Darkworld IC

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

The pristine peace of new snow is marred by the scars of yesterday's battle. Fire was a common means of respecting the dead's empty shells, and its heat, implying purification, appealed to Arlen. Much more swift and final than leaving a body to moulder for years, and it encouraged moving on more swiftly.

He reacts little outwardly, taking Sul onto his hand and stroking her when the shouting begins to make her nervous. The power of the ceremony is impressive, and he watches patiently, waiting for it to be over so that he can present his preparation to the chief before the group takes their leave.

As the nauseating odor of burning flesh rises into the air, and Kraalkar approaches the pyre, Arlen decides to add some effect to the moment, as a token of his own gratitude. With a small gesture, he twists his hand as Kraalkar throws the head. As it lands on the fire, a single howl rings out, unmistakably the roar of Fenris. It is without power, however, pained and frightened, and subsides within a moment or two to a fading whine that is quickly obscured by the crackling flames, as if in response to and confirmation of Kraalkar's assertion.

That should prove the moment as a final defeat, indeed.

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Ghost Sound, at will.

[Zed's Dead]

Though you three are wrapped head to toe in your winter gear, several of the walkers wear but a single layer of deerskin, and the chief is bare to the waist. The skin of his hairy chest and arms are red in the cold.

The chieftan attempts to hand over the head to Daar, and then he gives it to Kraalkar.

<This is a great honor. We thank you.>

The chief looks at Elva, and then at Kraalkar. A broad smile breaks over his face.

<Such is the fate of all who attack this clan!> he bellows.

At this, all the Walkers roar their approval. Several of the giants jump into the air and shake their fists at the head as it arcs toward the flame.

It lands on the interno, and a horrible, pained howling scream pierces the air. The Walkers fall silent in wonder and dread for a moment. Then the dead, open eyes of the head and the horribly burnt grinning face bursts into flames.

The Walkers again scream, but this time the pent up fury of decades of fear and hatred and anger roars out over the frozen ground and up into the air above the fire and trees. This screaming and sobbing continues for several minutes, until the Walkers have nothing left--their primal urges satisfied for now.

The chieftan pants in the cold wind, tired from his raging. He looks at the sky. His warm breath escapes his mouth and nostrils to become great billowing clouds of frozen vapor which whirl and then mix with the foul smoke of the pyre. When he turns toward the ground again, tears stream down his face.

<Free. Free. We free.>

He gathers himself and then stares at the ground again. He turns to you.

<Now, we must do what must be done.>

He signals Vred by pointing at the pile of human corpses.

Vred walks over, reaches into the pile, and pulls out three large leather sacks. She then walks with her burden toward you.

<You, outlanders, have lost much. I not want give you pain. These...are...>

Vred lays the sacks on the ground at your feet. One turns over, and the leather thong opens enough for a stiff human hand to poke out of the sack's top.

<...your kin?>

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

Wonder and curiosity struggle for primacy on the elf's face as he observes the triumphant ritual. His face sets sharply as Vred approaches them with the bag.

<...your kin?>

"Nearly. Companions in journey, comrades in battle, and some brave enough to sacrifice themselves to buy us the time to escape." He looks to his companions, unsure whether any of them had kin in the caravan.

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Many thanks for y'all's patience with my absence.

[GeekLord]

Kraalkar

The howl is sudden and surprising, and Kraalkar smiles. Truly a time of cleansing. That has the elf's touch. He turns back to the chief.

<You, outlanders, have lost much. I not want give you pain. These...are...your kin?>

Kraalkar looks grimly at the leather bags. Three sacks...and their contents not subjected to the same treatment received by the wolves' victims... So that's what happened to those three caravaners. How...unfortunate. He glances uncertainly at the others, unsure how to respond.

[Tura]

Elva

Ever since last night's attack, everything had been so extraordinary and intense, that Elva hadn't paused to wonder what became of the three men who had entered the cave before them. The three sacks remind her, and she stares at them wearily.

<What happened to them?>
she asks simply, before looking inside to confirm her suspicions - which, for the moment, are the worst possible.

[Zed's Dead]

The Chieftan looks down at the sacks.

<We...kill them. They interlopers in my hall.>

As Elva looks inside, she sees their remains are smashed almost beyond recognition.

<I not know you help Gok fight wolves, fight Fenris. I think these scouts, but they weak. They travelers.>

At this, he kneels on one knee and places his club in the snow before him.

<Stay your anger.>

The chieftan turns and motions to one of the young warriors, a nine-foot brute with broad shoulders and a barrel chest.

<I know you Kill what you wish, who you wish. You help us kill Fenris. You survive where Gok die. You touched by gods.>

<I offer you Joak, my offspring, to serve you. Just leave us live. Leave us to live in peace. Stay your anger, and stay your vengeance. Joak serve you good. He fight strong. He serve you good.>

Joak bows his head, but his eyes suggest something other than unquestioning loyalty. They dart back and forth behind his heavy brows, meeting your gaze and those of your companions.

[Tura]

Elva

Elva remains silent as the chief kneels, finding the scene more unnerving than reassuring, but refraining from expressing her unease. She looks at him for a while, studying him, and then fixes her gaze to Joak. Once more, she feels that they are stepping on precarious ground.

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Before anything else:
sense chief's motive : (1d20+3)[7]
sense Joak's motive : (1d20+3)[5]

Edit- my spider senses are tingling poorly today...

[GeekLord]

Kraalkar

Kraalkar considers the chief as he kneels, balancing tone against posture, listening to the message behind the words. So they understand wergeld, eh? Then they understand honor. The barbarian senses an opportunity here, and knows that much will depend on how they respond to the chief's offer. He crosses his arms and pauses deliberately.

<These were of our...clan. They were also our guides to our destination.> Kraalkar glances questioningly at Elva and Arlen, then shrugs mentally and turns his head back to the chief. <Yet if we accept, your clan is weakened.> And I'm not sure this young one is so willing to leave his clan. He looks at Joak, meeting his eyes and deliberately inviting challenge.

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(1d20+9)[13] Sense Motive check on the chief
(1d20+9)[23] Sense Motive check on Joak

[Zed's Dead]

Kraalkar's sense motives:

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chief: It seems he is sincere. Though his body language is clear, his one eye obscures your ability to read his face.

Joak: It is obvious to you he welcomes your challenge.

[Zed's Dead]

The chieftan picks up his cudgel as he stands. He pauses and judges his words carefully before speaking.

<You kill Fenris. We owe you blood. Blood of us. I ask you take my boy, not kill three for you three. But you...>

Joak straightens at this. The chieftan looks Kraalkar in the eye for many long moments.

<I see. You not want Joak. You want more. Maybe you want blood?>

Joak grips his spear tightly and shifts its weight into his right hand. The chieftan stands to his full height. The head of his tree-trunk cudgel still rests on the ground.

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Make spot checks and listen checks.

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

The elf reacts slowly, shocked at the suddenly gruesome turn of events. He would have been happy to take his leave, but a fight seems now to be brewing. Knowing his relative weakness in social interactions, he remains quiet, but darts a nervous glance at Tura, as if to ask are you okay with this?

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Spot: (1d20+16)[26]
Listen:(1d20+13)[25]
Sense Motive (on either): (1d20+3)[10]

Apologies for the delay - I'm on a business trip where I hadn't anticipated wireless being a problem. Conection should be fine during the day tomorrow.

[Zed's Dead]

Arlen:

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Sense Motive - it's hard to tell what Tor and Joak intend. Their faces are hard masks.

Daar meets your gaze. Her eyes show surprise, but her jaw is set. Her hand rests on the hilt of her blade.

A cloud passes overhead, dimming the once bright sunlight.

DC 15 Spot and Listen for all:

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The Walkers are quite aware of the mounting tension. Many of them hold weapons, and most take defensive stances. The children stand behind their mothers.

DC 20 Spot and Listen for all:

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Two of the Walker females were positioning the Walker bodies to place upon the third, unlit pyre. One sees someting of interest as she is moving Gok's remains. She crouches and examines the corpse's chest closely.

[GeekLord]

Kraalkar

The clearing is suddenly filled with a palpable tension. Kraalkar raises his brow in surprise. I should have expected that. For all their sense of honor, they're an insular group. Any conclusion they jump to will be defensive in nature. Ssthss stirs briefly, and whispers. You need to assuage his pride. That, or kill them all. Kraalkar nods mentally, then smiles broadly at the chief and chuckles.

<Why would we want your blood, you who have offered us your fire? We have spilled blood for each other, and eaten meat together. You have proven your friendship. Now you have proven your honor by offering your son.> Kraalkar gestures to the other Walkers. <Your clan has survived the cursed one, but not without much death.> Kraalkar looks the chief straight in the eye and raises his voice to reach everyone in the clearing. <We do not insult you. You have great honor, but I also have honor. I would not see your clan weakened further. There is another way.>

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(1d20+15)[35] Diplomacy check

[Tura]

Elva

This is going... poorly.
Having left the others do the talking, Elva has the time to notice the Walkers carefully. And what she sees at the back makes her worry. She steps slowly next to Kraalkar, and whispering softly, she tries to alert him to the fact that Gok is about to become a problem.
"Kraalkar, I fear you'll also have to explain the... possibility of armed men on the surface last night, apart from wolves."

Elva leans on her staff, and looks at the Chieftain, waiting for his response. But her eyes dart at the back, as she tries to make out exactly what is going on there.

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harmonictempest: it's not Tura, dammit! It's Elva!
geeklord: woot for the Diplomacy check, but we really need another nat 20 for the Bluff check that's coming... (Also, I'm pretty sure you'll think of a decent excuse, unlike Elva.)
zed: a question that I sincerely hope will prove unimportant: Is Gok on the unlit pyre right now, or haven't they placed him yet?
spot (1d20+9)[20]
listen (1d20+8)[13]

[Zed's Dead]

<We do not insult you. You have great honor, but I also have honor. I would not see your clan weakened further. There is another way.>

Tor's masklike face softens a little at this. You might see a hint of relief in his eye.

<You not want blood price? You not want warrior? Yes. I see honor in you. In your shield-mates. You honor us with great blessing: Friendship. Friendship is share for you. For me. For two tribes together.

Come. Let us burn the dead as the Burning Man wills it.>

Tor's eyes smile, even as he clinches his jaw for control. Relief sweeps over the Walker tribe, and it appears that the moment of tension has passed.

Tor walks over, goes down on one knee, and extends his left arm to Kraalkar's right shoulder.

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Make knowledge (history) or knowledge (local) checks or just bare intelligence checks to see what is transpiring here. Also, please make spot checks to see what's going on at the third pyre.

Tura, Gok's remains (not much is left, by the way--the wolves have really stripped much of the meat off of many of the bodies (except their own kin, of course)) are still on the ground. I had quite a detailed description laid out, but somehow my post was lost, so I had to give you guys a bit of a short version of the last post. Sorry.

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

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May be extended later.
Knowledge (history): (1d20+4)[12]
Knolwedge (local): (1d20+3)[5] (untrained)
Spot: (1d20+16)[29]

Tura: They both have four letters. They both end in 'a'. I see them both in bold letters near the top of every post you make (in this thread). And most importantly, I'm tired. It was bound to happen again eventually. :P

[Tura]

Elva

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checks for now too
history (1d20+2)[8]
local (untrained) (1d20)[9]
spot (1d20+9)[22]

[GeekLord]

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(1d20+1)[4] Knowledge (history) untrained
(1d20+1)[7] Knowledge (local) untrained
(1d20)[12] Spot check

[Zed's Dead]

Though his knee rests in the deep snow, the Tor still looks down into Kraalkar's eyes. Three other Walkers walk from the ranks of the tribe, kneel in a similar fashion, and rest their hands on Elva's, Arlen's, and Daar's shoulders. None of you have ever seen a ceremony similar to this...if that's what it is.

DC 25 spot:

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The female who was examining Gok's corpse is ignoring the proceedings. She crouches down lower and seems to be examining the chest quite closely.

Immediately, her head pops up. She looks around at the others, whose attention is focused on you. Just as the Walkers crouch before each of you, she stands. You lose sight of her because each of you has a walker kneeling between you and her. If you wish, you could stand or move, but the hand on your shoulder is heavy. You get the feeling that you might be disturbing something.

You hear no sound of alarm or surprise from the Walker female.

[Tura]

Elva

Bewildered by this strange ritual, Elva looks at the Walker if front of her, forgetting for the moment her frustration for losing line of sight to the woman at the back. She thinks that the Walkers are extremely territorial, however not out of greed, like men, but simply for survival, like animals. And now she feels that they are offering something, and that they are expecting something back.

She hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath and raises her hand very slowly. If he doesn't react badly with this, she places her hand on the Walker's shoulder, just like his rests on hers. She doesn't dare say a word, fearing she might not be supposed to, and just stands there, looking at him straight in the eyes.

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Gods help us if that was the wrong move...
Listen check: (1d20+8)[21]
Here's an Intelligence check, to try and understand what they expect us to do: (1d20)[10]
And maybe a Sense Motive for the Walker in front of me? (1d20+3)[9]

[GeekLord]

Kraalkar

Kraalkar lets out a silent breath of relief, but keeps his face open and his shoulders square. It was a calculated risk to refuse the chief's son as payment, regardless of how tactfully he phrased it, but the chief's actions indicate that he had struck the right note. Mutual respect is a much more comfortable relationship than fear or awe. Fear can be...unpredictable. He glances again at the resentful Walker. Who knows what he'd have done to prove his worth.

While he's not familiar with the Walker's actions, Kraalkar has witnessed many friend-takings. I wonder how similar this will be... Kraalkar raises his left hand and places it on Tor's shoulder. The sunlight traces a number of thin white scars on the barbarian's forearm.

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

Still tense, Arlen is still glad to see Kraalkar refuse the offer. Left to himself, he would have done the same, albeit with far less tact. Gifts mostly irritated him - he had been happy to provide help, and while the gratitude was appreciated, the obligation the chief seemed to feel was unnecessary. Still, the tribal rituals must be observed to keep the peace. Following Elva's lead, Arlen reached up and placed his other hand on the Walker's other shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his view of Gok disappear behind the Walker in front of him, and he could only hope that last night's actions (was it so short a time ago?) would not come back to snare them from behind.

[Zed's Dead]

Somehow, amazingly, the Walkers have accepted you again. You get the sense--whether you experienced it or not--that the Walkers' fear and awe has indeed been replaced with respect and trust.

The female who examined Gok's corpse makes no move. She and another female toss the body onto the pyre along with the others and light it.

The Walkers get on with the grisly work of disposing of the bodies. The bodies of Uluia, Imbrus, Cullen, and even the blackened partial skeleton of what must have been Meg are tossed onto the pile with as much reverance as one could give such an act.

The chieftan himself lights the pyres.

The tarry substance which was smeared on the wood is the best non-magical fire accelerator you've ever seen. though the pyres will burn for hours, the bodies are mostly consumed in minutes.

After the fires have burned for several minutes, Tor seems satisfied. He assigns three guards to watch the pyres burn.

There is another storm brewing to the southwest.

Tor approaches the four of you.

<You come. We eat. We eat for the dead. We live. They died. We must drink and eat for the dead!>

[Tura]

Elva

<Yes. For the dead.>
Elva nods, satisfied and relieved. She doesn't let her guard down completely, aware that her ignorance of their customs might offend the Walkers again any time, but she feels some serious progress has been made. She glances at the pyres. May Fegos tuck them in and take care of them.

She turns to the others and allows herself a playful smile. "Come. In my parts, the dead get pretty pissed off if no one passes out drunk in their wake." She pets Gray, who had been rather tense through the whole ceremony, and follows Tor.

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

What a strange sense of repetition. Will all our interactions with strangers be this marked by curious reversals? Relaxing, a mood change that is mirrored by Sul, he follows Elva.

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Paaaaarty!

[Zed's Dead]

You follow the chieftan and his people into the cave. They pull salted dry meat from several earthen jars. It tastes a bit like jerky. There is a kind of hot stew which has been cooking slowly in an earthenware pot since being buried in hot coals last night, much like a dutch oven or other slow-cooking device. The food is simple, but tasty. The Walkers must have some excellent woodcraft, because the seasoning is about what you'd expect in a low-end tavern. They also pass around a barrel-sized wooden cask filled with alcohol made from grain. They must have traded for it, because it seems to be of human workmanship. The grain alcohol packs quite a punch. If you dare to drink it, a few swallows make you giddy and lightheaded. two or three cups will make the room spin.

The walkers are coming to the end of the meal.

The female who examined Gok eyes you suspiciously, but as far as you know, she hasn't told anyone anything.

<What you do now, Outlanders? You stay here many days? You go home?> The chieftan has had several large cups of the alcohol. His face is flushed, his eye is bloodshot, and his breath is unlike anything you've ever known.

<Maybe go hunt wolves in Karuskavans!> (God's Teeth)

[GeekLord]

Kraalkar

The simple yet tasty fare and the easy camaraderie around the hearth fire puts Kraalkar in mind of his own family gatherings. The air in the longhouse was never quite as pungent as the air in this close-packed cave is turning out to be, but the heartfelt celebration of life and the appreciation of safety and friendship is the same.

Kraalkar chews on a mouthful of meat, then takes a swig from his cup. The grain alcohol burns a fiery path down his throat, and he gasps, eyes watering. <Ayaah! A warrior drink!> Kraalkar raises his cup in toast to the chief, and tosses it down.

<What you do now, Outlanders? You stay here many days? You go home? Maybe go hunt wolves in Karuskavans!>

Kraalkar chuckles heartily, then hiccups. He looks blearily for someone to refill his cup, then grins widely at the chief. <You Kraalkar friend, so I tell you.> His speech is slurred, but his eyes are clear. <We are from great tribe, strong warriors. One day our shaman has vision, message from the spirits. They say we must find hidden thing or great trouble will come. Our chief gather warriors, send us to find thing. We travel many many moons, cross mountains, fight many bad creatures. Many warrior die, but we survive. We find hidden thing soon.>

Kraalkar glances around conspiratorily, then leans closer to the chief and lowers his voice to a drunken whisper...which is not much quieter than his speaking voice. <We looking for sign our shaman give us. Hidden thing be close to it.> On the dirt in front of the chief he traces the rune Elva had showed him, and then after a moment erases it with his hand.

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(1d20+10)[14] Perform (oratory) check to speak as though he's drunk.
(1d20+13)[26] Bluff check if necessary

[harmonictempest]

Arlen

As they walk toward back toward the cave, Arlen finally sees an opening, and maneuvers himself close to the chieftain as they walk.
<Tor, I have made you a defense against the Witches. Their own magic can be turned against them. This pot (he holds it out) holds an incense I prepared this morning from the liver of the beast. If you pour a little into a small pot of coals, it will burn thick, foul smoke. It will merely smell bad to you, but will be poison to the Witches. It will confuse them and drive them away. You may be able to attack them then, while they are too confused for magic.> He says all of this slowly, pausing to make sure the chieftain is keeping up with him.
<If you need better weapons against them, I have found that no magic remains in the teeth of the beast, but they are very, very sharp. You can hold them safely, make them into arrows against the Witches.> He hands over two of the four teeth he collected, wrapped in a cloth.

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That's a lot of long sentences, but Arlen's speaking slowly, and he can reiterate and simplify if necessary. If the chief is really just way confused, Arlen will call Kraalkar over to explain, but I don't think that'll be necessary.

Once inside, Arlen looks around approvingly at the simple, yet good, festivities. This is why I travel. He sinks gracefully into a cross-legged position, gratefully accepting the food offered them. When the alcohol comes around, he carefully keeps his face from wrinkling as he smells it. That could probably take the color from my clothes - but if Tura is right, I should not risk an insulting refusal. He accepts a cup, sips it with his meal.

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Aaaand just for fun, let's see how much that alcohol probably affects him. Fort save: (1d20+4)[20]
Perfect. I was hoping for either a very high or very low roll.
Second cup Fort save = 7.

Enjoying yourself, Sul? She nips his ear hard in a definite negative, and indeed, the smoky celebration does not seem to be to her liking. Well, go ahead and fly around a bit - you haven't gotten to stretch your wings very much today. After watching her fly out of the cave, he turns back to his dinner and drink. Hmm, that's not too bad, actually. Having been surprisingly little affected by the first cup, he willingly accepts a second when it is offered him, drinking faster this time as he is no longer eating. The drink that suits the large Walkers, however, has quite a stronger effect on the slender elf, who begins swaying noticeably as he leans forward to throw his bones into the fire. Catching sight of Elva, the normally graceful elf stumbles almost immediately as he gets up to go over to her, and compromises to sit down rather hard a few feet away from her. "Thiss is quite an intersting celbration, don't you think, Elva?" he asks with loss of diction rather than vocabulary. "It seeeems common in a ver, veree large porportion of the people I have visited to celbrate after something you wood think shood be sad, like dying. Dyeing is rather unfoortunate. But this drink they have is quite tasty. I had been meaningt earlier to ask of you a question: why do, why did you say 'piss drunk'? I was unner the empression that intoxicashun caused vomiting, not urinashun." He looks at her with curious eyes, his usual calm outward appearance slipping slightly as he visibly struggles with a little annoyance, to keep his words from slurring, succeeding partially.

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Hmm, that came off a little drunker than I intended. He's not completely smashed yet, but he's well affected, and definitely the sort of person who has inhibitions to lose when the alcohol sets in.

[Zed's Dead]

Arlen

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Tor pauses to consider your offer. He looks at the pot and the teeth for a moment, his eyes wide in wonder. He then pulls out his improvised gloves and takes the artifacts--holding them as gently as if they were made of porcelain. <You know no curse? You no turn into wolf? I no turn into wolf?>

Later...
Inside the cave, it is as if the tension of the near-battle outside had never happened. Some of the walker females even sing a chanting, lilting song with a strong sense of rhythm and alliterative qualities.

The liquor is stronger than you thought, and drinking a full cup of it does, indeed knock you on your ass. As you reach the bottom of the cup, you realize a few things: Your sense of balance isn't what it used to be. You feel a sense of euphoria. Elva, Kraalkar, Daar, and even Tor seem quite a bit more interesting to you than they did half an hour ago.

Kraalkar

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Tor looks at you closely for several moments, processing your request. <I know it! Come.> He grabs your arm and strides toward the chamber exit. Though you run after him, his excitement occasionally causes him to lift you off of your feet.

[Tura]

Elva

Elva brings the first cup to her lips and the smell of alcohol burns her nostrils. Sacred wine! she thinks happily and promptly takes a taste, then another one, then a big swallow. And her eyes water with nostalgia. Back home, the sacred wine was made of grapes instead of grain and the taste was quite different, but the strong smell and the immediate effect on her senses makes the experience equally powerful. All she had tasted ever since she'd left the Seven Villages was that awful northern beer, but this - this was a product of distillation. Joy of joys!

Elva drinks gratefully. A flush rises on her cheeks, but otherwise she seems unaffected, speaking without falter and acting normally. However, the sacred wine targets the mind, and the smoke-filled cave begins to look otherworldly and hazy.

With the second cup, Elva begins wishing, rather loudly, good health to all present, prosperity to the clan, and a peaceful rest to the dead. With the third cup, she seems to be filled with affection towards the world in general, and hugs Gray, at one point squeezing her so much that the elkhound yowls. The cave seems to move as it most certainly shouldn't.

Meanwhile, Arlen seems to have serious questions.

"It seeeems common in a ver, veree large porportion of the people I have visited to celbrate after something you wood think shood be sad, like dying. Dyeing is rather unfoortunate.

"The reason is threefold." Elva responds solemnly. "First, you have to honor the dead, and give them one last feast. Second, you have to make an awful lot of noise to drive the evil spirits away, because whenever there's a passing to the other world, they tend to gather and try to sneak into our own world. And third, you have to keep yourself from being consumed by grief, therefore you must celebrate the cycle of life instead of dwelling forever on your loss." All this is explained in a serious tone, worthy of a druidic teaching repeated endless times around the fire. Then Elva leans towards Arlen and lowers her voice as if she's about to reveal a huge conspiracy. "But if you ask me, the real reason is that we just need an excuse to get stone drunk from time to time." And the grin on her face makes it crystal clear that she doesn't consider that to be a bad thing at all.

Glancing around the room, and trying to focus on something that doesn't spin for a change, Elva catches Kraalkar talking to Tor and thinks idly for a moment "oh, he's searching for a sign too, what a nice lad". Then she looks as if a rock has fallen on her head and hastily stumbles to her feet. "Gray, come, we have to go!" She gives abruptly the fourth cup, of which she has only tasted a couple of sips, to Arlen, and without waiting to see if the transaction was successful, grabs the makeshift torch and goes after the chief and Kraalkar as quickly and steadily as her legs can carry her. The rest of Arlen's musings have no audience to speak of.

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For starters, rolling a second fort. (the first was a 22) : (1d20+7)[21]
Edit- Saves, in order, are 22,21,23,19 - I just sipped from the 4th cup
Edit2 - If the DC is higher than I thought, let's keep the number of cups to whatever would cause similar reactions, OK? :)