AA's Kingmaker Part I: The Stolen Lands

[ApatheticAbacus]

Tireas, Viktor, and Zinovia together have the giant black insect on its last legs. It bleeds profuses, and smokes from the effects of Zinovia's magic missile. It manages to lash out in one final clacking of its jaws, before falling, dead. Both Tireas and Viktor manage to handily avoid the crunching of dying mandibles.

Ilya's bravado draws the ire of fate, and the bard's shots do not find their marks.

And Estanos' healing undoes the mites' assault upon Zinovia. The wizardess' gashes close nearly as soon as they have formed.

The remaining four mites make a frantic charge, drawing out sharp little swords and hatchets. In their desperation, two of the mites land vicious stabs on Estanos and Tireas.

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4 damage to Estanos. 5 damage to Tireas.

Round 3

Map

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[Oh My God]

The priest can't quite believe they actually stabbed him. Between their tiny size and their deranged behavior, Estanos had had a hard time not seeing the beasts as tragi-comic figures. Sad, of course, but absurd all at once. Clasping a hand over a vicious wound inflicted to his shin, he calls the attention of his goddess further to the field.

" The light preserves!"

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Channeling Positive Energy: (1d6)[5]

Estanos is one square to the left, as to deliver a CLW to Zinovia from the prior turn: The mites can almost certainly still reach him and attack, but the placement might open them up to more flanking.

[Leviathan]

Zinovia's firepower is at an and, and, by the scowl on her gaunt features, she knows this all too well. She sends a jet of ice shooting towards one of the mites, trying to drive them away from Estanos.

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Using ray of frost.
Attack on M7: (1d20-1)[2]
Damage: (1d3+1)[3]

[RocketMan]

"Blast it," Ilya mutters as his two shots again miss their marks and the mites begin to close. Stepping backwards, he tries again, hoping for more success.

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Attack 1 vs. M7 and 2 vs. M8.

Attack #1: (1d20+5)[11]
Damage #1: (1d6+1)[3]

Attack #2: (1d20+5)[23]
Damage #2: (1d6+1)[6]

[Winterfell]

Viktor rushes towards the nearest mite as the vermin falls, swinging at the blue creature with all his might.

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5 foot step and attack M6.

Attack roll: (1d20+8)[14]
Damage roll: (1d10+4)[8]

[Blisstake]

"How irritating."

Tireas, whose wounds are rapidly closing thanks to Estanos' magic, attacks the mite nearest to him, using his size advantage to its fullest.

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Hit: (1d20+6)[23]
Damage: (1d8+6)[14]

[ApatheticAbacus]

The party easily dispatches the last of the mites in a flurry of swordplay. Of special note is that one of Ilya's shots lands squarely between one mite's eyes.

Taking a better look at the room, you can see that it is piled high with "treasure, most of which is mere refuse and junk: animal bones, planks of wood, broken odds and ends. A rickety table held together with twine and covered in a filthy cloth stands in one corner. It is heaped with mounds of dirt and twigs and gravel, apparently arranged to form some sort of map. Sitting on its edge, weighing down a scrap of old paper, is a golden statuette of a crouching reptilian figure, muscular, with batlike wings jutting from his back. A burlap sack sits beside it on the table.

Mikmak, who has been hiding in the doorway, jumps with glee, racing into the room. He throws himself prostrate on the floor in front of the statue. "Old Sharptooth! Mikmak good servant! Not make scales turn yellow and fall off please!"

Estanos

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You probably had suspicions, but, looking at the statue, it matches the descriptions of no gods, demigods, or other divine beings that you'd learned of in your extensive religious training.

Zinovia

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The statue depicts a horned devil.

[Oh My God]

With a practiced awareness of tempo and timing, Estanos waits for exactly when Mikmak's expectation of some sort of divine sign or reaction has crested, and says," I think you can get up now, Mikmak. Old Sharptooth won't be answering you. That statue is no god."


A feeling of safety and determination fills the room as the hand of Sarenrae takes them all in her metaphorical palm. " That is what the presence of a real Power feels like, friend. The goddess I serve, Sarenrae. With whose grace your pain was stilled and injuries healed."

" I'm afraid your shaman has been misleading you, Mikmak.," Estanos says in a regretful tone. " But take heart! Though deceived by your shaman, Sarenrae accepts all that come to her with an open heart and hope for a better tomorrow. Sarenrae's strength is only equaled by her compassion."

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First, channeling positive energy (1d6)[2], then using Touch of Glory on myself, all to set up a diplomacy roll to try to convince Mikmak that Old Sharptooth isn't a god, and that Sarenrae might be a good alternative in this moment of spiritual crisis. Let the prelude to the mass conversion of a tribe of kobolds begin!

Taking a ten on the Diplomacy roll if I can, for a roll of 24. Otherwise, rolling.
Diplomacy: (1d20+14)[32]

[Blisstake]

"Plus, if that statue were a god, wouldn't he get angry for me doing this?"

Tireas walks to the devil statuette Mikmak is praying to and promptly kicks it on its side.

[Leviathan]

Zinovia chuckles at the display. "While I cannot speak one way or another to the feeling of a 'real Power,'" she says, her tone suggesting that she thinks little of such powers, "what the priest says is true. You kobolds have been worshipping the visage of a devil, and not even a particularly powerful one. And... let us see..." She weaves a quick spell over the statue.

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Detect magic!

[Winterfell]

The paladin stays silent, glowering at the statue as the others attempt to persuade the kobold of it's mundaneness. "Hmmm," he mutters quietly, thinking. "Perhaps the statue does contain a curse of some kind, albeit one of a less-than-divine nature."

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Detect Evil on the statue.

[ApatheticAbacus]

Viktor

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The statue radiates no evil aura.

Zinovia

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The statue radiates no magical aura.

Mikmak gapes openly at the notion that his shaman might be fooling him, scratching his scaly head in shock and confusion. His mouth churns for a moment. "You say," he begins slowly, "that Old Sharptooth not real god. You know real god who stop scales turn yellow and fall off? Mikmak like sound of this. Old Sharptooth mean god. Err, mean maybe-not-god. He make Sootscales fight, make many die." His eyes light up, and he jumps into the air in glee. "You take statue to Chief Sootscale, then smash it! Then they not afraid, not want to kill humans anymore!"

[Blisstake]

"Well that's good. It clears up the competition for those who want to kill humans for more practical reasons."

It's not entirely clear if Tireas is joking or not.

"So, then, I think we have our next task laid out clearly in front of us. We will escort Mikmak to his tribe, and clear up this nonsense. That should keep everyone happy, yes?"

[RocketMan]

"I quite agree," Ilya says jauntily, nodding at Tireas. "Mikmak, can you lead us back to your clan? Tribe? Despotic reptilian domain?"

[ApatheticAbacus]

The kobold nods his head. "Yes, yes, Mikmak can show you the way!"

_______________________

You emerge from the Old Sycamore to find that night has fallen over the Stolen Lands. The huge tree, atop its lonely hillock, has an excellent view of the surrounding countryside of rolling, boulder-strewn hills and faraway forests. The stars twinkle overhead in the clear sky, while the first of spring's crickets chirp in the grass.

A campfire is lit, crackling merrily, and you draw up some rocks and logs for stools and chairs. Mikmak gnaws away on some scraps of meat he's found as though he hasn't eaten in some time. Although, being a prisoner, that's likely.

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Time to RP, if you want it! Head off to bed when you're ready to explore some more.

Also, Mikmak can lead you straight to the Sootscale tribe's home. If you'd like to divert from your current route to do that, let me know.

[Blisstake]

Tireas helps set up the campfire, even though he has no use for it. Unable to feel the cold from the night, and perfectly comfortable seeing close distances in darkness, he never understood just how crippled humans are without light until recently.

With everyone set up for the night, Tireas bites down a few of the bland rations they picked up at Oleg's, and looks at his traveling company again. He has had plenty of time to study them in battle, but their behavior and personality are just as important to get a grasp of if he was going to get on their good sides.

Out of the four he was traveling with, 3 seem to have warmed up (or simply not cared) to the fact that Tireas has demon blood. Zinovia did not mind, as she is practical, Estanos was comfortable because he is compassionate (to almost a crippling level, in Tireas' opinion), and Ilya is just all around friendly to everyone. But then there's Viktor, who acts suspicious of the tiefling's motivations. Maybe that makes him the smartest after all, but Tireas wants to be on the the man's good side nontheless.

Seating himself right next to the paladin in question, Tireas comments in between bites of food. "You're quite the warrior, Viktor! Tell me, where did you learn such swordsmanship?"

[Leviathan]

Zinovia grimaces and lets out a low, hissing gasp as she eases herself to the ground, leaning her back on the old sycamore tree's gnarled trunk. She looks skyward at the firmament twinkling above her. It has been some time... Restful night seems as though it has held off for a century, instead of only a day.

She pulls her robes around her, and hefts a black fur blanket over her thin shoulders. She closes her eyes. The day has taken far more out of her than any other in recent memory. She feels thin, parched, bleached, drained of life.

Slowly, she reaches into her pack, drawing out a black leather case. With a click, she has it opened. It is filled with tiny glass bottles, corked, filled with herbs and liquids. And in a larger jar, wet with water, black worms writhe in their confinement.

With eyes glinting underneath the shadows cast by her hood, Zinovia uncorks the larger bottle. Drawing up one of her robe's wide sleeves to reveal bone-white skin, she plucks one of the creatures from the jar. Laying it against her wrist, she gasps as it bites into her, a trickle of deep red blood flowing out. Then she sighs, lying back as her body relaxes.

She looks at her companions, raising her other hand to draw back her hood. Underneath, her hair is as white as her skin. "I apologize for the unseemly nature of that," she says dully. "It is necessary, however." She then watches Tireas carefully as the tiefling addresses Viktor.

[Oh My God]

As they make camp, Estanos has a simple conversation with Marrin as the man brings their horses to the burgeoning fire. Common platitudes and observations on the weather is all that's shared, but it feels to the priest as though they'd been underground for ages and he relishes he chance to speak with the ex-bandit.

He also spends some time seeing to the comfort and well being of Mikmak, giving him a more thorough medical examination and giving the creature the necessaries to wash itself. Estanos also takes any opportunity offered to both continue Marrin's instruction in the mysteries of Sarenrae and to give Mikmak the full sales pitch; safety, comfort, strength and satisfaction.

Also, your scales stay on, guaranteed.

~~~

As Zinovia prepares and executes her interesting form of leeching, Estanos watches with the pointed interest of a healer in the company of some new malady. " No apologies are needed, friend. I do find myself curious, though. What imbalance in the kynes of the body are you trying to rectify with the worms?" is the question Estanos poses to her.

[RocketMan]

Ilya is not much use setting up the camp. While he helps out when directly requested, he mostly dawdles around, talking cheerily about whatever comes to mind. When the fire is blazing, he seats himself on a log, and then on a rock, and then on a different log before finally giving up his quest to find a comfortable seat. Squirming every so often, he eyes the rations with some suspicion before hunger finally gets the best of him.

"You know, this food, it isn't horrible," Ilya comments. "You should try some, Mikmak," he offers. "That might make your dining a little less revolting. And speaking of revolting..." he raises an eyebrow at Zinovia.

"Is it remotely likely that our collective aversion to this course of action will make you stop? Or at least postpone this until we're finished eating?" Ilya says.

[Leviathan]

"No," Zinovia replies, in a one-word answer to Ilya's request. "Look away if you wish, or eat somewhere else," she elaborates.

At Estanos' question, the wizardess looks uneasy. "It is a private matter," she says instinctually, closing up. But a second later she speaks again. "It... helps purge away the taint within." Truthfully, she does not know exactly what it is that the leeching washes away, but she will be damned if her companions know how little she understands.

[Winterfell]

Viktor stares stonily back at Tireas, the wheels in his brain churning almost visibly in an effort to come up with a convincing response. "I've worked all around," he says slowly. "Mercenary work - nothing too unsavory - but it does teach you how to use a blade quickly. And then, when I'd had enough of that for a lifetime, I joined the church," he says, pointing at his holy symbol as his story picks up momentum. "They train you too. And my current job seems to be keeping my blade sharp as well. How about yourself, de-... Tireas?"

[Blisstake]

"Self-taught, mostly," says Tireas, absentmidedly playing around with his katana. "It becomes quite necesary when people have a tendency to attack you on sight. Thankfully I have some... advantages that my human aggressors do not. Our daytime skirmishes now, are so unusual for me."

Looking at his weapon reflect the campfire light, he comments. "My blade is stolen from someone who wanted my head. I believe he called it a katana. He doesn't need it now, of course..."

[Oh My God]

" It is important to me that you know that I ask without judgement," the priests avows to the sorceress, " but only with concern for you, my friend."

" I cannot promise that this will be the last time I ask of your condition, but I do assure you I will do my best to honor the privacy you obviously wish to maintain." Estanos has taken out a book, and has begun sketching out a map on a blank sheet of paper, detailing the land they'd covered that day. He does this with easy, practiced crosshatches, the activity below his attention as he speaks. Thinking a change in topic might be called for, he asks, " Do you, perhaps, have any thoughts on the matter of this false god, Zinovia? What do you think this shaman hoped to gain from his ploy? "

[Leviathan]

"Power, perhaps," Zinovia says of the shaman's goals, giving only a curt nod to Estanos' prior statements. "That is what I would gain, were I in his place. Though what good power over pitiful little reptiles does is a question to which I do not have an answer. Or it could be that he believes it himself, and is not the root of the befuddlement."

[Oh My God]

" That's the part what confuses me, friend. If power were what he were after, then it would seem like t'would be best for him to venerate an -actual- deity, and gain its blessings thereby."

The priest shrugs.

[Blisstake]

"Because then they would still be under the regulations of their god. For those who want complete control of their subjects, why not be the voice and the god itself?"

Tireas flashes his sharp teeth with a wide smile, and adds, "I know that line of thinking doesn't come easy to you. But that's what Zinovia and I are here for, yes?"

[Winterfell]

"Hmmm," Viktor murmers, scowling as Tireas responds. He has no honor, that much is clear, yet I cannot question his skill in battle. Saying no more, the paladin gazes into the crackling flames for a moment. How has it come to travelling with such people? he thinks to himself. A sinister witch-woman - currently in the process of draining her own blood with vermin, good gods - and a demonspawned assassin. He shakes his head. How can this be the safest place for his prince?

[RocketMan]

"Yes," Ilya says with a yawn. "You can't exactly do anything you want if you're a worshipper of a real god. On the other hand, I'm willing to bet Old Sharptooth here, in his divine spirit of generosity, was quite content to let the shaman do whatever he wished," Ilya says in a bored voice, as if he had just explained something very simple to a very small child. He's tired from the long day, and the warmth of the fire and furs is doing very little to help the young man stay awake.

[ApatheticAbacus]

The night wears on, and soon you are asleep...

16 Gozran, 4708

The next morning brings with it renewed travelling. Merrin has readied the horses, nodding deferentially to Estanos, while seeming nervous around the rest of you. Mikmak babbles on, saying his thanks. The little kobold goes south, providing you the location of the Sootscale Tribe's home, though it takes some work to figure out where on your maps he means. He says that he will make sure his people know that you are not enemies.

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Sootscale Caverns are at F6 on your map.

Your first day of travelling sees you near the Thorn River, cutting across shrubby plains as your path finally leads towards the distant forests of the Greenbelt-proper. The riverbanks are steep and treacherous clay, which crumbles and erodes, gouging a path through the hills and plains. Fortune favours you, and you find a bridge - wood, poorly maintained, but functional - to ease your passage across the fast-flowing waters.

17 Gozran, 4708

The day sees a drizzle of rain fall steadily, slowly creating vast mud-puddles that ripple as they receive the falling drops upon their surfaces. The pitter-patter of the rain accompanies you as you near the vast forests of the western Greenbelt.

Trees grow up slowly, turning the rocky plains gradually into a verdant forest of pines and conifers, their needles glistening and dripping with beads of water, the remnants of the grey sky's downpour.

Ahead of you, along one of the forest's seldom-trodden paths, you spy a clearing. Its earth is turned to churning mud, slippery and slick with water from the raining sky. In the center, a large pine tree has fallen, its stump splintered, while the brown trunk and branches have fallen sideways, leaning over from it. Under the tree, an enormous boar roots around in the mud, snorting and pawing at the ground. Grey bristles line its back and face, and tusks as long as short swords jut from its mouth. It is sixty feet from where you stand at the edge of the clearing, and does not appear to have seen you yet.

[RocketMan]

"You don't suppose that this is the creature responsible for maiming that poor, illiterate hunter?" Ilya says casually, looking at the boar. "It certainly seems large enough that it might have - I don't fancy he had much chance against those tusks. Shall we, then?" he asks, raising his eyebrows and knocking back an arrow as he waits for his companions to respond.