Now You Can't Say You've Never Done This Before - IC

[arrowhen]

[OOC: The OOC thread is here (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=158374).]

Introduction

The past decade has not been kind to the Kingdom of Callendrei. A string of bad harvests left many villages teetering on the edge of famine, while in the great port city of Zapadabran relentless, cutthroat competition between the three major Trading Houses left one House bankrupt and the other two in dire financial straits -- and countless artisans and small merchants destitute.

When the frost giants invaded, it was almost a relief. Here, at least, was an enemy who could be fought, a foe more tangible than weather and economics. That the “invasion” was merely the latest in a centuries-long string of sporadic raids on remote northern villages meant little when national pride was on the line. King Larioq III and his armies strode forth from the capitol city of Vash-Zedrei to the cheers of adoring crowds, bound for Victory and Glory in the North.

The War Against the Giants has ground on for six long years now, and Victory and Glory in the North still stubbornly elude the King. A seemingly unbreakable cycle has developed: brief periods of bloody combat followed by endless, quarrelsome months of fruitless negotiation. With the Kings attention fixed firmly on the frost giant problem, the rest of the Kingdom languishes in neglect. Lawlessness and banditry are on the rise. Goblin tribes, bands of orcs -- and, rumor has it, far more dangerous creatures as well -- thrive in forests left unpatrolled since the King called his ranger companies north.

In short, Callendrei is a land in dire need of heroes -- and a land of opportunity for those brave or foolish enough to heed...

The Call to Adventure

Maybe you found it lying crumpled in the dust in a crowded marketplace, or perhaps it was plastered to the wall next to your seat in a low dockside inn. Maybe a friend saw it and thought of you, or you may have first heard the words from the lips of a town crier who handed you a copy as you stopped to listen. However it happened, the following notice caught your eye...







ADVENTURERS WANTED

JOACHIM SZANDBORNE,
merchant prince of the Desert East
and Proprietor of the famed Tavern “GILDED CAGE”
(at the crossing of the King’s and Great Western roads),

seeks a small band of Hardy and Capable persons
of diverse Martial and Mystical talent for

A BRIEF EXPEDITION

requiring some small Travel
and bearing potential Risk of bodily Harm.

Renumeration, in the form of

ONE HUNDRED
GOLD COINS

guaranteed each Survivor
upon successful conclusion of the Endeavor.

No experience necessary;
apply in person at the Gilded Cage by no later than month’s end.




The Gilded Cage

If you’ve spent much time in Callendrei at all you’ve probably heard of the Gilded Cage. Located where the Kingsroad and the Great Western Road meet, frequented by merchant and mercenary, noble and nobody alike, the Gilded Cage is a well-known hub of gossip, commerce, and more than a little intrigue. It also stocks an amazing variety of wines and ales at reasonable prices, and the food’s not bad either.

It’s also possible that you’ve heard of the Gilded Cage’s owner, Joachim Szandborne. A wealthy and eccentric merchant hailing from some place exotic and unspecified, Joachim runs a vast international trade network out of the tavern. It’s said that he has agents in half a hundred cities or more, and that in nearby Zapadabran, there’s scarcely a ship in the harbor that he doesn’t have at least part interest in.

No matter what you’ve heard, there’s no preparing you for your first sight of the Gilded Cage. The place is an architectural marvel. Or monstrosity, depending on your tastes. The vast, sprawling structure seems cobbled together out of the spare parts of a thousand lesser buildings, low and rambling in some places, soaring to four or even five daringly cantilevered stories in others, festooned with a formidable array of turrets, towers, cupolas, crenellations, at least one flying buttress, and a veritable forest of chimneys.

Despite its odd appearance the place is obviously well maintained, and as you draw closer the smells of cooking and the sounds of revelry beckon you within.

Inside, the tavern is warm and comfortable, all dark-stained wood and polished brass gleaming in the light of torches and the cheery glow from massive stone hearths. Two long tables stretch down the length of the great hall, their benches mostly full but not crowded. A long, curved bar dominates one wall, while a minstrel’s stage sits at the far end of the hall. Numerous doorways branch off in all directions, leading to smaller dining areas, private rooms, and who knows what else.

The air is filled with woodsmoke and a hint of incense, boisterous laughter, snatches of song, and the babble of drunken conversations in a dozen different languages.


* * *

[OOC: For your introductory posts, go ahead and mention whatever events you feel like going into that lead up to your arriving at the Gilded Cage. Joachim will meet with you to discuss his proposal on the last day of the month. If you decide your character arrived at the tavern before that day, don’t worry about paying for drinks and stuff; we’ll just assume that the costs of your food and lodging were part of your starting gold.

If anyone wants to strike up a conversation with another character while you’re waiting for Joachim, go for it! Most of the staff knows that he’s put out a call for adventurers -- it’s not the first time he’s done so -- so someone will have probably pointed you out to each other.

If anyone wants their characters to already know each other or be connected in some way, work it out in the OOC thread.

Once we’ve got everyone in the same place at the same time we can move the story along.]

Dementia:

If you still want Lynnwood (Beattle? Does he go by first or last name?) to work at the tavern, here’s what you know about Joachim: not much. He takes a very “hands-off” approach to management; you’ve seen him, and you’ve certainly heard him, but you’ve probably never actually spoken to him.

He doesn’t so much run the place as he holds court there; it seems every other patron that walks through the door is an old friend of his, to be greeted in his deep, booming voice and hustled off for a bit of business or gossip.

Once in a while, when the mood strikes him, he’ll tend bar for a bit -- usually forgetting to charge anyone for their drinks -- only to wander off a few minutes later engrossed in a conversation with someone.

Other times he’ll disappear into his study (or one of his studies, as most of the sprawling tavern complex is comprised of his private quarters) for days on end without explanation.

Among the staff, any number of often absurd and usually contradictory rumors about him circulate. The only thing everyone agrees on is that no one has ever actually seen him leave the tavern.

[Doombringer]

The dusty road was long and it took a decent deal of time for Ricroar to arrive at the crossing where the Gilded Cage sat. Ricroar smiles seeing the building the butterflies would churn in his stomach and yes it was more than just hunger. The parchment he tore from the tree at the edge of the woods a call for heroes something he would not pass up. Ricroar would enter the tavern the various smells intoxicating his senses as he looked for an open stool. Ricroar nods and then speaks that elf voice would ring true (most defiantly of a wild elf variant )

"Wine please preferably red if you have it and whatever meal you are serving."

Ricroar smiles placing a few coins upon the counter nervous as well as excited about the up coming adventure.



(RED IS ME GRRR!!)

[big teej]

Having been bid by his lord to travel the realms and learn of distant places many a year ago, Sohn had been present in the lands around Callendrei for quite some time. Having heard rumors about the Gilded Cage, and its owner’s call to adventure, Sohn of the Riverheart has traveled here to seek his fortune, knowledge, and new jokes.

Sohn arrives 3 days before Joachim is to speak with the adventurers and makes arrangements for lodgings in the meantime.

He spends his spare time either in his room playing his harmonica, carousing about the tap room, making a nuisance of him wherever stories may be found, and generally having an out and out good time.


[OOC: nevrousness, yay:smalltongue:]

[Doombringer]

Ricroar spotted the man weaving himself in and out of the crowd his tongue moved much faster than even many of the people of Ricroar's elven village. Ricroar watched the man's antic for a few days before finally speaking.

"Are you always in such a good mood?"

[big teej]

Sohn stops mid antic and with a large and goofy grin replies

Only whenever possible, after all, compiling everything I learn is veery time consuming, and not very much fun; But my lord bid me travel and learn as I would. So here I am: Sohn of the Riverheart, Bard, Adventurer, Rescuer of Distressed Damsels, Smiter of Bugs (icky!) Asker of Questions, Teller of Tales Sohn continues listing several grandoise titles that may or may not actually exist before ending with and Travelling Irritant Extrordinaire!

Sohn does an over-the-top bow and then asks

"And who might you be?

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik cautiously enters the immodest architectural abomination known commonly as Gilded Cage holding a small paper handbill titled "Adventurers Wanted", from which he glances up, looks around at all the probable ne'er-do-wells who frequent the establishment, then neatly folds the paper and tucks it into his belt.

Though the journey hasn't been terribly far from the nearest cloister of St. Cuthberts where Edrik has been staying, he still has a road-weary look about him. With lawlessness running rampant in Callendrei, the brothers of St. Cuthbert have been busy restoring Law and peace wherever possible. Word recently reached the brothers (via the aforementioned handbill) of the need for adventurers to possibly right some wrongs, and Edrik volunteered once again for the duty.

Edrik looks around for anyone who might be the Joachim named on his piece of paper, and decides to inquire at the bar and order himself some water (or milk preferably, since he does not permit himself to drink). On the way, he brushes past two loudmouths who seem to be prattling on about adventuring, and decides to keep an eye on them since they may be here for the same reason he is.

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar looked to the man and smirked:

"Sohn I am Ricroar.....I have no fancy titles of yet but I will have several when my tale is done I promise that."

:Ricroar had a look of determination in his eye and one could tell he was a skilled well trained warrior.:

"And what brings you here ..myself it is to meet a man about an adventure."

[Dementia]

Beattle skulked in the corner with his arms petulantly crossed his chest. He had spent nearly a full moon's turn in Callendrei and had still not personally met Joachim Szandborne nor been able to unearth additional information than what was contained on the missive.

He surveyed the hall. Mostly it contained the normal assortment of local villagers and merchants that called the Cage home after (and often before) their work for the day had done. Sohn, the blonde haired bard, who had taken residence a few days before, appeared to have found a new friend. The elf Sohn spoke with, Beattle felt, was also almost assuredly here in response to Joachim’s advertisement.

He eyed them appraisingly, a slight shiver passing up his spine in anticipation. Shortly, these two men (well, man and elf) and he would be off to who knows where doing who knows what. Such a small band, would it be enough?

There was another newcomer, a man of religion, speaking with Markese behind the bar. It was impossible to tell if he had come for the job or had just stopped at the Cage along his journey. Beattle scuffed the floor impatiently. Tonight would be the night.

A louder than normal noise brought his black eyes to the far corner of the main hall. Someone had overturned their cup and bowl. He sighed. It wasn’t that he disliked working it was just that cleaning slops was beneath him. A sorcerer of his rising abilities shouldn’t be reduced to this. Moreover, Markese, had refused to let him use any of his magic after his fire-light spell had gotten a little out of hand.

Beattle reluctantly hoisted the too large mop and bucket and crossed the hall to earn his bed and breakfast.

I've moved the time up to the night we're supposed to meet Joachim. Hope that's not a problem.

[big teej]

Well, to avoid wasting to much of your time I merely travel wherever my feet take me, and latch onto anything that sounds interesting to me. Sohn produces a copy of the "adventurers wanted" poster from his clothing And this looked fairly interesting. I imagine I can get at least one good story out of this trip. The money is nice too. Sohn trails off wistfully...

with an inquisitive gleam in his eye, Sohn asks
so, Ricroar, did you travel far to come upon this adventure?

[luv2breformed]

Alton had not been in Callendrei very long before hearing of the opportunities offered at the Gilded Cage. He travelled often, and rarely spent long periods of time in one city.

It was the title that caught his eye. It read "merchant prince of the Desert East". Whoever Joachim Szandborne was, Alton wanted to meet him.

Alton preferred to show up to something on time. Not early, or late. Near the month's end he made his way to the Gilded Cage, excited by the thought of what the prince may be like.

As he rounded the bend on Kingsroad, the sight of the Gilded Cage caused Alton to stop in his tracks. He furrowed his brow as his eyes studied the odd building. 'What an abysmal structure.' thought Alton as he noted the varied architecture. 'There is no consistency here whatsoever.' Alton puzzled for a moment, lightly tapping his left foot as he thought to himself. 'No matter. Likely the prince allows for such a design in order to appeal to the common folk.' Alton nodded to himself as he approached and reached for the door, clearly content with his deductive reasoning. 'A simply brilliant business decision, I might add.'

As he entered the tavern, Alton immediately felt slightly uncomfortable. Although he did not despise the locale, nor its patrons; he simply never spent much time in taverns. Growing up he never set foot within one, and since he had been out on his own, he avoided spending excessive time there.

The main hall seemed lively, and Alton's eyes wandered about the place as he made his way slowly towards the minstrel's stage.

It seemed Alton had only been there 5 seconds when he heard a noise in the corner of the hall. It appeared that a man had dumped his meal everywhere. Alton's unease continued to grow. 'Let us hope Prince Szandborne is easy enough to find.'

[Doombringer]

"I have trained all my life for this day..Sohn.." :Ricroar smiled and then said.:"I was taught at a fighting academy for years and placed as a guard for several of my peoples high court...you ask me how far I have traveled my good friend..my answer is my entire lifetime."

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik arrives at the counter and gains the attention of the grisly man standing behind it.
'Pardon me, sir, but could I trouble you for a cup of milk?'

'We gots ale and wine here, buddy', the man replies immediately after dropping a wad of brown liquid from his mouth into a nearby spittoon.

'I see, none at all then? You see I'd really like to spend my gold here, but I am not permitted to imbibe that sort of thing, but I suppose I can take my business elsewhere...'

'Well times is tough for things like that, but I could send my halfling to see if he can squeeze some out of the old goat in the back...'

'Erm, that's quite alright, thank you. Say, perhaps you could help me with this.' Edrik says, unfolding the paper tucked in his belt and sliding it cooly across the bar toward the bartender. The sight of this seems to make the man suddenly quiet.
He quickly folds the paper and shoves it back across the countertop, shrugging his shoulders dramatically as if to indicate to anyone who might be watching that he doesn't know what Edrik is talking about. He then leans in close and silently indicates the two loudmouthed fellows across the room who seem to be comparing the sizes of each others... erm... adventures.

'Well, thank you anyway, sir, but I'll pass on that milk.' Edrik replies, reluctantly taking the hint.

Despite the bartender's odd behavior, Edrik figures the best way to attack this problem is to approach it directly, so he walks directly over to the man and the elf. 'Pardon my interruption, gentlemen, but it seems you and I might be here on similar business. Does either one of you know anything about this fellow Szandborne?'

[Dementia]

It was Hairy Maurice; Beattle should have known. Most of the day’s stew had slid down Maurice’s tunic and trousers, blending in with remnants of meals past. The old man turned his tufted duck-like head towards Beattle, while one lazy eye jolted along to catch up.

“Maurice…” Beattle began without an ending in sight.

“Once we kilt the dragon, there’ll be no many of those blighted popping kobolds attacking my stewed,” Maurice slurred in a high pitched whine.

It was the way of things. Everyone in the Cage knew Hairy Maurice was mad, sun and moons there were times Beattle wondered if everyone in the Cage wasn’t mad. And where did that leave him? Who had ever heard of a Halfling sorcerer?

“You listen here boyun, once that dragoon be gone there’ll be stewed for all the kobolds and gnermlicks in Callendrei and they’ll leave off my bowl,” Maurice advised.

“Maurice, you know there aren’t any dragons left in Callendrei,” Beattle reminded him. “But, you know…those gnermlicks are MUY ENFUEGO!” Beattle proclaimed with a twitch of his fingers.

With that, a glowing humanoid figure danced across the table. Maurice stuttered and grasped his empty bowl eyes wide in his determination to salvage the last droplets of stew.

“BEATTLE! LEAVE OFF OLD HAIRY MAURICE,” came Markese’s booming voice.

[arrowhen]

A stout, grizzled dwarf with an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth stomps up to you, glares at Beattle for a minute, then grumbles, “Right, you lot. Boss’ll see ya’s now. Let’s go. An’ bring yer drinks. It’ll give ya’s something to do while he talks your ears off.”

The dwarf ushers you into a large, sumptuously furnished office. Thick carpets line the floor, while the walls are hung with fine tapestries and oil paintings. Landscapes mostly.

Five comfortable looking overstuffed leather chairs -- one of them a halfling-scale miniature of the rest -- form a half circle in front of a wide wooden desk piled high with books, scrolls, maps, inkpots and quills, small glass lenses, brass letter openers, less-identifiable curiosities, and at least one sleeping cat.

Even seated, the man behind the desk looks massively proportioned. Broad shouldered, muscular but with more than a hint of paunch, clad in rich but somewhat disheveled silks, he presents an aura of barely restrained vigour. His skin is the color of mahogany, his head shiny-bald, his face adorned with a prodigious moustache, thick, jet black, elaborately curled and extending a full hand’s-breadth beyond either side of his head.

He lifts a sheet of parchment from an alarmingly tall stack on one end of the desk, scans it, sighs eloquently, and signs it with a flourish, depositing it in a much smaller stack at the other end of the desk.

He looks up as you enter the room, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Never start business,” he declares in richly accented Common. “All you do is sign name, sign name, sign name.

“Once, I fight duel. Was very important matter of honor and propriety. Plus, we were drunk. Was very dramatic duel! Rapiers on rooftop. In thunderstorm! Thrust. Parry. Riposte. Finally, opponent slip on wet roofing tile. I lunge! Aim? Perfect. Timing? Impeccable. Form? Flawless. But do I pierce heart? No! I do not!

“My hand, you see. Is so used to sign name, sign name, sign name, that poor bastard end duel with ‘Joachim, S., Esq.’ carved into chest! Was for best, though. Healing spell cheaper than ressurection, no?

“Is true story...

“Is... mostly true story...

“Actually, is fanciful fabrication to drive home point. But! We are not here to discuss soul crushing mundanities of business, but to discuss Exciting! Adventure! Opportunity! So. Please. Introduce self. Have refreshment and take seat and I will tell you of dangerous quest to recover cursed sword!”

[Dementia]

Beattle squinted his eyes warily. There was something amiss…the chair; as though it was meant for him. It was too contrived…too convenient. Joachim Szandborne did not seem like one who could be trusted. Beattle’s original awe was held in check, the man knew too much.

“I am Cade Greenbottle,” Beattle informed the man. “I hail from Leahallow. I have slayed two orcs with no more than my bare hands…and a cadre of the Prince’s own best men, although that required a knife fashioned from the finest iron mines of Dwarvan smelt .”

Beattle dropped his voice to a near whisper "There is a price on my head.”

He waited...for the others' introduction and Szandborne's response.

[OOC: Beattle is not trying to bluff Joachim. He's feeling defensive and trying to match his tall tales with ones of his own. Trying to test his mettle and seem more experienced than his actual experience....that he can play the game too.]

[luv2breformed]

Alton stepped forward an made sure to make eye contact for his introduction. With his left hand on the hilt of his rapier and his right drawn across his waist he bowed low.

"I sir, am Alton Tu'neris." he said with a confident voice that masked his nervousness. "I have also engaged in my fair share of duels" he stepped to the side as he pointed to his sheathed rapier, before walking towards one of the larger chairs and taking a seat. "Perhaps one day I me be so fortunate as to engage in a duel as exciting as your fabrication." He made sure to say this last part with a genuine smile, aware of the fact that it could be misconstrued.

With that Alton sat back in his chair, waiting expectantly for a response, or for the others to introduce themselves. He certainly knew that speaking too much could leave a bad first impression.

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar looked to the man...stepping forward after his elf ears heard the tales of others he simply gulped hearing the tales.: "I am Ricroar Forgedawn and I hail from the forest not to far from here" :Ricroar made sure not to give away the exact location and then said.: "I have no great tales like the others but I am skilled with just about any weapon you can imagine...and have been a guard of my people for some time."

[big teej]

Sohn steps up to behind one of the overstuffed chairs and drops his hat and his gloves into it. leaning against the chair he says in a uncharacteristicly.. 'abrubt' and somber manner.


I am Sohn of the Riverheart. Traveling minstrel and adventurer. I seek fame and fortune and knowledge.

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik listens silently to the stories of the other potential adventurers, and notes that certain ones among them might eventually be troublesome. Anyhow, they might prove useful if this mission turns out to be a worthy cause.

Most esteemed sir, begins Edrik, I am Edrik, a Cuthbertine. I wish to express my conditional interest in your supposed expedition.

[arrowhen]

Joachim rises from his seat, smiling, clapping his hands together delightedly as you make your introductions.

“Good, good! Greetings, Master Green-Beetle, Master Tu’neris. Dy bannee dhyt, Ricorar Forgedawn. Master Sohn, Brother Edrik, be welcome! I will now describe expedition.

When I am not drowning in tedious paperwork, I collect things. Story, legend, rumor... information. Is sometimes useful in business, but mostly just joy of learning something new.”

Joachim paces around the room as he speaks, punctuating his words with broad, animated gestures.

“I have other hobby as well: magic. Now, I will never be great wizard. Is hard work, require much patience, much discipline. Not strong points. I can manage a few cantrips, a few simple tricks, am satisfied. Maybe if I was born sorcerer, story be different, but no. Besides, real interest is theory. I sit down many evening with book of arcane formula, pot of strong coffee, and next I know? Sun is rising already!

“Special interest of mine, curses. Curses terrible and dangerous things, harm many. So? I study them! Maybe some day learn new way to break, do something good, useful, with time-wasting hobby.

“So. Four, no, five years ago, I have letter from agent in far-off land. Adventurers exploring ruins find magic sword. Have identified. Is cursed! Useless in battle, much bad luck to wielder. Agent purchase and send to me on ship. I am thinking, perfect opportunity to study cursed object up close. Plus, keep dangerous thing out of hands of foolish people. Is good idea, no?

But! Ship never arrive. Pirate, bad storm, sea monster, who knows? Is tragedy, but not unusual one, sad to say. I provide for sailors’ families, of course, then put from mind.

“Recently, I hear tale of shipwreck in bay just north of here. Merchant ship. At first I do not connect stories. Would not have been my ship. My ship trade out of Zapadabran. All merchant ship do. Bay to north have no real port, no real town, only string of fishing village. Besides, timing all wrong. My ship go missing years before this ship sink.

“I have business associate in Greyclyff, nearest fishing village to site of shipwreck. Every spring, I buy wagon load of smoked herring. Give good price, help hard working fishing people afford a few luxury. Smoked herring not popular food in Callendrei, but sometimes have as guest merchant caravan from Ervrik-Tor. They cannot get enough! Remind them of home.

“But this year, no herring. No word from Greyclyff at all. I ask around, no one hear from Greycliff or nearby villages in many weeks. In my mind, I am thinking all these things connected.

“I am thinking, what if ship that sank near Greyclyff was my ship? What if mysterious, unlucky cursed sword has resurfaced after all these years? (Is pun. ‘Resurfaced.’) I am also thinking even if I am wrong about sword, people of Greycliff may need help. Help that foolish giant-obsessed king not likely to provide."

He finally stops pacing, coming to rest on your side of the desk. He leans forward intently, making sure he has everyone's attention.

“So. Expedition. First task for brave young adventurers: discover situation in fishing village of Greyclyff. Second task: find cursed sword and bring to me. Also, if you find shipment of smoked herring, would make homesick Evrik-Torian caravaneers happy.

“The village is about forty miles north, along the Kingsroad. Here, I have map...

“Do you have any question?”





http://img194.imageshack.us/img194/4747/westcallendrei.png

[big teej]

Sohn raises his hand.
I've a question, master-merchant, have you any clue as to the nature of the curse upon this sword?
Sohn has a second question, but it's asking is dependent upon any questions presented by his colleages to be.


[OOC: I am so jealous, did you make that map yourself?]

[Doombringer]

Ricroar looked to the man and waited for an answer to Sohn's question..it was the same one he was going to ask..but just remained silent until the question was answered or he found something else that was in need of asking.

[Rael_Orithen]

The object of the quest puts Edrik ill at ease. Cursed items of that power should be put in the hands of good arcanists who know how to handle them, not an amateur "hobbyist" with unclear intentions. Anyhow, the prospect of easing the suffering of that town may make the trip worthwhile...

Interrogating Joachim about his intentions won't be of any benefit right now, so Edrik waits for the man's response.

[luv2breformed]

Alton spends some time contemplating the quest. Running errands to what appear to be remote villages is not what Alton considers to be worthwhile. It seems that there would be little opportunity in this endeavor to meet anyone in high places. However, the opportunity to impress Prince Szandborne seemed quite enticing. Having him as more than a simple acquaintance could prove to be more than useful in his quest to attain a higher status. After these few thoughts, Alton feels comfortable with the proposal and speaks up.

"As long as we can figure out how to safely transport the artifact, I have no questions or qualms."

[Dementia]

Beattle's eyes twinkle merrily. Casting aside his initial reservations of Joachim, he becomes enchanted with the tale.

Mysterious cursed artifact, imperiled town...Beattle's only question is when do we leave!

[arrowhen]

Joachim nods at Sohn.

"Prudent question," he says. "Letter say only these things: sword found by adventurers in temple sunken beneath waves of southern ocean. Wizard identify; say cursed, say useless in battle, say cause misfortune to wielder.

"Now identify spell, even I can do. Is expensive and taste bad -- crush pearl in wine, stir with owl feather, who come up with these things? But not difficult magic. Know limit of spell: will not identify extremely powerful legendary relics fashioned by gods themselves or by wizards of ages past with power far beyond limit of present day knowledge. No, is ordinary magic item.

"Whatever 'ordinary' mean when talk of magic."

Gesturing toward Alton, he continues.

"Yes. Transport. Am thinking of passage in Belraziendir's The Will and the Wheel: a Treatise on the Application of Dweomercraft to Tools and Devices. To summarize: a tool, whether sword or plow, key or catapult, is extension of user's will. Is much easier to make tool work better for user than make tool work by itself, or do work of other tool. Make sword sharper or help aim, not so difficult. Make sword fight by itself or paint house, much more trouble.

"Footnote suggest cursed object much same. Some curse bend, twist... subvert user's will. Some curse do opposite of user's will. Some curse control user's will, make them will new thing. Usually evil, eventually self-destructive thing. All have in common, though, user's will.

"So. Practical solution: do not be user of cursed object.

"Have of course heard of magic thing that to touch or even look upon can hurt, even kill. But this sword? Adventurers touch, wizard touch. Agent touch, not hurt, not die but send letter saying 'Here, Joachim, is interesting thing. I buy and send to you, you like, no?'

"So I am thinking: touch, examine, carry thing from place to place, probably fine. Try to use, maybe not so fine, no?

"Once here I have special place. Wizard friend in Zapadabran build to pay off epic-level bar tab. Magic outside, not go in. Magic inside, not come out. Is safe place for dangerous thing. Worst case scenario: foolish old innkeeper meddle with sword in safe room, go insane and die. Life is risk.

"Most likely scenario: foolish old innkeeper meddle with sword in room, take note, understand some thing, wonder about many more, have long fascinating conversation with wizard friend on next visit.

"So. Who else have question?"

[OOC: big teej -- yeah, I made it in Photoshop, with the help of some online tutorials (http://www.youtube.com/ZombieNirvana). The hardest part was remembering the basics of how to use Photoshop; it'd been a couple years.]

[big teej]

Joachim nods at Sohn.

"Prudent question," he says. "Letter say only these things: sword found by adventurers in temple sunken beneath waves of southern ocean. Wizard identify; say cursed, say useless in battle, say cause misfortune to wielder.




Sohn mentally files this particular statement away for later use


Sohn is still mentally kicking his second question back and forth, that question being "Are we to provide our own means of transport and provisions for the trip?" but refrains from asking because he isn't sure how such a question would be recieved by the merchant. And thus keeps hoping one of his companions-to-be will ask

his hopes are not high however


looking around at the rest of the group Sohn asks what he feels is the most important question of them all

while I have complete confidence in the abilities of us all, one very important question remains.... who will carry the weapon once we have found it?


Arrowhen

[OOC: now granted, if sohn can get away with that question without offending the merchant, he'll ask, but I as a player have no way of knowing whether Sohn would know how the merchant would react.]

[arrowhen]

big teej: (And remember, everyone else is allowed to read these too.)


[OOC: now granted, if sohn can get away with that question without offending the merchant, he'll ask, but I as a player have no way of knowing whether Sohn would know how the merchant would react.]

I see this as one of those "say yes or roll the dice" situations. I could have you roll a Sense Motive check to try and "read" the social situation, but since I don't see any particularly interesting and dramatic consequences if you fail, I'll just tell you:

The guy's obviously not just a merchant but a successful merchant from a foreign land. He's had years of practice making lucrative deals with people from all over the world, people from a wide range of cultures with a wide range of customs. He didn't get where he is today by getting offended when someone asks a perfectly reasonable question during a business negotiation.

You don't know if he'll agree to provide transportation or provisions, but there's probably no harm in asking.

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar looked to the man and said:"That is an awful long walk how quickly do you want this blade returned.." :Ricroar looked to the man seeing if he could get the hint the longer it took to get there the longer it takes to get the item..and then there was the ride back.:-f-

[Dementia]

Beattle answers the bard as the elf submits his own query, "I will carry the sword".



Why do I feel all "Lord of the Rings"..."Give me my precious" of a sudden? :smallwink:

[big teej]

Sohn eyes the halfling quisically for a moment but then shrugs and returns his attention to the conversation between the merchant and his elven (soon to be) compatriot

[arrowhen]

Joachim turns to the elf with a strangely wistful grin.

"But long walk is very pleasant, no? Warm sun in face, cool wind in hair. Open sky, distant horizon. Is nice. But maybe feet get sore, is not so nice.

"Hmm. I am thinking to walk, take maybe three day. Two and a half if you take turn carrying hafling." He shoots a sly wink in Beattle's direction. "Could lend horse from stable, you arrive in little over a day. Horse very valuable, though. You find trouble, horse killed or run away, I have to deduct replacement cost from wages.

"Other thought: wagon and two mule. Not any faster than walking, but easier on feet. Plus, who know? Maybe you find big treasure, good to have wagon to haul back, no? Or, maybe you find big trouble. Two wagon and mule cost less than one horse.

"Anyway, is up to you."

[luv2breformed]

Alton listens to the others carefully before offering his preference from his seated position.

"I prefer to travel light, so walking is quite agreeable for me. However, I am not wedded to the idea. Whatever method of travel you prefer would be fine." He says as he seeks to establish friendly terms with his likely new associates.

[big teej]

Sohn chuckles quietly and says
Being a rather optimistic person, I vote we go with the mules and cart. I'm highly in favor in being able to carry back more stuff than we could just in our packs. Besides, what if we find survivors of this village that seems to have fallen off the map? we can't exactly carry them all the way back, and no offence to our friend here Sohn gestures at Edrik but we can't count on him being able to see to all the wounded, as we have no way of knowing how many there are.

Sohn reflects for a moment.

IF there are survivors that is...

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar nodded and said: "I agree the mules and the cart would be pleasant at least as far as carrying things." :Ricroar then went silent once more..figuring all that was left was to move out.:-f-

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik is eager to get on with the assignment: Taking a cart will be far too cumbersome and not at all beneficial. We need to complete this as soon as possible and waste no time trying to get more loot for ourselves. I say we take the horses and get there as quickly as possible. Otherwise, we walk.

[big teej]

Sohn quirks an eyebrow and gives Edrik a quizical look

And what would you have us do with any survivors? carry them back upon our backs? What if they are more injured than we can manage? Do we leave them there?

[Rael_Orithen]

DM:
Is (was) there a St. Cuthbert's church in Greycliff? I ask because that might be a good place to take survivors we find, and Edrik would probably know if there was one there.

Edrik replies, What would survivors do here if we bring them back? If we take care of the problem properly, they should no longer be in any danger if they stay in Greycliff. Besides we would only put them in more peril on the return journey. I mean to take care of the problem quickly and ensure that peace is established... and of course complete this errand for our esteemed benefactor.

[Dementia]

Beattle listens to the bickering.

Horses might be convenient for them, but he has an aversion to the large smelly beasts. Besides, it’s foolhardy to rush in astride when the leisure of three days may provide the party with intelligence concerning the nature of the disturbance that awaits them.

The real question then, in Beattle’s estimation, is to walk or ride in the cart…the answer seems simple and easier on the feet. The cart! Not to mention much snugger if it rains.

“If we’re voting, my pebble goes for the cart,” Beattle chimes in. “It will perhaps give us the opportunity to find out what is going on before we reach Greyclyff. Not to mention a cart will be less suspicious, in these uncertain times, than an armed group of five brazenly walking down the road.”

Beattle casts a returning sly look to Joachim.

"And perhaps there is something additional our friend would like us to bring to Greyclyff."


I'm new to this online thing too...so I'm uncertain of the etiquette. But, at this point if my brilliant logic hasn't outright convinced your character...may I humbly remind you to consider my character's well endowed charisma? :smalltongue:

And, out of curiosity, what season is it? Since no one mentioned great hardship due to weather in their travails I'd guess we're in autumn or spring? Or we have a very hardy bunch!

[Rael_Orithen]

Sensing that further debate will only delay them further, Edrik concedes,
We will take whatever means will get us there and get the job done. I leave the decision to the rest of you.

[big teej]

Sohn nods towards Beattle, and then looks around at everyone.

Unless there is something else to discuss, I believe we are ready to leave.

[arrowhen]

[OOC: OK, if I'm not mistaken, it looks like you've decided to go with the wagon drawn by mules. Your journey will commence approximately one hour after I've dragged my ass out of bed tomorrow morning and poured a couple cups of coffee down my throat -- i.e., somewhere between 10am and whenever, Central Daylight Time.

In game time, it's evening. Once negotiations are complete, Joachim thanks you all in advance and shepherds you all back into the common room of the inn. For tonight, drinks, food, and lodging are on the house. If anyone does anything interesting before retiring to bed either post it now (that is, before my next post), or deal with it in a flashback.

Whenever I wake up and post, it'll be morning, and the start of your great adventure!]

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar looked to the one complaining about the cart and shook his head.:"And if the horses are hurt he takes it from our pay..and a carriage is much more easier on ones feet than walking." :Ricroar nodded..: "I will take you up on the offer of the carriage..and if there are damages I will gladly pay you back ."

[arrowhen]

Joachim smiles and claps his hands together again.

"Is good! We have deal! Go now, eat, drink, rest, is all on house! I have wagon and mule ready for you in morning."

The next morning, after breakfast, one of Joachim's aides takes you to the stable where your wagon is waiting, the mules already in their harnesses. The kitchen staff has prepared a week's worth of provisions: meat pies, loaves of crusty bread, dried fruits, wheels of sharp cheese, and the like.

If anyone wants to purchase any other supplies for the trip, go ahead. Between Joachim's personal stores and the traders and peddlers who can always be found hanging around the tavern, you should be able to find any kind of normal weapon or adventuring gear you're looking for.


* * *

It's a sunny, pleasant day in late spring. The air is warm, but a hint of winter's chill still lingers in the occasional breezes. The wagon is sturdy and comfortable, unroofed, but with a tarpaulin that can be set up to provide shelter in case of rain. The roads are in good condition, neither muddy nor overly dusty.

The area surrounding the Gilded Cage seems almost a village in its own right, a small cluster of fields and houses that thins quickly as you make your way north. After a couple of hours of travel, signs of habitation become scarce -- the remains of a campfire near the road, a lonely farmhouse glimpsed far in the distance, the occasional broken leather harness strap or other odd bit of road debris.

The terrain is gently rolling grassland, with occasional clumps of trees or brush.

Around midday the road crosses a small stream. Stone pillars on either side of the road indicate there was once a bridge here, but apparently it was washed away some time ago. Fortunately the water is shallow and you manage to coax the mules across with only a token bit of complaining on their end.

By late afternoon, as the sun is beginning to sink toward the western hills, the road begins to both curve a bit to the east and to rise, slowly but steadily.

Spot Check!

- Spot checks vs DC 15 -
Ricroar Forgedawn makes a Spot skill check of 10 - Fails!.
Edrik Serpenthelm makes a Spot skill check of 22 - Success!.
Lynwood Beattle makes a Spot skill check of 21 - Success!.
Sohn Riverheart makes a Spot skill check of 10 - Fails!.
Alton Tu'neris makes a Spot skill check of 20 - Success!.


Toward the end of the day's travel, as the wagon rounds a slight bend, Edrik, Beattle, and Alton spot a human-sized figure in a brown robe or dress lying face down in a clump of grass about 50 feet from the road. They also spot some kind of movement in the grass near the prone figure.



* * *


Your progress so far:

http://img340.imageshack.us/img340/8095/callendreidayoneprogres.png

[luv2breformed]

Alton is quite happy with the choice of the wagon. Now that they are actually on it he feels much more like royalty and much less like a peasant. He spends much of the ride chatting with his new companions, trying to get to know them a bit more. Now that they are not in the presence of anyone in clearly high society, he is much less careful about keeping his tongue and his extroverted side begins to show.

As they round a bend, Alton spots a human sized figure laying in the grass, as well as some movement.
"Hold on, slow down a bit guys." He says in a hushed voice, trying not to attract attention. "Do you guys see that over there in the brush?" He asks, attempting to alert anyone in the party who had not seen the figures. "Who is that? What should we do?"

[big teej]

Sohn stops playing his harmonica and peers in the direction Alton is looking, reaches down to make sure his mornging star is still next to him when he left it (he gets quite engrossed in his music)

Keep your weapons loose in their scabbards he says quietly, and then resumes playing a very sedate and quiet tune, so as not to interfere with anyone hearing something.

[Dementia]

As the cart slows, Beattle deftly springs down from the wagon and mutters "find" with a soft snap of his thumb and middle finger.

Beattle casts detect magic.

[arrowhen]

Beattle doesn't detect any magical emanations from the direction of the figure.

Rael_Orithen:

Sorry, I forgot to follow up on this before. Edrik hasn't heard of a church of St. Cuthbert in Greyclyff. Small villages can't usually support a dozen or more different places of worship, so they'll have one dedicated to a particular deity (in human lands, usually Pelor), but containing within them shrines to other commonly worshiped non-evil gods of the region.

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik notices the mysterious figure and movement just at the same moment Alton does. He moves a steady hand toward his crossbow and says, Steady, lads, be ready for anything. Then, addressing Beattle, Notice anything?

[Dementia]

Beattle shakes his head, "no magic." Beattle begins to inch closer to the prone figure.


In the future, if you wish, please feel free to take over Beatle and answer as him.

[big teej]

Sohn eyes Edrik's crossbow with disgust and thinks to himself
I knew I forgot to pack something.


Sohn puts away his harmonica.

[arrowhen]

A black, shaggy shape rises from behind the fallen figure, its nose twitching as it sniffs at the air. It's a rat -- a four foot long rat with matted, spiky hair and a vicious gleam in its dull red eyes. Its two companions rise to their feet alongside it, their heads whipping around to peer in the direction of the wagon and the interlopers disturbing their afternoon meal.

Yay! Your first combat encounter!

Initiative Order:

Lynwood Beattle 25
Ricroar Forgedawn 22
Edrik Serpenthelm 14
Sohn Riverheart 13
Dire Rats 11
Alton Tu'neris 7

Your Enemies:

Dire Rats:
AC 15, touch 14, FF 12
Saves: Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +3
If you provoke an Attack of Opportunity, they will take advantage of it. Their bite is +4 to hit, 1d4 damage, plus you'll need to make a Fortitude save at DC 11 to avoid contracting Filth Fever.



Battle Map:

{table]..|A.|B.|C.|D.|E.|F.|G.|H.|I.|J.|K.|L.|M.|N.|O.
01|||||||||||||||
02|||||||||||||||
03|||||||||||||||
04|||||||||||||||
05|||||||||||||||
06|W|||||||||DR|||||
07|W|B||||||||?|DR||||
08||||||||||DR|||||
09||||O|O||||||||||
10||||O|O||||||||||
11|||||||||||||||
12|||||||||||||||
13|||||||||||||||
14|||||||||||||||
15|||||||||||||||
[/table]

DR are the Dire Rats
? is the human-sized figure on the ground
W is the wagon
B is Beattle; everyone else is still in the wagon. The sides of the wagon are low enough that you should be able to hop out as part of your move action.
O is a large, smooth boulder about four feet in height.

And yes, this map is ugly as hell. I'll try to come up with a more attractive map solution in time for our next combat.


[OOC: Remember you don't have to wait until it's your turn in the initiative order to declare your actions. Post whenever you get a chance to; everything will be resolved in initiative order once everyone's said what they're doing.

Also, I have no problem with players discussing combat tactics. I figure even lowly 1st level adventurers know more about fighting than most of us probably do, so if you want to say something like, "Hey, why don't you take a 5' step to the east so we can flank this guy," or, "you mind if I get out of range before you cast fireball?" or whatever, that's just representing things your characters would probably just do instinctively without needing to discuss them.]

[big teej]

Sohn hops out of the wagon and takes a few swipes with his morningstar to loosen himself up

[Dementia]

Beattle raises his arms above his head and chants "burnet Halja." A green-brown spark grows in Beattle's palms and shoots off across the clearing into the rat on the right-hand side.

[OOC: Beattle casts magic missile.
Damage roll: [roll0]]

Right hand side if you're facing the rats. So, dire rat J8 in the graph above.

[Rael_Orithen]

Not willing to waste any time, Edrik quickly grabs a bolt, loads it into his crossbow, mutters a few quick words to St. Cuthbert, and fires at the nearest of the vermin without even bothering to move from his spot on the front of the wagon.

From the wagon to the rat at J6.
Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[arrowhen]

big teej


Sohn hops out of the wagon and takes a few swipes with his morningstar to loosen himself up
Is that your only action for this round?
What square did you jump down in?

[big teej]

Arrowhen
oopsies, he hops down into B6, and yes, me and my measly 8 hit points are going to camp out here by the caster. I'll probably start singing at people next round, depending on how the walking ironworks are doing

[Doombringer]

(sorry real life things popped up..)

:Ricroar moved quickly..his blade free he would charge toward the rat. Shield raised as he would take a slice trying to chop the filthy creature in half.:

(Charging to I6 and taking a swing at rat in J6)
(1d20+6)[26]


(I rolled to confirm ..cause I hate this dice roller and hit with a 15)

(8 points of Damage..)

[arrowhen]

[OOC: Rael_Orithen: Ricroar, who was ahead of you in the initiative order, just killed the rat you shot at. Obviously in a tabletop game you would have known that before you decided on your action. Such are the joys of asynchronous gaming. I'm going to just apply your damage to the next closest rat, the one at K7, if that's OK with you.

luv2breformed is waiting until his turn to post his actions, so...]

Beattle's bolt of arcane force strikes the rightmost rat, leaving a nasty gash along one flank. A split second later, Ricroar charges forth, his blade flashing in the afternoon sunlight as it cleaves the rat on the left from snout to hip.

Moments later, Edrik's crossbow bolt buries itself deep in the middle rat's skull. The foul creature falls over, twitching and bleeding.

The surviving rat, maddened with rage and pain, charges toward Beattle. It leaps into the air, gnashing its teeth at the halfling sorcerer...

Rat attack:

Dire Rat (Bite) hits (8+4+2) AC 14 for 1 HP of damage plus disease

Lynwood Beattle makes a Fort save of 21 - Success!

No filth fever for you, halfling!


...in an awkward, clumsy bite which only the rat's speed and momentum prevents from missing entirely. Beattle suffers a bloody but relatively minor gash to his right wrist.

Updated map:

{table]..|A.|B.|C.|D.|E.|F.|G.|H.|I.|J.|K.|L.|M.|N.|O.
01|||||||||||||||
02|||||||||||||||
03|||||||||||||||
04|||||||||||||||
05|||||||||||||||
06|W|S|||||||R|x|||||
07|W|B||||||||?|x||||
08|||DR||||||||||||
09||||O|O||||||||||
10||||O|O||||||||||
11|||||||||||||||
12|||||||||||||||
13|||||||||||||||
14|||||||||||||||
15|||||||||||||||[/table]

[OOC: Now we're just waiting on luv2breformed's action and we can commence with the next round, if necessary.]

[luv2breformed]

Alton springs out of the wagon into A8 rapier drawn. Making his way to B9, he lunges at the rat attempting to run it through. "Die you vile beast!"

[roll0]
[roll1]
Crit if hit 18-20:
[roll2]

[arrowhen]

Still trying to regain its balance after its awkward attack against Beattle, the dire rat has no hope of dodging Alton's thrust. It convulses and utters a vicious shriek as the rapier pierces its side. Mortally wounded, yet too stubborn to die, the beast lashes its head back and forth, seeking a target for its last desperate attack.

Updated map:

{table]..|A.|B.|C.|D.|E.|F.|G.|H.|I.|J.|K.|L.|M.|N.|O.
01|||||||||||||||
02|||||||||||||||
03|||||||||||||||
04|||||||||||||||
05|||||||||||||||
06|W|S|||||||R|x|||||
07|W|B||||||||?|x||||
08||A|DR||||||||||||
09||||O|O||||||||||
10||||O|O||||||||||
11|||||||||||||||
12|||||||||||||||
13|||||||||||||||
14|||||||||||||||
15|||||||||||||||[/table]

[OOC: Ding! Round 2!]

[big teej]

Sohn rushes around and fFlanks the rat menacing Beattle, and then (attempts to) brings his morningstar down on the rat.


to hit: d20 + 2 (flanking)
die roll: 9 + 2 = 11
damage: 1

Sohn misses terribly because rats are almost as bad as bugs:smallredface:

[OOC: not that this matters in the slightest, the rat will be dead by the time it's sohns turn anyways..... soooo NO MISS :smallbiggrin: ]

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar would see the small magic user in danger his guardian instincts coming to him. He would move up behind the rat and take a slash at it so the creature now had attacks coming from two sides a simple technique that Ricroar learned at the training academy:

Moving to flank at 08D


[roll0]

Damage if hit
[roll1]

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik quickly loads and takes aim once more at the final rat, seeking to put the beast out of its misery:

Crossbow shot:
[roll0]
damage:
[roll1]
crit:
[roll2]

Edit (let's roll to confirm that 19-20 crit on the crossbow:) ....got fed up with the forum roller not rolling, rolled IRL, got a 5. does not confirm.

[Dementia]

Beattle stumbles but avoids falling as he takes a 5-foot step away from the rat's gnashing teeth. Once again, he raises his arms above his head and yells, "burnet Halja."

[OOC: Beattle moves to C7 and casts magic missile.
Damage roll: [roll0]]

[arrowhen]

The rat didn't stand a chance. Beattle's magic missile tears a chunk out of its throat, Edrik's well-aimed bolt pierces its skull, and Ricroar's sword finishes the job. Messily.

(Maybe that explains why Sohn missed -- he had a chunk of rat in his eye.)

The rat is very much dead, the other two are unconscious and dying, and this combat encounter is over! Good job, everyone.

[luv2breformed]

Alton sheathes his rapier while running over to the humanoid figure. He first checks to see if the person is still alive, while afterwards checking around to see if he can find anything useful or valuable, or odd.

Search:
[roll0]
Spot:
[roll1]

[arrowhen]

It's a corpse. A human male, maybe 40 years old, dressed in a rough-spun brown hooded robe belted at the waist with a bit of rope. His feet are bare, his beard and hair filthy and unkempt. Pale blue eyes stare sightlessly skyward.

Whoever he was, it doesn't look -- or smell -- like he's been dead for long. It I]does[/I], however, smell like he hadn't bathed in a couple weeks. Along with the smell of unwashed body there's another, stranger scent, musty and spicy and cloyingly sweet all at once.

A quick glance reveals no obvious cause of death; the body bears no visible wounds, save for a few rat nibbles on the extremities. The robe is dirty, there doesn't appear to be any blood upon it. Three torches are tucked into his belt, the burnt-out stub of a fourth lying not far from his outstretched hand.

Alton's search of the area turns up only grass, stones, and twigs.

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik says a silent last rites prayer over the body, then calmly suggests:
"We should thoroughly check the body for anything we can use to identify him, then see about getting him properly buried."

Edrik has at this point left the cart and approached the body, if that makes any difference. I assume a few seconds have passed.

[big teej]

Sohn is busy scraping exploded rat off of himself

A fine hit friend elf.... a tad messy for my taste he says while picking a particularly large and loathesome bit of filth from his shoulder

[luv2breformed]

Alton is still suspicious about the whole situation. "Hold on a moment. What is that smell?" He asks curiously. "And why is this unfortunate fellow hardly scratched? He certainly was not mauled by rats. . ." Alton trails off while he ponders the situation. Beattle! He shouts to the sorcerer near the cart. "Can you identify if this man was slain through magical means?"

[Dementia]

Beattle shrugs and saunters over towards Alton and the body, "there's no magical residue. He's probably been dead since before first light, why else would he have the burned torch? If magic did kill him, I wouldn't be able to detect it from so long ago."

Beattle shrugs again.

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar looked to the dead body and while others were discussing the death he simply found himself starting to dig a grave. He figured that would speed things up a bit. When he was finished the grave digging and wiping the dirt from his body he moved to help place the unfortunate fellow in his final resting spot.:-f-

[arrowhen]

Anyone interacting with the body notices two things right away. Firstly, the man's protruding ribs suggest he hadn't had a decent meal in a while. Secondly, the source of the strange smell is a fist sized leather pouch on a cord around his neck, tucked away beneath his robes.

[big teej]

Sohn walks up to Ricroar

Do you wanna mark this place on our map so we can come back for the body if we need to? on the off chance we find someone who knew him?

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar moved to Sohn allowing the others to take the pouch if they wanted.:"Indeed let us make sure that we mark it." :He said before laying the fellow in the grave he had dug.:

[Dementia]

Beattle shakes his head, "If no one cared for him in life; who will care about his death?"

Beattle rolls his eyes, all this fuss over a dead man.

[luv2breformed]

Alton snatches the pouch from around the man's neck, breaking the cord with which it was held there. "I'll leave you gentlemen to figure out about marking the map." He says while walking back towards the wagon. As he walks Alton opens the pouch, careful to hold his face away from it so as to not inhale too strong of a scent.

[big teej]

Sohn goes back over to the wagon and hops on.

[arrowhen]

Alton:

The pouch contains a coarse, slightly sticky powder seemingly comprised of a variety of dried plant materials. Even holding the bag away from your face, the first whiff upon opening the bag is almost overwhelming.

Fortitude save:
Alton Tu'neris makes a Fort save of 17 - Success!

Your skin begins to tingle and your body feels heavy, but pleasantly so, like climbing out of the water after a long swim. You feel calm, relaxed and alert at the same time; everything looks a little brighter, a little sharper, and the colors of things seem to jitter and dance at the edges of your vision.

These effects fade quickly, leaving you with a slight headache.


The sun is going down. You've been traveling for most of the day and the mules are tired. You could probably get another mile or two out of them, if you'd rather not camp next to a fresh grave, but any farther than that and they're going to start taking damage.

[luv2breformed]

Alton climbs back onto the wagon and stows the pouch neatly in one of the empty sacks in his backpack. He makes sure to place it in a very different location than any of his rations. Looking up at the sky, he takes note of the quickly fading daylight. "Should we push on a couple more miles, or camp here?" He asks aloud to anyone that cares to listen.

[Doombringer]

"I care not." looking to the fellow who snatched a dead man's belongings off his neck and moved back to the wagon simply waiting for the others to decide.:-f-

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik says, We should push on a little farther, then camp for the night.
Then turning to Alton, says, Did you find anything of interest on the body? His next of kin should be notified if possible.

[luv2breformed]

Alton turns to Edrik, "All I found was a pouch full of a very pungent powdery substance. I have no idea what it is, and plan on having somebody look at it if we ever find someone competent in such things. I would gladly give it to a relative of his if you manage to find one. Just smelling the stuff gave me a bit of a headache."

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar looked to the others as they were stopping for the night and slowly looked around in the area for some firewood..so they had some light and a place to cook if needed. Ricroar then would settle out his bedroll and start to rest in his meditative state figuring that a few of them would be up at least a few hours..lucky for him that was all that was needed.:

[arrowhen]

OK, since no one seem to have any preference, I'm just going to assume you're camping... somewhere, and that you're taking reasonable precautions like taking turns keeping watch, making sure the spellcasters are getting enough uninterrupted sleep to refresh their spells, etc.

If anyone has anything specific they want their character to do tonight, now would be the time to post that, otherwise I'll be moving things along some time after I get home from work tomorrow.

Everyone gets 120 experience points for the encounter with the dire rats -- I'm doubling experience rewards to compensate for the slowness of play-by-post.

[Rael_Orithen]

Before saying his prayers and bedding down, Edrik instructs Alton to keep the bag safe, though he probably shouldn't try to sniff it again, and we'll try and find someone in town who knows what it is.

[big teej]

being a huge fan of uninterupted sleep, Sohn volunteers for first watch

[arrowhen]

The night passes uneventfully, though it begins to rain a little after midnight. The wagon's tarpaulin manages to keep everyone mostly dry and by dawn the rain has slowed to a fine, misty drizzle that remains steady as you resume your journey.

As you make your way northward the sporadic clumps of trees grow larger and closer together; by late morning you find yourself traveling through a sparse forest. The sky is overcast, the air decidedly chillier than the previous day, and when the breeze moves in just the right way you can detect a slight tang of salt air wafting in from the nearby coast.

Around midday, the path veers sharply to the north and you suddenly find your progress blocked by a fallen tree lying across the roadway.

[Dementia]

How big is the tree and what is the terrain around the path? Basically, can we get the cart around the tree?

[arrowhen]

Dementia:

It's fairly small, as trees go, just about exactly big enough to stretch from one side of the road to the other. Some kind of needly evergreen with a fairly narrow trunk and lots of long, whippy branches.

The area to either side of the road is mud covered with a thin carpet of needles and small twigs, punctuated by the occasional low bush. You could probably get the wagon around with out too much trouble, though the mules would take some coaxing and you're likely to get dirty.

[Rael_Orithen]

Having seen bandits use road blocks as a trap before, Edrik keeps a sharp eye out for signs of trouble. If he doesn't find any he says, It will be easier going if we just move the tree. I volunteer Ricroar and myself, and anyone else who wishes to help. Then jokingly adds, I'm afraid you won't be of too much help, Beattle, unless you've got a spell that can disintegrate this tree.

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar looked to the others and jumped down from the wagon before saying : "Here we go.." :Ricroar looked around hoping not to run into any trouble but knowing it was likely : "How bad was the storm last night while I was sleeping?"


(Looking at the break of the tree.. was it cut or does it look like a break from the storm)

[arrowhen]

A quick glance shows that the tree has obviously been cut down.

As you're examining the tree, you also notice two straight, parallel lengths of sturdy hempen rope lying on the road alongside the trunk. They trail off past the stump and into a bush growing at the foot of a much taller tree not far from the eastern edge of the road. The other end of the ropes follow the trunk of the fallen tree, disappearing into its branches.

Beyond the tall tree to the east, you glimpse a narrow path leading off into the forest.

A gust of wind blows in from the east, causing the trees to rustle and creak and bringing with it a faint scent of burnt wood.

[Dementia]

Beattle points to the left side of the road, "there's really only the small tip of the tree over there, we can prob. just ride over it."


Explanation: think of a 14ft christmas tree (unless the road is much wider than 14ft.) in our way...pine trees are pretty soft branched and scraggly at the top. Hell, a 14ft spruce shouldn't be that difficult for a single human to move.

[Doombringer]

"We better get a move on..the smell of a camp is near by.." :Ricroar said to the others..: "and if not a camp something has recently been burnt around this area." :Ricroar looked to the others as he would just simply wait for them to get clear of the tree and drag it out of the way enough for them to proceed.:

[luv2breformed]

Alton doesn't say a word through all of this. He knows that he isn't particularly strong to be helpful enough to move the tree. Just like the others, he is also very suspicious. He surveys the area where the tree "fell" from closely, trying to follow the ropes into the branches above.

Spot: [roll0]
Listen: [roll1]

[big teej]

Sohn looks around warily and checks to make sure his morningstar is within easy reach


[OOC:
spot: 20+2 = 22
listen: 9 + 2 = 11]

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik announces, I don't like the look of these ropes here. I'm going to see where they go behind this tree.
He then slowly follows the ropes to the bush by the big tree to see if anything is amiss there... but always ready to strike with his mace if the need arises.

[OOC: For the walk over to the bush:
spot [roll0]
listen [roll1]

And once he's at the bush:
search [roll2]
]

[arrowhen]

The rope loops around the fallen tree near the tip and runs to a block and tackle mounted halfway up the taller tree, the arrangement clearly designed to raise and lower the fallen tree like a drawbridge.

[arrowhen]

No one Spots anything unusual and Listen reveals only ordinary forest sounds.

[Dementia]

Beattle casts a withering look at Edrik's back. "Right then, I'll guard the cart." He scrambles up to the front bench and picks up the fallen reins.

How hard could this be? Just dumb beasts of burden.

He cracks the reins smartly and calls an encouraging 'move'. Left-mule swishes it's tail and continues to snuffle at the rocks and ruts of the road. Right-mule slowly turns it's doleful head and and blinks dumbly at him.

Beattle purses his lips and curses that he ever thought mules would be a good idea.

[Rael_Orithen]

Seeing nothing strange about the setup, Edrik begins to haul the tree up via the rope-pully system as Beattle drives the cart forward. Edrik will call for help from Ricroar if he needs it.

Use rope? [roll0]

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar kept his hand on his blade and listened silently ..knowing this was not put here for accident. He would make sure they got across easily before he would say.:"I would suggest we put it down just like we found it as to not alert anyone without having to just incase." He then simply waited once more to be asked to help lending his skill when and if needed.:

[arrowhen]

Raising the tree is a simple matter (though the mules look skepical). If the roadblock was left by bandits, they're clearly not here to take advantage of it. Your journey continues.

[arrowhen]

Minutes later the source of the burnt smell reveals itself. Through the trees to the east you spy the charred ruins of a small hut. Two of its walls still stand; the rest is rubble and thin wisps of smoke. Flakes of ash waft silently between the trees.

[arrowhen]

There's someone kneeling in the hut, digging frantically through the debris.

[Dementia]

Beattle manages to stop the cart. He watches the figure for a moment.

"Hey there," he calls out. We're close enough to Greyclyff, this person might know what's been going on up there.

[arrowhen]

The figure continues digging through the rubble, giving no indication of having heard. The hut is maybe thirty yards away with some trees between here and there, so it's possible they just didn't hear you. Or maybe they're just ignoring you. It's hard to tell.

[luv2breformed]

Alton is at first very hesitant to speak up to the man. The events that had shaped their travels had been quite peculiar indeed. First the dead man with the plant drugs, then the abandoned fallen tree trap, and now a hut burnt to the ground and somebody who lost something evidently worth digging for. Everything was just wrong, nothing lined up, it didn't make any sense. This confusion left Alton quieter than his normal self as he puzzled over these things continuously.

However, as the humanoid seemingly ignored Beattle, Alton lost a bit of his patience. He hopped out of the cart and began taking long even strides towards the hunched figure. As he walked he began to address the
man in his usual polite manner, though clearly more forcefully and in a terser attitude than usual.

"Excuse us, sir. Would you mind enlightening me and my excellent companions as to your current situation? In fact, the situation of the countryside would be helpful as well. Perhaps we might be of some assistance?"

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar placed hand on blade and observed ..watching his comrad move over to the man he simply waited..eyes narrowed as if something in his gut told him this was a bad idea...and his stance spread..as if getting ready for the worst.. warriors instinct you might call it.



(Readying an action to charge if this turns nasty mister DM.)

[arrowhen]

The creature stops scrabbling through the rubble and rises from its crouch, turning around as Alton speaks. Its height and build suggests it was human, once.

Now it's a corpse dressed in filthy rags, mostly whole in some places, but with bits of bone showing through in others. A glint of unholy intelligence shows in its glowing red eyes, and its mouth is crammed full of entirely too many teeth, all of them long and sharp.

You get a very good look at these teeth as the ghoul fixes its gaze on Alton and exclaims, in a horrifically gurgling voice: "MEAT!"

Fight time!

Initiative order:

Lynwood Beattle gets initiative of 26.
Ricroar Forgedawn gets initiative of 15.
Edrik Serpenthelm gets initiative of 14.
Alton Tu'neris gets initiative of 14.
Sohn Riverheart gets initiative of 6.
Ghoul gets initiative of 5.

Ghoul:

AC: 14 (12 until it gets to act this round)
Saves: Fort 0; Ref +2; Will +5

If you provoke an attack of opportunity, the ghoul will bite at you -- Bite: +2 melee, 1d6+1 plus paralysis). If bitten, you'll need to make a DC 12 Fortitude save or be paralyzed for 1d4+1 rounds.

Map:
http://img695.imageshack.us/img695/2433/ghoul.png

Alton, I pretty much randomly decided to stick you at 30 feet from the wagon just because that's your move rate. It's possible that you could have been walking slower than that, or faster, so if, for example, you want to start out closer to the horrible slavering undead creature, just let me know and I'll adjust your position.

Edit: Let me know if the map looks too dark on your screen; I can lighten it up if you want.

[Dementia]

This can't be good. "Don't get too close!"

Beattle leaps from the box and runs directly at the ghoul. He comes to an ungainly skittering stop a bit behind Alton. He raises his arms (for the one trick pony show) and chants meaningfully, with every single atom attuned to blasting this demon back to hell "burnet Halja".

Beattle slumps his head for a moment as even his best efforts seem to only nick the target.

[OOC: Beattle moves to H-9. He casts magic missile. Damage roll: (1d4+1)[2]]

[big teej]

Oh buggah... Sohn says as he snatches up his morningstar.

Sohn takes a look around to see if he spots any more ghouls/zombies/undead/etc before hopping out of the wagon


[OOC:
spot check:
d20 (3) + 2 = 5 ]

[Doombringer]

"Figures..." :Ricroar would move quickly to shield his comrads from this abomination. He looked to to the creatures teeth and after moving he would take a full defensive stance.:



(+4 to my AC for full defensive at this time..double moving to M-9)

[luv2breformed]

Alton reacts in time to see his much more resilient ally moving into position in front of him. Grateful, Alton draws his rapier as he moves forward and assumes a defensive posture.

OOC: Move to L-10, also fighting defensively.

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik pulls his pendant of St. Cuthbert's cross out from under his armor and holds it out in front of him while jumping down and running forward next to Alton. Once there, he fixes his gaze on the ghoul and assumes a loud, stern voice: "Begone, creature! You have no place in this world!"

OOC:
Turn undead check!
If I counted right, moving his 30 ft speed to the square above Alton, Edrik should be within 60 ft of the ghoul.

Turning check: [roll0]
Turning damage: [roll1]

[arrowhen]

Beattle's magic missile slams into the ghoul's putrid flesh, dealing his customary 2 points of damage.

Ricroar moves forward to join Alton, the two wisely taking up a defensive position in front of the sorcerer.

Edrik strides confidently forward to deliver St. Cuthbert's judgment upon the unnatural creature. The unnatural creature seems unimpressed (pesky Turn Resistance... you almost had it!), licking what remains of its lips and uttering an obscene chuckle.

"Mmmm... Priest meat!"

Sohn doesn't see anything. (Spot doesn't require an action unless you're trying to spot something you previously missed, so if you want to do anything else in the 1st round let me know and I'll fit it in.)

As tasty as Edrik looks, he's well defended. The elf will have to do. The ghoul snarls and hurls himself toward Ricroar, teeth-first.

Ghoul attack roll:
Ghoul (Bite) hits (13+4) AC 17... miss!

The ghoul charged, so its AC will remain at 12 for the next round too.

The nimble elf manages to avoid the creature's snapping jaws.

Updated map:
http://img204.imageshack.us/img204/9653/ghoulround2.png


End of round 1

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik draws his mace and shouts: If you won't listen to God, perhaps you'll listen to me! Before charging at the creature and taking a swipe at it.

Edrik will move around the ghoul to square O-10.
Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

Also, I said "charging" in my post, but it's for dramatic effect only, Edrik is moving at normal speed.

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar looks to the creature and moves forward dropping the stance and then taking a slash at the creature..looking for an opening to show it how the taste of elven steel feels.: "Quickly get to the creatures flank."

1d20+5 = 13
1d6+2 = 4 (dmg)

(I know it is undead and can't be flanked Ricroar doesn't however.. new adventurer.)

[Dementia]

Beattle takes a deep breath as he watches the ghoul snap ineffectually at Ricroar. He raises his arms again. This times his arms aren't as straight and his fingers are almost droopy, as though it was the greatest feat in the world to simply lift his slender arms above his head. He mutters in a listless voice "burnHal" as the brown-green (more brown now than green) sparks form in the palms of his hands.

[OOC: Beattle remains in place (as long as there's no problem with accidentally hitting someone else). He casts magic missile. Damage roll: (1D4+1)[5]

I can't seem to get the stupid dice roller to work! Any idea what I'm doing wrong? I might have to wait until I get home to post my "damage" (any bets it will be 2?). Update: finally got the roller to work after messing with it a bunch in the dice rolls forum. Still not exactly sure why it wasn't working... YAY...5!

[big teej]

[OOC: the reason I didn't do anything but spot was I remembered last time we fought you mentioned that hopping out of the wagon was a full round action (or at the very least took up our move action) which is why aside from hopping out of the wagon and taking a look around, Sohn did nothing.

if I misremembered or misinterpreted that, then Sohn ACTUALLY hopped out of the wagon, and moved up to his comrades, most likely using up his whole turn (move action: hop out of wagon, move action: join compatriots) /OOC]

[arrowhen]

((OOC: I thought I said that because the sides of the wagon are low, you could hop off as part of a normal move action. If I didn't, I *meant* to. Pick the square you went to last round and I'll update once I get home from work.))

[big teej]

[OOC: ah, my mistake, well then, if I have the movement for it, I hop out into E10 and then spend my other action to move to J10 if sohn has the movement for it ]

[arrowhen]

[OOC:

(I know it is undead and can't be flanked Ricroar doesn't however.. new adventurer.)

Undead can be flanked. You might be thinking of sneak attacks -- because undead immune to critical hits, they can't be sneak attacked; thus, a rogue flanking an undead creature wouldn't get to add any sneak attack damage, but would still get the +2 to hit for flanking.

big teej: Yeah, we'll say you moved to J10 in the first round. What are you doing this round?]

[luv2breformed]

Alton shifts into position before attempting to fool the ghoul with a feint attack. "En Garde!"

Free Action: 5 foot step to M-10
Free Action: Combat Expertise for 3 points
Move Action: Improved Feint
Bluff Attempt: [roll0]
Opposed Sense Motive: [roll1]
Standard Action:
Attack: [roll2]
Damage: [roll3]

[big teej]

[OOC:Sohn moves to N11 and takes a swipe at the ghoul]

Have at you!


[attack roll - d20 = 18
damage roll - d8 = 3]

[OOC: at last!! a hit!]

[arrowhen]

Beattle's spark of arcane force flies true and smashes the ghoul right in the face, sending gobbets of flesh and a handful of teeth flying through the air.

Ricroar's well-aimed blow carves through the putrid flesh with deadly ease. (And you thought they smelled bad on the outside!)

Alton lunges at the ghoul with an impressive bit of tricky swordplay and fancy footwork which would have been even more impressive had the tip of his blade ended up anywhere near his intended target.

Edrik raises his mace on high and delivers a right drubbing worthy of St. Cuthbert himself. The ghoul's head explodes like an overripe pumpkin (albeit an unholy, flesh-eating abomination of an overripe pumpkin.)

The ghoul collapses to the ground, having loosed its grip on whatever horrible mockery of true life gave it animation... just as Sohn comes crashing through the low-hanging branches of the nearby tree and deftly stabs it in the heart, just in case.

Moments later, a man's voice rings out from somewhere up in the tree (L-12): "Look out! There's another one in the house!"

Glancing toward the ruined building, you spot the second ghoul half buried beneath the burnt rubble, struggling to free itself from beneath a charred roof-beam.

Round 3!

The situation has changed enough to require a...

New initiative roll:

Ghoul #2 gets initiative of 22.
Alton Tu'neris gets initiative of 20.
Sohn Riverheart gets initiative of 14.
Lynwood Beattle gets initiative of 12.
Ricroar Forgedawn gets initiative of 8.
Edrik Serpenthelm gets initiative of 5.

Updated map:

http://img137.imageshack.us/img137/8872/ghoulround3.png


The ghoul is currently pinned by a fallen roof beam, lowering its AC to 8 unless it manages to escape.

Since the ghoul goes first, I'll go ahead and post its action for this round:

The ghoul struggles to drag itself from beneath the charred beam...

(The roller hates me, so, grabbing a real d20 and doing it by hand..

DC15 Strength check: 1d20+1 = 3)

...but snarls in frustration as it succeeds only in scattering ashes around.

[Dementia]

Beattle sprints to the rest of the group. "Before we kill it, does anyone speak ghoul? Maybe it knows something."

Beattle tilts his head and looks almost fondly at the sad creature, just like one of those hundred-year stinkbugs when it's struggling to free itself from its cocoon. And like the hundred-year stinkbug, it'll need to be squashed.

[OOC: Beattle moves to L-9]

[big teej]

Sohn moves to T11 and readies his morningstar to crush the skull of the ghoul

Suffer not the unholy to live.

[Rael_Orithen]

I'm with Sohn on this one. This abomination cannot help us and must die.

Spotting his clear path to the next ghoul, Edrik wastes no time charging straight at it, his mace above his head, screaming in righteous rage, and brings his weapon down onto the trapped ghoul's skull.

This time, Edrik is actually charging at double speed (though he only needs to go 35 ft). Upon arrival at U-9, he makes a single melee attack:
[roll0]

For damage: [roll1]

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar moves after the rest seemingly splalter with ghoul gunk from the last assault. Those hard eyes of his look over the creature and then towards.the cleric.: " If you wish to speak do it now before we grant the creature it's final rest." :He then readies his action to disembowel the creature when given the go ahead.:-f-

[roll0]
[roll1]


(Moving to prepare to attack it..and yeah your right..was thinking sneak attack sorry.)

[luv2breformed]

Knowing that he will likely be about as unhelpful in killing the next ghoul as he was the last one, Alton turns around to follow the voice up in the tree. As he peers into the branches, he asks "Who are you?"

Spot: [roll0]

[Dementia]

"Stupid bastards, lamebrain omplete non-thinkinking moronsArn't you listening?" Beattle mutters in a loud voice.


"Can't you people listen to reason"

I just deleted the lines: "Beattle moves closer to the target. He can't quite use his body as a shield from the ghoul, but he tries as best he can." That I had included in my original post. I realized I had already used up my movement. I suppose I could have used a double movement(?), but that would be way too confusing at this point. :smalleek: Sorry if that screwed/s anyone up.

[big teej]

Reason?! Sohn declares, incensed. What reasoning could there possibly be with an abomination as this? it must be destroyed

Sohn moves up next to Edrik, fully intending to help pulp the ghoul with his morningstar, but doesn't swing yet, awaiting any explanation Beattle could possibly give to spare this monstrosity

[Dementia]

Beattle shrugs as Edrik attempts to remove the ghoul's head. "Do what you will. I tried."


Sohn:
Do you mean metaphorically "in the way"? Cause Beattle isn't really anywhere near the 2nd ghoul.

[big teej]

Beattle shrugs as Edrik attempts to remove the ghoul's head. "Do what you will. I tried."


Sohn:
Do you mean metaphorically "in the way"? Cause Beattle isn't really anywhere near the 2nd ghoul.

[OOC: that would be me misremembering the map.... RETCON!!!]

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar looked to the others and then to the mage.. he himself had stayed his hand for the moment just to allow them to speak with the creature when the general response was to kill it he thrusted down ending the creatures poor life.: "You can rest now."

[arrowhen]

The ghoul dies. A biting, snarling, clawing, snapping death, defiant to the bitter end.

The house is a charred ruin, the warped, cracked floorboards strewn with ash and scorched debris, a scattering of ruined axes, saws, and shovels... and, buried in the rubble, a half dozen grisly corpses.

They're probably human, though horrible burns and ravenous ghouls have left them mangled beyond recognition. Most of them are wearing leather armor, cracked and ruined, though one is clad in sooty but apparently intact chainmail.

A young man climbs nimbly down from the tree. He's whipcord thin, dressed in black leather armor with sheathed daggers at his waist, thighs, ankles, and wrists. Dark haired and pale skinned, he bears a fresh, angry red burn down one side of his face and neck.

He gives Beattle a crisp nod and says, in a high, sharp voice, pitched loud enough for everyone to hear: "Right. Excellent work, everyone. Excellent work. Thank you! And... I'll just be... moving along now, then."

The stranger begins slowly edging his way toward the road, keeping a wary eye on everyone.

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik calls out to the young man from the tree before he can leave, Excuse me, sir! Would you mind filling us in a bit on what is going on here, seeing as it seems we just saved your life and all? Wouldn't want you to run into any more trouble...

He also makes a subtle gesture indicating that he is still in fact quite armed, and hinting that this gentlemen should answer the question... or else.

Do I need an intimidate check here?

[luv2breformed]

Alton again attempts to address the man as he seems to be trying to slink away. "Excuse me sir, I believe I've asked you quite a reasonable question. It would be common courtesy to respond in a likewise reasonable manner. Who are you?"

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar let the others do the talking...their tongues much more skilled than his own. He was however moving at an angle so the young man could not just back away without running into him. Comrads had questions answered and it was his job to see the party got just that ANSWERS.:-f-



(Basically cutting off escape.)

[big teej]

[OOC: can we get a map image of where the guy is in relation to us? I'm having trouble thinking of how to describe Sohn's next action without one]


Sohn takes up a similar action as Ricroar, moving about to cut off an easy escape (but not near Ricroar)

[Dementia]

Beattle grins mischievously. "Now they want to talk," he says in a you-just-can't-predict-some-people's-actions-nowadays tone. "You might want to consider their invitation." "We have food and coin," he adds as an afterthought.

Until arrowhen has a chance to update the map: Beattle is in L-9, Alton is at M-10. The stranger is in L-12, slinking towards L-11(?). The rest of you are near V-10. Can Sohn or Ricoroar can cut off his escape? (I hope all this is right!)

[arrowhen]

The young man stops and raises his hands in a placating gesture.

"Right, then, let's all stay calm. No harm in a bit of a chat, I suppose.

"It's not much of a tale, really. My traveling companions and I chanced upon this abandoned house last night. Good bit of luck, that, with the rain and all. Or so it seemed, until I woke up in the middle of the night to find the bloody place on fire.

"I tried to help them, but it was too late, so I ran outside... straight into a pack of madmen in dark robes, waving torches about and shouting all kinds of nonsense.

"So I did the sensible thing, ran away and hid in the woods, I did. When I come back this morning to give the poor sods proper burial and the like, I found those... things... making a meal of them. Been up that damned tree half the day, till you lot showed up."

[Dementia]

Beattle smirks at what seems an obvious twisting of whatever the facts were, but he doubts there's any harm in the half-truths.

"Where were you coming from?" he inquires of the young man.

[arrowhen]

"Oh, you know how it is, traveling. Here and there, and nowhere in particular, mostly. Little mining camp in the hills to the east, most recently. Dwarves. No sense of humor at all.

"We were on our way to Zapadabran, looking for work. I guess that's still where I'm headed, if I'm to get a new crew together."

[Rael_Orithen]

As the stranger explains his story, Edrik looks him straight in the eyes, looking for any sign that he might be lying, or even stretching the truth. If his story is as innocent as he insists, he should have nothing to hide.

He then inquires, "If you're looking for work, what is your trade, and what do people call you?"

OOC: Trying to sense motive.
[roll0]

[arrowhen]

"Gilbury's the name. I'm a traveling minstrel!"

Sense Motive:

Along with Edrik's 10, I'm going to go ahead and roll for everyone else, too...

- Bluff check -

Gilbury makes a Bluff skill check of 9.

- Sense Motive checks vs DC 9 -

Lynwood Beattle makes a Sense Motive skill check of 18 - Success!
Sohn Riverheart makes a Sense Motive skill check of 17 - Success!
Alton Tu'neris makes a Sense Motive skill check of 14 - Success!
Ricroar Forgedawn makes a Sense Motive skill check of 12 - Success!


The briefest flicker of a wry, self-deprecating grin flashes across his face. Traveling minstrels aren't usually seen dressed all in black and dripping with daggers, and he knows it. He keeps going, but you can tell his heart's not in it: "We all are. Were. A troupe, you might say. Of minstrels.

"I functioned mostly in a managerial capacity..."

Finally, he just gives up, looking down at the ground and shaking his head at his own ineptitude.

[Doombringer]

Ricroar looks to the others and remains silent truly no reason for him to speak up his comrads seem to have everything covered. he watches the area for any of the robe people. "Let us hurry?"

[Dementia]

Beattle grins in a friendly manner and goes along with the ruse. "You may want to stop at the Gilded Cage on your way, never know what sort of talent you can find there."

Beattle gives Gilbury a conspiratorial look. "We're headed up to Greyclyff. Some rich man's supply of smoked herring has dried up," he explains with a wink at his joke. "Amazing what some men will do for a little fish. Heard there might be some trouble up there, you hear anything?"

[luv2breformed]

Alton looks back and forth between the man and his comrades during this exchange. Normally, he would try to dominate the conversation at a time like this, taking the opportunity to exercise his wordplay. However as he watched the situation, he realized that his partners were doing very well questioning the man. Alton found this quite pleasing, 'These guys aren't half bad' he thought to himself, as a sly smile came across his face. Deciding to keep his mouth shut and allow his able partners to deal with it, Alton turns back to look at the man expectantly, waiting for him to respond to Beattle.

[arrowhen]

"Well, we'd heard rumors of orc raiders looting and burning villages in the area. But then you'd expect refugees fleeing to the south, and not a soul has passed here in the last week.

"At any rate, the nutters what burned us were no orcs."

[Dementia]

"Well, thanks Gilbury," Beattle turns to the rest of the group. "Shall we get moving, unless anyone else has more questions?"

[Doombringer]

Ricroar looked to Beattle and nodded "Indeed let us be on our way." :He sheathed his blade and moved back towards the wagon . Ricroar would then think about what the man had said about orcs.:

[Rael_Orithen]

Now wait just a second! Edrik interrupts.
Before you think you can just go running off and we'll leave you alone, what was it exactly you've been doing here? And don't think you can escape the justice of St. Cuthbert.

While saying this, Edrik displays his crossbow to show that "Gilbury" shouldn't try to escape.

[arrowhen]

"Oooooh, the justice of St. Cuthbert, is it?", Gilbury sneers.

"And a fine kind of justice it is, too, pointing your weapons at random strangers on the road cause you don't like their answers to questions that are none of your bloody business.

"It's a stupid question anyway.. You had to have passed our little roadblock not a quarter hour ago. So there's your answer: we were bandits. Lawless, thievin' criminal bastards preying on the weak and the unwary. Or would have been, anyway, 'cept none of those weak and unwary managed to make it down here before they got themselves killed by orcs or set afire by murderous madmen or whatever happened to them.

"So there's your answer. And here's my question: what are you going to do about it... 'Officers'? How am I to pay for my heinous crime of cutting down a tree?

"Do you fancy yourselves Knights, then? Road-wardens, maybe? I very much doubt it -- you'd be off in the far North with the rest of their kind, chasing after giants with your noses buried up the King's arse, while your precious kingdom rots from the inside."

He looks around slowly, trying to make eye contact with each of you in turn.

"No, all I see are five armed men willing to take what they want by force and coercion. Just like me."

[Dementia]

Beattle grins. "Fine knight I'd make. Maybe we can rustle up some druids and have them deal with your heinous acts against the arboreal-kind."

Beattle chuckles and slowly makes his way back to the wagon.

[Doombringer]

:Ricroar looked to the fellow and sheathed his blade before moving right up to him and arching back socking him in the nose.: "I have not said one harsh word against you..I saved your life you imputent welp.. how about you just say thank you and be on your way before three dead bodies lie on the ground.."

Intimidate Check:
[roll0]

[arrowhen]

Gilbury's head snaps back under the force of Ricroar's blow. He shifts his stance ever so slightly to maintain his balance and in the blink of an eye he's holding a dagger in each hand.

Slowly, deliberately, he sheathes these daggers once more and clasps his hands lightly before him as he offers first Ricroar and then the rest of the party a polite bow.

"You're right. I'm forgetting my manners. I offer you my sincerest gratitude for preserving me from danger... and may I point out that I was trying to be on my way when Law and Order here decided to stick his crossbow in my gut?"

[Doombringer]

:He watches the man and looks to the others: "He is not our mission..the town and that sword is our mission..I suggest we stop wasting time and get there before more problems ensue." :Ricroar then moves back to the wagon but not before nodding to the man and offering him a cloth for his busted nose.: "Be safe..there is a downed tree we think bandits are about." : Ricroar laughs and then waits for the others.:

[Dementia]

Beattle subtly points his finger at Ricroar and mutters "whisper" under his breath.

"Why did you mention the sword!?" he admonishes.

Beattle casts 'message' on/to Ricroar.

[Rael_Orithen]

Listen to me carefully. I believe you that the real threat here is the orcs. I believe you that you have not harmed any innocents recently. As such, I have no real evidence of your supposed evildoing. But believe me sir that I will not forget your face. If I find you again in similar circumstances i will cause you harm. Begone and let ourvpaths never cross again.

Erik then lowers his crossbow and turns to his friends.

Let us go and address the real source of chaos here.

[Doombringer]

Ricroar looked to Beattle and frowned "I apologize..I am not as smooth with words as some of you.." He then looked to the ground. He thought he had done a good deed but alas it was a stupid slip up about the blade that made him realize he did more damge than help.

[luv2breformed]

Alton sheathes his rapier and turns to his comrades. "Good work everyone. I agree that we should get going." He says with a smile. With that he makes his way towards the cart and hops in, ready to go.

[arrowhen]

The bandit departs with a mock salute, scurrying off down the road before anyone changes their mind.

[arrowhen]

Judging by your map and the angle of the sun, you could probably make it to the village tonight, though it would require an hour or two of travel after dark. Otherwise, you could camp somewhere along the way and arrive in the morning.

[Doombringer]

Ricroar keeps silent and alert better he did that than speak because they group saw how well that went. He would just let them make the decisions he was just the arm behind the group for now. He watched the others but in his opinion he would camp and move to the village in the day. "Fighting orcs if that is what they indeed are is not a good idea at night." Ricroar did not no much but two things the others should take in account...he was elven and a fighter meaning he fought orcs often and knew much of their tactics.

[Rael_Orithen]

Best we camp in a safe area and properly prepare ourselves for what we may find tomorrow.

[Dementia]

Beattle nods his assent to the others.

[Doombringer]

Ricroar seeing the majority wanted to camp would soon move to find a proper place to do so in the night. He would then look for search for some tender to start a small cooking fire. Ricroar once done would remove his armor and weapons oiling and sharpening them..expecting plenty of trouble tomorrow..perhaps some even tonight. "I will take the long and last watch...if you all can give me just a few hours rest."

[arrowhen]

You set up camp. The night passes without incident and you awake to a cold, damp, foggy morning. You make your way north through the mist shrouded forest and after an hour or so you come upon the burned out ruins of another house -- though luckily this one is devoid of corpses, animated or otherwise.

Around mid-morning the forest thins out abruptly and you find yourselves at the outskirts of the village of Greyclyff.

The village is a small cluster of wooden houses atop a steep, rocky cliff overlooking the gray-green waters of the bay to the west. The road cuts through the village from southeast to northwest. A narrow path, bordered by a weathered wooden guardrail, leads to the south, angling down the face of the cliff to provide access to the shore below. Another path extends to the west, winding its way up a higher section of cliff, a rocky prominence whose upper reaches are lost in the mist.

Your arrival comes as a bit of a surprise, as the sounds and smells of rural life that you'd expect to notice upon your approach to a village are conspicuously absent. Indeed, at first glance, the place seems abandoned: no smoke rises from the chimneys and there are no boats to be seen upon the waters below.

A few of the houses are nothing but charred husks, and many more show some signs of fire damage. A stone building, its roof the rounded dome characteristic of a temple of Pelor (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pelor), sits in the center of the village.

Someone has built an improvised wooden barricade around the perimeter of the temple, cobbled together out of scrap lumber, barrel staves, and the disassembled parts of several wagons, the whole thing held together with nails and sturdy iron bands and topped with iron spikes. Torches, affixed to long iron poles driven into the ground, blaze on either size of a crude but functional looking gate.

It quickly becomes clear that the village isn't entirely abandoned: you hear the high, thin wail of a crying infant coming from somewhere within the temple. A moment later, you spot someone on the roof of the temple. A grey bearded dwarf clad in chainmail sits crosslegged at the highest point of the dome, a heavy crossbow resting in his lap. If he's noticed you he gives no sign; he just sits there, smoking a pipe and staring intently at the path leading up the higher section of cliff to the west.

As requested, a quick and dirty map of the area:

http://img834.imageshack.us/img834/9812/rpggreyclyffmap.png

A: Normal cliff areas, about 60 feet above sea level.
B: Gravel beach. The two areas marked "B" extend beneath the rocky overhang at "D" to form a single, continuous beach.
C: The sea!
D: An area of higher cliffs. The side on the town is a grassy hill, while the side toward the water is bare rock, hanging out over the beach and the water. You can't see the top of this higher cliff area from here due to the mist, but it's probably at least another 40 feet above your current elevation.
E: A path leading down to the beach. It begins at the top of the cliff at the letter "E" and angles its way down the side of the cliff, ending at the beach.
F: Another path leading up the grassy hill to (presumably) the top of the higher cliff area.
G, H: For some reason I skipped these letters.
J: The temple of Pelor.

[Dementia]

"This seems welcoming," Beattle offers dryly to the others.

In a louder voice he calls out to the dwarf, "Morning! Anywhere about we can get a hot breakfast?"

[Rael_Orithen]

Now that they're sure to be noticed, Edrik remains silent but makes visible his holy symbol so that it is plain to all who see that he is a man of justice.

[arrowhen]

The dwarf whips around at the sound of Beattle's voice, snatching up his crossbow and aiming it at the wagon. After looking you over for a moment, he lowers the weapon, picks up the pipe he dropped before it has a chance to slide down the domed roof, and rises stiffly to his feet.

"I've a warm fire and sturdy walls," he shouts, his voice deep and resonant, gruff on the surface but with an undertone of warmth and kindness. "You're welcome to the comfort of both..."

He pauses for a moment, considering.

"There's food as well, but I've others in my care. So I'll thank you to use your own provisions unless your need be great."

The dwarf climbs down from the temple roof and makes his way to the gate. A series of clanks and thuds and groans ensues as he unbars the gate and then drags it ponderously open.

"Well, don't just sit there like lumps. Come in, come in! It may be safe out in the day, but then again it may not. I'd just as soon not take the chance.

Oh! And welcome to Greyclyff! Or what's left of it anyway..."

[big teej]

Charming place... Sohn mutters quietly.

[Doombringer]

Ricroar looks to the others and slowly moves to be the last in the gat keeping a sharp look out for anything trying to sneak it's way inside while thewy were entering. "What has happened here?" Ricroar mutters to himself more than to others just sort of awe struck that something like this happened. That elven made blade was gripped in his hand at the ready as his eyes were scanning the area over once more:


Search and Listen:
Search 16
Listen 8

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik greets the dwarf warmly, "Thank you for your kind hospitality, sir. It's truly a rare thing to find these days. We are weary travellers on our way north. I daresay we've seen some strange things on the road the past few days, and if you don't mind my saying, it looks like the strangeness doesn't stop with your little town. I hope you don't mind if we're more than a little curious about local goings-on?"

[luv2breformed]

Alton keeps quiet as he surveys the town and the dwarf. The wreckage makes him contemplate how difficult some people have it. He resolves that he would like to do what he can to help them.

[Doombringer]

Ricroar was on the same thought wave as Alton these people needed help and his had always been taught to help if you had the ability. Ricroar had the ability all that was left to do now was... "Tell me master dwarf what has happened to this town?" shifting his weight to make himself more comfortable he waited for an answer.

[arrowhen]

The dwarf leads your wagon into the compound, clucking affectionately at the mules as he takes hold of one of their collars and guides them through the gate. He closes and bars the gate, then drags a wooden crate over to the side of the wagon to serve as a step.

"Name's Gyurt," he says, extending a leather-gloved hand in greeting. "Gyurt son-o'-Gyorm, o' the Strikeiron clan. I'm the... was the smith around these parts."

A gawky young human lad of about fourteen years emerges from the temple. Gyurt unslings his crossbow and hands it to the boy, who checks it over carefully -- working the trigger mechanism a few times, inspecting the string for kinks or frays and the limbs for cracks or splinters. He performs these tasks with the intense and self-conscious deliberation of one who's just recently learned a new skill.

Satisfied, he nods solemnly at Gyurt, accepts the quiver of bolts from him, and scrambles up on the temple's roof to take his turn on watch.

Through all of this he never even glances in the direction of the wagon.

"Coffee if you want," Gyurt says, cocking his head in the direction of an iron pot simmering over a small cooking fire.

Pouring a ladleful into one of the tin cups resting on a cloth beside the fire, Gyurt sits down on the white marble steps leading up to the temple doors and stares into the rising steam.

"It started with the orcs. Whole band of the bastards marched into town a month, month-and-a-half ago. Kicked in the door o' the tavern one evening and demanded five thousand pieces of gold in exchange for our lives.

"Five thousand! Village like this would be lucky to see half that amount flow through it in the course of an entire year and they wanted it in a week. Paugh!"

Gyurt spits on the ground, being careful to avoid the temple steps, and grimaces as he sips at his coffee.

"Folks were scared. Confused. Some talked o' fightin', others o' runnin'. Most just sought what comfort they could in prayer, or drink, or the company of their family and friends.

"Next night the orcs lit great bonfires in a ring around the village. Kept the blasted things going the whole week, pounding their war drums and shouting curses and vile insults our way. A few o' the men and older boys decided to make a break for it, scattering in all directions in hope that some o' them might make it to the other villages nearby and raise some help.

"We found their bodies piled in the village square next morning. Bastard orcs had done... horrible things to them, before and after they died."

Gyurt drains his coffee, rubs his hands down his face and continues, voice hoarse with emotion.


"When the week was up, the orcs came for us, and the villagers... May all the Gods bless them, the villagers fought. They fought with pitchforks and gaff hooks and a few rusty old swords. I killed seven myself, though I won't take any pride in it; if it'd been seventy maybe it would have made a difference. We drove 'em off at last -- I don't reckon they were expecting any kind of real fight -- but the cost of the thing...

"Fully half the village lay dead when it were all over. The cleric o' Pelor and her acolytes were among them; without their healing talents, many more died o' their wounds. The orcs brought torches along with their axes and spears, set houses afire, burned down the inn, the livestock pens. We soon found out they'd sent some of their number down the beach and burned up the docks, burned or sunk all the fishing boats.

"After that was a long nightmare of grief and despair. We buried our dead, tended our injured. Some folks tried to rebuild, but the task just seemed so big for so few of us remaining. And on top o' that, no one knew if the orcs had moved on in search of easier targets or if they were lurkin' in the woods, waiting to pick us off if we tried to leave. A few people vanished. None knew if the orcs had taken them or if they'd just slipped away in the night, but it made them even more scared. Got so some folks didn't dare leave their homes, others clustered together, afraid to be alone even for a moment."

Gyurt looks down at the empty cup in his hand, glances at the pot on the fire, then shakes his head and sets the cup on the ground, as though the effort of getting up for more coffee just isn't worth it. He rubs the sleep from his hollow, weary eyes and continues.

"'Bout that time the stranger came to town, moved himself into Highcliff Manor."

He jerks his head in the direction of the higher area of cliff, across the road from the temple.

"Weren't no one to stop him, the place had been empty since Old Gwaltham died, near on forty year ago. Folks didn't pay him no mind, too wrapped up in our own troubles we were. Before long, though, he started coming down the village and preaching to people. Whole bunch o' mystical claptrap about a new god, or an old forgotten one come back from the dead, or some such nonsense.

"I didn't pay much attention, myself. Truth be told, I wasn't paying attention to anything but the barrel of ale I was tryin' to drown myself in. But offer something like hope to the hopeless, they're like to take it without looking too close. Folks started listening to the fellow, then following him, going to live with him up the Manor.

"It were just a few at first. You'd see them come down the village, dressed in their brown robes, just sort o' wandering around and smiling. Picking flowers. Maybe talking a bit o' nonsense, maybe keeping quiet. But you could see the peace in their eyes. They might have gone plum crazy, but it was a peaceful sort o' crazy, and folks here had a sore need o' peace.

"As the weeks wore on more and more started to join them. Husband left their wives. Mothers left their children. You'd hear them up there all o' the day and night, chanting and singing and carrying on."

Gyurt scratches his beard and clears his throat, clearly unused to speaking at such length.

"Finally, round about a week ago, everything went to hell.

"Middle o' the night the whole damned lot of them came storming down the hill, waving torches around, setting houses on fire, setting themselves on fire, some o' them, screaming and chanting and smiling the whole time, like something out o' your worst nightmare. You folks saw the damage as you came in; the north side o' town's even worse. Near every house burnt to the ground. Whole families burned to death, in fires set by their own neighbors and kin. Madness it was!

"Eventually they wandered off, some out into the woods, most back up the Manor. I did what I could, dragged a few out o' the fires, rounded up what survivors I could, 'cept those who won't leave their houses for nothing. Herded them into the temple here for safekeeping and knocked up that ugly-arse wall around it. I made them as safe as I could, but there's so few of us left. So few...

"Since then, the brown-robes have been coming out at night, mostly. Just a few o' them, wandering around in the street, singing, waving their torches around. A couple of 'em tried to set the wall afire night 'fore last, but it wouldn't take on account o' the rain.

"They don't seem near as organized, near as determined as they did the night o' the fires. I don't know what it was, but it seemed it were a special brand o' crazy took hold o' them that night, one I haven't seen since, thank the Gods."

Gyurt spits on the ground again, then snatches up his cup, having decided that more coffee is worth the effort after all.

He jumps, startled by a child's voice coming from the top of the temple steps.

"It was the end of the world. S'posed to be, anyway. That's what my Da said."

A young girl, eight or nine years old, stands in bare feet and a dirty white dress at the entrance to the temple. Dark ringlets frame her pale, solemn face.

"Da said the world was ending and the Quencher of Fires was coming to put out all the fires and take all His faithful to heaven with him. He said the world was big and our village was small and we had to make a big, big fire to show the Quencher we were here."

Gyurt smiles kindly at the girl.

"Good to hear your voice again, lass! Now run along inside before you catch a chill."

Turning back to you, he lowers his voice to a near whisper.

"It's the first she's spoken since that night. Poor thing was the only one made it out of her house alive."

The girl stands in the doorway, gazing down at you.

"Da said if you were good and believed in the Quencher enough He'd protect you, and you couldn't get burned or cut. He said when they in... in-i-tiated him, they cut off his head with a big old sword, but the blade wouldn't touch him because he had faith.

"I think they lied to him, and I think Da was stupid for believing them! I think the Quencher is a stupid lie and maybe all the other gods too and even if they're not I think someone should set all their houses on fire and see how they like it!"

The girl buries her face in her hands and runs, sobbing, into the temple.

[big teej]

The Quencher?... hmmmm..... Sohn mutters quietly to himself



[OOC: provided 'the quencher' isn't a god I should be familiar with but just arn't as a player.... BARDIC KNOWELDGE CHECK!!!

d20 + 1 + 2 ( bard level + int modifier)
roll: 15

[arrowhen]

[OOC: Nope, this "Quencher of Fires" isn't something you've ever heard of.]

[Dementia]

Beattle pondered. He hadn't heard of anything like this before. But, at least now they could report to Joachim what was going on in the town.

He nodded to Gyurt and poured himself some of the strong coffee. "We should be able to offer some assistance. We're laden with supplies and should have enough to ease your load a bit."

"This stranger, do you know anything of him?" Beattle inquired.

According to Joachim's description, it didn't sound as though the cursed sword was at the root of the village's problems. It was still a long shot that the sword was even in the village.

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik listens intently to the dwarf (after having paid his respects to Pelor at the door of the temple), searching his memory for anything he may have read in his clerical studies about this 'Quencher'.

[OOC: Knowledge (religion) check: [roll0]]

Gyurt, is there anything else you've heard about this 'god' of theirs, or this fellow who's usurped the manor? Seems we may have to pay him a visit.

[Doombringer]

Ricroar looked to the the little girl and frowned when she ran off. He made up his mind then that he was going to help these people. "Seems like we will have to kill off a few orcs..as well sounds like a good time for this elf." Ricroar smiled to the dwarf before saying. "And as for these crazed people..we will look in on that too." sitting down he pulled his short sword and sharpened it slowly to pass time.

[arrowhen]

The dwarf smiles gratefully at Beattle.

"Bless you, lads. Warms my heart to see there's still good folk left in this world. Any supplies you can spare will be much appreciated; I've some gold, and will pay whatever price you think fair.

"As for the preacher, I think I've told you all I know. I only saw him a couple o' times. He was a young man, and one of those who love the sound of their own voice, though it seemed to me he didn't believe a word he said. Seems he knows a bit o' magic -- I seen him preach by conjured light one evening -- though as far as I know that's a simple enough spell to those who know about such things, so I couldn't guess as to the extent of his power.

"As far as the orcs go, I'm thinking they're long gone by now. Would have been easy enough for them to come take anything they wanted in the past weeks. Gods know we were in no shape to mount any kind of resistance."

[OOC: Edrik, you haven't heard of anything even remotely connected to this Quencher of Fires.]

[Dementia]

Beattle nods.

"So, what do you and your people want to do?" Beattle asked.

Beattle continues, thinking aloud. "Maybe tonight we could capture one of the 'brown robes' and see if they could tell us anything more. Has anyone ever...turned back or escaped the power up there?"

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik scratches his head and looks at the floor for a moment, then at the dwarf.

Well I've done some studies of many faiths and I've sure never heard of this Fire Quencher fellow.
Anyway, I'm sorry for what has happened to your homes and families. We can't restore things to the way they were, but we can try to stop the evil that haunts you.

He then addresses his companions.

I say we find out what we can about this magician and his so-called god, and then perhaps pay him a visit. I do like this idea of finding one of the minions and ...asking him some polite questions.

[Doombringer]

"Or some not so polite ones if you have need of them." Ricroar grins evily and then says to the Edrik "Within the law of course." sheathing his blade he smiles and stands ready do some work to put the town at rest ..when something hit him "Lord Beattle was it?" looking to the one who reminded him to be silent about the sword. "May I speak with you in private for a moment?"

[arrowhen]

"So far I'm mostly just been thinkin' about how to keep them safe. Suppose it'll be up to them what they want to do in the long run. I'll help them the best I can when the time come. Right now, they've been through so much I don't think there's a one o' them in any shape to think any about the future yet.

"As far as any o' the brown robes comin' to their senses? I haven't seen it. Then again, I can't say what any o' them would do if they broke free o' the hold that preacher has over 'em. They done horrible things to their friends and families, I can't see them just strolling back down the hill and sayin' they're sorry.

"Course, that's me thinkin' like a dwarf. One o' us goes against clan or companion, forgiveness comes decades later, if at all. With humans, who can say?"

[Dementia]

"Well," Beattle says looking at Gyurt and his companions "I think we can look into it for you."

"Pardon us a moment," he says smirking at the title and walking over to a quiet corner with Ricroar. "Do you have something?"

[Doombringer]

"What if the crazed holy-man has the cursed sword..and that is what is driving him to act like this?" Ricroar was not a overly clever witted elf but he was average and thast had crossed his mind more than once in the discussion with the dwarf. Ricroar was trying to keep as quiet as possible why they talked as to not alarm anyone carelessly.

[Dementia]

Beattle shrugs. "It's possible. The stranger may have the sword, but it doesn't sound like that is behind the problems. From what Joachim said, if the stranger had used the sword it would have turned against him. So, I would think the villagers would have tried to burn down his manor."

Beattle pauses to think. "As for the sword, Gyurt said the villagers were fighting the orcs with anything they could find. Including rusty old swords. The troubles that followed sounds more like the curse Joachim described, misfortune falling upon the user. But, perhaps Joachim was mistaken about the curse?"

"Gyurt?" Beattle calls out as he returns to the group. "Is there one particular family, or person, that the enchanted villagers seem to be targeting?"

[arrowhen]

Gyurt considers for a moment.

"It all happened pretty fast, but no, it didn't seem like there was any real plan or direction to their actions at all. Seemed like they were just trying to start as many fires as they could."

[Dementia]

Beattle looks to his companions and takes a deep breath. He was the one who caution against speaking of the sword, but he feels Gyurt is a friend and one to be trusted. He thinks it's worth bringing on the ire of his fellow travelers.

"Gyurt, friend," Beattle begins solemnly. "Joachim sent us here to find out what was happening. But, also...because of a cursed sword that may have washed upon these shores. The sword brings misfortune on those who wield it. It occurs to me that this may be the source of your current problems."

Beattle takes another deep breath and imagines several devious cats escaping from a hypothetical bag.

[arrowhen]

Gyurt smiles, a little of the weariness lifting from his eyes.

"I had a feeling you folks were more than just 'weary travelers on your way north.'", he says. "Joachim o' the Gilded Cage has long been a friend to our little village, though I fear he won't be getting his customary barrels o' herring this year. It's good to know we're in his thoughts. Once all o' this is over, if there aren't enough folks left to make a go at rebuilding the village, I might call on him for help in getting them resettled elsewhere. A visit would be good, though it'll mean staying up all night talking about ale recipes, or patriotic songs of the Third Goblin War. Any subject you care to name, you ain't met no one half as curious about it as that man.

"As to your cursed sword. I don't know about curses, but I do know a thing or two about weapon-smithing. Magic weapons are special, they are. Way it was explained to me was the enchantments won't take hold to just any old chunk o' metal heated up and banged into shape. A weapon suitable for magickin' has to be a work of art, made with all o' the skill and care the crafter can bring to bear.

"The only swords I saw that day were nothing o' the kind. Just old family heirlooms from somebody's grandfather's stint in the militia, or the kind o' blade a smith might make on a whim when he needs a break from horseshoes and barrel hoops. I could be wrong, but I don't think the sword you're looking for was one o' them.

"It's interestin', though, that you said it washed ashore. There was a ship that sank out in the bay a while back. It was the talk o' the town before the orcs came. Some o' them who knew about boats n' such said the way she went down looked like she'd been deliberately sunk. A few bodies washed up after, and a bunch o' debris, but we never found any survivors nor anything like a sword, cursed or otherwise."

[Doombringer]

Ricroar frowned not the goal they were looking for but right now bigger problems were at hand. He shook off his thoughts and then said "So what is the plan to capture one of the crazed people?" He looked to Beattle and then others arching a brow figuring they had a plan in mind at least. Ricroar shifted his weight waiting for whatever action was going to be taken.

[big teej]

Sohn gets a decidedly mischevious look in his eye and reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small, leather object.

Oh..... I might have an idea, Ricroar he says, as he smacks the leather sap into his free hand. it makes a rather ugly thwack as it strikes his palm

[Rael_Orithen]

You have an idea? Do elaborate. Although if we're feeling a bit punchy we could just go and speak to the man directly.
Gyurt, where might we find this enchanter?

[big teej]

I feel we should go with the original plan of .... 'conversing' with one of these brown robes, this will simply make that easier Sohn says brandishing the sap

[Doombringer]

"I agree with Sohn" Ricroar then nodded to the group discussing the plan of action. "We should not walk into this blindly." He looked to Sohn and said "I think we should do a little hunting while light is still out maybe get these people a bit of food to eat..anyone want to go with me?" Ricroar of course was going to do more than just hunting after all a little scouting while he was out could hurt nothing.

[big teej]

sounds like a plan to me. I'm still stiff from the wagon, it'll be good to move around Sohn announces

[Rael_Orithen]

Very well, then. Let's head in the direction they came from and see if we can strike up some friendly conversations.
Gyurt, thank you kindly for your hospitality. We will let you know what we find.

[Doombringer]

Ricroar nodded and looked to the group before pulling free shield and sword..ever at the ready even as they walked. He looked to Sohn and then asked "Where do you think we should ambush one of these crazed lunatics at?" He of course was not saying it to loudly more in a hushed whisper.

[arrowhen]

As the dwarf mentioned, the preacher and most of his followers should be up at Highcliff Manor. Other individuals might be wandering around the village or in the surrounding woods. Let me know where you want to go.

[Rael_Orithen]

We should search the village first and then perhaps a quick stop in the woods before heading to the belly of the beast.

[big teej]

I agree with Edrik, I say we wander around the village for a few hours and see if we encounter one of these friendly fellows, we'll start near the temple and work our way out, that way we're liable to run into anything heading towards this place before it gets here, which should take some pressure off our dwarf buddy back there

[Doombringer]

Ricroar looked to Edrik and Sohn before saying " Fair enough let us look around in the village ." Ricroar movedthat way looking about hoping to find something that would offer a clue. "What do you think they will do if they can not repair the place?" Ricroar of course had a saddened look on his face as he asked that.

[arrowhen]

You make your way through the rubble-strewn streets. The broken windows of the the ash-stained houses seem to stare at you as you pass by. At one point you startle a scrawny black chicken scratching in the dirt. It squawks and runs off, leaving a trail of feathers in its wake.

At the outskirts of the village, you begin to notice signs of the recent battle: spent arrows, a splintered axe-haft, a torn leather jerkin stained black with blood. As you pass the charred remnants of one of the huge orcish bonfires, you hear snatches of a human voice a bit farther off into the woods. Moving to investigate, you come upon one of the cultists.

The man is thin and pale, in his mid-twenties, clad in a roughspun brown robe with the hood thrown back to reveal his inexpertly shaven scalp. He sits cross legged on the ground, intent upon his task of breaking a twig into smaller twigs. His movements are jerky and uncoordinated and he sings -- after a fashion -- as he works, seemingly making up the words and what almost passes for a tune as he goes along.

"He is coming, he is coming, we are ooooopening his way! He is coming, he is coming, to quench the fire and blunt the blade!"

He looks up as you draw nearer, his features meandering through a series of unreadable expressions before settling somewhere between a vacant smile and a look of slack-jawed confusion.

"Oh... hello... is it communion time again?"

One hand reaches up to flutter uncertainly near his throat.

"I've lost my Sacrament. Do you... have any to spare?"

[big teej]

ugh, please by the pantheons don't let him start singing again

Sohn mutters quietly to his companions

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik has made sure that his holy symbol is no longer visible, so as to not stir up suspicion from anyone they meet.

Upon seeing this desperate man, Edrik puts on a friendly, yet cautious face and greets him warmly.

Good day, brother! No, I'm afraid I'm all out of sacrament myself, but maybe we could go together to get some for us all. What do you say? I mean there's really no other way to celebrate the coming of umm... He Who Comes, than with some sacrament... right?

While saying all of this, Edrik tries to maintain eye contact with the man while he moves around behind where he was standing in order to position the stranger between himself and the rest of the party.

OOC: This is a blatant attempt to deceive and distract the man at least long enough to get him surrounded by our party with no where to dart off to should he decide to freak out. roll if you must...

[Doombringer]

Ricroar stood still waiting..almost flanking or trying to with sohn so that lovely sap could be used. The elf would try to not look so imposing but then again wearing shield and armor always presented a problem. Ricroar sheathed his blade and without saying anything gave Sohn the look of "On your mark." The fellow with the sap would need to be the one doing the whacking of course.

[big teej]

Sohn doesn't move but prepares to smack the man as soon as the opportunity arrises*

*unless there's a map pending, I'd like to assume Sohn takes a swing as soon as the opportunity presents itself...


[OOC: I'm waiting for a go ahead or a map from mister DM before I roll to hit, sorry guys:smallredface:]

[arrowhen]

Sap and skull connect with a meaty thud, and the cultist slumps unconscious to the ground. And just in time, too: he looked like he was about to start singing again.

[big teej]

[OOC: I can't come up with something clever and in character to put here in the moment, however I would like to state I am immensly pleased with the previous post. I'll try and come up with some witty remark for that later, I have homework :smallfrown: ]

[Rael_Orithen]

Well, then. That was easy. What do you say let's take him back to the temple for a quick spot of tea?

[big teej]

Just as long as he doesn't sing Sohn says plaintive tone while fingering the handle of his morningstar...


[OOC: slightly whiney isn't really what I was going for, but I can't come up with anything more eloquent thatn 'whiney' or "in a groaning voice" and the latter didn't sound like it fit to me.]

[OOC: thankyou Dementia]

[Doombringer]

Ricroar nodded looking to his mates helping carry the man back to where he was needed and said "At the least we will get a few answer from this crazed man.." Ricroar then looked to the others "What about hunting for the villages in the temple?" Yes even now the fighter was concerned about their well being.

[big teej]

I was never any good at hunting.... Sohn says with a (only slightly) embarressed look:smallredface:

[arrowhen]

[Filling in for Dementia until she gets back...]

Beattle ponders for a moment. "The whole point was to ask him questions right? I suppose we could drag him all the way back to the temple, but that just seems like extra work. From the way he sounded, I doubt he'll make any more sense there than he will here."

He shrugs and grins. "I suppose it's up to you, though. I wouldn't be much help carrying him anyway!"

[big teej]

Aye, he's not likely to be any more lucid or coherent at the temple, but the townsfolk might have some questions of their own for this...man. questions not likely relevant to our own activities granted, but who knows? they may hit upon a question we wouldn't think of... and they do deserve a chance to confront one who has caused them so much pain.

[Doombringer]

Ricroar looks around hoping to find some sort of food anythingthat might have been left behind as the others talk. He himself remains within ear shot of the others. The edge of the forest might give life to something that is useful. "Damn this waiting is going to drive me crazy." Ricroar muttered to himself.

Roll:
Search Check for food.
[roll0]


OOC:
The hunting and searching for food is just for flare...and to keep it realistic to the rp..if that is a problem I will stop.

[big teej]

@Doombringer
I don't see it being a problem, more so that the party as a whole just isn't equipped for hunting.

[Dementia]

Beattle kneels next to the unconscious man and begins to rummage through his robes and to check the man himself for any sort of brand or mark.

"Maybe his body can tell us more than his mind," Beattle proffers.

Beattle casts 'detect magic'. Not sure how useful that is really going to be. :smalltongue:

[Doombringer]

Ricroar returns after killing a few rabbits and looks to the others while they are rummaging through the crazed singing man's things. "Nothing of use yet?" Ricroar asked Beattle quietly before looking for some rope to tie the man up just incase he wakes up.

[arrowhen]

Beattle: Your detect magic reveals no magical auras on the unconscious cultist. Searching his clothes turns up a small linen pouch containing a few bent and battered copper coins and several thin, teardrop-shaped slices of bone. He has no visible marks or injuries, though he does have calluses on the fingertips of his left hand.

Everyone: as Ricroar returns with his brace of coneys and begins tying up the cultist, you hear twigs snapping, leaves rustling, and other unmistakable sounds of movement to the south. From the same direction, you hear a gruff woman’s voice.

”Keep moving, idiots! Master wants us all back to the Manor. Got something special planned, he does!”

Six brown-robed figures emerge from the bushes about 25 yards to the south. The first is a thin, spindly middle-aged woman whose sour expression is plainly visible even from that distance. The woman is flanked by two men, one stout and bald, the other tall with lank, greasy hair. All three are armed; the woman leans on a quarterstaff as she makes her way through the brush, while both men carry light crossbows. The bald one also has a battle axe tucked into his belt.

Trailing behind the woman in a single-file line are three more cultitsts. These last three, an old man, a young man, and a young woman with bright coppery hair are all unarmed. They’re all holding onto a length of rope that the sour-faced woman tugs on to lead them forward. The unarmed cultists move in the same aimless, uncoordinated way that the singer did before you knocked him out, alternately staring up at the sky, or down at the ground, or at some random point off in the distance. It seems only their grip on the rope keeps them from wandering off on their own.

None of them seem to have noticed you yet. Sour Face and Baldy are conversing in low mutters, while Greasy is helping the old man over a rough patch of ground. The other two don’t even seem to notice themselves, let alone anyone else.

Map:
http://img163.imageshack.us/img163/1258/rpgoutdoorcultistencoun.png

U is the unconscious guy
1 - 6 are the cultists; red for the armed ones and yellow for the unarmed ones.

The black circles are tree trunks. These provide cover. The shaded areas around them represent their branches -- these are evergreen trees whose branches begin almost at the forest floor -- a space covered with branches costs two movement squares to move into and provides concealment.

The shaded areas that don't have trunks are light underbrush, these also cost two squares to move into and provide concealment.

The cultists haven't noticed you yet; you should get at least one round's worth of actions before we need to roll initiative.

Also:
I forgot to mention experience for your last encounters.
240 XP for killing the ghouls.
240 XP for dealing with Gilbury -- he was ready to fight his way free if necessary and was planning on following you until you made camp and killing you in your sleep. You managed to avoid combat and convinced him you were tough enough to avoid messing with. Nicely done.
100 XP for Gyurt. Offering him supplies and letting him know that Joachim was concerned about him and his village gave him a much-needed bit of hope.

That's a total of 580 XP each.

[big teej]

Sohn moves to H11 and takes cover in the brush, drawing his morningstar.

[OOC: oh buggah, I'm at home and all my dice are back in my dorm :smallfrown: online rollers hate me, but oh well. here we go.

initiative: d20 + 0
die roll: 15

hide in the brush
hide check: d20 + 0
die roll: 14

oh goodie.
/OOC]

[Doombringer]

Ricroar looked to his allies and frowned "Seems we have a bit of company heading this way" He of course said that in a hushed whisper before quickly moving to prepare for any sort of attack. He quickly ran towards the underbrush and pulled his short sword waiting to spring if things called for that.


Rolls:
Initiative: 15+3 = 18
Die roll: 15

Move in the brush for concealment.
(J13)
Hide Roll: 17-3 = 14
Die Roll: 17

[Dementia]

Beattle stands up from the unconscious man and in a baffled tone of voice informs his companions, "no magic".

Beattle sighs at Ricroar's announcement. 'Can't anything be simple,' he thinks. Aloud he suggest, "Try not to kill the woman."

He slinks quietly forward, placing a large evergreen between himself and the party. He whispers "muy enfuego" with the corresponding twitch of his fingers. To the left of the advancing party a pale, humanoid shape glows in the dark shadows of another pine.

Hopefully, this will distract them and give us an advantage, Beattle muses.

Beattle moves to H-10. He casts 'dancing lights' at H-21.
If I need to roll for something, or have my distances off, just let me know!

[Rael_Orithen]

Edrik motions for his companions to stay silent, then draws his crossbow and kneels, aiming for one of the thugs.

Once he gets a shot off, he then moves toward the cover of the trees.


Initiative: [roll0]

Attack: [roll1]
Aiming for thug #2. should be a clear shot.
Damage: [roll2]

Move action to N-9

[arrowhen]

Alton, Sohn, and Ricroar hide in the bushes.

Hide check for AltonAlton Tu'neris makes a Hide skill check of 24

Edrik's crossbow bolt sails past Baldy's head, missing by a few inches. Engrossed in his argument with Sour Face, he just waves a hand by his ear as if shooing off a bug.

Beattle's dancing lights appears as a glowing vaguely humanoid shape in the bushes. The red-headed girl is the first to see it. She drops the rope, points at it with both hands, and starts shrieking at the top of her lungs. The young man starts laughing hysterically and the old man just stares at the ground.

Greasy jumps, startled by the red-head's screaming, and nearly drops his crossbow. Turning to see what she's pointing at, he nearly drops it again.

"What the hell is that?"

Sour Face (1) makes a Spellcraft skill check of 22 - Success!

"Magic!", Sour Face exclaims. "Illusion. We've got company!"

Baldy (2) makes a Spot skill check of 6
Sour Face (1) makes a Spot skill check of 4
Greasy (3) makes a Spot skill check of 13

"There! Behind the bush!" exclaims Greasy, raising his crossbow and aiming it in Beattle's direction...

Round 1 begins!

Initiative Order:
Lynwood Beattle 24
Baldy (2) 20
Ricroar Forgedawn 18
Sohn Riverheart 15
Greasy (3) 14
Sour Face (1) 14
Alton Tu'neris 11
Edrik Serpenthelm 10
Unarmed Cultists 4

Your Enemies:

Greasy and Sour Face:
AC 10, Touch 10, FF 10
Fort 0, Ref 0, Will +3

Baldy:
AC 15, Touch 10, FF 10
Fort +4, Reflex 0, Will 0

Unarmed Cultists:
AC 10, Touch 10, FF 10
Fort 0, Reflex 0, Will 0

Map

http://img197.imageshack.us/img197/1258/rpgoutdoorcultistencoun.png

& = Beattle's dancing lights.

Sigh... ignore the "G". It's a leftover from the previous ghoul encounter map and I'm too lazy to fix it right now.

[big teej]

[OOC: does the baddie ONLY see beattle?]

[Dementia]

Beattle curses at himself for the ruse not working and moves closer to the band.

"Afternoon!" he calls cheerily. "Could any of you provide a proper introduction to that fellow up in the manor?"

He raises his arms and summons the cold greenish fire of his magic missile.

[OOC: Beattle moves to H-13 and casts magic missile at Greasy(3). (Manual roll: 1d4+1=5) Whoot!]

[Doombringer]

Rolls:
On Baldy
[roll0]
[roll1]

"CHHHHARGE!!!!" Riroar knew they were spotted and cursed at least they had a drop on the enemy. He smirked seeing the bald one and Ricroar boldly brought his elven blade down in a massive thrust. He then raises his shield and prepares for oncoming attacks. "It seems your are bleeding sir." Ricroar had been hanging around the bard to long it seemed though his blade was covered in crimson to the hilt.

[big teej]

[OOC: you say that like its such a bad thing...:smallamused:
bards are highly corrupting, morally bankrupt individuals paragons of virtue and wit!

careful, who knows what unsavory habits traits of awesome you'll pick up with prolonged exposure]

[Rael_Orithen]

Remaining silent, Edrik spies some cover and makes for it so he can continue peppering the cultists with fire from his crossbow.


Move to M12 and aiming for #1.

attack: [roll0]

[arrowhen]

[Edit: nevermind. Stupid boards refuse to send me notifications for the threads I'm subscribed to, so I didn't realize there was discussion in the OOC. ]

[arrowhen]

Beattle's magic missile slams into Greasy, who grunts with pain and exclaims, "Ah, ye bastard!"

Baldy drops his crossbow and slips a small crystal vial from the sleeve of his robe. He gulps down the potion and suddenly begins to grow, doubling in height in a matter of seconds. The now-hulking brute steps in front of Sour Face and roars, in a gruff and unnaturally deep voice, "I am the Quencher's chosen! No fire can burn me! No blade can cut--"

He breaks off as Ricroar's savage thrust bites deep, bypassing the chain shirt beneath the cultist's robe. A puzzled look appears on Baldy's face as he looks down at the bloody wound.

"But..." His voice trails off into a deep animal growl of pain and rage as he reaches for the battle axe -- grown similarly massive -- tucked into his belt.

Greasy pulls a fist-sized stone from a pouch at his belt and hurls it over his gigantic companion's head, in the direction of Beattle and Alton.

[Ranged attack roll at square G13: 1d20-3 vs. AC 9 = 3. Miss. 1d8 to determine direction: 7]

The stone flies wide of its mark, landing about twenty feet to the west of Beattle. As the stone strikes the ground, a loud BANG! reverberates throughout the forest, causing birds to explode into startled flight from the nearby trees.

Sohn hides in the bushes.

Sour Face glares in Ricroar's direction and begins casting a spell, twisting her fingers into clawlike shapes and chanting unsettling arcane syllables.

Ricroar:

The woman's voice worms its way into your mind and you find yourself unable to look away from her terrible gaze. Her face seems to twist and distort into unnatural, nightmarish shapes as the icy chill of fear makes its way up your spine.

[Will Save (DC13): 1d20+0 = 13 - Success!]

The spirits of the great elven warriors of antiquity lend you their courage; though your every instinct compels you to run screaming in terror, you find the will to resist.

The experience leaves you shaken, however, giving you a -2 penalty on attack rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks for the next round.


Alton springs forward, slipping a dagger from its sheath and flicking it toward Sour Face.

Alton Tu'neris (Dagger) hits (11+2) AC 13 for 2 HP of damage.

Sour Face hisses in pain as the dagger buries itself in her side.

Edrik advances, taking cover in the tree branches and snapping off a shot at Sour Face which fails to strike home.

The red-headed girl stops screaming and begins to giggle delightedly, reaching out her arms toward Beattle's dancing lights and struggling through the bushes toward it, saying, "Pretty! Pretty!"

The young man babbles incoherently and the old man just keeps staring at the ground, seemingly oblivious to the battle raging around him.

Round 2 begins...


Initiative Order:
Lynwood Beattle 24
Baldy (2) 20
Ricroar Forgedawn 18
Sohn Riverheart 15
Greasy (3) 14
Sour Face (1) 14
Alton Tu'neris 11
Edrik Serpenthelm 10
Unarmed Cultists 4

Your Enemies:

Greasy and Sour Face:
AC 10, Touch 10, FF 10
Fort 0, Ref 0, Will +3

Baldy:
Baldy's AC has decreased due to being enlarged.
AC 12, Touch 9, FF 12
Fort +4, Reflex 0, Will 0

Unarmed Cultists:
AC 10, Touch 10, FF 10
Fort 0, Reflex 0, Will 0

Map

http://img135.imageshack.us/img135/1258/rpgoutdoorcultistencoun.png

Baldy now has a 10' reach due to being enlarged. Once he draws his axe on his turn he'll make an attack of opportunity against the first person to leave one of his threatened squares or perform a distracting act within his reach: enlarged battle axe, +3 melee (2d6 + 2/crit x3)

(Beattle, you won't need to worry about that since you go before him -- he can't make attacks of opportunity unarmed and he won't be able to draw his axe until after your turn.)

[Dementia]

Beattle gawks as the bald man in the robe grows eclipsing the other cultists from his diminutive view. He fumbles on his back for the small crossbow. Surely even he could hit such a large target. He steadies the quarrel and wipes a small bead of sweat from his eye.

[OOC: Attack roll: 1d20+3=8; and the halfling misses.]

[big teej]

"but Sohn, what possible use could you have for a crossbow? ye can't hit a blasted thing! he said. ugh... Sohn mutters to himself, thinking of the discussion he had with the armsmaster of his lord's keep before he left.

standing up from the bushes, Sohn moves arround to K11 and pulls out his harmonica, and begins to play....

he plays the tune to a common epic ballad known across the realms both for the greatness of the story, and the effect it tends to have on soldiers going off to war.

[OOC: inspire courage: + 1 morale bonus on saves against charm or fear effects, +1 on damage and attack rolls for as long as the bard plays, and 5 rounds after]


[OOC: the harmonica can be played in 1 hand, does this mean Sohn can draw his morningstar as well? (before he begins to play obviously), if he can, he does so, if not, well, then ignore this ]

[Rael_Orithen]

Frustrated with his crossbow constantly missing, Edrik drops it and grabs his mace. He lets his anger and frustration drive the strength of his attack as he rushes toward the large baldy and hits with all his might.


That's a lot of free actions, but have mercy :smallredface:
He's dropping the crossbow on the ground (as in not putting it away) and the mace is on his belt, so it's not that hard to grab....
Using my 1/day feat of strength for +1 on the attack, plus the +1 from the bard.

Moving to L-15.

attack: [roll0]
damage: [roll1]

[arrowhen]

According to Doombringer's profile he had to go in for emergency surgery. I'll take over his character until he's back on his feet.

New post tonight when I get home from work!

[arrowhen]

Heh, something came up. I'll be posting tomorrow night instead.

[arrowhen]

The string of Beattle's crossbow thrums as he fires in Baldy's direction. The bolt sails a good four feet over the giant's head. He's tall, Beattle, but not that tall.

Distracted by the failed attack, the bald behemoth is unable to dodge Edrik's furious attack. He howls in agony as the cleric's mace strikes home with bone-crushing force.

Baldy yanks the enormous battle-axe from his belt and lashes out in a sweeping upward blow at the nearest target -- Ricroar.

Baldy (2) (Large Battleaxe) hits (18+3) AC 21 for 8 HP of damage
Blood splashes bright in the early afternoon air as the axe bites deeply into Ricroar's side. The elf's face drains of color as he releases a low, pained grunt.

Greasy fixes his eyes on Edrik and utters a single word.

Edrik:
Your gazes lock. The scrawny, greasy-haired man's eyes are like two black pits leading down into an endless, lightless pit of madness and despair. The word he speaks seems to come from all directions at once, swirling around your head, seeping into your ears, and sloshing into your brain, filling it to overflowing with its simple, unavoidable meaning: "Flee!"

[Will save: Edrik Serpenthelm makes a Will save of 20 - Success!.]

For a brief instant, the command seems perfectly reasonable, but the temptation fades as quickly as it appears, leaving your mind as strong and resolute as ever.

Sour Face flings her arms out in a dramatic gesture, palms out, fingers pointing at the ground, her thin lips moving in a high pitched whisper. Tendrils of mist begin to curl up from the forest floor, wispy at first but thickening into a roiling mass of dense fog that obscures all vision.

From somewhere in the fog you hear her shout: "Hold them off! I have to warn the Master!"

Alton dives into the mist, disappearing from view. You hear a deep, bloodcurdling cry trailing into a groan, followed by the sound of something large and heavy slumping to the ground.

Sohn strikes up a tune on his harmonica, the martial tones filling your hearts with courage and vigor.

Indistinct sounds of struggle emerge from the thick mist, punctuated by a high-pitched wail of agony.


From farther off, the plaintive voice of the young woman asks, "Where's pretty?"

Round 3:

Initiative Order:
Lynwood Beattle 24
Baldy (2) 20
Ricroar Forgedawn 18
Sohn Riverheart 15
Greasy (3) 14
Sour Face (1) 14
Alton Tu'neris 11
Edrik Serpenthelm 10
Unarmed Cultists 4

Your Enemies:

Greasy and Sour Face:
AC 10, Touch 10, FF 10
Fort 0, Ref 0, Will +3

Baldy:
Baldy's AC has decreased due to being enlarged.
AC 12, Touch 9, FF 12
Fort +4, Reflex 0, Will 0

Unarmed Cultists:
AC 10, Touch 10, FF 10
Fort 0, Reflex 0, Will 0

Map
http://img138.imageshack.us/img138/1258/rpgoutdoorcultistencoun.png

The white squares are filled with misty vapor. The vapor obscures all sight, including darkvision, beyond 5 feet. A creature 5 feet away has concealment (attacks have a 20% miss chance). Creatures farther away have total concealment (50% miss chance, and the attacker cannot use sight to locate the target).

[Dementia]

[OOC: Um...did I miss something...you didn't have an action for Sohn the last round? Oh, wait...I think you might have written Alton when you meant to write Sohn.]

[big teej]

[OOC: Um...did I miss something...you didn't have an action for Sohn the last round? Oh, wait...I think you might have written Alton when you meant to write Sohn.]

[OOC: I second this observation :smalltongue: ]

[arrowhen]

[OOC: Fixed! Also, Sohn can draw his morningstar if he wants. Technically you need a BAB of +1 or higher in order to draw a weapon while moving, but that's a needlessly nit-picky rule that I always forget about. :D ]

[Dementia]

Beattle shakes his head, maybe half-lings weren't meant for this kind of work, with a sigh he lopes off towards the foray. He silently moves up to Edric and pokes him gently with his finger.

Beattle moves to K-14 and casts mage armor on Edric.

[big teej]

sohn continues to play, attempting to play louder in case the people within the mist can't hear him over the killing and the fighting and the screaming.

he also watches the mists carefully to see if someone leaves the mist

[OOC: if I see that woman bolting, I intend to chase her down]