Classic 3.5 Adventure (IC Thread)

[Jettander]

The northern frontier of the Arlanian kingdom is a harsh and wild land, where only the hearty survive and prosper. Situated south of the Daggers Edge Mountains, this territory was once the jewel of the realm, prospering in agriculture and mining, and possessing a natural beauty that few could compare to. Recently however, this 'Northern Star' has grown dark and desolate. Orcs, goblins, and other vicious humanoids roam the landscape and frequently raid the lands of goodly folk. This threat pales in comparison to the rumors of darker, sinister forces lurking in the mountains and abroad. Once a land of justice and peace, it is now a breeding ground for thugs and knaves. The sun has truly set on for this great land.

To battle the spreading corruption, the King of Arlan has put out a call to merchants, tradesmen, warriors, and scholars to come settle this land and bring it back to it's former glory. All those who answer the call will be provided a royal subsidy for relocating to the north-most city of Darrowdale and it's surrounding barony. Whether it be the grand subsidy, the love of battle and combat, the whispers of ancient mysteries and treasures in the mountains, or the chance to make fresh start, you all have decided to make the journey to find a new place in the north-lands.

Separately and in your own way, you all arrive at Fallun, a small town a several days south of Darrowdale. Nestled in a valley and adjacent to a minor river, Fallun serves as a way station for those making the dangerous trek northward. After finding your own lodgings and meals for the night, you learn that all individual travel to Darrowdale has been barred. Worsening weather conditions and reports of roadside ambushes and raids make it unsafe for people to travel alone. Only those traveling in the weekly supply caravan are allowed to depart the northern gates. It just so happens that the next caravan is leaving the day after next, and as an added bonus, all who travel with the caravan as protection will have meals on trip provided. Taking the day in-between to recuperate, you all join the caravan early the next morning and set out for Darrowdale.

The journey is long and harsh. With winter setting in and fall almost finished, the temperature has taken a steep dive. Mornings are marked with a chilly fog and haze that gradually dissipates towards noon, only to be replaced by a biting wind that howls until well after midnight. The sky is perpetually overcast, providing only brief glimpses of the sun. The road cuts a slithering path through the wooded landscape, frozen mud and ice predominant. Your caravan, numbering a little over twenty besides yourselves, is comprised of a handful of supply wagons, several escort guards, a few common folk, and a carriage with a fairly young human male of some nobility, though you never catch the name. The going is slow, constantly fighting against the blowing wind and frozen road, but still the guard lieutenant is confident you will make the trip in a week.

[Lothorus]

Impannodel d'Firiel, major proponent of culture, is suddenly overcome by a severe bout of shivering. This causes a brief lull in his constant chatter to the driver, the passengers of the wagon, his dog, or anyone within earshot, really. His seat on one of the wagons driver benches is rather exposed to the open air, and this wasn't the first time that a sudden gust of wind had silenced him. Grumbling, he briefly delayed his insightful speech on the finer points of how the revolution at Drenvale had shaped the evolution of song for the whole region to scramble into the back of the wagon.

Small, lithe, and haughty looking, he seemed to embody the appearance of "elfyness" to a tee. Wearing reserved-yet-well made clothing under his armor, it was plain to anyone with even a hint of taste that he took pride in his appearance. His long straw-colored hair was carefully tied back so that the cold, whipping wind wouldn't dishevel it too much, leaving his long and severe face mostly bare. Surprisingly, however, his battle-gear didn't seem to be elf-made. His suit of studded leather was obviously made for a human, and didn't fit him terribly well. Adjustments had been made to get it to fit his small frame, but the attempts were amateurish at best. His bow and arrows might take a more refined eye to notice a difference about, but they were human-made as well.

He reached "his" corner of the wagon where he had stored his equipment and his dog. Adrastai the halfling Clydeshound was currently asleep under a heavy winter blanket. Giving an affectionate pat to the dog-shaped lump underneath the blanket, he reached into the nearby pack saddle and pulled out a second winter blanket and wrapped it around himself like a cloak. Satisfied, he returned to his seat of "honor". He had been selected to act as a lookout for the wagon because that was what elves did, right? Look at things, and then shoot things with a bow. Nevermind that he had never acted as a scout in his life and that his eyes were barely any better than a human's. He was apparently the best choice for such responsibility, so now he got to enjoy the full brunt of the winds ferocity. Grand.

"Now then, as I was saying," he continued in a surprisingly low voice (for an elf, anyway), "we all know that the revolution at Drenvale failed from a tactical standpoint, but there are still other victories to consider!" As usual, the driver and pretty much everyone else stoically ignored him. "Consider the revolutions that followed in the southern lands. Ithren, Rejiim, Elinade; they all threw off the shackles of oppression! What do they have to do with Drenvale? Well, you know the chant of freedom they all cried when marching through the streets, yes?" he asked, and then continued on without even waiting for an answer. "That's right, 'Our subjugation must end now; whether by sword, hammer, or plow'! And if you examine the meter, you'll find that it is nearly identical to the chant they cried at Drenvale," he says, nodding knowingly. "So you see, though Drenvale's revolution failed, its spirit lived on in the revolutions to come, some taking place even hundreds of miles away. Do you think Gram would have had the courage to refuse his service to the Grand Vizer at Rejiim? Do you think the farmer's guild at Elinade would have had the nerve to hold an illegal meeting in the town square even as the queen's guard had their crossbows trained on them? I think not!" he finishes triumphically, turning to look around at everyone near. At that point if anyone looked like they were even remotely paying attention to him, he'd turn and subject him to his next rant. "So you see, even a humble song can have power if kept alive... even if the lyrics are rather uninspired," he says with a sneer, showing just what he thought of the freedom chants of those revolutions.

"Now, with that in mind, consider how Yimvir the Purple took hold of power in...."
It doesn't look like he's going to stop.

[Katasi]

Mical Vestik strides along, his stride cat-like and confident like someone used to long treks through the wilderness. His short cut hair has a rough look to it, as though he cut it with one of his daggers, and his beard is scragly, making it clear that he doesn't shave often, but doesn't grow a full beard yet either.

A finely crafted holy symbol of Heironious hangs loosely from his neck on the outside of his woodsy brown armor, small pieces of metal glinting out of the leather. He caries a halberd loosely in his right hand and has the look of a predator at rest, relaxed but ready to tense up for battle at any moment. He walks along next to one of the carts, not bothering to ride.

He ignores the prattling of the elf, eyes scanning the forest, ears open for strange sounds. He has been like this since leaving the village. Every so often he casts a mournful glance at the paladin of Heironious riding ahead of him. He thinks back to his days hoping to become one, and to his twin, a twinge in his heart bringing up the pain of failure. He keeps his distance however, at least for now. Anyone looking at him can see great pain in him.

[Callos_DeTerran]

Elowin

One figure seemed un-abashedly cheerful despite the depressing weather, shouldering on through the slush of the road on foot when she could and riding in the lead wagon whenever she got tired. Long brown hair is pulled back into numerous braids that are tucked behind her ears, a heavy wool cloak draped over her shoulders to ward off the chill, a large sword ensuring it didn't whip about in the breeze with it's surprisingly heavy weight. Beneath the cloak, the woman wears a sturdy, polished breastplate leaves her mid-section bare for mobility, the symbol of a hand clutching a lightning bolt emblazoned across the front of it to clearly denote the woman's religious leanings. She seemed largely un-affected by the weather or their mission, a bright smile on her face as the caravan trudges towards it's destination.

This is just like some of the darker tales Father used to tell me. The heroes embark on their journey, the very elements turning their scorn upon them for daring to stand up for justice. I may have to keep a journal of our exploits at this rate!

Her usual travel companion, a driver who's name she couldn't quite recall, seemed less then enthused to have to deal with her, considering her disposition and tendency to question him about the stories of the surrounding terrain. To her it was a suitable way to pass the time, since she couldn't think of any word-games or riddles, but to him it was just a bother. Eventually Elowin steps off of the carriage and dumps her backpack into the back of the carriage before slowing her pace. It was time for the hourly head-count, it was always best to double back and make sure no one had accidentally left behind because someone had forgot to call them back after all. Pulling the cloak tighter around her, the knight errant begins to drift along the carriages always taking a moment to count those still among them and listen to what was going on before continuing. It was funny though, it always seemed to be the same fellow talking in the one. Perhaps he was a story-teller, regaling his fellows with some epic?

There were others that she avoided though, not out of her own choosing. One dutiful soul wore the symbol of the Archpaladin as well, but the occasional glances she had caught...well...he didn't seem to want to talk to her, so Elowin had cordially left him to his privacy. Perhaps later she would get the chance to introduce herself and see if she had given offense in some manner or the other.

"Master elf, art thou telling the same story?" She questions lightly of Impannodel, her tone betraying her surprise. Not even the monks at the chapter house had been able to stand the sound of their own voice for so long...

[Kenji]

Shifting comfortably within the caravan, the act of slumber proved to be difficult with the presence of the raging storm as lullaby. Prior days were spent catching up with the caravan as he lagged behind, closing in the distance during a moment’s rest before inevitably widen again. Repetitive as it may, he continued his pursue based on the trace left behind by the caravan, occasionally tripping himself and sank into the snow.

Shadow had a figure of small stature with unruly hair dominating the top of his head; not groomed yet its growth had seemingly been impeded. His favoured typical leather jerkin draped loosely on his torso as with his cloak, Raven, which was entirely woven by his mother with undoubtedly mediocre skills. A pair of daggers strapped firmly within his cloak, only seen during the frequent wild wind beating it; threatening to fling him to who-knows-where should he soften his tread. The black hood sloppily protruding from the garment underneath his vestment works well with his dark skin tone to make his attempt to rendezvous with the rest of the caravan a pain in the ass.

Eventually, he succeeded before getting frostbite and forsaken in the middle of nowhere. His re-entry into the party went unnoticed throughout the journey and probably even now; except for the cook who had to make an extra serving upon request. Although curiosity and annoyance clearly portrayed facially, he simply abided with Shadow’s demand and continue with his work. From what he could gather through the situations, it’s likely that his name was omitted from the registry, a flaw which he didn’t care to fix nor investigate. What he required then was some supplement for his diminished strength; a direct consequence of pacing after humanoids fairly larger than he is. As the wind continues to mercilessly interrupt him, soft voices could be heard overhead. It belongs to someone other than the prophet wannabe, much to his, and certainly others’ relief. He laid motionless in the same spot, merely perking his ears in a lazy manner to comprehend their conversation.

Might as well use some bedtime stories.

[EternalMelon]

Christina

Christina sits at the back of the wagon that Impannodel is currently ranting into. Her knees are curled up to her chest, and her arms wrapped around her shins. She sits leaning against the wall of the wagon, trying to keep warm, although shes probably warmer than most of the others, due to her long heavy robes. As Impannodel tells his story, she sits quietly listening to him, wondering why anyone would care about the meter in the chant than how the economy would fluctuate from the uprising. To shy to bring up this point, and unsure if she would get a word in anyway.When he leaves his chair to go pet his dog, Christina scoffs silently at him.
"That dogs no full breed, Its barely a quarter breed. Clydeshounds have silver fur, not that dull gray shade, anyone who knows anything about the several breeds of Halfing riding dogs would know that!"
As Imponnodel returned to his seat she collected all her memorys concerning Elves.
"Long lives, fair face, graceful bodies, but nothing on this constant talking! Are all Elves full of words and not blood, or is it just my travailing companion here?"
Snapping out of her train of thought, realizing she wasn't paying attention, returned to listening to his story.
"Wait, Yimvir the Purple? what happened to the revaluation of Drenvale?"

[Jettander]

On the morning of the fifth day, the fog is starting to break with a breeze that is beginning to stir. The sky still a dull gray, setting a dour mood for your caravan, you continue along your trek, some maybe having stirrings of regret for answering the King’s call. Suddenly the lead wagon comes to a stop, halting the entire caravan. You see the driver fall from the side of his bench into the mud, a large wooden shaft sticking out from his chest. Before you can process what this means, several more long shafts sail from the trees, one slamming into the lieutenants back, another in his thigh driving him from his saddle. One catches the carriage driver in the neck, and he slumps forward and falls to the mud. Another lands in the fleshy hide of a guards horse, causing it to buckle and throw its rider free. The last few miss their marks, one slamming into the side of the carriage and the other two sticking up in the mud. In the chaos that starts to rumble forth, you see over a dozen orcs emerge from the forest, on both sides of you as well as in front and behind, surrounding the caravan. You hear a piercing note from a horn, then in a deep, harsh battle cry, an orc yell "Lok'Narosh!". You all ready yourselves as combat ensues.

[Lothorus]

Impannodel d'Firiel

The young elf is so stunned by the sudden attack that all he could do was watch for the first few moments. In an instant, several caravan guards and drivers were down, impaled by javelins tipped with deadly steel. The young scholar sharing his wagon, being far more courageous than he, didn't hesitate to strike back. He didn't get a good look at what she was doing, but in an instant two orcs nearby dropped nervelessly despite having no wounds. Were they dead? He was about to express his appreciation for the mighty spellcaster's presence when a third orc rushed in and felled her with a single bow.

Finally spurred into action, Impannodel leapt to his feet crying "Grrraah!", fear and anger mixing in equal parts. In a instant, he raised his bow, nocked an arrow, drew the string to his cheek and then released it, moving in a single swift motion. The arrow transfixed the orc in the dead center of its chest, and it fell with a surprised look on its face. The dramatic moment was only slightly ruined by the equally surprised look on Impannodel's face. It was the first time he had struck a person with deadly force. It was almost terrifying how easy it was.

Snapping out of his daze, he ignored the battle for a moment to go to Christina's side. Even his untrained eye could tell that the wound was a grave one. He muttered "This doesn't look good," before he could help himself, only realizing an instant later that that probably wasn't the best thing to say around a person in the young scholar's situation. "W-well, it's not that bad! You'll be fine!" he quickly added in a shakey voice. Or, he tried to, but he was interrupted partway through by another orc.

A motion in the corner of his eye caused him to look up just in time to see the orc warrior bearing down on him with an upraised falchion. He barely had any time to react, but luckily for him the swing went wide and its sword buried its self deep into the wagon's side. Darting back, Impannodel repeated the same motion once more, deep seated reflexes triggering before any fearful instincts could cause him to act otherwise. Nock, draw, release, and another orc was down. This time in the shoulder; not a killing blow, but apparently the shock of the impact was enough. Only a few seconds had passed since the battle had started, but the strain was already getting to him. His extremities began to tremble.

He nearly leapt out of his skin when he noticed another blob of motion approaching the wagon with a big sword, but thankfully it was one of the other caravaneers. The young knight who was very polite. He noticed the copious amount of blood staining her sword. Clearly, her courtesy didn't extend to those who'd try to do harm to others. breathing a sigh of relief, he raised his bow once more as she tried to do something for the poor wizard. What he saw didn't give him much hope, however. The orcs weren't totally without losses, but there were more humans on the ground than standing. Before he could contemplate the hopelessness of the situation more, however, the biggest orc he had ever seen leapt up to the wagon.

Huge and well armored, the orc with the horned helmet carried a sword even bigger than the knight's. All Impannodel could think about was how he didn't want to be there. His reflexes didn't require him to think, however. The motion was beginning to become familiar to him, and once again his arrow struck home. Another lucky shot. Unlike the last time, however, the orc did not fall. It didn't even look shocked or fearful. It simply looked angry.

Impannodel had once heard the saying that lucky things came in threes. Three good shots, but now he felt that his luck was up. He felt himself baring his teeth in a snarl as his eyes widened, desperately watching the orc to anticipate its next move. The big sword had to be slow, so perhaps he could avoid it if he were careful. But he barely noticed the huge orc twitch before the sword in its hands was drawing a white-hot line of pure agony across his abdomen, cutting through armor and flesh alike. He fell limply to the ground as the pain spread through his whole body, making his vision go white. He vaguely heard the sounds of battle continue around him, but before long everything went dark.

[Callos_DeTerran]

Elowin

It was the suddenness of the attack that surprises Elowen the most, eyes widening in dismay as she watches the driver tumble from his seat as if time had slowed to a crawl. As he collapsed into the slush, her head whipped about to the tree-line as a band of orcs came roaring out of the woods on both sides of the caravan and went to assault the other guards and the carriage. A holy fury began to burn in her breast as Elowin's hand sought the grip of her bastard sword just as one of the foul beasts charged at her, as if to take advantage of some perceived weakness. The creature's falchion bit into the wood of the wagon instead of Elowin though, courtesy of the knight errant quickly pushing herself to the side as she hefts her own large blade.

"Ambush! To arms comrades!" the young woman bellows as she kicks out to push her opponent back far her to get in a good strike of her own. Her entire body twisted around as she brings her sword to bear, smoothly decapitating the orc and sending his head flying to the ground, "For the Arch-Paladin!"

Chaos had erupted all around her though, men were falling with arrows or javelins buried in flesh, the bookish woman had brought two of the creatures low with only a word before being cut down herself. Instinctively her eyes went to the carriage, trying her best to remember if it's occupant had a weapon or not. In the end, she makes a snap judgment and leaps down from the wagon, sprinting down towards the carriage with holy fervor in her eyes and blade raised to fell this orc too. It's as Impannodel's arrows whisk through the air that she realizes her error and skids to a halt. There was still someone with the injured sorceress! With some assistance from him, and he certainly seemed skilled considering his remarkable aim, then perhaps she could keep the woman from bleeding out and perhaps even revive her! With as poorly as the battle seems to be going, they could use all the help they could get! So Elowin turns, just in time to feel the orc's falchion skitter across her breastplate, and rushes back to the wagon and clambers up inside of it, casting her sword to the ground with a clatter.

"Keep yonder beasts off me as long as thou can!" Elowin implores as she looks over the fallen Christina and the gash in her abdomen, chewing her bottom lip as she wracks her mind to remember the lessons of old. Finally she moves, carefully ripping off a long strip from her cloak and delicately winding it around the wound, tying it off just as a long shadow is cast over Impannodel and herself.

No, not yet! I haven't managed to stop the bleeding yet! the knight errant thinks to herself, face set in stern concentration as she hears the sound of the half-elf's bow behind her, hoping he could handle the problem himself. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see him cleaved by the larger and armored monster. Righteous fury burns in Elowin's eyes as she snatches up her sword with bloodied hands and brings it around in a wide slash. Divine power flowed through her and into the blade, surrounding it with a crackling nimbus of holy lightening as she drew blood once more. "Back beast! Thou shalt have no more victims today!"

Her threat was hollow though, they both knew it, and as it roared out it's challenge, Elowin returned it in kind and launched herself at it...only to catch the blade in the side and get the wind knocked out of her. Next thing she knew, her entire front was felt wet and cold, vision swimming as the yawning abyss of unconsciousness begins to swallow her. Still she tries to lift her sword, not even noticing the pool of scarlet puddling around her.

Not...yet...I can still...fight..

And then it was black...

[Katasi]

Mical is sitting in the 5th wagon as the attack breaks out. His instinct taking over he slides gracefully from the wagon, landing on his feet, his halberd in his hand. He props the weapon next to the wagon and loops his arm up to pull his bow from behind his back, his other hand going to take an arrow. He begins fitting the arrow to the bow even as the weapon comes over his head to aim.

All this is done in less than a second and now he notices an orc is already near him. He pulls back his bow and releases, the hastily drawn arrow hits the orc but lacks the power to penetrate it's armor. Mical gives a low curse, reaching for another arrow as the orc rushes forward, it's weapon swinging and slashing across his chest. He gives a scream of pain as blood drips out of the slash.

In his pain he drops his bow. Seeing everything through the red haze of pain he grips the haft of his halberd and, dancing to the side, swings it out and downward. The bottom of the blade catches the back of the orc's right knee, pulling it out from under him. As the orc tries to rise Mical is pulling the halberd out from under it's knees and the blade comes up as the orc rises, cutting into the humanoid's chest as the orc's own momentum drives the two together.

He climbs back up on the wagon to survey the battle, a frown curving his lips as he sees how badly it is going. Over at one of the wagons is what he can best tell is the leader. With a curse he notes that two of the three in the wagon to face the orc leader are down and appear to be bleeding heavily. He looks around and sees noone else who he can help, and runs to the wagon, leaning down by the young woman who seems to be bleeding the worst and rips a piece off of her sleeve, using it to bind down on the wound to stop the bleeding.

As he does this he hears a boot fall behind him moments before his head screams in pain at the impact and he falls unconcious atop his patient.

[Kenji]

The conversation he eavesdropped from the day before faded into oblivion, as if it’s an unfinished story. It might have spun into a deep philosophical exchange, or probably a pleasant, nice chat. Nevertheless, he was within an unknown caravan the next instant he’s aware of himself. There was a slight ruckus occurring outside, although its insignificance failed to prompt him into leaving the comfort of his sleeping quarters. Fidgeting, he tried to force himself into a deep sleep but to no avail. Then, uneven lumbering footsteps were heard, each advance reinforcing its owner’s intent to intrude on Shadow’s comfort.

Must have been the guard or something; can’t they allow another freeloader along the way?

Shadow slowly set himself into an upright sitting position, intending to confront the stoic guards patrolling the caravans. Instead, he found himself meeting eye to eye with an ugly being, its foul smell further fortify its naturally unappealing facade. Feeling of dread begun to seep into him only moments after he’s fully aware with the conditions he’s in. Shadow retained his gaze of the intruder; an instinct developed throughout the hunting sessions back home. The confrontation met its counterpart as the creature began acting similarly in response, laying its eyes on Shadow as its breathing paced down considerably.

Moments later, it started to trudge out of the caravan before halting as an unwitting sigh of relief was heard. The large humanoid began to backtrack in similar fashion, a grin carved onto its hideous face which continuously widen as it approached its prey, its hand gripping firmly on the hilt of its sheathed blade. Any urge to retaliate was lost as the monstrosity swiftly drew his blade, hands held high as if in preparation to execute an unwilling prisoner. The sword’s descend were nigh as something bumped onto the sides of the caravan, accompanied shortly after by the sound of metals clashing before followed up by a short-lived mourn. Despite losing its initial angle and velocity, the sword managed to pierce through his leather jerkin, cracking a few of his ribs as a diagonal wound was formed.

Losing its patience, the creature bellowed before landing a stiff kick directly at his abdomen, launching him toward puddles of mud filled with souls of similar fate, wrecking the caravan’s wall along the way. Blood oozes its way out of the wound; further staining the muds as a victory cry was heard, before it gradually dispersed as his senses dulled. Words of his accursed eyes were whispered repetitively between gasps as he concluded it with a final thought.

If only my name is in the registry…

[EternalMelon]

*reserved*

[Jettander]

You all sink into darkness, bloodied and left for dead along the cold, muddy road. Time and space seem to stretch out in this blackness as the cool embrace of death looms overhead. The long trek you have made into this bitter northern land now feels like your final march and the destination your grave. But this is not to be your fate.

In your deathly slumber, and all in your separate ways, your senses send messages to your subconscious brain. At times you feel vibration, a rocking sensation that last a few moments before being replaced with the eternal darkness. Random visions fill your mind as you rest in this lifeless world. Sometimes it is a dull gray sky, the tops of trees passing by on the sides. Sometimes it is the face of a small boy, covered in dirt and blood, and he is pouring something down your throat. These also last but a few seconds before the blackness returns.

After time these images are replaced by ones a well formed stone ceiling, torchlight illuminating the walls. Other images are of an elderly woman, a concerned frown wrinkling her face as she pats your forehead with a cool, damp cloth. Other times you see her yet again, pouring a warm, flavorful broth into your mouth. The smell that steams up into your nose comforts you and it isn’t long before you fall back into the darkness. These images come more frequently and last longer, giving you glimpses around yourself. You are clearly in a well made bed, one of many in a row, with others lying in the bed next to you. You feel the snugness of cloth wrapped around appendages and center mass, and seeing the same wrapping on the other bed dwellers; you know these to be bandages.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, but you are awoken one day by the elderly looking woman. She holds plain, but well made linen clothes in her hands, which she places on the bed next to you. “Get dressed,” she says in a stern but kind tone, “the Baron wishes to speak with you.” Stepping away so that you may dress, she moves to the next bed and repeats the ritual. Getting up is a slow, stiff process and you feel the effects of the wounds you received.

Once you are all dressed, a young man with long but neatly kept blonde hair comes up to your group. Clearly a servant, he ushers you after him, “This way please.” Leading you through numerous stone corridors and flights of stairs, you finally arrive at two elaborately carved oak doors, a fully armored guard to either side. Giving the servant a curt nod, a guard steps forward and pushes one door open. Before leading the way in, the servant turns and addresses the group, “Be sure to bow before his Excellency and speak only when offered to.” He then walks in and directs you all into a line, the high ceiled room accentuated beautiful arches and pillars up each side.

Standing in front of an intricate but not overly extravagant throne, you face a matured man, well built with a hint of extra weight pushing out from his beltline. Short cut black hair and finely trimmed mustache and goatee all show hints of gray, made even more obvious by the fine blue silks he is wearing. The servant bows, looking down the line to let you know to do this same. “My lord, here are the patients you requested.” With this he turns and steps aside past one of the pillars and out of site.

Rising to his feet, still agile and powerful in this motion despite his age, he sizes each of you up in turn, before addressing you all. “Welcome. I am Lord Arald, Baron of Darrowdale. And you all are lucky to be alive.” He finished with a warm smile, raising his hand and motioning for some servants. They bring forth five comfortable looking chairs and place them behind you, a kind gesture of the Baron. Sitting back in his throne, he motions for you to do the same, “Please sit, I know you are all still quite drained.”

After you all get comfortable, he continues, “I know you all must be quite puzzled as to how you made it here, so allow me to illuminate you. Two days ago an exhausted small boy nearly frozen to the bone rolled up to our southern gates driving a wagon filled with you five and two others, most on the brink of death. I had you all brought here to the infirmary and brought back to us in the world of the living.”

“After the boy got some much needed rest and some warm food, I sat him down and questioned him. He related to me the events of the ambush, which wasn’t much from his perspective. From what I gather, after an orc cut down his mother, she fell atop him and the boy went into shock. I guess with his mother’s blood covering him and no signs of movement, they though him dead too. Sometime later, he was awoken by someone or something that he only refers to as ‘The Shadowman’. From what the boy tells me, this ‘Shadowman’ had loaded the survivors into a wagon, including a shaggy horse of a dog and instructed the boy to drive the wagon here, through day and night, only stopping a few times to rest the horses. And that he did.”

“Now at first I thought this ‘Shadowman’ to be a figment of the boy’s imagination, but there is no way he could have lifted you all into the wagon. The soldiers I sent south to investigate also said that all the dead were all lined up along the tree line, covered with blankets. So whoever this ‘Shadowman’ is, it is thanks to him that you are all alive.”

The Baron’s tone and express getting deeper and more serious, he continues. “I think that should bring you all up to speed. Now I didn’t just call you all here to enlighten you, I have some else. The other young boy in the caravan, the one riding in the carriage, that was the son of my cousin. His father, a wealthy merchant in the south, was sending him here for schooling in court etiquette and academics. His body wasn’t among the dead, so I can only assume that the orcs have taken him. They also stripped clean every member of the caravan, including you all. So now somewhere out there this band of orcs has my nephew and all of your belongings.”

“The orc that leads this group is known as Krull, and I know he has a hideout somewhere in these hills where his group resides and stashes all their loot. Now I do not know where this location is, but I have my best trackers out now trying to trail them back to it. Sadly these trackers are not men of combat, and with these hills crawling with many creatures like Krull, I can’t afford to spare anymore guards. The handful we lost on the caravan hurt enough.”

You see the hurt and aguish in his eyes as he goes on, “But I MUST rescue my nephew you seem like quite the strong group of folk, and from what the surviving wagon drivers tells me, you fell several of the orcs yourselves. So to rescue the boy and reclaim your lost property, I am asking that once I have his location, you venture forth and slay Krull and all his wicked band. I will be happy to outfit you with arms and armor, as well as provide for your lodging and meals.”

“So if each of you accepts, then wonderful. I will make sure to accommodate you in any way I can. If not, you may rest in the infirmary for the night and can go your way in the morn. And please, if you have any questions for me, feel free to ask.”

He extends another warm smile as he opens his hands and motions them both at your group, inviting each of you to speak in turn.

[Katasi]

"No! My grandmother's holy symbol" Mical thinks, his hand reaching instantly for his neck. "and the necklace! Why would they take the necklace!" His face contorts to a look of pure feral rage. "I must find him and get my stuff back." he states in a growl. "I will agree to your terms. What do you know of this Krull? He seems rather unforgettable." Without even thinking about it his stance has adjusted to a ready stance, balanced on the balls of his feet, knees slightly bent, looking ready to move at any moment. His eyes gleam with a wild light.

[Lothorus]

After waking up to a world of aches and pains, Impannodel very nearly rolled over and went back to sleep. And he would have, too, if the act of rolling hadn't sparked a flash of pain down his chest. That woke him up... somewhat. The next few minutes were somewhat of a blur. He remembered sitting up unsteadily, waving groggily to a few similarly bandaged people residing in beds nearby. People he recognized from the wagon; the knight, the scholar, the warrior, and the skulker. It was odd; none had done so much as offer their names (or if they had, he hadn't bothered to remember them), but he was glad they were alright. He supposed it was true what they said about those who survived dire straits together.

He also remembered standing (painfully) and dressing (painfully, and not just because the clothes were not to his taste), and getting talked at by an elderly woman. Perhaps she had cared for them all? He tried to mumble a thanks, but his thoughts were still jumbled. Before long, the others were filing out, and he found himself following.

The Baron greeted them in a manner no doubt fitting for nobility, but Impannodel could barely pay attention for the pain in his torso. Even the short walk over was enough to agitate it a good deal. He didn't so much sit as fall into the offered chair, sighing in relief as he did. Surprisingly, the pain receded quickly. Perhaps the old woman's tending had brought him farther along than he had thought. With renewed focus, he turned to the matter at hand.

Listening intently, he refrained from commenting until the Baron had said his piece. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt over the young boy's plight. Losing his mother like that was a tragedy, but the boy seemed to have shown the strength to pull through. He had saved them all in the end, after all. The Baron seemed like a kind man, too. Hopefully the boy would be taken care of. Impannodel would have to see if he could make it up to the kid, though.

The news of their posessions came as a bit of a shock, though. It made sense in hindsight, but it wasn't until that moment when he looked down at his hand that he realized his family's signet ring was missing. He rarely considered it before, but the absence of its nearly insignificant weight on his hand suddenly became something he couldn't ignore.

Then came the Baron's proposition. Impannodel didn't need any convincing, however. His mind was already made up. The job was dangerous with little reward. The majority of his gear he could easily forget. Heck, the armor he painstakingly adjusted was probably ruined. He could even let go of his family's ring, perhaps. However....

"I'll do it," he said, gingerly touching the wound that was hidden under his clothes and bandages. "I owe this Krull a debt of pain." It was strange. He had never really bought into the whole 'elves versus orcs' thing like his elder siblings did. But now, all he wanted to do was meet Krull again and pay him back tenfold. He could easily see where his elders were coming from now.

Orcs were jerks.

"I'll get your nephew back, too," he adds, smiling a little to try and show he wasn't just in it for revenge. "I don't know what they have planned or why it involves him, but whatever I can do to disrupt it is fine by me."

After that, Impannodel patiently waits for the others to say their parts before making his own inquiries. "Now then, Baron Arald, I believe you mentioned 'a horse of a dog' was also brought in with us?" he said with a smile, obviously glad that the old lump wasn't carted off with the orcs as field rations. "I was wondering where Adrastai had gone off to. A-and," he begins to add, somewhat hesitantly "Ahem, I was wondering what the name of the young boy was. The one that rescued us, that is. I'd like to give him my thanks. It was a very brave thing he did, especially for one so young."

[Kenji]

The darkness that engulfed him; it was indifferent than the previous ones. Shadow proceeded to move forward, the tempo of his breathing were nulled – as if it’s non-existent. Slowly, he began to regain his perception; the feeling connecting his soul with his limbs. Then, came an immediate and forceful swing to his stomach, propelling him away from his assailant. In between his glimpses of the assailant, a hideous grin was seen with faint, foul light radiating from it. The foul grin left a trace of familiarity within him, as if he’s having some sort déjà vu.

Memories hit him hard, literally, as he crashed landed to the wall of the darkness when his recollection of the event occurred. A sharp pain intervened with his forceful shriek, suppressing it to merely a moan. The next thing he remembered – he’s being stared intently by an ominous looking old hag. Kind words were spoken, though it was interpreted by him as stoic instructions; if not a threat. Despite the hints of age through the wrinkles infesting her, she moved nimbly to the other beds, waking them up in a motion as if she’s casting a curse on them. Upon everyone’s awakened and dressed, they were led by some vampiric creature; a gentleman of fine look, though simply a glance of him would leave a haunting aftertaste.

By the time they passed through the daunting passages to their destination, his vision of the surrounding alternated between the supernatural and normal view. Even the conversation they hold with the Baron was seen in different light. At times, his words were soothing and kind, ensuring Shadow of his reliability in their survival. In the other hand, he’s portrayed as a sly man, preying on their innocence amidst the confusion. Shadow’s thoughts on the matter were halted abruptly by his extended offer to answer their inquiries, no doubt an attempt to reaffirm his frail trust on the man himself.

‘If it’s true there’s such a savage group roaming in such close distance from our current location, why is it not dealt beforehand?’ he croaked with a tint of dread with great difficulty. Whether he received a genuine or sarcasm reply, the outcome will most likely be unfavourable. Nevertheless, it remained vital information in his attempt to retrieve his prized possession; whether there’s other predecessor attempting the trial and what occurs thereafter.

[Callos_DeTerran]

Elowen Abel

Waking was a painful, and slow, process for the young knight errant after such a crushing defeat at the hands of the marauding orcs. Her small victory of slaying one of the creatures seemed so minor now in comparison to the lose of the caravan and the injury of those who had been attempting to defend it. And so she swam in and out of consciousness, catching fleeting glimpses of the world through a dulled haze of pain and the realization she had not yet been taken into Heironeous' bosom just yet. Thus it was that she awoke by the old woman with a look of some shame on her part, as if she had somehow personally failed the other survivors by not personally dispatching each and everyone of the orcs. Numbly she takes a linen dress and clothes herself, instinctively reaching to twist the signet ring on her finger, a nervous habit she'd never managed to break to find...nothing. The absence of the gold ring and it's symbol of the Abel family snaps the knight errant back to reality as she blinks rapidly.

Elowen seems quite different with her hair let down and without her armor, more subdued as if the metal shell had given her the unwavering confidence and bravery she had demonstrated in the battle. No weight on her back from a well-worn bastard sword ready for use meant she could no longer play the role of protector until she had acquired substitutes for her belongings. As the others pass into the Baron's sitting room, she files in silently behind them and takes her seat after dipping into a low curtsy to show her respect for the man. The information on the orcs and Krull is quietly stored away, something to be deliberately sorted through later in privacy, while she dwells on the seemingly unimportant details. Who was this 'Shadowman' and what interest did he have in their survival? Had the massive armed orc been 'Krull'? Most importantly, was the baron's nephew still alive and how might they safely rescue him?

"This matter is one thou don't need to wonder on, my Lord. I would be remiss in my knightly duties if I did not pursue the honorable course of action and ensure the safety of your kin so I swear on Heironeous' skin that I shall return your nephew to you." She finally says, reaching up to brush her un-braided hair back from her face with serenity and honesty written in equal parts across it, "Even if I would have been engaging these knaves alone I would not falter. A child should not be left in their uncouth grasp for long, to say nothing of the gifts of my order and family that need retrieving before they are despoiled."

Then her hazel gaze sweeps to the other survivors, the young woman giving a silent nod when Impannodel agrees to the rescue mission as well. Already an inventory of what she might need runs through her mind, though much of it is regretfully crossed off as unattainable by the baron or his men.

A good supply of tinder and lantern oil would go a long way to setting the battlefield to our advantage, as well as drawing the orcs out of their hovel and away from whatever fortifications they might have erected. Though that presents the risk of giving the beasts a chance to use any prisoners they might have as hostages against us. Perhaps it would be possible to rescue any captives before engaging in righteous battle, surely that would be the preferable option to endangering innocent lives.

Elowen's inner monologue is interupted by the halfling's question, prompting her head to swivel about and gaze at him in surprise. It was an odd question, to her anyway, for him to ask but she says nothing about the matter and merely glances back towards the Baron. Perhaps nothing was able to be done about this Krull, he seemed wily enough for one of his sort.

[EternalMelon]

*Reserved*

[Jettander]

The Baron is taken aback by Micals violent and abrupt reaction. His muscles tighten as he places his palm on the finely decorated hilt of the sword resting next to him. “Calm yourself,” the Baron bellows out in a commanding tone, “there is no threat present here!” Waiting for Mical to relax a bit, he continues, “And to answer your question, not much is known about Krull. As I’m sure some of you have seen, he wears an intimidating horned helm and carries a mighty sword. His band has been raiding along my roads for a few months now, but every time he gives my guards and trackers the slip.”

As Imp speaks up, Arald turns his head and smiles at the much more calm and appropriate response. His smiles widens as the dog and young boy are mentioned. “So the dog is yours then? Well I can tell you he had been well taken care of. He is being kept in the stables, and will be returned to you when you leave here tomorrow. I must say, I will be happy to see him go. He eats so much; I was beginning to think I’d go broke feeding him.” The Baron winks as he lets out a small chuckle at his own joke. “And as for the boy, his name is Thomas. He is a very brave and strong young lad indeed. I have taken him into my ward. He will be well tended to, given an opportunity at a better life then his parents could have imagined. I will pass along your thanks to him.”

Turning his head yet again as Shadow speaks, he raises an eyebrow at the bold and almost insulting question. An appraising, untrusting eye sizes him up as he responds, “Well little one, it is not for a lack of trying I can tell you that. Several attempts have been made to catch him, but as I spoke of earlier he is quite sly for an orc, and has been able to avoid capture. I am also limited on men, so to send out a full company of guards would leave the city vulnerable. I have every confidence that my trackers will locate him. This is the first time he has taken a prisoner, and I know my nephew is a stubborn young man. He will make sure Krull’s going is a slow, tedious process, leaving plenty of signs to be followed.”

Elowen’s elegant and regal response leaves a wide grin on the Baron’s face, such a knightly reply that requires little response. Bowing his head in gratitude, Arald responds, “Thank you, my Lady.”

(Reserved for Melon’s response)

Your questions answered and acceptance given, save for Shadow’s, which the Baron leaves open figuring either he will join you all the next day or go on his way, either being fine by him, Arald motions for the servant to return. The young man motions for you all to rise and bow again, the Baron addressing you all now, “Thank you for your agreement, your needs will be tended with all care.” The blonde servant leads you all from the hall and back through the gray maze of the keep and to the infirmary. Your wounds are tended to through the night, healed over quite nicely; leaving only fine traces of the much larger scars that should be present.

The following morning you are escorted from the medical ward, the old woman seeing you off and accepting any thanks you offer. The same young servant bring you all to the armory, a wide selection of weapons and armor about, giving you all leave to pick a few weapons and a suit of armor. Swords, axes, maces, bows, and many more weapons hang from racks around the room. Inbetween are several different types of armor on wooden stands shaped like a humanoid body. All the equpiment shows signs of wear and long use, but remain well maintained and in good condition. A large spell book is set aside for Christina, containing an adequate supply of spells. After you all have geared yourself sufficiently, you are lead from this room and out of the keep.

Outside, the wind chills and howls as you make a brief stop at the stables to retrieve Imp’s beast, the dog licking Imp’s heads and wagging its tail happily at the reunion. You walk out of the courtyard, boots echoing on the wooden drawbridge, past a well fortified wall and trench filled with dangerous spikes.

The city of Darrowdale sprawls out before you. A myriad of dull colors fills your vision as you view all the shops, inns, and houses. Clearly the city used to be much more elaborate and elegant, but the colors have faded and the buildings have taken on a more rugged, functional look. Just another sign of the decay occurring in the north. The streets in this higher class section are paved and well worn, being so close to the keep. You are lead down a couple blocks, taking in the view before the blonde man brings you all to a stop.

You stand before a four story building, well taken care of, a large sign of a glowing white horse hanging over the door, “The Shining Stallion” printed in delicate letters underneath. Stepping inside, you see the fine decor of chairs, benches and tables, a couple large fireplaces heating the room. A mature lady, with flowing brunette hair and soft green eye stands behind a high podium. The servant moves and speaks with her, and you make out bits of the conversation. The woman refuses payment, but the servant insists and hands a large purse over to her. He then turns back to you all and bows before stepping past you and exiting the inn.

The handsome woman steps around her podium and addresses the group, “Welcome ladies and gentlemen to ‘The Shining Stallion’. I am Inara, keeper of the inn. Please follow me to your rooms.” Turning gracefully on her heels, she guides you through the dining floor, past a long bar with many brews and liquors behind the counter, to a flight of stairs near the back. You climb only one flight to the second floor, a handful of doors on either side of the hall, well spaced out. She unlocks one for each of you, handing you the key and letting you enter. “Our kitchen is open from four in the morning until midnight. You can request a meal at anytime, and we also serve major meals at six, noon, and six respectively. We have a servant stationed on this floor at all times, so if you need anything, just poke your head out the door and she will be happy to accommodate you. Please take your leave and enjoy your stay.” Inara makes another swift turn and returns back down the stairs.

Entering your rooms, you are greeted with greater accommodations than any of you has ever experienced. A large, double sized bed with soft looking linens and pillows rests against one wall, a big footlocker with a key at the foot. Along another is a large wardrobe with plenty of hangers, and decent sixed writing desk next to it. A double window looks out to the streets below, a cushioned lounge chair along the wall next to it with a small fireplace in the corner. And next to the door you entered, a curtained corner covers a personal wash tub with towels. The room is lit by a handful of lanterns and is finely decorated. Here is where you will stay and rest for the next few days until the Baron summons you. You are free to come and go as you please.

[Lothorus]

Impannodel chuckles as he tries to calm Adrastai down, but the dog is too excited about the luxuriant hotel room and continues to prance about, yelping quietly. With a grunt, he haphazardly drops all the things the Baron has loaned him onto the bed, not bothering to organize it. Weary though he was, Impannodel was of the opinion that it was still too early to rest, so he immediately exited the room. If any of the others are doing the same, he'll announce: "I don't know about you all, but I am in no mood for bed rest. Join me in the common room, if you like, and maybe we can all properly introduce ourselves over a meal." Any other attempts to talk to him there will be forestalled with a quick "Hallways are no place to talk," as he brushes past to descend down the stairs, his dog happily following at his heels.

Though he already had an early meal in the Baron's healing house, the first thing he does upon reaching the room below is order a good bowl of soup and bread; something to keep him warm as he did his business during the cold day (plus something for the dog). He had to get an early start if he wanted all his tasks to be finished before their departure. Visiting a tailor would have to be first on the list. Realizing that he isn't too familiar with the town, Impannodel makes sure to wave down Mistress Inara and ask her if she has a favorite tailor nearby. Or if there were any in this town left.

Sighing happily, he settles into a chair behind one of the larger tables, eagerly anticipating a few visitors before the meal ends. If anyone joins him at the table, he'll happily greet them and invite them to sit; playing the gracious 'host' and allowing the 'guest' to speak first before speaking of himself. He even offered a meal as though he owned the place.

"Well, I'm Impannodel d'F," he begins before catching himself. It was all too easy to forget that he was sorta on the run from home. Sure, it had been months before they sent someone to look for him, but now he had to be careful about his family's name. No need to have some opportunist eavesdrop on their conversation and sell him out. "Ahem, I'm just called Impannodel," he appends. 'Yeah, that'll work,' he thinks to himself. 'Impannodel is a pretty common name, I think. Nobody'll make the connection if they hear it somewhere else.' He goes on to boast of his variety of talents as a poet, a gourmand, a scholar, and a variety of other things that are really of no use on an adventure. He starts to speak of his musical talent with a lute, but that causes him to slap a hand to his face and exclaim "My lute! Oh, that Krull has gone too far, now!" He begins to tremble with rage, clenching a fist, but that all subsides instantly as he turns away to sheepishly call for the innkeeper again. "Ah, Mistress Inara? There wouldn't happen to be a musician in the area as well, would there?"

After that, he becomes a tad bit more subdued, but it at least gives others the chance to talk of themselves without being interrupted. Soon enough, the dark mood passes him by and he politely listens as others introduce themselves.

[Katasi]

In the armory, Mical looks through the racks of weapons, taking down a halberd. He hefts it carefully. The balance is slightly different than his old one, feeling odd in his hands, but the difference will not be appreciable in combat. He slides a large hunting knife into his high boots. Looking around he takes up a chainmail shirt, hefting it over his head and sliding it on. It is heavier than he's used to, but he feels it won't impede his movement. He takes a quiver of arrows and swings it over his back. He takes up a longbow, giving the string a slight pull. He sighs with nostalgia for his own bow, the bow he learned to shoot with, the bow he carried for all his years growing up.

He leans back against a wall and watches as the others take up their equipment. His hand goes to his neck as he waits and tears form in his eyes as he realizes once again that his necklace and holy symbol are missing, thinking to himself about his loss, and now his failure to keep his family's gift safe.

He follows along with the others as they are led to the their inn, slightly depress. He is warmed a bit by the innkeepers welcome and gives her a faint smile, before shifting back to being slightly depressed. After going to the room he props his halberd in a corner and decides to seek refuge the only way he can, by going to the only other member of his religion he knows where to find. He seeks out Elowin and comes up slowly to her.

As he comes up to her his speak falls into the patterns he was around when he was seeking to become a paladin. "Hail good Dame" he says "Glory to Heironious, The Invincible." He looks into her eyes. "Have you time to spare?"

[Callos_DeTerran]

Elowin

Elowin blinks as she hears the voice, lowering the paintbrush she had been using to paint the symbol of Heironeous unto the wooden shield that the Baron had been kind enough to lend her, twisting her head to watch the newcomer. The young woman is surrounded by small glasses of paint and smudged rags that look as if they've rubbed out the design several times now for not being just right. From the looks of it though, it seems Elowin lacks the actual talent with a paintbrush to get it just right in the first place. "Hail to you as well, I was just finishing up actually." She says warmly, lowering the paintbrush and wiping her hands off on a rag. "Is something the matter?"

Mical rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet nervously, suddenly unsure of whether this is a good idea. He wets his lips carefully before answering.

"I am just torn up over what happened." He says, a mournful look on his face, "We ended up letting the boy be taken by those vile orcs, and I lost some things very valuable to me. I feel an utter failure, and feel the need to talk with someone of my own faith who might understand."

The knight-errant listens quietly through the outburst, hazel eyes thoughtful as she considers the words spoken, despite being younger then the man who had come to speak with her.

"I share the same feelings good man." She finally admits, letting out a heavy sigh as her gaze drops to her lap, fiddling with the rag she had just used to clean off the paint brush, not looking up at the older man yet as she muses through her own feelings on the matter.

"I lost my grandmother's signet ring to the orcs, and the boy was kidnapped as well on my very first quest." Despite the self-deprecating statements, there's still something up-beat about her voice despite all that had happened, "You must not let yourself become too depressed though, we have not failed unless the Baron's nephew has been slain! As long as we persevere and rescue the poor lad, I believe we'll have down the Archpaladin and ourselves proud."

Mical gives off a slight smile at her words, one of his rare ones. "This is why I came to you, good Dame." he says. "Out of all our companions only you, devoted to the Archpaladin, could understand so well." he says. "I lost my grandmother's holy symbol, and a necklace with little value but great meaning."

Elowin gives an honest smile as he responds, rising from the stool she had been using to offer Mical her fore-arm in a gesture of camaraderie for a fellow who seemed quite similar to herself. "Think nothing off it, we'll have saved the boy and recovered our precious relics by week's end if I have my way. The Abel family ring scarcely deserves to be worn by bandits and thugs after all." She does pause though, giving him a wry smile, "And I am no Dame, not yet. At the moment I'm merely a knight-errant."

"With the confidence with which you speak, I can believe it will happen, even if we must do it off of sheer willpower. If not Dame, what should I call you?" he replies, taking her forearm, allowing her to grasp his as well.

Elowin's laughter is bright and joyous, even as she gives Mical an easy smile. "What everyone else does, Elowin. And I shall call you by your name." It's only belatedly that she realizes she doesn't know his name, a fact that suddenly seemed terribly important considering she was going to be questing with practically complete strangers.

Mical gives a wry grin when he realizes that he has never given his name in her presence. "Well perhaps it would be best if you had my name." He says with a laugh. "It is Mical. Talking to you has helped, thank you. I think I will go to bed now.'

The knight-errant nods as she notes down the name to memory and mouths it once or twice before her smile breaks out again. "Very well then Mical. I still have some things I need do, but I hope to see you and our companions up bright and early to continue our quest!"

Mical nods and takes his leave, the knight-errant left to her own self-doubting thoughts for the time being before her resolve returns. What she had told the ranger still applied! As long as they believed the task was capable of being completed then they would find the way to do it, that's what heroes did after all!

Still not done, but can't stay on.

[EternalMelon]

*Reserved*

[Kenji]

The Baron’s reply lingered in his mind, casting unsatisfied gloom over him. Despite convincement from the person in charge himself, the plan is rather reckless in nature, reinforced by prior failures. Beyond all that, however, laid the single fact that the Baron himself didn’t escort the presumably abducted victim. In addition, the Baron’s reassurance that his nephew would drag Krull down despite there being no ransom was commendable as well. Was it overconfidence, or probably faith for his guards? Nevertheless, if he thinks lightly of his own relative, would they be regarded as something more than cannon fodder?

Ultimately, the loss of his possessions bound Shadow to yield to the desires of the Baron. Should things proceed smoothly; he reclaimed his belonging in addition to possible rewards. If it’s the vice-versa, he could bail out at any moment with newly-gained equipment. Soothing himself with these reasoning, Shadow bowed to the Baron and followed suit with what enfolds.

Finding himself within a rather luxury inn is a new experience for Shadow, being poor and what not. Not allowing his curiosity getting the better of him, he hurried to his own room, intending to fiddle with the provided accommodation. Unnecessary equipment were stripped and littered within the wardrobe for safekeeping, leaving only the twin daggers for his safety.

Upon hearing the word ‘meal’, Shadow instinctively tailed the elf, whom he knew as Impannodel later on. Ordering some fried noodle, he spent moments gazing at the well-furnished dining room while pretending to listen attentively to the ongoing conversation. Surprisingly, the elf was still helming the introduction despite the arrival of his noodle, which Shadow regards as an impressive social skill. Savouring the food at his own pace, the burst of anger by the elf halted him for a moment before he continued as the silence subsided.

Finishing the delicacy, Shadow began to speak softly despite there’s no circumstance demanding it. ‘The name goes by Shadow Silverstar. Simply Shadow will suffice for future reference.’ After the brief introduction, Shadow excused himself from the group and ventured out of the inn after getting direction to a nearby tavern from Mistress Inara. Determined to learn more of the Baron and Krull through third-party information, he set foot into the place where exchange of secrets come and goes, deliberate or accidental.

[Jettander]

The whole group settles in for the day, taking up separate conversations and proper introductions. After dinner, a delicious meal of quail, country vegetables, and pastries, Inara brings out an old lute on Imp’s request. He entertains the upper class crowd the wanders in throughout the night, his elven ballads drawing extra applause and appreciation.

Meanwhile, Mical is out in neighboring taverns piecing together information. After spending a couple of the very view pieces of gold he has on drinks to get words flowing, he only walks away knowing that the Baron has been very torn up about the loss of his nephew and that Krull is an orc that has been raiding the local highways.

You all bed down for the night in your superbly comfortable rooms and are awoken the next morning by the servant girl, letting you know that breakfast is waiting for you and Mistress Inara has requested you. Arriving downstairs, you find a private room waiting for you, with a steaming meal on the table. You enjoy the breakfast of warm broth, fresh bread, fine cheese, and an aromatic coffee and as you finish up, Inara enters the room. “I hope you all enjoyed your meal and got a good night’s rest. A messenger came this morning from the keep. The Baron says there has been no luck yet, but expects it will only be a day or two longer.”

Taking a seat at the table with you, Inara pours a cup of coffee and continues, “But as long as you all are just sitting around here, I was wondering if you might be interested in some work. A friend of mine, a local merchant who does rather well for himself, has an issue in one of his warehouses. Apparently vermin have taken up residence in the cellar and he can’t seem to get rid of them. He has hired some swords a few times before to clear them out, but they keep coming back. Beyond this I don’t know much else.”

“Now, you being important adventurers awaiting some great mission from the Baron, I’m sure this would be quite an easy job for you. I passed along the idea to him, and he said he would be able to offer each of you twenty gold up front, with another hundred when the task is finished. Would you be interested?” Inara finishes, taking another sip from her coffee as she looks over the rim of the cup at each of you.

[Lothorus]

Before the day had ended, Impannodel still had a few tasks to do. After his meal and (brief) talk with Shadow, he immediately left for the tailor's. With his current funds, anything over the top would be out of his reach, but there was still something he could do. It was galling to be dressed nearly identically as his compatriots, and the clothes were ill-fitting besides. All he asked for was a good set of sturdy clothes suited for traveling, and to have it fitted perfectly. Having the job done in a day or two was asking for a lot, unfortunately. For such a rush job, extra costs would be incurred. The Baron's stipend might not cover it all... just to be sure, Impannodel came up with a contingency plan.

Upon returning to the Inn after setting the tailor on his task, Impannodel prepared to do something he had not done in quite some time: play a song. Despite his affection for the Arts, he was quite a bit out of practice. Lately, he had spent more time appreciating the efforts of others rather than making any of his own. In fact, it made him a little nervous. As he examined and tuned up the lute loaned to him by Mistress Inara, however, his worry faded away (somewhat). The old instrument was no theater-piece, but it was still well made and well cared for. Probably older than Inara, it showed signs of long years of happy use in tavern common rooms and beside the hearths of homes.

Before long, night had fallen and he began his performance in one corner of the room. Not intending to take center stage, he played a series of sedate and reserved songs from his homelands, interspersing formal recitals of old ballads and poems in between. Somehow, his performance flowed freely as though he had been practicing for months for this moment. He knew that his playing this night was among the best he had ever produced. It was still a shock to see his spellbound audience grow and grow, though. It seemed as though the entire upper crust of the city had passed through at some point or another. It also seemed as though that the party's tasks ahead weren't entirely unknown. Though barely better off than the commoners in these hard times, the nobles of Darrowdale offered their own contributions to Impannodel's efforts. Even Imp couldn't help but feel a bit bad about taking advantage of their donations, but he still ended up accepting.

After the festivities, Impannodel remained awake for some time, mulling over the situation. Tales of King Arlan's need for help had spread far and wide, and Imp had honestly been expecting there to be a huge crowd of would-be heroes swarming around, looking to right some wrongs or some such tripe. But it seemed that he and the four others were the only ones in Darrowdale. Maybe others had made it further, but as it was all the town's eyes were on them, as well as their hopes. There really was no-one else available to do anything, it seemed. The regulars of the town guard were all pushed to their limits just guarding the town borders. With these heavy thoughts on his mind, he finally retired to his room well after the rest of the common room had emptied.

The next morning, the servant did not need to wake Impannodel; he had risen before the sun and was already dressed for the day. Quietly, he followed down to the private dining room and ate mostly in silence for the whole meal, only speaking to respond directly to a question or comment aimed directly at him; and even then, only briefly. Then Mistress Inara arrived and said her part.

Suddenly, and perhaps alarmingly, Imp was the first to pipe up immediately after the offer was extended. "That seems like a fine idea, Mistress Inara," he says. "I'd be happy to lend a hand." Any other day, he'd wheedle and whine about such a menial and gruesome task, but not today. Somehow, he felt different. Somehow, he felt like a real adventurer.

[Katasi]

Mical thinks for a moment. 'I'm up for it." he says. "How long has the problem been going on?"

[Kenji]

Shadow grunted as the servant girl came in, instantaneously waving for her to leave him alone. As she made her silent retreat, he drowsily sat by the bed, waiting for the breeze to clear up his mind. The day before had been a dragging one, encompassed of fruitless spending along with aimless strolls. Somehow, they seem reluctant to share their stories. Perhaps it’s the lack of funds or his silent attitude? Maybe…?

He allowed the door to be slightly ajar as he beckoned for the servant, requesting a hand mirror. It’s well on his hand within minutes, accompanied by restrained giggles from her. Slightly embarrassed, he closed the door before locking it; isolating himself in an enclosed space. Sprawled on the same bed, he barely took a glance from the mirror’s reflection before putting it away, various thoughts fleeting through his mind. Soon, he held the mirror again; this time for a moment longer.

Intimidating? Unlikely. Ugly…? Not quite. Peoples’ sense of beauty is quite fascinating, if not peculiar. Shadow brushed his face lightly to remove the scarce dirt scattered all over; a direct consequence of his night task. Instinctively, he took note of his dark skin tone; an undesirable aspect which had garnered some sort of inferiority complex. Maybe I should try asking the opinion of others... Flashes of the servant girl streamed into his mind as he gave it a final thought. Impossible.

Shadow dressed himself up as the invitation managed to slip back into his mind. Walking leisurely as prior failures were replaced with new thoughts, he arrived in time to grasp the vital part of their conversation.

‘Gold? Sure, who isn’t interested in any?’ Taking his designated seat, he feasted upon the delicacies which somewhat retained their warm properties.

[Jettander]

Only three of you sit around the table as Inara offers this job. The two females are mysteriously missing from your group. “Well I am glad you all accept.” Inara replies, “And to answer your question sir, the problem has persisted for over a month.” Inara stands, sizing you all up as she continues, “The two young ladies left early this morning, I presume to visit the market or perhaps just to explore the city. It seems it will only be the three of you. Please, go grab your weapons and equipment and meet me back down here. I will escort you to the warehouse.” Reaching into her dress, the innkeeper pulls out three small purses, each holding a good amount of coin. “And here is your fore payment.” Giving you all leave, Inara walks out of the room.

After you gather your gear, you all return downstairs to front entryway. Inara is standing there reading a piece of parchment, a young gentleman and a stout dwarf standing in front of her. Finished scaning the document, Inara turns her head and acknowledges your presence. “Well it seems Tobin has found you some companions for this task. I present you masters Llewellyn and Steven.” Inara gives you all a moment to make your introductions and greetings. “Well now gentlemen, if you please, follow me.”

Stepping from the inn, Inara leads you though the winding streets, a light fog covers the ground as you follow after her. After a good ten minutes, you round a corner to face a large, two story building. Walking up to the hefty warehouse, Inara pulls a ring of keys out from her dress. Selecting the largest one, she unlocks the main door, speaking over her shoulder as she does, “Tobin will be away for most of the day on business. I will leave these keys with you to lock up when you are finished. Just return to the inn when you have taken care of the problem.” Pushing the massive double doors open, she enter the warehouse with your party in tow.

Stacks and stacks of barrels, crates, and boxes line the room, forming corridors and walls, much like a maze in the dimly lit storehouse. After a few turns; a left, right and another right, you come to a stop in front of two cellar doors obviously blocking the flight of stairs that leads down. Iron bars have been placed across the doors horizontally, each with their own padlock. “The problem must be worse than Tobin said to lock it like that.” Inara comments as she selects a smaller key and unlocks each of the three locks.

The locks set to the side; Inara has you help her heave the thick doors up and open. A dank, dusty smell fills your nostrils as you stare down the steps into the darkness below. “Well gentlemen, this is where I take my leave. There are some torches in that crate next to the doors, along with a tindertwig to light them. I will see you back at “The Shining Stallion” tonight. Best of luck, and please try to not break anything down there.” Handing the keys to Imp, Inara gives the group a curt nod before turning and making her way back to the entrance.

In the darkness below, you hear the faint sound of scratching…

[Lothorus]

Impannodel casually twirls the ring of keys around his finger as he looks over the gathering. Smiling, he turns and addresses the two newcomers directly.

"Well met, gentlemen," he says, stowing away the rings and offering a hand to each of them in turn. "Here is to a fruitful partnership." He then turns to regard the group as a whole. "Well then, what do you say we clear out this cellar? I don't want to disparage whoever performed this task before, but they clearly did not do a good enough job if the rats keep coming back." Impannodel moves over to the pile of torches and tindertwigs. He picks up one of each, but doesn't bother to light it, instead opting to fill his hands with his bow. "Obviously, there must be some source to the rats that the others did not find. I say we do our best to spot whatever it is and put an end to things for good." Nodding to himself, he turns and approaches the cellar stairs, abruptly stopping short at the first step.

"So, uh, who want's to go first?" he asks a little sheepishly.

[norvilion]

"Such a strange land these journeys have taken me to" Steven contemplated as he lay on his bed in the inn, fully awake before even the sun itself dared to break the silence of the night. Perhaps it had been a bit silly to go to sleep so early, but between the cold and the fatigue of the journey it had not seemed so unreasonable at the time. The chill was no better now than it had been before, however his mind was already much to alert to validate rolling over and staying within the warmth of his bedding for too much longer.

With a soft sigh the lanky man rolled out of bed and donned the attire he had packed for this trip- a blue and black plaid suit with bronze buttons, reinforced underneath with a fine mesh of chainmail. “Style with function” the kind clothier had told him, having demonstrated the fine protective properties of the outfit. It had seemed a bit silly at the time to wear camouflaged armor as everyday attire, however after all the destruction and fear he had witnessed in this untamed north he was glad to have a bit of protection.

Having lost the great battle many times in the past, Steven didn’t even try to tame his long red hair before donning his backpack- from which hung an aged crossbow. As the last part of his morning routine he walked reverently toward the corner of the room where he had set up a small shrine to his goddess. On the floor lay a small wooden holy symbol in the shape of an artist’s palate, encrusted with common jewel stones where paints would be expected to be. Behind it was a great wooden shield on which was painted a still life of an elderly man huddled within a blanket and holding out his hand as a warm cup of soup was handed to him. Even though it held only hues of washed out blue and white there was a strangely real quality to it, as though you could just reach out and touch his weary chilled hand.

After a couple moments of respect Steven attached the holy symbol to his belt and grabbed the shield. The sky was only just beginning to show signs of light, which presented him with a rare opportunity. Walking quietly the cleric made his way to town square, where he propped his shield up on a collapsible easel facing the east. "To you, Lirr, do I give back this work of art. Fill me with the wisdom to see the many colors of the world. " He whispered as he drew a wide brush from his bag and cut the old man in half with a slash of white paint. Stroke after stroke he ensured that none would see the man’s small moment of comfort again, his weary face erased last to never more observe the outside word from his temporary spot on the easel of prayer. It was true he was gone from this world now, but in Lirr’s book he would remain forever with others of his kind, always remembered by at least one.

Truly there was some sadness to the occasion, but even as Steven waited for the white canvas to dry new ideas were forming in his mind. From his pocket he drew another brush, this one fine and of obvious craftsmanship. Though the land was in danger and the air itself had a deathly chill there had been other trials in the past that had been overcome; he knew for this brush in the hands of his Grandfather had been there first hand to document to tenacity and spirit of mankind. Caught in a strange kind of trance the artist began mixing paints at the bottom of the shield and utilizing the new combinations above. He worked with such vigor that even the bats returning to their homes must have thought him possessed. Nearly an hour passed as he furiously formed the scene before him, ending finally with a bold splash of bright fiery orange between two of the buildings just as the sun finally overcame the night and broke the darkness that had taken hold of the land.

He held the brush in the air before the landscape for just a few moments as he observed his work. He old man was gone, but in his place now shone a new sunrise, as seen from a city in the heart of an untamed country ready to try to rise to a great place in history. This was the land that could overcome, and at least in his mind Steven felt this piece represented that spirit of optimism held by the people.

Before too many people could begin waking up Steven cleaned up his art supplies and got back to the inn, where he was greeted by a wonderful breakfast and a lead to one who needed assistance. Of course he was more than happy to help where he could, and planned to go down to meet the client as soon as the dwarven wizard whom he had traveled with on the caravan was ready. The rest of the morning of course consisted of a great deal of rushing around, first to see the client and then quickly thereafter to meet the others who would be assisting with the job. They seemed an eclectic bunch, consisting of a shifty halfling, a woodsy human, and an elf who seemed to have come from a fine culture. There was little time for chat though as they quickly made their way to the infested cellar, where Impannodel the elf was given the keys and their hostess made her exit.

"Indeed- It is unfortunate that our meeting is born form the ill fate of another, however perhaps through such a partnership we can bring prosperity back to Tobin" He said with a bow.

Though it was vaguely tempting to grab a torch, he already had a number stocked away and with the blessings given to him by Lirr he would not be in need of one at least for the moment. With a swift, skilled motion, as though he had done it a thousand times before the cleric drew his grandfather’s paintbrush from his front pocket and drew it across the holy symbol at his belt. The bristles of the brush began to glow, as though there really had been some kind of luminescent paint present on the wooden palette. Steven turned his shield around to view the painting and carefully dabbed the glowing brush onto the sunrise. Immediately the glow faded from the paintbrush and the image of the sun began to shine as though it were really there casting its soft golden light on the cellar that probably had never seen such a thing since the day it was made. The paintbrush was once again loaded back into his pocket and Steven drew his loaded crossbow. "If it is helpful I can lead the way. I am not particularly strong, but many have told me that I have good perception and I may be able to help warn early if there is any danger which presents itself.”

[Roethke]

Llewellyn glowered at his eager travelling companion and the slim elf who greeted them suspiciously. No one had any right to be that, what was the word,... light. Those two wouldn't have lasted a night with the Gilded Blades. Still, he had to remember that he wasn't with the Blades anymore. For better or worse, these people were his gang... at least for now.

Unconsciously, he reached up and touched the raven earring he wore. He didn't think Sandine would approve of this lot. Then again, he thought of the dessicated ear in his pocket and of himself, she never was too wise in who she chose for company.

So be it, if this elf wanted to be a sucker and welcome him in, he'd run with them, but with his eyes open
"Someone's a sucker here. I don't know what they offered you, but they promised me 120 in gold, with a fair bit up front. His eyes flick to each sitting around the table in turn,
"Six hundred gold for some spring cleaning? That's enough coin to rent a small army. Either folks around here are particularly eager to part with coin, or there's more than rats in the cellar, and I sure as hell ain't going in first."

The raven on his shoulder quorks agreement. Gesturing with his head towards Steven,
"If Fancy Pants over here is so perceptive, it's fine by me if he leads. But I say better is we find a likely lad in town and dangle some silver in front of his eyes to scout for us. Or best yet, herd some cats down into the cellar, let them duke it out with the rats or spiders or whatever vermin Inara meant, and waltz down after. Ought to be able to buy a barrel full of cats for a small part of the advance."

[Katasi]

Mical follows along with the group and watches silently as they come to the cellar. He whistles sharply at the amount of locking on the door, wondering to himself just how bad this "rat" problem could be. He adjusts his position, checking that his borrowed dagger is still in it's position.

Mical shakes his head as the idea of using cats is brought up. "Cats could cause more damage, and besides, have you ever seen a rat? The things are nearly the size of a cat, if anything we'd want dogs, preferably farm dogs." He says. "I think it would be best to do this the old fashioned way." He hefts his halberd, looking intently down into the darkness.

[Kenji]

The dampening air left Shadow in discomfort as they proceeded deeper into the warehouse toward their destination. Upon informed he procured two pairs of the items; opting to hold onto them until the need arose. The commotion that occurred after the departure of Mistress Inara was unsightly; with sarcasms and ideas made known over… petty rodents. The thought that this party is transient eased his uneasiness, lest their primary objective would be flawed.

“I’m unsure of your opinions in the matter but I’m in with Mr. Steven here helming our way in. Given, he’s the only one with illumination among us, for better or worse.” Shadow ushered the priest to lead the way in with himself taking the second front most position. There's no benefit in losing the sense of sight or lingering here any further.

[Roethke]

Seeing that the rest of the group was set on barreling ahead, Llewellyn thought, "Just like Costa in the bad days. Maybe this lot are more clever, or at least more capable, though" As it seemed that need of light was determining who would lead and Llewellyn had absolutely no desire to take point, he was not going to be the one to point out the apparently lesser known benefits of his dwarven heritage.

Llewellyn snorts through his bulbous nose and continues, "Well the argument in favor is that the sooner we get done, the sooner we get paid. Lead on, Steven, and try not to smell too much like cheese. I'm bringing up the rear, if I have any say in the matter"

[Katasi]

Mical flips his halberd around in his hands so the tip points toward the ground, ready to flick out and skewer any rat that might run by. He moves up behind Steven, clearly eager to get this job over with. "Shall we get on with it?" he asks.

[Jettander]

With his shield shining from the divine spell cast upon it, Steven takes point and descends the stairs, followed by Mical, Shadow, Imp and Llewellyn bringing up the rear. After a dozen or so steps the stairs level off at a wall, forcing the party to make two quick lefts to face the second set of stairs descending in the opposite direction. The dusty, dank smell grows as you make your way down this flight of stairs, counting just as many steps as the first as you reach the bottom.

From the light given by Steven's spell, you see a corridor created by stacked crates and barrels, about ten feet wide, just like the room above. In contrast to the room above however, this storeroom is much darker, dirtier, and in several places Tobin's merchandise lies toppled and broken. Cobwebs cover some of the crates and barrels, giving the while cellar a foreboding feel. Your party cautiously delves deeper into the warehouse basement.

After walking a good fifty feet from the base of the stairs, you continue to see more of the same; broken crates, overturned barrels, dust and tiny webs. With all this scanning about the supplies, looking for any signs of life, it's no wonder that Steven doesn't see whats right in front of him. Stumbling forward, he feels something sticky latch on to his face, body, shield, and weapon. Unable to move as thin strands hold him tight, a giant web spanning the width of the corridor comes visible with his struggling.

The shock of this is quickly replaced as a hairy, eight-legged monster the size of a badger descends from the ceiling on a thread of it's own. Behind Steven's head, it's eight eyes gleam staring at the back of his neck, it's fangs wiggling with the anticipation of the bite.

About this same time you hear a rough cry from the back of the group as Llewellyn suddenly feels about twenty-five pounds heavier. Eight hairy legs are wrapped around the dwarf's shoulders and back as a spider drops from the ceiling atop him, riding him like a cowboy, looking for a good place to sink his fangs...

[Katasi]

As the spider comes down the web ahead Mical whips the tip of his halberd upwards. His gulps slightly at the sight of the huge spider but slides forward, making a jabbing motion as he does.

The tip of his halberd goes up through the spider, piercing it and causing it's innards to spill out onto the blade. He flicks the halberd to the side, causing the spider to fly off to the side, and begins cutting away at the web around Steven. "Someone go get a torch." he says. "Maybe we can burn these webs away a bit." He blinks slightly every time a flame flares up on the web. He flicks his weapon a bit once he finishes, trying to get as much of the spider guts off of it as possible. "Stay sharp, there are probably more of them." He calls, looking around, keeping his ears open for any sound. Meanwhile he searches his memories for anything he can think of about spiders.

[Lothorus]

Impannodel had to stop himself from chuckling when Steven walked headlong into a spider's web, but his mirth died quickly when he saw the cat-sized spider descending upon the ensnared cleric. He snapped to attention, but he was still a step behind Mical. By the time he had lined up a shot, the ranger was already goring the spider on his mighty halberd. Reflexively, he released his shot even though the spider was no doubt already dead. Surprisingly, the shot connected and landed with enough force to dislodge the spider from Roland's blade and send it flying into the spider web, worryingly close to Steven's head. The proximity of the shot didn't worry Impannodel too much, though.

"Haha! Did you see that shot? That was amazing-" he began to crow, but his exultation was cut short as he heard the dwarf's grouchy rumblings. Unbeknownst to him, a second spider had descended upon the rear lines! This hadn't escaped the notice of Shadow, however. It did not take long for the halfling to skillfully dissect the arachnid. The danger had passed... for now.

Feeling a bit sheepish about his performance, he immediately complied with Roland's suggestion. Instead of a torch, however, he conjured a bit of magical flame upon his fingertip. After waiting a moment to gauge their reactions to the magic (they were unsurprisingly unimpressed), he went about carefully burning away bits of spider's silk, working opposite of Roland and his blade.

"That... that wasn't too bad," he said, whipping his hand back and forth to dismiss the flame. "Anyone hurt?"

[norvilion]

The artist cleric held his shield steady as he rested his crossbow atop, looking out for any sign of trouble as they descended the stairs. As he kept a sharp eye out for the man-eating rats he imagined they would find he let his mind wander a bit. “The owner surely wouldn’t have called such a team down here if it were simply normal rats.” he thought as he reached the base of the stairs and continued forward, just waiting for something to jump out from behind a corner at any moment, “That being the case, we may be dealing with some mutant rat grown to the size of a horse. What a fight that’ll be! I’ll just have to fire off the bolt I have prepared, and then for the next attack I’ll just need to…”

A sudden thought came to mind- if he was carrying his shield in one hand and his crossbow in the other, how was he going to actually reload the thing? He’d had the shield as a painting surface for years, and only just bought the crossbow about the same time he got his reinforced suit. Obviously protection was nice but if he couldn’t fend off any attackers what good would it do him? The only other thing he had on him that could remotely be called a weapon was his canvas knife.

“Alas, it may be that this old thing has served its purpose and it’s time to move on. Perhaps I can find an artisan in the city that could convert it into something a little more usable with the money we get from this job.”

Just as soon as this thought ran through Steven’s mind he felt said overly heavy shield catch against something nearly invisible. He didn’t have any chance to react, the simple inertia of his walking propelled him into a mess of sticky webbing. As a knee jerk reaction he pulled against the fibrous strands, trying to break free to no avail.

He felt movement behind him and almost an instant later an arrow whizzed past his head, carrying with it the mutilated corpse of a spider. He winced visibly at the realization of what almost happened, and even more at the sounds of his dwarven traveling companion. “Are you okay?” he called back, unable to turn as he continued to struggle against his entrapment. The sound of another spider’s death was his reply, much to his relief.

“So, no rats so far, just a bunch of spiders. Good to know.” he remarked as Mical and Impannodel cut him loose. Well… Mical did the cutting, Impannodel summoned a small flame to burn the webs away. A neat little trick, and perhaps one he could use to their advantage.

Steven removed the bolt from his crossbow and released the trigger, placing the instrument back on its hook on his bag. Following that he removed a torch from his stash and held it in the general direction of the elven bard. “I thank you two for helping me out. I don’t suppose I could get a light; it may be better to have an actual flame lead the way if we’re dealing with spiders. I’d hate to be the fool who blindly walks into every web down here.”

[Katasi]

Mical nods. "I agree, we need a torch up front, preferable with someone who doesn't have their hands full." he calls. "Something about this seems far to easy for the pay."

[Roethke]

Llewellyn sullenly follows the group down the stairs,
"I don't like the feeling of this place. I knew we shoulda nabbed some cats". He gives a throaty guffaw as Steven brings the party to a halt by walking into the web. When he feels the weight on his back, though, he doesn't quite put two and two together and for an instant he's back in the orphanage....

'Who's an ugly dwa--arf! Who's an ugly dwa-arf!' the children were chanting. Just because he came up last again for today's panhandling take. It wasn't fair, he WAS an ugly dwarf in this human city, and what's more, he was getting too big to garner even small sympathy from passers by. Many dirty looks though, and a couple of signs to ward off evil. Harrumph. Suddenly there's a weight on his back as Giles, a scrawny five-year old leaps onto him from behind. Llewellyn collapses into a heap, and submits to the taunts, knowing that he'd be punished if he injured a better earner only now, Giles has eight hairy black legs and is scrabbling for his neck...

Llewellyn returns to the present, screaming"GET OFF! Giles GET OFF!" and collapsing into a heap again. as he feels something pierce the flesh on his upper shoulder. When the beast on his back spasms and ceases moving, he finally rises, embarrassed.

"Um, I owe you one" he says sheepishly to Shadow, turning away, rubbing his neck. His wounded pride keeps him from responding to Imp's question,
"Well, maybe I'll fare better in front than in the back. I can see okay, down here, torch or no torch", he continues a bit of the old shame coloring his tone.

[Kenji]

The ceaselessly dampening descent prompted Shadow to unsheathe his dagger en route. The slight dizziness felt during their advance was offset by the sharp ambush accompanied by unwelcoming shrieks. Noticing Mical’s initiative to assault the spider up front, Shadow made a transient dash toward the rear before leaping; overtaking Imp along the way. As his lift halted, he thrust his primary dagger deep into its head before followed-up by a swift stroke across the neck with the other one.

The spider instinctively let out a cry as it plopped onto the ground; toppling Shadow in the meantime. He immediately hauled himself up in preparation for the next assault, which never took place in the end. Affirmed that the area was secured, Shadow proceeded to procure his primary dagger from the spider’s head with slight difficulty as words of gratitude were heard from the dwarf, unexpected indeed. He gave Llewellyn a sly grin as reply while he deftly loosen the dagger.

The ephemeral darkness held up any thoughts Shadow had for the spider, concluding it with a silent gasp instead. As another source of illumination was brought forth, he quickly rejoined the party; taking up his former position as he showed reluctance in yielding it.