As the players step onto the deck of the merchant airship "Raven," they're greeted by the hum of magical energies and the subtle thrum of the elemental engine that propels the vessel through the skies. Above them, the vast expanse of the firmament stretches out, with clouds drifting lazily by, wisps of white against the blue canvas above.

But their attention is drawn to the sight that dominates the horizon: the Iron Citadel. Rising like a titan from the earth below, its towering spires pierce the sky, adorned with banners fluttering in the wind. Airships of various sizes dart around its formidable walls, their enchanted sails catching the breeze as they navigate the airspace around the fortress.

Unlike the sleek, modern design of the merchant airship beneath their feet, the Iron Citadel bears the mark of ancient Dwarven craftsmanship. Giant cannons line its battlements, relics of a bygone era, their metallic surfaces weathered by time yet still radiating an aura of power.

Emblazoned upon the crest that adorns the walls is the proud visage of a lion's head, its mane flowing as if stirred by an unseen wind. It's a symbol of strength and authority, marking the Iron Citadel as a bastion of power and influence in the skies.

As the players take in this awe-inspiring sight, they can't help but feel a sense of anticipation stirring within them. They know that within those ancient walls lies the heart of their next adventure, a journey that will take them into the depths of intrigue and danger. But for now, the reason for their arrival at the Iron Citadel remains a mystery, a puzzle waiting to be solved amidst the swirling currents of magic and politics that permeate the air.

OOC: Feel free to roleplay this scene out. Make sure to pick a color when talking, BOLD for yelling, italics for thinking (with color) and OOC always in orange.

Skinner leaps up onto the railing, clutching a stay with one hand, the loose folds of skin beneath his arm flapping in the wind. He looks down at the massive fortress on the horizen, utterly fearless of the buffetting winds and the vast distance below. "Will ye look at that! Tha's the pinnacle of dwarven engineering, that is! Lookit them cannons! 'Normous! Wow, what a place, wonder what they've got going on in there?"

"Chaos and backstabbing and buffoonery and chicanery and full-on degeneracy", Oliseo retorted as he climbed the stairs to the deck, emerging from the bowels of the ship. As he squinted to adjust his eyes to the sudden change of light, he slowly approached Skinner.

"So the perfect place to have fun", he added with a smile as he looked down upon the Iron Citadel, chasing away the thoughts of Why? and letting himself be swarmed by ideas of What to do while there...

As he looked back towards the way he came, fiddling with the intricate guard of the saber hanging from his hip, he wondered who would show up after him, ready to take in the sight. He then whipped his head back to that sight and let the wind take his hair, enjoying the sensation. That man couldn't stay still for long.

The armor had stood without moving during the entire trip, so still it could easily be mistaken for actual armor, set for artistic or moral value. It had stood so still, holding a glaive in it's right hand, blade up and left arm down by his side. Over the metal armor is a black leather talbard and a black cloak with the hood drawn up and a longsword at it's side.

When it does move, its feet make little sound as the metal is covered in leather boots. Thus its appearance beside the other adventurers might be disconcerting. Although it speaks, the voice sounds hallow and artificial. Its movements are smooth, as if someone inhabits it, which seems impossible given its prior lack of motion. "I believe we have found a place where even I might fit in, which is laughable."

OOC this character has "armor of fear."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:19, Sat 16 Mar.

The empty, hollow voice send chills down Oliseo's spine. It has been a while, and yet he has still not gotten used to their peculiar companion's nature. Even though he did not make it a habit of avoiding him, as other sailors had, he sometimes questioned the true nature of the Voidcaller. Perhaps it was also their antithetical nature; a wellspring compared to a void.

"I was hoping you'd have found your place here already", he jested in an attempt to lighten the mood, though it did feel a bit... forced.

Skinner grinned. "Sounds fun!" He regarded the tall spires and fortified buttresses and all the different towers. "I think I'm going to enjoy it there. Are least for a while."

He didn't mind the appearance of the lizard man, though he was instinctively wary of those jaws. But the ghost-filled suit of Armour filled him with dread on multiple levels: something so big and tough and unscratchable was intimidating enough, but he had heard tales of these "void-walkers" from the planet where he was born, and how the void was the opposite of the elven magic. According to the lorekeepers, Elven enchantments were all that were holding the realms together, while the void threatened to tear them apart and suck them down. Beings like that were destroyed on sight, he knew.

He hoped that the presence of this... thing... aboard ship wouldn't cause the magic keeping her afloat to fail. But it hadn't until now. Perhaps it never would. Perhaps it was fine.

But even so, it ruffled his fur the wrong way and made him feel like an infestation of fleas were crawling across his skin.

Vartan's reply was simple and honest, "Monsters have no place among normal people."

Shakkar still hadn't made his mind up about the magical marvel called "Raven" that the crew sailed the skies upon; on the one claw he relished the thrill of it and the opportunity for adventure it presented, but on the other he missed his little coracle and the comforting, all-encompassing mists of the swamps he called home. "Monsters make their place wherever they wish, yes? That's what makes them monsters, no?" he retorted to Vartan's statement philosophically, slinking up along the rail as he completed a circuit of the deck. The living suit of armour didn't bother his cold-blooded temperament so much and the Lizardkin often pondered at the softskins discomfort in the presence of the Voidcaller. "I just hopes they have somewhere I can have a soak; place like that has to have baths or a fountain or a wet ditch or something. All this flying around the sky gives me terrible dry-scale." he complained in his sibilant accent, scratching at a flaky looking patch on his shoulder.

"I'm not sure that's what makes monsters, Shakkar. It would be, I don't know, monstrous and horrific behavior? That would make more sense", he retorted and then immediately regretted it. He had absolutely no desire to be dragged down into a philosophical debate with a creature with no warmth in its blood- and a creature without blood. Oliseo instead stood silent until they docked, taking in the sights and sounds- and soon smells- of the Iron Citadel, eager to disembark for some much needed Rest and Relaxation.

Vartan's hallow voice could be heard above the wind. "Indeed Oliseo, you are correct. I was a monster before being cursed with this form. I now pay my pennance."

"What kind of monster were you before?" Skinner asked dubiously.

Vartan, while answering truthfully, remained obtuse about his past. "The kind who did not care whom his actions brought suffering too, so long as he got paid." He addressed them all as a single unit, "Fret not, for I am no longer that kind of monster. Now I look after the lives of my companions, for which I am willing to pay any cost. I am best kind of monster, the one who is ceaselessly on your side, in your corner, or out front of you to take whatever our opponents can muster."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:55, Mon 18 Mar.

"Hah! See? I am right, yes?" Shakkar hissed confidently, slapping a meaty clawed hand on his thigh, which was rakishly perched on a well secured crate. "Mercenary, bog-witch, orc raider...it doesn't matter. They make their place despite the other. Makes them enemy. Monster. Normal folks accept their place because of the other, no? Makes them friend, yes?" he raised a scaled brow.

"Hah ha haa. To some people, we will always be monsters; outsider, stranger, not like them. No need to worry it; good friends kept close is more than us monsters deserve, aye?" The gregarious Lizardkin playfully rough-housed his crewmates, shadow-boxing at Vartan, dancing from foot to foot and clapping Skinner on the shoulder before turning his gaze back toward their destination.

Oliseo felt a bit ill at ease with this conversation, he was no saint, and he enjoyed a good deal of chaos now and then- but associating with such bad company was not exactly the best of ideas.

He shrugged. It's not like he had other options at this point. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Nodding to the banter absent-mindedly is all that he did, as he tried to look around for last-minute work- tie a loose rope here, check a knot there, inspect a piece of the ship that looked flimsy. Busying himself would keep these thoughts at bay, until they could at least dock and he could be let loose- and then the real keeping thoughts at bay activities will begin.

As you are coming closer to the Citadel the Captain and old and gruff looking human with a rather large gut calls out from above the deck at the top of the area where the ship is controlled by the crystal that powers the airship and allows flow through the Yonder.

"We are nearing the Citadel. Look alive! We all know we are here simply to discover what the Citadel has called all the merchants here for. No doubt the death of the King has caused a bit of a uproar but I would not assume that it would cause this. Normally they have a replacement in hand before you can blink an eye but it has been little over a week with no world. No doubt the Aetherial Plateau is falling into ruin. I will be interested to hear what the Citadel plans to do about that."

As the ship flies down from the Yonder it lands fairly softly next to an area where the Citadel has several other merchant airships landing. The Raven looks like a baby ship compared to many which are huge in size.  The Raven always has been a rather uncomfortable ship with very little in the way of storage or sleeping quarters. Still you have done well and made a decent coin flying the skies.

At the dock you are greeted by one of the Citadel's Iron Guards. The creature stares at your lifelessly before announcing a prompt which feels very robotic in nature "Wel...Welcome to the Iron Citadel. Pppp...please make your way down stairs to the main lobby." the creature stumbles to the the next ship and you hear it greet with the same robotic voice.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:13, Wed 20 Mar.