the Weave revealing to him that the last cultist on board was screaming in denial that he could not have missed all of the Defenders before his final, brightly-colored and loud departure.

"Well," he said as he smirked weakly, forcing himself to stand with his staff. "That's one ship full of cowardly cannon fodder down."

The others chuckled. Rias moved to the bow and sat quietly while the rest of the Defenders still present milled about. Their time to celebrate was nonexistant, for the other ship was now beginning to close in on Kohlingen's port. The explosion Rias had just seen could easily have taken the entirety of the city of Cordor with it...

The captain of the first boat lay on his knees, bound with rope and locked chain alike. For the moment they were returning to Kohlingen, the cultist captain in tow as their prisoner. Rias remained on the boat, his body and mind weary from having swam so far so fast. It was not natural even for created, simulated bodies like his to exert so much.

When Christophan returned at last, the course had already been set. They had to move with haste, for the approaching storm's coal-black clouds could now be seen, glittering threateningly with purple arcs of lightning. Christophan looked down upon where Rias sat, and gave him a simple order.

"Do it."

Pursing his lips, Rias nodded, and rose to his feet. He stared at the coming storm with conviction as the approaching boat, their only other threat, came into view. But Rias' mind was on the storm.... turning it away, or at least holding it back long enough for his teammates to do what they had to. The storm was unnaturally strong, much stronger than the one he had turned away so long ago...

He closed his eyes, picturing the storm in the palm of his hand. In slow, monotone Arcane he began to speak, feeling the pure Weave energy that was his blood coarse through his every being...

"Storm, I command you... your fury is not needed. Turn away, and let your tears rain gently upon the land!"

At his words, the storm began to slow. He could hear sounds of flashing steel and cries of battle from somewhere, perhaps the battle had begun? ... No, he must not think about that. He focused every ounce of his effort upon keeping the storm back... it was too strong to avert and dissipate.

Rias repeated his commands, changing from Common to Elven, to Arcane, pushing with word, gesture and mind at the black thunderclouds... the storm ceased movement, and began to roll backward, away from the battle that raged upon the boats. But within the clouds, he could begin to see something.... a light spreading softly over the threatening visage of the storm.

Her face, and then the rest of her body... her long brown hair... the face of the same woman, the same supposed goddess who had slain Archmagus Vindler and several thousand of his fellow students so many years ago... but the look on her face was different. She was not intent and glaring, as he had last seen her... she was crying. Her arms were open, beckoning him to come to her and be embraced as a mother would her son for the first time...

"NO!!". Every essence of him screamed denial of the gesture and the woman behind it, forcing her away along with the storm. The last thing he saw of her in that light was a look of sadness and longing, before it was swallowed by the clouds he forced away.

The clouds lashed out with a powerful bolt of lightning at that very moment, striking the boat astride the Defenders' frigate. As the resulting explosion claimed the ship next to them, Rias fell to his knees, his concentration broken momentarily and his head pounding in pain from the effort and the deed... there was a price for meddling with nature, and he was paying it with every throb of pain in his head.

When Rias was composed again, he redoubled his efforts on the storm, this time slowing it, knowing full well the ship was being pulled by a massive force, but he was unsure which... he could see nothing but the storm, until he was sure they were clear of it... they were safe...

His moment of rest was abruptly ended when the ship slammed into the shoreline near the Salandran temple, flinging everybody onto the hard ground. Rias cursed, more from the throbbing headache than anything, and as he stood several priestesses were already on the group, healing them for all they were worth. A particularly fetching young lady of a priestess touched his head as he helped Thundra to her feet, instantly clearing his headache... the priestess had no idea how relieved he was to be rid of the excruciating pain.

With a sigh, Rias decided he should return to the tower to check on Donomika. Walking to where Christophan stood talking with Wagnard, he said, "I should go... Donomika will need seeing to. Unless I am still needed here?"

Christophan shook his head. "No.... go to Donomika. We can handle this," he said, indicating the shackled prisoner.

Rias nodded, and made his way to the tower, reaching for something in his robes. It wasn't there.

Frantically he began to search the ground, parting the ruffled grass where he had landed. He kept a small lock of Donomika's hair in a vial wherever he went, but the vial had obviously dropped from his robes... he hoped it was not amongst the debris that now floated in the sea...

Then he caught a glimpse of something glassy near Mila's foot. As he pointed it out, she bent and picked it up, handing it to him. He smiled softly. "Thank you dear..." he said. "This is very important to me."

Mila smiled somewhat, and then Rias turned toward the temple's recovery wing where the Everguard captain lay in recovery. He did not hear much of the chatter going on between the captain, Christophan, Wagnard, and the others as he gazed about the large patient wing. He breathed a slow sigh.

"I wish I could provide this sort of care for Donomika," he said in a quiet voice. A red-robed priestess behind him, obviously having heard him, said "Bring her here... we'll see to her."

Rias turned, blinking thrice. "You would do such a thing?" The priestess nodded, sparing a glance at the Everguard captain who was being roped to the bed since he would not hold still, then turning back to Rias. "Yes. We try to heal all who need it."

Straight away, she summoned four more red-robed priestesses to follow Rias back to the Tower. As they reached the room in which Donomika lay comatose, Rias dismissed the three apprentices (who it seemed were in the middle of a game of bones more so than watching Donomika), and oversaw the priestesses as they carried Donomika from the bed. In a short time (and with the help of the portal in the tower's entrance hall), they returned, carefully laying Donomika's limp form in an empty bed. Rias sat with Donomika, tending to her and whispering to her as he had done, not really seeming to hear the guard's request that he abide by visiting hours.

On the promise that the priestesses would find a way to cure her, Rias left the temple to return to the tower. He would still visit Donomika for many hours out of the day, but other things also demanded his attention...

He was almost certain that only he had seen that vision of Mystra in that storm. That only he knew it was not just the storm he was pushing away to protect his comrades. And why did the spaces beneath his shoulder blades ache so much...?

_________________
Rias Lorien - Weavemaster
With Erin, the young nymph-to-be

"If Heaven's for clean people, it's vacant." - Matthew Good, "Load Me Up"