Eberron Adventures

[Asmodeus]

Wrench

Wrench looks longingly at the handy haversack for a moment. He wishes he had time to study it, but it appears there is none.

Looking to Cecil, he gives a nod, showing he is ready for the journey ahead.

[Citizen Joe]

Butch

Butch nearly swoons at the demonstration of the wonder packs. He touches one lightly, as if expecting it to vanish. When the large Orien scion enters, Butch snaps out of his stupor. "Umm... one moment, let me get these loaded."

Addressing the quartermaster, "I'm going to trust you with my saddle... and our pack saddle, since I don't think we'll need it now." He sets his saddle next to the pack saddle.

"OK, one tent in each pack, then we'll ration out the firewood like so." Butch ties some bundles of wood, presumably in night long bundles, and then loads six bundles into each pack, marveling at the capacity all the while. "Now, top it off with rations to capacity." Loading rations into the wonderpacks, he gives out more advice, "When we hit the trail, everyone carries a day's worth of rations and water, just in case we get separated. Blankets, bedrolls and other gear will go into the extra packs. As we use up our supplies, we'll shift the weight into the wonderpacks. "

Spoiler

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1 day of firewood weighs 20 lbs, I figure we only need the fire for the night (8 hours) so 3 'nights' worth weigh 20 lbs. 6 'nights' of firewood in each haversack.
Tent weighs 20 lbs each.
top off with 20 lbs of rations
I'm assuming the side pockets are full
1 day's rations is 1 lb
1 day's water is two waterskins, 8 lbs total.

As an afterthought he adds, "Do we have enough sunrods? I'd like to see a collective dozen or so. I have two."

[Slash_712]

Threshkor

Looking rather upset, he says....
"I am sorry lads, but as a humble cleric, I tend to only carry what I deem essential to my survival and I have very little to offer in the way of traveling gear."

[Asmodeus]

Wrench

"No worries, Threshkor. Butch here tends to take care of all the provisions we need for survival. You just need to make sure you have any specialized supplies taken care of."

[Citizen Joe]

Butch

Butch pats Threshkor on the shoulder.

"The Host will provide." He says with a smile. "We all have roles in this group, my friend. One of mine is to make sure Mr. Cecil stays alive. That includes staving off starvation and the perils of nature, not just bandits. If you do nothing else but provide us with water, you would have done your duty."

Butch starts going through a mental checklist. "Ok, food check... water check... housing check... bedding... Everyone got a bedroll and winter blanket? If not get one now. I suspect it will be cold in the mountains. Firewood check... light... Let's get three more sunrods, that will be at least one emergency light source for each of us. Climbing gear check... healing check..."

He nods assertively and then continues...

"OK basic travel supplies are good. Mission specifics... Do we have a means of tracking down our objective? Smoke signals? Bright lights? Whistles? Once we have the package we need to move fast back to safety, that means dumping excess weight. Our point of no return is three days of supplies at the base of the mountain. Anything beyond that is dead weight."

[Slash_712]

Threshkor

He smiles as Butch convinces him that just him being there is a help to the group.
"Thank you, Butch. I was just worried that I would come off a bit, well worthless, but I am glad that I can be of help."

[Citizen Joe]

Butch

Butch verifies that everyone has a winter blanket and bedroll, then loads them into one of the canvas packs. He loads one of the buckets into the bottom of a canvas pack then adds what is left of his coil of hemp rope. His quivers are loaded in next, strapping his shovel to the side. He loads the five sunrods, his honing stone and tinderbox into his pouch.

Satisfied, he dons his chainmail, and attaches his pouch, sickle and flail to his belt. Hooking one canvas pack on each end of his scythe, he hoists it onto his shoulder. Then he grabs up his bow in his free hand. The reason for the pack saddle becomes much more obvious.

"OK. Mr. Threshkor, you and Wrench will handle the wonderpacks. Let's move." He looks a bit rediculous with all the gear draped from his body, but seems to handle the weight easily.

[Bigmac]

Seeing that everyone is indeed ready to depart, the large man speaks up. "Alright, everyone gather round." He extends his massive arms, sweaty palms up. "Form a circle, and make sure that everyone holds hands. Everyone who is travelling must be in contact with me." When the circle is formed the man looks each member in the eye in turn. He then closes his eyes.

Everything Goes Black.

The world disappearing is sudden and complete. One moment you are standing in the middle of the supply depot in Orcbone and the next....nothing. Not only can you not see anything, but you can't feel anything either. It is a complete lack of any sensation. The emptiness of it makes it feel like time is standing still.

The world bursts back into existence in a jarring manner, overwhelming your senses all at once. You see the Orien trade road stretching in both directions. You feel the rain pouring down on your head and seeping into your clothes. You hear the crack of thunder in the distance. You smell the fresh smell of a spring rain.

Your transporter shakes the water off his head before motioning for Cecil to come closer. He leans in and whispers something in Cecil's ear before taking a step back. "The way station is just up the road. I'll be taking my leave before I catch a cold." The man closes his eyes again and disappears from view, leaving the group by itself in the road.

The way station is just up the road, and it has a covered shelter that you gather under when you arrive. There are two other individuals at the way station when you arrive. One is a young man with sandy blond hair and a pale complexion who is obviously the care taker of this stop. The other person is the one who attracts your attention.

He is a man of average height and average build, of perhaps twenty or so summers. His face is clean shaven save for a small goatee, which is waxed and well-trimmed to a smart point. By contrast, his head is covered with a thick mass of barely shoulder-length black hair which yields the impression he's just awakened after a restless night in a barn. It's difficult to miss his casual demeanor, standing with one grey-booted foot forward, crossed over the other, and all his weight on the straight leg as he leans against a stall. One hand rests idly upon the silvered endcap of a dagger stationed at his belt, the thin tips of a few wands peeking out the other side from beneath his heavy, mottled brown and dull green cloak. Beneath his cloak also lurks the glint of mail armor over a deep blue tunic, and the telltale t-shape of a light crossbow far back on his hip. Below the lightly-cinched metal hem of his chain shirt he wears loose, black trousers that tuck neatly into his boot-tops. Even further down, upon the ground, lies a worn leather pack that almost appears to have been discarded there, but must belong to him.

Of finer detail, you note his hands are ungloved, and clearly not those of a laborer, with nails somewhat long for a typical male, trimmed to points and those on the index fingers painted black. While bare, his right hand is heavily tattooed in a swirling geometric pattern that fades from grey and black just above the wrist (though it is likely the design extends farther up the arm, out of sight), with the grey gaining to dull red as the pattern reaches his knuckles. All four fingers of that hand bear plain silver rings, and a silver earring in the shape of a bat with red crystalline eyes hangs from one ear. From his neck depends what appears to be a small dragonshard, translucent red with crimson swirls within, attached by a silver cap to a silver chain.

He regards you idly with wide, slightly almond-shaped reddish-brown eyes that speak of mischief and a free soul. They bear a faint air of determination which is soundly denied by his decidedly jaunty, devil-may-care stance.

As you study him, the stable owner approaches you and asks, "Can I help you good folks?"

[Citizen Joe]

Butch

Butch staggered from the unexpected change of location, nearly losing his breakfast. Grumbling something almost inaudible in a guttural language from the back of the group, he seems quite miserable. Once under shelter, he slides the packs off his scythe and sets them on the ground. Wiping his scythe clean, he then turns his attention to his arrows, making sure the quivers are drained.

[MandibleBones]

Cecil

"Cecil d'Orien and company, looking for a short-" he looks at Butch pointedly, though not without a glimmer of amusement in his eyes "stop before we head into the mountains." He raises his sleeve, where his own tiny dragonmark twists around his forearm. "And we'd be greatful for the hospitality of this stop. Additionally, master Butch, our quartermaster, is most interested in the current pass conditions."

[Citizen Joe]

Butch

Butch looks up with a scowl and then nods curtly to Cecil. "Indeed. We killed a great bear the other day and I expect there's better hunting in the mountains. But, what with this rain, I'm thinking the tracks will be gone. Any chance one of you knows where we could get some horses and some hunting dogs?"

[MandibleBones]

Cecil

"Yes," Cecil pipes in. "I'm told this area has the best horses this side of Kytrogul, if you know how to ask." He looks directly at the blond man.

[Slash_712]

Threshkor

At the mention of hunting, Threshkor starts to grimace and wonders if he can muster himself to kill an innocent being for his food.
"Would it be ok, if I just stayed here and looked after our goods?" He says looking a little sick.

[Citizen Joe]

Butch

"Sir. Brother Threshkor is right. We should find some lodgings for the night and wait out the storm. We can head out at first light."

[Bigmac]

At the mention of the work Kytrogul, the blond haired man perks up. "Why yes, I have some horses that you can use, although I don't have any hunting dogs. At least of the four legged variety. As far as the mountain's creatures are concerned, most of them are quiet at the moment; probably weathering out the storm. You all are welcome to stay here as long as you need. The stables may smell and not be the most quiet place, but it is dry. Is there anything else I might be able to assist you with? If not I have some animals to tend to."

[Velvet Elvis]

Caskin

At Cecil's remark, the relaxed man pushes himself away from the wood of the stall's wall. He'd been eyeing Cecil surreptitiously since the quartet arrived, but only now bothered to speak, "Ahh, you know of Kytrogul, do you? Fine wines to be had there. The women...well, they're not as sweet. But that's not worthy of chatting about. Might I suggest that rather than standing out there getting drenched you come inside, as your fellow suggests, and have something to eat? Perhaps we can talk of more of Kytrogul, and perhaps certain other things?" His voice was fairly deep, and his manner of speech was decidedly easy-mannered.

Then he turns to the stablemaster and says, "Come now, Danyel, don't make them hide in the stables. You may be used to the stench in there, but they might pass out and miss an important opportunity. Or something." He turns to the four of you and jerks a thumb over his shoulder, adding, "You can dry out in the common room. It's small and unbecoming, but better than the stable. A bit."

With practiced unconcern, the man snatches up his pack, rubs it lightly against the wooden boards of the stall, dislogding a few clods of dirt that had adhered to it, and begins heading off to the door indicated earlier by his thumb. He'd been standing under an overhang that runs from the edge of the stable to the common room door, so unlike yourselves, he's remained entirely dry.

As he walks, he calls out without turning his head, "Weather's going to get worse before it gets better, so I've been informed. Your horses will be ready when you are, right, Danyel?" The question felt rhetorical.

The stablemaster smirks slightly, quickly disappearing into the deeper parts of the stable.

[Citizen Joe]

Butch

Butch eyes the man suspiciously as he turn away. Hooking the two canvas packs on the shaft of his scythe, he hoists them on to his shoulder and follows closely behind the man. "So, Kytrogul, eh? Have you seen Miss Tajar?"

[MandibleBones]

Cecil

Cecil ushers the party inside, though he nods at Threshkor's request to remain outside. "I'll say this," he says quietly, "I'm not against getting out of this weather while we make plans, but unless it gets worse, and soon, we'd best be heading on our way as soon as possible." He looks outside. "As it stands, it's good Brelish weather, and no mistake!"

[Asmodeus]

Wrench

Not having much to add at this particular point, Wrench just trudges along behind the group. The rain doesn't bother him so much, although he does prefer to avoid it when possible.

He'll follow Cecil inside and wait for someone to determine whether they are leaving again immediately, or waiting for the storm to blow over.

[Velvet Elvis]

Caskin

The black-haired man chuckles at Butch's question, but doesn't actually respond. A step later, he reaches out to open the door to the common room, allowing himself to enter first.

Stepping inside, he picks a table and drops his pack atop one adjacent to it, and within arm's reach. The place is small and slightly cramped, but at least respite from the rain. It seems devoid of life, at the moment.

He drops himself unceremoniously into a chair, and invites the first of you over with a lazy wave.

"Cassa! Where are you? You have customers, and I'll bet they're almost as hungry as I am," he calls out into the dead air. When there is no immediate response he shrugs, and says, "She'll be around in a bit. Good cook, I'm glad to say, but not always on the spot when visitors show up."

[Citizen Joe]

Butch

Butch leans his scythe and bow against the wall next to the door as everyone enters and then takes a good look at Cecil. "Sir, you're going to catch your death if you don't dry off soon." He starts to fuss over Cecil, brushing off stray water and leaning over his shoulder. "Sir, I'm not yet ready to trust this man. Don't give away any of our plans unless he confirms his identity." he whispers quickly. "You'd be soaked to the bone if you spent much more time out there, sir."

Satisfied with Cecil's condition, he gathers up his gear and brings it to another table. Leaning against a table, Butch tends to his scythe, drying it thoroughly and honing the edge, all the while eyeing Caskin warily.

"So, are you from around these parts, mister?" he asks idly, running his stone along the edge of his scythe.

[Velvet Elvis]

Caskin

He was checking a fingernail for...something...when Butch's question was asked. Casually lifting a foot to the seat of an empty chair, he says, "You could say that, I suppose. I've been on a rather long jaunt in this region, so I've become fairly familiar with it." He left it at that but his eyes continued to watch for a few moments as if waiting for an immediate return comment.

Instead, he adds, "As long as we're all here and Cassa's off doing who knows what instead of tending to us, we might as well dispense with the prodding and suspicious glances, and get down to business. Frankly, though, I'm more interested in getting this sort of thing out of the way quickly, so I can relax." He motioned in your general direction. "Have a seat."

It does seem fairly obvious the man isn't a particularly formal sort.

[MandibleBones]

Cecil

Cecil waves Butch off, clearly embarrassed, though a quick meeting of eyes lets Butch know the old soldier has heard and understood him.

[Citizen Joe]

Butch

Butch raises an eyebrow quizically. "Very well, mister. We are a band of adventurers..." Butch almost gags on that word as he makes a face like he swallowed a bug. Coughing lightly, he continues, "Our duties largely consist of aiding Mr. Cecil in his tasks for the House Orien. We are planning to head into the Graywalls for some exploration."

He whirls his scythe about pointing the tip in Caskin's direction, "What about you, Sir? Who are you? And what is this business you speak of?"

[Velvet Elvis]

Caskin

Caskin was far enough away from the door and those who remained standing near it not to become alarmed at the fighter's intended intimidation, and so he remained relaxed at first, a faint smile forming on his lips. Silence chilled the room for a moment, then he spoke, looking away from Butch to focus upon Cecil.

Without bothering to stand, he clears his throat, and says, "On behalf of House Tharashk, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. House Tharashk is always interested in fostering a close association with the noble House Orien." There was no mistaking that the words were scripted, and that the man giving voice to them felt obligated to recite them--albeit expected done in a far more sincere manner. However, what might be taken for sarcasm seemed more like a strong reluctance at the formality.

He reaches toward the next table and flips open his pack, as he does he says, "Now don't go getting all bent out of shape, I'm just getting some more of your answer." From out of the bag, he draws a small sheaf of papers that had apparently been rolled, folded, and refolded many times in the past. With a smooth stroke, he peels off the top sheet and tosses it onto the table he'd invited the others to sit at. The page half-floats, half-slides across the surface toward Cecil and Butch, to hang partway off the edge. Even from several feet away, and despite its distressed condition, it was easy enough to recognize it as little more than a standard identification document. The text is too small to read from where you stand, but the formal seal of House Tharashk is visible as a muted watermark covering the entire page, and the mark of House Sivis boldly consumes the bottom quarter.

Tossing the remainder of the sheaf back into his bag, he looks up to Cecil and says, "Go ahead; have a look. Then maybe you'll at least have a seat so we can discuss the rest. This doesn't need to be so tense." A brief glance to Butch's scythe elicits a minor addenda, "Careful with that. Someone could get hurt."

[Citizen Joe]

Butch

Butch scans the identification for a name, and although he's clearly uncomfortable having not thoroughly read the entire document, he looks up and starts speaking in that same guttural language, "GuRAK no gau Tharashk Caskin... KaRUMMFna og mach do galifar barOT ong TOR. Crach mach Tajar kachmaLA koTAG?"

Check spoiler if you can speak orcish

Spoiler

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So you're Caskin of Tharashk... I assume then that the galifars bought the silence of your tongue. How much longer does Miss Tajar have your lips sealed?

[Asmodeus]

Wrench

Wrench takes a seat, and draws out an inkpen, which he tends to fiddle with in his hands while this talk goes on.

Spoiler

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Casting an Infusion (Spell Storing Item)on the inkpen, to turn it into a wand of Speak with Animals, with a single charge.
Uses 1 XP.
UMD - (1d20+8)[28] DC 23
Edit: Success! Finally!

[Velvet Elvis]

Caskin

Caskin replied likewise, "<orcish gibberish for the less linguistically inclined>?"

for those who speak orcish

Spoiler

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"Aye to the first part, just as it says. To the rest I ask, whatever are you talking about?"

To the Grey, he asks, "So, are you going to confirm my identity or have you delegated such responsibility to your bodyguard?"

He stifles a weak yawn before folding both hands across his belly. He now has both legs outstretched across the adjacent seat and almost appears to be working his way into a position adequate for a nap. To be fair, he does appear somewhat haggard.

[MandibleBones]

Cecil

Cecil gives the papers a glance. Assuming they are in order, he looks up and nods. "What's your plan, then, Caskin?" he asks warmly. "You'd be better off at finding things than we are, or so this says."

[Velvet Elvis]

Caskin

His papers are, indeed, in order, if a bit crumpled here and there.

"If you consider the specialty of my House, you'll understand that, yes, I'm likely to be more adept at finding things than most. However, to be honest, I've pretty much been conscripted into this due to my location at the time someone was needed for this task." He draws a pointed black fingernail across his chin, and glances beyond the counter, apparently wondering why Cassa still hasn't arrived.

"Let's put it this way: the interests of House Tharashk in this are mostly political. A better association with Lyrandar is considered a good thing. I imagine that might not sit well with you, but past water under the bridge is certainly not my doing. Anyway, my personal interest in this is simpler. I'm curious to see what's up there in the Graywalls; never been there, though I've wandered all through this area. Never liked the effort of climbing, truth be told, but I've since learned to get around that." He pauses and seems to be trying to recall something more.

"Nope, there's really not a lot else to say on that. However, I did forget one thing I'm sure you'll be interested in. My physical orders are scheduled to arrive sometime shortly after dawn via special messenger. Assuming they're drawn up properly, you'll find I'm to be attached to your team for this recovery mission and that I am to work with you, not for you." He waves his hand as if swatting a very slow fly from his face. "A joint mission, and all that sort of thing. No worries, though. I figure someone with plenty of decorations has sponsored you, so I'll save myself the concern and assume you and your troupe are all well chosen."

He reaches a hand out, palm up. Seems he'd like his identification papers back.