Dead to Rights IC

[jinx1016]

goblin
Don't worry about us Kuryk, we can handle ourselves. I'm more worried about you. It looks like you could use a little help dealing with this mummy rot. I'm here to hopefully provide a hand in such a matter.

Spoiler

Show

cast remove curse on kuryk to break mummry rot curse.
caster level check (1d20+12)[32]

if that gets rid of the curse perhaps someone can rid you of the disease.

[PairO'Dice Lost]

Byzen can feel the curse fight back against his magic, but his own arcane power is much stronger than the lingering taint of the mummy's touch. He finally completes the spell with a burst of effort, and the black blight ripples and fades into the purplish gray of a normal goblin wound. Kuryk gasps in pain as the curse wracks his body one last time, then he smiles up at Byzen. [Thank you, my friend. Now that you have...removed the curse, I will be able to cure this...once I have communed with Kord.]

[jinx1016]

Byzen smiles at the goblin and pats him on the head. Goblin It's my pleasure. It will be good to see you on your feet again. We can talk more when you have recovered, but for now I have other matters to address.

Byzen walks away in search of Iluria, Jiucadrii and Lariol.

[PairO'Dice Lost]

Byzen finds Lariol speaking with Gaius, Gunther, Ivan, and Gareth; a makeshift map of the library lies on a table between them, and Lariol is giving the others a status update. "...which, combined with the new barricades, should allow us to fend off any other swarms, should they appear. Ah, Byzen, there you are. Please, join us." Lariol waves to a few spots on the map, parts of the library's third floor. "While you three rested, Gareth and I examined the rooms where you fought the swarms; it appears that the repeated triggering of the wards by hostile undead outside the windows was able to damage the outer walls to the point that small creatures could enter. We have sealed up the breaches with mortar and wood as best we could, and have barricaded the reading rooms after Jiucadrii and some of the refugees removed the texts inside. Gareth has provided us with more of his signature cocktails, and we should be safe from another incursion from that direction."

"Should be safe," grumbles Ivan, pessimistic as always. "I thought this place was supposed to be impenetrable. If I'm going to be stuck with a bunch of civilians for a while, I want to be able to relax, not play babysitter." Gareth crosses his arms and sighs. "You would rather find yet another safe location and lead everyone else there?" "You mean another supposedly-safe location...and no, I'd rather just take you and the other competent combatants and leave the refugees here." "Ivan! Such an action would be unconscionably selfish; the refugees could not defend themselves were the library to fall, and they are our responsibility since we brought them here from the Temple." "They're your responsibility, Kordite, not mine."

Gareth steps forward and pokes Ivan in the chest, flaring the flames on his bronze skin as he does so, and Ivan steps back, patting at the burn hole in his shirt. "When you first entered my tavern, you were one of the most ill-tempered, selfish, foul-mouthed individuals I had ever met. Insults rolled off your tongue as smoothly as magma flows off the palace of the Sultan of Brass." "You're not exactly all sweetness and light yourself, Smokey," Ivan sneers. "See? As I said. Yet over the past few weeks, you seemed to learn humility and respect, and even develop a conscience. Particularly after encountering a dwarf who was actually pleasant to be around." Gareth smiles mirthlessly, and Ivan scowls. "But since this latest attack, you are back to your old surly, disagreeable self. Why?" "I don't know...I guess it's the fact that this all seems pointless. We find a bunch of useless civvies and drag them around with us, and everywhere we go, there are more undead and more people die and we just can't catch a break! I'm sick of sitting around."

Agreed. It is strategically suboptimal to let the enemy dictate the terms and setting of battle. Mysel the kobold floats into view, her voice echoing dispassionately in your minds. "Hey! Who invited the--" Ivan growls, but a wave of the kobold's hand silences him. Irrelevant. However, the dwarf does speak correctly: It is time to leave the chattel behind and escape the city. You may attempt to assault the cult should you desire, so long as we are extricated from Dagensburg. I wished to compel you all to escort me to the city limits earlier; however, such mental control tends to dull combat prowess and I am disinclined to face the undead in such a scenario. "You want to just leave the civilians behind?" Indeed. They are irrelevant. The rest of you are useful. Ivan snorts at the kobold's demands. "How did we get stuck with this ass?" he grumbles.

"Well? Whaddya think?" This last is addressed to everyone by Ivan. "You all seem to know what you're doing, and...well, Gaius, Byzen, Gunther, you three have saved my ass a few times, so I guess I ought to stick with you whatever you decide to do next. You want to hole up here, find somewhere else to stay, hit the cult, what?"

[Zieu]

It doesn't take Gaius long to decide.

"From what Lariol has told me, the refugees not only have the wards to protect them, but improved fortifications and a degree of instruction -- they can most likely fend for themselves for a little while."

He then turns and scowls at Mysel, disgusted at the notion of being turned into a puppet. "We are not tools to aid in your escape, psychic. Who is to say you won't toss us aside like these refugees when you get outside the city. No. You exude such hubris. We have our own agenda, and I can't speak for my companions but I resent your attitude. I will have no part in escorting you, be sure of that." He breaks eye contact and addresses noone in particular, "Striking a blow to the cult will lessen the threat to surviors in the city, and the more "leaders" we eliminate, the better our chances get."

[jinx1016]

The glyphs around Byzen's head begin to rotate ever so slowly, as his hands start to quiver just a little. Then they begin to outright shake as he begins to speak, First of all, he spits through gritted teeth, Kuryk will most likely surivive his wounds, in case anyone cares.

Barely able to contain what can only be described as rage, he continues on. Second, I do not want to hear anyone suggest the notion of leaving anyone behind, in my presence, ever again.

He looks directly at Ivan, and narrows his gaze
Dwarven
If you are so cowardly as to do such a vile thing as leave these people to rot, then do us all a favor, and take the cowards way out, like the spineless craven you so desire to be. I have had enough of expecting better from you only to have you destroy what little morale we have with your defeatist attitude every single minute.

common
While I agree we cannot let the enemy dictate terms of the fight forever, there is still too much we don't know. we don't know the true extent of whats out there, or where it's coming from, or how it got here. at the very least we should see if we can garner any more resources from library, before we decide on another course of action. He lets out a sigh of exasperation, I do not believe that being fortified here makes us completely safe, but it will have to suffice for the moment.

Oh and before I forget, he lets a small grim laugh escape, but his eyes are colder than frostbite as he speaks, Mysel, if you ever attempt to compel me, or anyone here, to do anything, you had best succeed, or I will kill you.

[PairO'Dice Lost]

"Kuryk will survive? That is excellent news! I had not heard that he had awakened," says Lariol enthusiastically when Byzen shares the news. "I agree that we should explore the parts of the library we have not yet examined to see if there are any more resources for us to exploit in this fight. While I of course sympathize with Ivan's desire to strike a blow against the cult's headquarters, Kord teaches us that 'one must know the arena before stepping into it, for strength of fists cannot best strength of feet in a footrace, nor can strength of arm compensate for weakness of mind in war'. If you all are ready to attempt to break out of the city, I will have my initiates make a last search of the library for supplies before we depart."

Ivan, meanwhile, has been staring speechlessly at Byzen and Gaius, ignoring Lariol's platitudes. From the shocked and pained expression on his face, he saw himself as a tough, self-sufficient loner rather than the selfish coward Byzen made him out to be--and Gaius comparing his treatment of the refugees with the way Mysel treated him and the others didn't help at all. "I..." His voice catches, and he looks down at his hands, pondering. "I...I'll...be back in a minute." He turns and trudges out of sight.

You two are making a tactical mistake, Gaius and Byzen. You are damaging his usefulness as a combatant by instilling self-doubt. Better to exploit his current tendencies and attempt emotional manipulation once he has served his purpose. The kobold's mental voice sounds pitying and disdainful, and the ghost of a smirk twitches the corners of her mouth when Ivan calls back "And you stay out of my gods-damned mind!" Lariol looks uncertainly between Mysel and the rest of you; it seems he didn't hear anything the kobold said. "Well then, I will leave you to your...discussion. I will be checking on Kuryk and then searching the library with the other Kordites, if you need to speak with me about anything." The elf heads off in the direction of Kuryk's tent, throwing Mysel a funny look as he leaves.

[PairO'Dice Lost]

Shortly after Lariol leaves, Mysel's words intrude into Byzen's and Gaius's minds once more. Your empathy for these worthless hangers-on sickens me, she say with a hint of condescension in her mental voice, and her scaly mouth twitches with disgust. Given your training in methods of combat and your noted tendency to resort to offensive maneuvers against the undead in preference to defensive measures taken regarding the chattel a statistically significant proportion of the time, I had expected the pair of you to prove to be superior specimens of your respective species. Yet it appears that these behavioral quirks are anomalies in your otherwise-undesirable personalities. She rotates to face Gareth and Gunther, both wearing scowls after hearing her latest tirade, and continues: The both of you I dismissed out of hand as worthy partners in my endeavors, and your observed patterns of behavior have not disappointed me. She begins floating off toward the library's main entrance with a flippant Perhaps I will find the mercenaries more amenable to my suggested course of action.

Gareth's flames flicker deep red, and he makes an uncharacteristic obscene gesture in the kobold's direction, muttering Ignan obscenities under his breath. Mysel's return shot, Intriguing. You may yet be salvageable, azer, does not improve his mood in the slightest. With some effort, Gareth forces a smile to his face and once again asks for suggestions on the next course of action. A spirited discussion ensues, and Lariol, Cynthia, and Iluria wander over and join in at various points in the conversation. Everyone talks well into the night, pausing only to welcome Kuryk into the discussion when he arrives and inquire after his health. He reassures everyone that he feels much better after having communed with Kord and healed his and others' physical wounds, though the mental and emotional scars are not so easily healed.


Many hours later, a frantic banging on the door interrupts the activity inside the library, and when passwords are exchanged and the door is unbarred, it opens with a clatter of chains to admit Aasa, Adar, Svero, Ivan, Mysel, and several unfamiliar faces. "Closeitcloseitcloseitcloseit!" Adar babbles as he heaves himself against the door, wincing as the motion jostles an obviously-broken wing. The raptoran's light weight doesn't close the door fast enough, so Svero, Ivan, and Gareth add their efforts to his, and the door slams shut just before a skeletal limb erupts from the darkness and almost makes it inside. There are several moments of silence, punctuated only by the heavy breathing of the door guards as they scramble to barricade the door once again and by the sounds of undead pounding on the door trying to find a weak spot. Then Adar, cradling his wounded wing in his arms, spits out "Lariol, what in the Nine blistering Hells were you thinking, sending us out in the middle of the kriffing night to look for survivors!? We almost got ourselves killed three times over!" Aasa nods emphatically, arms crossed over her chest. "Yeah, I wanna know what was so urgent about this mission."

Lariol looks between the two mercenaries in confusion. "I? I did not order any such thing. I am not your commanding officer, and would not dream of speaking for Madam Lunirii in managing your affairs. Particularly not for so dangerous and foolhardy an excursion." "Oh yeah? Well Mysel said--" A pause. Variations on "Damn it, Mysel!" are shouted or growled in tones of anger and annoyance by most of those present. The kobold shrugs. It was the expedient solution. If you did not wish to carry out my plans, I decided that the most efficient solution would be to propose said plans to a new group of competent survivors. I should not let the mercenaries' blind obedience to a chain of command and Ivan's emotional insecurity go to waste, should I? Another silence, this one shocked and incredulous, then Ivan stalks up to Mysel and spits at her feet, or where her feet would be if she were standing instead of hovering. "One of these days," he whispers harshly, but loudly enough to carry, "I'm going to take that metal pole you have stuck up your ass and beat you to a bloody pulp with it, you kriffing waste of rations."

Iluria steps between the two of them, flashes a cheery and obviously-fake smile, and calls out brightly, "All right, everyone, show's over! Refugees, please return to the living areas; mercenaries, please come over here for debriefing--and no, you do not have my permission to kill Mysel. Lariol, Cynthia, if you could take your Kordites and check the other barricades to make sure they can't get in any other way, I'd appreciate it. Kuryk, if you could see to everyone's wounds, please? Thank you. Mysel, you go...I don't know, find a bag of caltrops and roll in it, please." Grumbling, the crowd disperses until only Iluria, Byzen, Gaius, Gunther, Mysel, the mercenaries, and the new arrives are within hearing, the kobold having ignored Iluria's insult. "Now, Svero, your after-action report, if you would." "Yes'm. We headed out at oh-twenty-one-hundred hours at Mysel's direction, ma'am. Started with the west, swept out in standard grid-search pattern. We--" This rambling is inefficient and your recitation is likely to be clouded by bias and emotion. Direct experiential evidence is preferable. "Oh, fine," Aasa sighs, "if it will make you shut up for once. It's okay, Boss, she's done this memory-transfer-thing for us before. Doesn't hurt, doesn't damage anything." Ivan interjects, "Hey, I'm not going to let that scaly creep rummage around in my--! Oh, what's the use. Psychic away, bitch."

[PairO'Dice Lost]

Mysel's transferred memories

You are floating above the debris cluttering the street, looking on with a sense of detached amusement as your minions stumble along in their search pattern. The raptoran would be useful to carry you out of the city, if only you could more finely control his motions to avoid pursuers. The dwarves' night vision would also aid you in spotting and avoiding night patrols. The halfling is useless; you hope that, if you run into an ambush and someone is killed, she is the one to die.

You sense a presence off to your left. It is humanoid, another dwarf--another useless humanoid to consume rations and contribute nothing to your cause. Its intelligence is mediocre, even by the standards of the pathetic lifeforms with which you have surrounded yourself. Still, another body between yourself and the undead hordes is preferable. There is a live dwarf two yards to the east of your current position, you send to your lackeys, and the dwarves fall over themselves in their haste to find it. Sad, really, this notion of loyalty to one's species. The dwarves break through the wall to reveal a reddish-skinned and -bearded dwarf pounding away at a trio of skeletal creatures with its massive fists. You feel yet another flicker of annoyance at the fact that these creatures do not register on your heightened mental senses, and perform a rapid threat assessment. You determine that the dwarf's wounds are not life threatening, and intervention on your part would not be necessary to save the creature's life. You can always float him back to the library for the goblin to heal, after all; it is disposable.

Your minions make short work of the skeletons, and the dwarves begin blathering in their own tongue. Something about family, lost offspring, et cetera, et cetera. You make a mental note to raise the topic later; talk of family makes the azer uncomfortable and therefore easily manipulated. The dwarf Ivan seems heartened by contact with another of his race; this cannot be tolerated, so you cut the conversation short with a well-placed insult and direct your minions to continue their searches.

~~*~~*~~

Traveling down the Divine Way, you are interrupted from your musings on whether the raptoran could be made to pull a cart or other vehicle while mind-controlled as your mental senses detect two intellects in the vicinity. One is of animal intelligence, the other barely qualifies as what you would consider sapient, though it is above average for the local humanoids. It is a gnome, of indeterminate gender and age. Suppressing your instinctual reaction of loathing towards the gnome--you have long since learned that one need not hate one race above another when all are equally inferior--you quickly calculate the likelihood of this creature being a potential ally. You estimate that this creature would likely be a ranger, druid, or other backwards uncivilized sort, likely staying here in some misguided attempt to save a few trees from undead hands, and likely easily swayed by talk of refugees to defend.

You spin off a secondary portion of your mind to craft an argument meticulously constructed to play on the gnome's emotions and sense of duty and implant the appropriate suggestions in your minions' minds to deliver to the gnome when it is found. Oh, if only you could do the same to the undead or their cultist masters; you would be long gone from this terrible city were that the case! Your primary mind directs your servants to the gnome's locations while your secondary mind composes its arguments and transfers them. When the gnome is found, the minions play their appropriate parts and the gnome--a druid, it seems--follows them, as expected, talking about something involving undead and innocents.

After classifying its animal companion as a non-threat, you tune them out, already calculating the next likely location of a refugee. You pay attention again when you notice your minions are not obeying you immediately; the druid is saying something about herbs and plants and animals and taking things with her. You wait patiently for the creatures to scuttle about collecting their trinkets, then lead them along to the next location.

~~*~~*~~

The third somewhat-competent refugee you found refused to come with you, as did the fourth, so for your own amusement you rendered them unconscious with an onslaught of psychic force and left them for the undead to find. While the halfling shouts angrily at you for doing so, a construct of some sort approaches you and claims to have heard the commotion. This one is marginally smarter than the other two, though of course its diminutive intellect does not even begin to compare to your own. It appears to be some sort of living golem, of which you are not familiar; you spin off another secondary mind to remotely view a refugee back at the library, take control of its mind, and direct it to look up information on these 'war-forged' creatures and inform you of what it learns.

You dismiss the control and sever the connection when you find out the creature is already searching for refugees, and therefore will not require persuasion to join your cause. Good. If nothing else, his modular, articulated metal body could easily be repurposed into a passable kobold-sized and -shaped suit of armor should it be destroyed by the undead, and your servants can easily carry you out of the city with it. You revise your mental list of Most Expendable Minions to put him at the top, above the halfling.

~~*~~*~~

This time, the raptoran spots something before it registers on your mental senses. There appears to be a combat taking place nearby. You direct your minions to approach, and you follow from a safe distance. Rounding the corner, you come upon one of the ugliest humanoids you have ever seen--and that's saying something, considering that every refugee you have thus far encountered is positively hideous!--leading a band of rag-tag humanoids of various races in combat against several undead creatures. One is the mummy with the large scorch mark which you engaged earlier; rather persistent, that one, and if those incompetent imbeciles hadn't bungled their first combat with it you wouldn't have to deal with the annoyance. Another is a strange two-bodied skeletal creature, which is almost snakelike and seems to take great joy in tearing the living creatures apart. The last is a zombified flying creature of some variety. Perhaps a yrthak, or a wyvern, or a pseudodragon? It is vaguely reptilian, and you once again dominate a refugee back at the library to begin researching reptilian flying creatures native to the Dagensberg area.

As you float nearby, content to watch the slaughter, several of the ugly humanoid's followers die. Ah, well, there are more bodies where those came from. The leader breathes fire at the undead, which you find intriguing. From going through Ivan's mind earlier, you know that one of his previous companions possessed the same ability, and he seemed to be fairly proficient at combat; you decide that this one is worth retrieving. Your minions join in the fighting, the raptoran taking to the air and engaging the zombie, the others surrounding the refugees to protect them from the skeleton and mummy. You float apart, making an ongoing tactical assessment of the situation. When your minions and the refugees accumulate sufficient wounds to bring the change of success below the acceptable threshold of 60% likelihood, you order a retreat.

You explain the situation to the apparent leader in the span of a few heartbeats--much faster than your minions' garbled attempts at a verbal explanation--and it orders its own minions to follow. The leader insists on bringing the dead weight with her for whatever reason, a demand which you do not mind heeding, as more bodies following you provides more targets for the undead. Just to be sure, you psychically hold a few in place to divert the skeleton, leaving only the two ground-bound undead to worry about. You make it back to the library with acceptable losses--not the warforged nor the halfling, regrettably--and enter safely. Three of the humanoid's followers remain after the retreat, which you hope will suffice to silence her whining about the safety of her "gang members."

------------------------------------------------------------

Iluria looks up and shakes her head as she, Gaius, Byzen, and Gunther finish receiving the kobold's memories of the night. "You...you are even more despicable than I thought," Iluria tells Mysel softly. "You'd do well to make a better impression on the the new ones." Your counsel is neither requested nor valuable. I go to meditate. Do not disturb me, the kobold replies, and she drifts out of sight. Iluria takes a deep, calming breath, then smiles encouragingly and extends a hand, all business. "Greetings, newcomers. I hope you didn't mind the rather...unusual...welcome you've received too much. My name is Iluria Lunirii, wealthiest merchant in Dagensberg and employer of the mercenaries who found you tonight. Not the kobold, though, she's her own brand of crazy and not one of mine. I'll let the others introduce themselves in a moment, and then our resident librarian can give you a tour of your new home for the foreseeable future.

First, though, I'd like to congratulate you on surviving the undead so long; our patrols have found fewer and fewer survivors as the week has gone by. You're certainly welcome here, and I hope everyone makes you feel welcome. Would you mind sharing a bit about yourselves, how you managed to survive, what talents you have for fighting the Order's undead, that sort of thing? We'd be happy to answer any questions you might have after that."

[Questing Beast]

Having been through this very same process hundreds of times since awakening decades ago Null was quite used to the hiring process. Doing both the expected and unexpected with introductions had managed him a few well paying positions. Standing fully upright with his height of 6'2" and with a precision military bearing Null looked upon the merchant, "Ma'am," Nodding his head at Iluria, "I am designated Null Cynrs and fight with both flame and blade, I have earned patent and membership with the Order of Spellswords holding papers of endorsement if you wish to purview them as a potential employer. Having desire to assist refugees and survivors I would be willing to accept your patronage if your goal is to free them of the current menace roaming this city. If your wishes come to agreement with mine then I suggest we forgo the typical mercenary contact and sign upon what your current contract is with the others you have gathered here." Coming out of his military stance for his formal introduction Null looks around the room meeting the eyes of his fellow living beings with dark unblinking gem-like orbs and shrugs, "As for how I have survived the answer is simple, I was dumped unceremoniously into a cistern on the day of the original attack and have been making my way out ever since. Today was the first day in the city I was able to give battle and all we did was a holding action while fleeing the enemy;", the small fuzzy head of a weasel pops it's head out of the top corner of Null's pack blinking sleepily before coming out to investigate the area. Smiling and for the first time looking less like a mechanical object and more like a flesh and blood being Null reaches to his shoulder securing the tubular mammal in his hand and stroking it, "besides, Pauly likes company so how could I turn my back on those who need us?" Null puts Pauly on the ground and watches with one eye as the weasel pokes his head into every nook and cranny possible while at the same time seeking attention from every person in the room.

[jinx1016]

Byzen glances at the newcomers, I don't mean to be rude but before we can have some proper introductions I have a promise to keep and with that raises his hand and blasts three red hot beams of fire straight at Mysel

actions

Spoiler

Show

use augmented casting to maximize scorching ray.
ranged attack 1 (1d20+7)[25]
ranged attack 2 (1d20+7)[11]
ranged attack 3 (1d20+7)[11]

first ray does 28 pts of fire damage, rays 2 and 3 each do 24.

(hopefully he's flat footed since i just started firing out of nowhere)

[PairO'Dice Lost]

Iluria looks suitably impressed by Null's presentation. "The Spellswords? Not bad, not bad at all. Aasa was a member of the Spellswords for eight years before she retired to work for me exclusively, so as far as I am concerned, anyone talented enough to work for them is a valuable asset to our team." The elf smirks. "As for a contract, well, the mercenaries you met have a long-standing contract with me, and I haven't been paying the others. I didn't rise to my position of wealth and influence by giving out golds to those who didn't ask for them in writing." Ivan's eyes bulge out comically, and he lets out a strangled yelp. "Wait just one gods-damned second--you mean I could have been getting paid for this? Dammit, dammit, dammit!" Iluria pats him on the shoulder and shrugs. "Don't worry, it isn't as if you really need the gold right about now. I might give you all something if we survive this."

Turning back to Null, Iluria continues, "Right now, the only unofficial 'contract' we have is that everyone is entitled to an even share of whatever spoils or salvage we might find, and we have free access to the Library's reserves of confiscated magical items, thanks to Jiucadrii--she's the librarian I mentioned, the one over there wearing blue. And of course any fighters have first call on food, drink, and sleeping location, but something tells me you won't be needing any of that." At the appearance of the weasel, she smiles and adds, "Well, I guess your share of food can go to that cute little critter. He'll certainly keep the children entertained, and he'd be worth his weight in food for that alone."

Before she can say anything else, she is interrupted by the ruby rays streaking past her towards Mysel. The first one catches the kobold right in the back, but she seems to sense the next two and swerves out of the way. She spins in place and "shouts" mentally Arrogant worm! How dare you assault me! Her eyes flash bright blue even through the blindfold she wears. A moment later, she nods in satisfaction and continues floating away, appearing to believe the matter settled.

Byzen

Spoiler

Show

Suddenly, you feel a vague warmth in your mind, and you realize that Mysel may not be the most wonderful person to be around, but that her actions were at least somewhat necessary and justified. You can probably forgive her for it, this once, but you might want to talk to her about it later.

[Byzen is now friendly towards Mysel for the next 2 weeks thanks to the charm effect.]

Spoiler

Show

Mysel's touch flat-footed AC is above 11, sadly, so only the first ray hits.

Mysel manifests psionic charm on Byzen.
Byzen's Will save: (1d20+11)[14] vs. DC 19

[Jheska]

Rachturirl listened with only half an ear to the conversations that passed around her, that little kobold freak had ensured she had gotten away with a couple of her men but she was also dammed sure it had been responsible for the fact that only a couple made it. Micheal and Cyrus had frozen up when the tried to flee, and damm well none of the undead had shown that power before then. Someone amongst her would be captors had done it and Rachturirl was more than happy to blame the flying sorry excuse for a Draconic that had dared order her around.

When Iluria started talking things were a different matter. She knew the Lunirii family, every thief from petty to master knew the Lunirii family. They had the wealth to run the city, and in a way they did; most everybody who tried a job against them failed at best. No great surprises some Lun' scion made it out of the whole dammed affair completely fine, but if she was willing to pay and her conversation with the metal thing was indicating she was then there was profit to be made in this whole ugly affair.

Before she can fully word her offer in her mind fire lances through the air and cuts it all short. Swearing fluently in orcish a short blade is quickly drawn and brandished, sickly green flames playing at her mouth as she takes in the scene. When the kobold bitch performs what must have been magic on one of the new survivors she flips slightly, yelling loudly in draconic.

"Hey small [bitch], stop throwing power round like you own the place or I'll make you prove it. Because I'm pretty sure the reason so few Iron Collars made it out today is partly your fault!" Her draconic is mostly fluent, its variations almost deliberate breakings from the flowing forms usually present in the proud language.

Spoiler

Show

Under the assumption that at some point today I have already used my all day buffs of voidsense and beguiling influence (as well as endure exposure on myself and all gang members), intimidate check on Mysel

Intimidate: (1d20+20)[36]
-edit: +4 for being bigger than the kobold, so 40

[SlyJohnny]

Lindee is a tiny, slender gnomish lady with greying brown hair, large grey-green eyes, and wrinkled skin of a colour that reminds you of a moss-covered oak tree. She's wearing a fine brown tunic with leaves and burrs stuck to it in various places, and a small copper earring on her left ear. Somewhat alarmingly, as she entered, a massive crocodile at least 25 feet long stalked along after her, but as it didn't appear to be eating her and noone in the expedition seemed to consider this cause for concern, you figured it was probably supposed to be there or something. It seems to be wearing an earring matching hers, around a small aperture that is presumably an ear. The creatures green, slitted eyes slowly track Null's weasel as it begins to explore the room, and the gnomish lady frowns at it, gently rapping it on the snout with her tiny fist and chirping at it in an odd series of hisses and sounds. Sebek, no. Is not for eating! I just feed you.

She steps forward towards Iluria, squeaking in heavily accented Common. " 'allo. I am called Lindee. I am druid, 'ere to 'elp you. I can fly people outside of ze city, to be safe... but so many of you 'ere! I can only do two, three, each trip... I t'ink it would take very long time. Maybe I 'elp wounded and take them first, Mizz Iluria? And I 'elp defend. Undead are bad, big bad. I t'ink if I don't fight them here, then I must fight them when they come to burn my groves. I t'ink-"

When Byzen opens fire on Myzel, her eyes go wide. She squeaks rapidly, "No, no! Why you fight? The kobold bring us here! We too few for fighting ourselves!"

[Questing Beast]

Upon hearing the words "even share of whatever spoils or salvage" Null nods his head in satisfaction and he practically preens once he hears about the confiscated items. He is about to speak when the mini-battle ensues and he watches with complete unconcern as the creatures fight and yell at each other. Once the eruption is done not waiting to hear the Kobolds retort he turns to Iluria, "I will assume this also means access to the library contents so I agree to the terms." Pointing at Pauly he smiles, "He will be as entertained as the children you harbor here. As for the food you are correct on both thoughts, I won't be needing any and Pauly will be more than happy to be fed the bugs out of your rations. He will also require a even share since we have agreed he will work as well. That was a joke he would prefer the rations and the bugs, the bugs being his pay of coarse." Looking at the large reptile and seeing it eyeball Pauly Null looks a bit grim and worried, "I shall be upset at you both if my friend gets eaten or harmed so please make sure your companion keeps all his teeth and gullet to itself friend gnome."

[Zieu]

Having made way for the new survivors' entry, Gaius leans his back against the wall and listens intently. He flicks his gaze playfully between speakers and listeners alike, avoiding eye contact with all except the construct's weasel and the tiny gnome's crocodile. He throws each a long, intense look with the intent of a staring contest before Byzen's attack startles him.

He pushes off the wall and begins to raise his left arm to aid him, the wispy beginnings of a mind arrow starting to coalesce in his palm, but after a moment's hesitation it is dismissed. The blue and white form in his hand diffuses, and he settles for firing a steely gaze at Mysel instead. A low mutter of Soon... escapes his lips.

Content to observe for a bit longer until everything settles down a bit, he resumes leaning against the wall behind him until the dragonborn's fierce words and Draconic tongue catch Gaius's attention. He keeps a wary eye on her - partly intrigued and equally cautious.

[PairO'Dice Lost]

Mysel pauses for a moment at Rachturirl's words, then continues floating away. A telepathic message reaches everyone, along with the mental impression of an amused smirk. A humanoid speaking a civilized tongue? Refreshing. Were it not for delusions of grandeur and a marked inability to back up her threats, I would find her worthy company. Ivan stalks into the middle of the group and throws up his hands before anyone can do or say anything else. "All right, all right! Can we please just ignore the gods-damned floating lizard? All that bitch wants is attention, and we're just giving it to her. Forget her; she can go off and be high and mighty by herself while we get back to planning how to get everyone out of here." Gareth chuckles, sounding like a large bonfire crackling in the wind. "Everyone, Ivan? And here I thought we were planning to leave the 'useless, incompetent' refugees behind." "Yeah, well, I...you shut up, brass-for-brains."

Iluria lets out a long-suffering sigh. "After that...unique...welcome," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose to ward off a headache, "I suppose it is time to introduce you all to everyone else. It certainly was a pleasure to meet you, Null, and you, Lindee, and...I don't believe you gave your name, Miss." She directs the last at Rachturirl as she motions everyone over to the main living area. You all round the corner of the makeshift barricades to find dessert being served--from the lovely scents wafting your way, it seems Dorfal, the gnomish chef, has baked some special desserts to celebrate the discovery of new survivors. The refugee children certainly appreciate the break from the usual "grown-up food" he cooks, and are gleefully devouring seconds and thirds of his pastries. He catches sight of you and ambles over, small plates of pastries floating in the air behind him.

"Miz Lunirii, the searchers, they 'ave discovered anozzer cache of supplies. Cinnamon and sugar and caramel, this one!" he exclaims cheerfully. "I 'ave fixed a specialty pastry, ze bichon au citron. One for you, madame, and one for Gaius, and one for Byzen, and one for Gunther, and one for Ivan...." he continues passing out pastries to those he names, then comes to the newcomers. "And one for ze one wit' ze wings," he says to Rachturirl, "and one for ze one in ze armor," to Null, "and one for...ze lovely lady," he says to Lindee, handing her the last two pastries. He passes the plates over his shoulder, letting them float there unattended, and flicks his left hand in the druid's direction. A rose appears there, which he hands to Lindee with a bow and a murmured "Pour vous, ma petite cherie." Dorfal looks up at her, blushing slightly, and shuffles back to where the children are playing to offer them more pastries. Gareth heads after him, and the children cheer and rush over to him as he juggles some pastries and hands out the now-warmed-up treats to everyone.

Lariol returns as the gnome departs, nodding politely to the new arrivals. "We have secured the ground floor and the acolytes are securing the second and third floors now. The undead that pursued you here seem to have departed, but we will not relax our guard until make sure of that. Now, I would like the newcomers to tell us about any undead you encountered over the past week, if you would, as well as any capabilities you might have that would help us evacuate the refugees."

[Questing Beast]

Following Iluria's gesture to move along he steps in the direction indicated while wondering if these humanoids are at all sane with the bickering in the middle of this assault on the city and just shakes his head in frustration. Having the cook hold the pastry in front of him Null holds up a hand, "I appreciate the offer sir however I have no need of such and could not appreciate it's taste. Perhaps if you have any large grubs or other insects Pauly would partake."

Null puts Pauly down and once again keeps an eye on the weasel as Pauly gifts the children with his attention, "As for abilities to help these people escape I can cast a few assisting spells but most of my work and knowledge resides around attacking not escaping. A few spells in my Grimoire may be able to provide limited protection but other than turning a small group invisible to the eye and walking out or flying out at few at a time I wouldn't consider it a good option without a secure place for these folk to end up. Do we know what the situation outside the city limits is? I suspect that the cultists are hunting refugee's outside as well as in. Better options might be to secure a few close knit holds such as this that can provide mutual support to each other when the undead attack. Also we might be well served to whittle down the enemies units, draw out the more powerful undead from supporting one another and take them down one at a time. Lastly if we could find the cultists stong-hold maybe we could break it or at least weaken their hold over the undead to both split their forces and cause them to in-fight. We would need to go through and gather more resources and allies first before we plan any assault I suspect.

[SlyJohnny]

Lindee blinks as she is handed the flower, reaching out for it as if she's not quite sure what she's expected to do with it. She examines it for a moment, instinctively checking it's health, it's exact genus and where it's likely to have bloomed nearby, and then suddenly seems to remember the actual social significance of being given a flower as a gift. "Oh! 'zank 'oo. 'zis is quite lovely." She smiles, somewhat bemused yet quite charmed, and then reaches up to affix the rose in her hair.

"I do not 'ave pastries very often. A treat! What is your name, monsieur chef extraordinaire?"

She utters a quick form of something that is apparently a druidic grace, "Earth mother, thank you for your gifts of life, bringing sustenance and strength from your bounty. I am grateful for all I have." and passes her hand over her clasped pastries, casting Purify Food and Drink. She starts to nibble on one like an eager mouse.

When she has finished one of them and Null is finished speaking, she says to Iluria, "I 'ave been lifting people out. Zis is the largest group I 'ave found. Most are thin wretches, cowering in collapsed cellars. Many children 'oo 'ave always been good at escaping notice in this 'orrid city. Many hurt or diseased. I 'elp those I can, give peace of death to zose I cannot, and carry many out of city. I 'ave not seen undead on kings 'ighways, but 'zen I always fly out far, to keep the refugees safe. I can assume a wild form, of... ehh, what is word... in gnomish, we call 'zem pegaso? Winged 'orses, messengers of Mielikki? And many large birds. And liocorno, so they cannot 'old me, like they do to so many others."

She examines her other pastry as she talks, debating whether to eat it now.

"I have good command of four elements and plants. And Sebek, 'ere, to 'elp me. We 'ave fought many... eh, 'ow you say, goo-els? And bigger things... wrapped in bandages, but not ones covering wounds. Strong, very strong! I saw one break a woman in half with it's arms, snapped spine, before I could burn ze damned thing to ash."

She spits out this last sentence angrily, and for the first time since she arrived appears something other then placid and meek, her face crinkling up in apparent frustration at the memory. Sebek swings his head towards her, watching her, as if expecting he'll need to fight and awaiting a command.

"I agree with, ehh... monsieur Null-golem. We should find the cultists, the ones who are making all undead."