Ansalonian Adventures IC II

[Ninja_Prawn]

It's certainly a pleasant change of pace to find something other than complete decay in this dungeon. I'm curious about who the dead bodies are. The three in the corners look like they died here - so I wonder what happened. It's probably too late to find out for sure, but my first action is to look for an inscription or epitaph for the man on the bier. Is there anything to be found?

I am assuming that most or all of the surviving objects are enchanted, so I mentally prepare myself to identify them, though I'd prefer to take them out of the cave first, so that we don't have to spend any more time down here than we have to. Besides, as far as I'm concerned, these items belong to Carmine right now, so we'll need to bring them into the light anyway.

[Gorgon_Heap]

There is nothing - except in the horn. Sorawyl finds a skin parchment well preserved. She can't make out the writing; she's never seen the like.

[Ninja_Prawn]

I make a mental note to use comprehend languages on that later, as well.

"It makes you wonder, no? I do not think the three in the corners intended to die here. What happened to make them barricade themselves inside? Were they related to this other man? Did anyone before us know they were in here?

Well, I feel we should bring anything of value back to the house. And Carmine will want to know there are skeletons in his basement. What do you think?"

As it goes, I'm considering that rusty plate to be 'valuable', in addition to the better-conditioned items. A smelter should be able to recover most of the metal, and steel is not cheap.

[JadedDM]

Jason looks around the room, particularly at the sword and armor. "But one thing I don't get. What was causing the wildlife to go wild and those skeletons to animate? Could it have had something to do with that shrine?"

[Gorgon_Heap]

You scrounge around, looking under fetid cloth and bone, scattering musty old items on shelves, rooting for clues through what these people have had no use for in many, many years. Under an oiled skin locked under a bottom shelf, you find a rack full of tiny clay jars, some broken but many intact, holding a viscous liquid. The man with furs is found atop a dusty but otherwise spotless mace of simple design. The group had several pieces of jewelry, but most of it is useless, except the woman’s bony hand bore a thick ring carved from a single piece of onyx. Eventually, you rest, gather everything together, and make the long dark trek back to the cave mouth. The cold and snow outside are a shock, but within two hours you're back at Carmine's and hear his proposal over fruit, fresh bread, and hot tarbean tea.

It takes you several days to move your findings to safety (Sorawyl’s is the logical choice – nobody else has a permanent residence let along one guarded by wizards). You have the following:

Spoiler: Findings

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*Mirror (steel plate – good idea taking this!) which you can sell to a local smith for 800 stl

*Starmetal chainmail (adamantine)

*Magical longsword (+1)

*Enchanted mace (Beacon property, no bonus)

*Potions of healing (20!)

*Ring of Protection

*Stole of Shielding (Minor Item; Cast Shield of Faith on self only, no concentration needed. Recharges after a long rest if the character prays to a god of good).

Lastly, you begin to get an idea of the historical value of the find when Sorawyl translates the letter …

Spoiler: Letter written in an ancient Ergothian dialect

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We are besieged, and there is no hope of escape. The keep above us, my home these last eleven years, is sundered. My architect had assured me it copied similar designs he’d seen in the south; great towering bastions unassailable by those who see our mighty walls as follies reflective of our former masters, the ogres.

Chief Bristak, himself now long dead, had warned me this fate was inevitable. Walls and towers are proving strong enough to keep the wretched ogres at bay, but our own people are far more clever. If some of us have learned to build walls, why would others not learn to bring them down?

Two months we have been locked inside, the mountain crawling with our distant cousins who wait with spear and bow. Food was already spare as the winter was only just lifting, and they struck our foragers mercilessly. One in five of us were dead within a week. Then they assailed us with diseased carcasses, flung via bent trees from our own mountainside. Consumption took many more, and my wife, Evela, despairs. Our eldest sons were among the first to die when our counterattack was overwhelmed. Now they are using horses to drive trees and rocks against the walls. It’s been days, and my reason is leaving me, from fear, loss, and lack of rest.

My friend and priest, Miconter, does as he can to keep us fed and healthy as Draco Paladin allows, but the strength of man is not the strength of gods. I wonder now if my brothers in the Ecko-shen tribe think I see myself as their king? That I built this fortress to intimidate and rule them? Do they not recall that my father and grandfather both died on the mountain’s edge, searching for food and water? I would only give my own family and friends a security we hadn’t known before! How did they not understand?

Will they ever understand?

[JadedDM]

Three days later, at the Goose and Gander, Jason steps out of his room, wearing his normal street clothes. Despite the harrowing ordeal of his time in that dank, accursed cavern, the end rewards had made the whole endeavor fairly worth it. The shining, beautiful starmetal armor, the enchanted blade and mace, and of course, the large quantities of coin have more than made up for it, in his mind.

Now if he could just escape the cruel clutches of the city, he'd be on his way to feeling a lot better about things.

He is not surprised to find the others waiting for him in the common room. They had previously decided to meet up to discuss their next move. The regular patrons of the Dory had started to get used to a wolf being around, at least.

"Morning," Jason says as he takes a seat at their table. After three days of rest, he seemed in slightly higher spirits and his injuries and fatigue had been all but healed completely. "Any news?"

[Ninja_Prawn]

I greet Jason, pleased to see him looking well. There's not a lot of news from me; I have mostly been working on the letter and my spellbook.

"Well, I have translated the writing on that parchment." I proceed to explain... "The people in that cave lived in the Age of Dreams, within living memory of the time when humans were enslaved by ogres. The caves used to be a castle, perhaps one of the first of its kind in this region, and there must have been a civil war. The castle was besieged, and the defenders died of disease and starvation. Perhaps their pain and anger is what animated their bodies in undeath.

Besides that, lady Swift has invited me to a ball. It has been so long since I last showed my face at one of those events, people must be thinking I died on one of our adventures! I trust you are all recovering well?"

Spoiler: OOC

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During the three day gap, Sora has spent 150gp to copy Tasha's hideous laughter and invisibility into her spellbook. She is wearing her russet mage robes again, but every speck of the blood and grime they picked up in the caves is gone (she learned prestidigitation with the level up to 4).

[Majin]

"Oh... That sounds very sad", Darrik says solemnly."I hope they can at least rest now. That could have caused the beasts to act so oddly. Maybe I should talk to some clerics about blessing the place..."

I was kinda worried some of that bad energy might have rubbed on Devil, but I think the only things he got from that nasty place was a few scrapes and a foul smell."

Getting the smell out of Devil's fur had been an ordeal in itself, and it had taken several baths until Devil only smelled of a wet canine. And after the tussling, so had Darrik.

"Umm, I don't really know about balls, but if they aren't expecting you, then that means you hold the advantage, right?" Darrik says hesitantly. He wasn't certain the principles of stalking and hunting applied to high-society, though based on what he'd heard, the nobility could be rather predatory.

"But speaking of adventures..." Darrik takes a small mechanical object out of his pouch and starts fiddling with it, without producing an effect. "... I'm not sure how much I've told you about this thingy, but I showed it to a gnome in the city a while back. He didn't know what's it supposed to do either. I'm really starting to get curious, I have feeling it should do something interesting! Anyway, I'm think I got this from a bar called Steward's Last Cask. In Caergoth. Soo... Anyone interested in traveling? I'm sure it would be really fun! This time we wouldn't have a grumpy dwarf ordering us to do stuff at least."

[JadedDM]

"Dang, the Age of Dreams," Jason muses. "Even built into the mountain like that, it's sort of amazing that place is even still standing. It must be even older than Solamnia itself! Gervaise must have been pretty pleased to be sitting on such a historical site."

When Darrik presents the object, Jason reaches for it out of curiosity, but quickly jerks his hand back and cradles it to his chest when the word 'gnome' is mentioned, as if afraid it might suddenly explode. Chucking nervously, he says, "Caergoth, huh? I've been there before. Not recently, mind, but...I know the city, if you're looking for a guide." He sighs. "I've got nothing going on here. Can't get any work at all. Getting out of the city would be good for me, even if it is another Solamnic city."

He adds, "You all heard about Tarina? Something about her returning home to her family. I didn't get the details, though. Some kind of emergency? Hope she's alright."

[Gorgon_Heap]

Once Sorawyl identifies the proper people at the University of Palanthas to approach with the letter and gives them time to corroborate her findings (non-magically, which takes days) they are astonished and awe-struck. Though it requires much [i]much[/i[ further study, they initially agree the fort and message is from the Age of Dreams, dating maybe three thousand years old, as it references only a few generations from the freedom of ogre slavery, unsettled disputes between those who keep with nomadic ways and those who wish to settle down, and mention of more standard fortifications to the south, where geography, availability of materials, and retained knowledge of ogre construction led to more uniform construction.

It is, they say, a find of amazing historic import the likes of which they've never seen. Carmine Gervaise will certainly benefit from the discovery for years, as countless historians and architects, and philosophers and priests will no doubt wish access.

Your names, unsurprisingly, are of little consequence (though if you care, they do become footnotes in works to be written) and your recitations of the condition of the place become ripe for debate.



OOC: If you have any interest in this, you can actually participate or ask. It is otherwise a matter of academia.

[Ninja_Prawn]

He adds, "You all heard about Tarina? Something about her returning home to her family. I didn't get the details, though. Some kind of emergency? Hope she's alright."

"I believe one of her relatives has passed away and they need her help on the farm. She will be fine, I am sure, and safer there than travelling with us."

"How are your new weapons working out, Jason?" I bring out the proceeds from the sale of the mirror ((I assume you can get 100stl tokens or something to make that feasible)), 800 steel in total. "I sold that mirror we found as well; I thought we should split the proceeds between the four of us who went into the caves."

[JadedDM]

"That's a shame," Jason notes. "I didn't even know her family had a farm. Hmm, guess I really didn't know much about her at all. I'll make sure to say some prayers for her family, although I'm sure Mishakal's already looking out for her."

He adds, "The weapons are great, and so is the armor. I haven't had a chance to really test them out yet. Not in a real fight, anyway."

[Majin]

"Yeah, I'm sure Tarina will be just alright."

"Well, cash could certainly be useful now, if we're going traveling." Darrik, fidgeting with his new scarf, frowns. Oh, that reminds me. The dwarf, uh, Borrik. He died a really long way from his home, and I'm sure his family would wanna bury him. I'm not sure if that Gervaise fellow really cared much about him... So I think we could do it. I mean, if we're going to Caergoth anyway, the Garnet mountains are just a stone's throw away. I just hope the corpse won't be too smelly..."

[JadedDM]

"Plus, we sort of agreed to transport to body when we accepted the treasure from the caves," Jason notes. "But the Garnet Mountains is almost two hundred miles away, as the kingfisher flies. Whether we go by sea or on foot, we'll need some way to keep the body from decomposing. Is there some kind of magic we can employ for that?"

[Ninja_Prawn]

"Is there some kind of magic we can employ for that?"

"Yes, but it is clerical magic. Tarina could have cast a spell like that; I cannot. Perhaps there is another way - an enchanted casket or magical embalming oil - I could keep the body on ice here and look for a solution while you travel to Caergoth. Then we could meet again in the Garnet Mountains."

[JadedDM]

"So we finish our business in Caergoth, then return here to meet you?" asks Jason. "Or do you mean you'll take the body to the Garnet Mountains yourself, and we'll meet you there? Traveling all that way by yourself, while transporting a body, could be difficult."

[Ninja_Prawn]

"I suppose it would pose some challenges," I reply, projecting confidence that I could overcome such challenges, "but would it be any easier for you? What would you do with poor Borrik while you search for gnomes in Caergoth?

Well, whether you take him with you or not, I mean to travel out to meet you in the spring. I shall be occupied with my own business until then, but I do want to see Garnet-Thax. I have heard it is quite a marvelous city - and a large one. In fact, perhaps we should speak to someone who knows their way around it before you set sail? That way we can arrange a meeting-place beforehand. I am having visions of wandering around endless warrens looking for the two of you..."

[Majin]

"Well, he's not getting any deader, so we aren't really in a hurry... We can get a cart or something so he'll be easier to lug around, and I bet he won't that expensive to take on a ship. And his family's not expecting us because they don't know that he's... dead." Darrik wonders what kind of reaction they'll get, when they show up on the doorstep with a corpse. This did bring his mood down a bit. "Uh, I just realized we'll probably have to break them the bad news..."

Darrik forces the grim thoughts away. "Yes, yes! I bet the city will be really nice, even if we'll be traveling with a skeleton! I bet there's a famous tavern or dozen there, we'll find out a name and meet there, once you're done, uh, balling, and we've found the gnome."

[Gorgon_Heap]

New ventures



For her part, Sorawyl dives into her studies as she’s never done before, resolving to use this time to prepare for her inevitable Test; Jessup is at home and perfectly willing to allow her access to more complicated works and research in exchange for her closer mentorship of young Juliet and Elwood, with whom she has finally built a rapport.

Within weeks she receives a reply from Sir Cantroy Wheelright exhibiting his heartfelt gratitude for the opportunity to accompany her to the royal ball, and promises he will endeavor to repay her thoughtfulness for as long as it takes.

Weekly meals with Tamarinda are amusing and educational (feel free to explore IC if you like), as she finds her work frustrating and the city too cold and its people too arrogant – it’s daring to darken her overall mood significantly.

***

You decide on a meeting location in Garnet-Thax, and though the timing is almost certainly not going to work out (Sorawyl having to wait months to come through the Vingaard pass while you travel east from Caergoth mere weeks from now), you figure she’s likely to find a magical way to communicate with you. You scout yourselves a suitable ship and pay your fare. Darrik is ready for another adventure, and though your destination is another Solamnic stronghold, Jason is eager to at least get out of Palanthas.

The Harvestide is unremarkable as sailing ships go (though none of you is sailor enough to know for certain) – two masts and two lower decks. The dozens of sailors bring in cargo and swarming across the rigging are a dirty bunch smelling of sweat, cheap booze, and sex. You get the impression many of them spent their entire night enjoying the city and arrived only just in time to make ready to sail. Conversation is in a half-dozen languages, and they are of various human and humanoid races, but what you catch of their rough speech and overall swagger confirm your suspicions. Few give Devil a second glance when they see him sticking by the Kender. Your single large piece of cargo was left on the dock, where it was quickly shoved onto a pallet and netted up for safety and hauled away, while you’re shown below with a number of other passengers, where you are relieved to find all that steel was well-spent, as you are shown safely through an open cargo area cobwebbed with crews' hammocks to a number tiny rooms arranged for passengers - single occupancy (probably for big spenders) and those with four bunks – you have the latter.

Jason and Darrik are awkwardly surprised to find themselves sharing the cabin with two complete strangers – and even moreso when they immediately arrive and try to settle themselves at the same time. You no sooner choose your bunks than all hands are called to topside. Again to your surprise, this isn’t just the normal safety speech and lying down of the rules by the captain, but a prayer to bless the voyage.

As you stand in the bitter winter morning air, an old man makes his way past the captain and stands imperiously upon the quarter deck, glaring at the collected audience. His loose linen tunic and trousers are a sun bleached gray-green, and a faded crimson cloak billows in the wind. Half his leathery face is hidden by a great big bushy beard, and wispy wild strands sprout from his otherwise bald pate. He takes a deep breath and intones with chest-rattling intensity and volume, “Blessed are we who buy passage cross the domain of the Dragon Turtle with our very souls. Blessed are the pitiable fools who think to escape her displeasure and wrath. Blessed too are you poor bastards who think pure goodwill can save ye! She’ll take you if she wants, but I say none of ye are worth it, so let us up sail and fly before your sorry faces make me change my mind and bring us to meet with the Darkling Sea in her own watery abode!”

A hundred sailors make signs to ward off evil or call the attention of some other god.

One of your fellow passengers, looking green and horrified, says, “What was that?” A sailor spits over the rail and says, “Yeah, them priests of Zeboim don’t sugar-coat the dangers of the high seas, but Wallim there takes getting used to. Mad as a hatter, he is. Been traveling the Turbidus Ocean for decades now, threatening and making a nuisance of himself. This is the fourth time he’s come with us – we can’t turn him away without risking ‘Zebiom’s fury,’ as he calls it. Well, here’s hopin’ he full of it this time too.” He slaps the fellow on the shoulder and gets back to work.

The capstan turns and the anchor rises, and within minutes you are sailing north across the Bay of Branchala…




OOC: New players, you are the roommates.

[JadedDM]

Jason goes pale upon hearing the cleric of Zeboim's name. He quickly grabs Darrik and pulls him aside. "Wasn't Wallim the name of the cleric of Zeboim that was terrorizing Dirina up in the Northern Wastes?" he quietly asks the kender. "Remember, where we first met?"

[Majin]

A cleric of Zeboim, zealous one at that, traveling with them? The journey would surely be interesting, and one would think having a servant of the Sea Witch would help the journey. Then again, from what Erymben had taught him, Zeboim was really fickle, so who could tell. Darrik decided to pray extra hard to Habbakuk. Shipwreck was one of those things, that while interesting, could hinder Darrik from experiencing further interesting things.

---

Darrik frowns, thinking back. That had been a while ago, but the village had been a fairly horrible memory. "Yeah, yeah... I think I remember that name. I guess there aren't that many Zeboim clerics with that name. How do you think we should go about it? I mean, we shouldn't let him get away with terrorizing villlages."

[JadedDM]

Jason thinks for a minute, then sighs in defeat and shakes his head. "I don't know," he admits. "Zeboim has something of a protection racket going when it comes to the sea. Everyone pays tribute to her, even those who cannot abide her evil, when they sail the seas, out of fear she'll sink them otherwise. Which means, even if we go to the captain about this, and even if the captain cares enough to do something about it, there's a good chance he'll be too afraid to. In all likelihood, the entire crew is more likely to side with Wallim over us, out of fear of Zeboim retaliating should anything happen to one of her clerics."

He rubs at his chin. "The only thing I could think of is to report him to the authorities once we land in Caergoth. But that's assuming the authorities in Caergoth have ever heard of him or are even aware of his crimes in Dirina..."

[Majin]

"Yeah, that's tricky... We can wait until we're closer to dry land, and just keep an eye on him for now. Maybe he'll slip up, and do something stupid."

"Anyway! We have the whole trip to plan things out, because you know, no one's leaving the boat. I'm gonna go get settled in, and meet our bunk-mates. Come on Devil!" Darrik says, and beckons the wolf to follow.

[JadedDM]

With naught else to do, despite the dangerous situation they find themselves in, Jason nods and accompanies the kender. This is his quest, after all. Jason is just along for the ride.

[Gorgon_Heap]

For three days and nights the Harvestide sails against a pervading southward wind, slowing the journey to a crawl. The Gates of Paladine are seemingly an infinite distance away – never getting noticeably closer. Long hours are spent in games of dice and simple conversation, bawdy storytelling and jaunty music. It doesn’t relieve you entirely of boredom, but the close company forces a certain sociability.

But that doesn’t mean it’s all pleasant. On the third night, with the doors of the passenger cabins open and the crew mingling freely (despite some objections), there’s no end of merriment and crude jocularity. But even amongst the din Darrik and Jason unwillingly find themselves hyperaware of a certain voice … and its never ending bullying and threats. Wallim is wholly unpopular, but as Jason suspected, sailors seem leery of insulting him, though the reverse isn’t true in the least.

Four men, including Wallim, play cards in a room, using an overturned crate as a table, on which lies small stacks of coins, gems, and trinkets. A swarthy middle-aged man in a velvet vest glares at the frizzy-haired priest. He speaks in an unusual accent. “What do you think you’re doing? Get your hands off the pot! You can’t just take whatever you please.”

Wallim practically leers and cackles under his breath. “I say that I can, wretch. I grow bored of your game and lack of skills. It will all be mine in the end, enyway. Nothing stands in my goddess’ path, and so nothing stands in mine. Now be silent lest I treat you to a proper curse.”

The man wilts and the others remain silent, allowing him to simply take their money, though they aren’t happy about it.

[q785921]

Valorean walked through the confines of the Harvestide hiding his disappointment well. Three days ago, he had reached an agreement with the Captain to rent one of the single rooms. Today, he arrived to find the room taken by a young noble man. There had been apologies and half-hearted attempts to make up for the “misunderstanding”, but Valorean had assured them that he thought nothing of it. A little white lie; nonetheless, his goddess clearly had a plan for him.

The golden scaled Aurek greeted each person he passed politely and wished them blessings of Mishakal. Most startled, some stared, a few quickly went the other direction. Valorean paid that no mind. The image of a draconian clanking through the halls, no matter that his chainmail was hidden beneath his pure white robes and long blue vestament, still brought fear to people’s minds.

His quarter mates were already making themselves at home when Valorean arrived. He greeted the kender and human warmly, but nearly immediately the call went out for all hands were called topside.

The captain made the normal speech of rules, then called for a prayer. Surprised, but proud Valorean stepped forward to bless the journey. Mid-step he realized that the captain instead meant for a crimson cloaked cleric of Zeboim to come forward to make the blessing.

Valorean stood, dumbfounded. He knew that Zeboim was the patroness of the sea, and many sailors prayed to her regardless of the purity of their souls, yet the captain knew that he represented a Goddess of good, and he was not even invited to speak? Perhaps this was the purpose Mishakal intended for him. To cast down this priest and show the sailors that other gods could see them over the water safely.

He thought first to go to the captain, then reconsidered. What if the captain was a true follower of Zeboim?

Instead, he made his way down to his bunk, where he knelt in quiet meditation to commune with his Goddess. Soon he had his answer.

He observed, waiting for his opportunity. On the third day, he found it. Among the merriment, he saw the argument between Wallim and the other card-players.

Stepping up to the table and praying to Mishakal for guidance, he spoke in a loud, clear voice.

“Stand fast my friends,” he said. “Many oppose his Goddess.” Valorean presented Mishakal’s holy infinity symbol. “Pray to the Gods of Light, and they will see you safely through the darkness.”

His words hung in the air, pregnant with power. If they believed, they would find the courage to stand up to the cleric’s bullying.

Spoiler: OOC

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Sorry for the wall of text. Next posts will be much shorter.

Moved dice roll to the OOC thread.

[JadedDM]

Jason watched nearby with his arms crossed. He hated how helpless he felt in the situation. But there was little he could do that wouldn't most likely make things far, far worse. He did, however, lean down to whisper to Darrik. "You know, it'd be a shame if Wallim's 'winnings' were to vanish in the dead of night and magically find themselves back in the purses of the sailors."

However, he is surprised when the aurak draconian approaches and challenges Wallim's goddess before the crew. Auraks are pretty rare as it is. In fact, Jason had never met one before now. But an aurak that was also a cleric of Mishakal was...something else entirely. Jason still wasn't sure what to make of that. Still, he decided to watch how this plays out. It might give him some insight on how to deal with Wallim.

[Mr. E]

Grayshore, is not, unsuprisingly, playing poker. After the first time she lost ten gold in ten seconds, the tribeswoman has sworn off gambling games for good. Instead, she sits on a chair by the wall, leaning back against the hardened wood. Initially watching the poker game with some curiosity, the barbarian grew bored by the second hand, her eyes closing and head tilting back.

The eyes, however, open slightly at the sounds of conflict, peering out at the scene from behind low brows. On the one hand, she despises bullies with calm certainty, on the other, a ship at sea is no place to fight a priest of Zebyr Jotun. Idly, one hand reaches up to feel the scar on her face, rubbing along the whitened line. To make matters worse, she'd left the maul in her cabin, once she'd discovered that it tended to cause some discomfort in social settings...

"Who is the scarlet cloaked one? What is happening?" Grayshore asks in Abanasian, more to discover who else knows the language than for any need of knowledge. After all, she wouldn't be threatened with curses if Willim thought she wouldn't understand him. Leaning forward, she straightens up, ready to intervene if the situation turned south.

Spoiler: OOC

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Hi, sorry that took longer than I anticipated to get caught up. But now I'm here and posted, so that's something.

For future reference, anything in italics is in Abanasian.

[Gorgon_Heap]

The air in the cabin stills even and those nearby enough in the gangway to witness what's transpiring pause in anticipation. Though it's only two men and a Kender. More affable shouts and amusing music in other rooms guarantee this disagreement won't gather a large audience - unless it gets out of hand.

And Wallim's eyes water with surprise at the dragon-man's appearance and rejection of Zeboim's authority. Those seated turn uncomfortably from one frightening figure to the other. The vested man swallows and clears his throat. "And more than that - The Silver Mistress wishes us success in our endeavors, not just that we die trying." The other men are likewise bolstered by Valorean's strength of conviction, despite it's intimidating packaging. They reach out and pluck up what's theirs, returning it to purses.

Wallim sneers at them and stands, growling at them. "Disrespectful dogs. You are out of your element, little lizard, and in mine. That weak old biddy's got no influence on the seas, and you'd be best served crawling back into an egg and leave talk of faith for the warm-blooded. My passion reflects that of the Darkling Sea, and she rewards me with power and purpose. I'll do as I please, because I'm a divine tentacle in her schemes, and what pleases me pleases her.

"I can do no wrong. Can you say the same, weakling? That you have not already strayed from your creator and thrown in with the childish goddess of hugs and rainbows?!" He's shouting by now, eyes ablaze with righteousness and spittle flying from sunburnt lips, hands straining clawlike.

The other men - all likely merchants - in the room are backing away slowly, clearly concerned they may have made a mistake. One of them looks to Grayshore when she speaks, but only shakes his head in rising fear and tension.

[JadedDM]

Likewise, Jason does not understand or speak Abanasian, so the plainswoman's words are lost on him. But he is clearly more focused on the confrontation between the aurak and the Zeboimite. He is surprised to see the crew show some backbone, at least for a bit. Perhaps Wallim is so insufferable, that even the fear of the Dragon Turtle is not enough to protect him; not as much as he would like to think, anyway.

"Careful, Wallim," he calls out. "The Sea Queen is fickle in her favor. It's just as easy to lose her approval as it is to gain it. These aren't helpless villagers you're bullying. Push them too far, and they may bite back."

Spoiler: Intimidation roll

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Intimidation (1d20+4)[6]
The idea here is that Jason is trying to weaken Wallim's confidence, take him down a peg or two.