The Syndicate

[*Lucereflame]

*the messenger that would turn up at Garm's Turf would be grabbed and tossed between many random sladdi's hands untill finally sat down next to a Petrified halfling sitting over a empty bowl with a fork and knife in his hands. Garm himself would take the message and then toss confetti in the air serving the messenger a pie and popping a party hat on his head, Refusing to let him go untill he eats and plays a game or two with his "Children"*

[*ManyFaced]

A simple letter is sent to each of the sitting syndicate members.

I know what has occurred in Undersigil, and I have proof.

How of we get together?  Also, I am looking into new brands of whiskey and proper spirits; do bring me an interesting bottle when we meet. Nothing poisonous to elves, of course.

[*Cenpuppie]

Shania reads both letters and decides it's time to meet with some of the chairs in the Syndicate

[*Selebius]

Getting his replies or scrying on the poor sods that did not return Issanthis sends a wave of Sending spells to his companions, suggesting the burnt down village as a meeting place.

[*Darkrob]

Charles would resist any effort to have the group meet outside the Syndicate hall in UnderSigil... simply as a matter of security and privacy.

Should the others agree, he'd show up, at the appointed time, with a bottle of 30 year old whiskey from the highlands of his home Prime. Very rare and expensive, the drink would be highly enjoyable.

He'd take a seat at the head of the table and await the rest.

(((Shard, still having to bear the chore of sitting at the table seeing as he has yet to be replaced, would bring some Nishrek Blood wine)))

[*Midnight]

Annia arrives at the devastated village. The small band of skeletons that surround her fit seamlessly into the desolate scene. She leaves them outside of wherever they are meeting. With her she has a brown bottle covered in dust. In response to the letter she has spoken to the oldest member of her faction she could find; a lich her serves the dead as a factor. She asked him for the oldest bottle of whiskey he had. The resultant bottle is centuries old of dubious quality and probably lethal. She takes her seat at the table.

"Troubled times Mister Goodman."

[*ManyFaced]

A servant at the door collects the gifted bottles with a smile and a bow, those who forgot to bring a bottle are not permitted inside.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Those who are allowed entry feel their current wards die and magical items (specifically those with immunities) deactivate. No syndicate member can count on their spells or equipment to confer any additional warding or protection.

The result being that none of members have any immunity or resistance to alcohol or poison.
~~~~~~~~~~~

Nienna is already seated inside at the table, idly sipping at her usual glass of whiskey. She brought one of her many bottles of Hammerstein's Finest, a Dwarven whiskey that has carefully aged for over a century. Its potency is only equaled by its fine taste.

"Greetings everyone, it is a pleasure to meet you all. Have a seat and we can all begin with a toast." She grinned widely at that.

[*ManyFaced]

“Until the others do the same I cannot-“ Nienna is cutoff mid sentence by a middle-aged man coughing madly at the end of the table. It only takes a handful of seconds for the coughing bring up spouts of mucus, blood, then chunks of what should have certainly stayed inside his body. After just over thirty-seconds, from when the symptoms began, he slumps down dead in the pile of his own mess.

The elderly woman next to him looks absolutely terrified. “As I thought,” Nienna states blandly. “I knew that at least one would be so bold, a truly regrettable situation to have lost a fellow member in the process.” Guards enter the chambers to retrieve the corpse and drag the woman out, kicking and screaming. “With that unsavory business completed, I suppose we can move on to the main issue raised… the damage in Undersigil."

“It is the Fated,” Nienna states bluntly before taking a sip of her drink. “A Factor among them, Kholl, sent a group of them into Undersigil months ago in search of a crown of some sort- supposedly a mighty artifact. They have been doing many illicite things to gain it, obviously he is blinded by greed.”

She reaches into a pouch on her waist and draws out a handful of faction badges, all Namers except for one. “For this individual group, a recently appointed Factotum, Pheiron was chosen to lead it. He was given, after notes taken from his corpse, orders to gain this crown at any means necessary. What led to this horrific conflict was the group of Fated, after spending much time underneath, happened upon this specific village.”

“They asked many questions of the people there, many questions- and offered fresh coin. The villagers gave them whatever they could for- just under a month… then, Pheiron made a mistake. He attempted to force himself on a young woman there, which brought the village’s wrath to bear. Vastly outnumbered, he cast a spell- far past his expertise.”

“The result was, as you saw, great destruction. He brought there dozens of very angry fiends, ripped from their business elsewhere in the cage. The destruction was near absolute. There is more there- of course, but that is the basic synopsis. I also hold the only surviving Fated member from that group prisoner, which may aid in understanding some of the retrieved effects.”

She leans back in her chair after the long diatribe and explanation, allowing it to sink in for the other members.

[*Midnight]

As the others speak Annia seems only to be vaguely listening to them them but this is not so out of the ordinary all of a sudden she looks up and speaks a clear sign that despite appearances she is actually paying attention.

"That's a very interesting game. And of course I will play along. I can't advise any of you actually drink what I brought. You see the note said research so I brought my gift with that in mind. Its probably the only bottle left from the plane its from. Its probably quite toxic but with the help of a skilled enough a;chemist you could probably reproduce a safe drinkable version and have something that is now utterly unique. I thought a gift that with a little work could be something so much more rather fitting. I mention this only because although I do not attend many parties I hear it is bad form to poison the other guests

She glances around at the seated Syndicate as if she is looking for reassurances she has in fact been informed of this correctly.

"Although come to think of it some of the outsiders and aberrations amongst us might not find it much trouble."

She takes a sip of what ever the strange drink she has been given is her expression would suggest that strong spirits are not to her taste but she swallows it down none the less.

[*ManyFaced]

“I was quite specific; the drink was to be non-toxic to a mundane elf. Stating otherwise beforehand does not change that your selected drink of questionable safety, only that you found it acceptable to gift when you thought another member would only bear the brunt of it.” She glances around the table. “I feel poorly for your fellow members who were gifted you drink, if it is as poisonous as you fear. Either all drink fully from their cups or none learn what is plaguing your territories, your investments, and what may very well destroy all of what you hold.”

“No one else knows what I know, nor the proof and information I hold. I am your only option, your only choice.” She finishes her glass and refills it from her usual bottle. “As of the outsiders and aberrations, I am afraid neither of the sort that sit on the syndicate’s table have any natural immunity nor resistance against being poisoned, or becoming terribly drunk- at that. Hopefully few at this table find it acceptable to poison their fellow members.”